It was a cold, but sunny day in Surrey, England, and the nation of France was sitting in a warm, cosy coffee shop, waiting for his fellow blond nation to show up, after he asked for a meeting. France had no idea, why England had asked for this meeting, since he was sure he was the island nation's least liked nation.
As soon as England entered, France understood that something had to have happened. With a frown he tried to remember if something happened to England's economy that caused him to look so unwell. The nation had dark rings under his eyes, which looked tired as if he hadn't slept for a week or three.
They both sat in silence for a moment, as they looked over the menus, trying to decide what they wanted to order this day. A waitress was working around them, cleaning the tables and just waiting to take their orders. It took only a few minutes until both nations put their menus down and the waitress was at their table within seconds. Both placed their orders, got assured that their orders will arrive as soon as possible and were left alone.
Again, they sat in silence for a few seconds, until France sighed.
"You don't look well, mon ami," he said to his fellow nation, who seemed to nod of where he was sitting. "How can I help you?"
"You have experience with teenage rebellion, don't you? Seychelles was one of yours, right?"
France was taken aback. Of all the things he had expected, this question was not it. Of course Seychelles had been one of his wards, and they still had a good connection and met often for a cup of tea or a coffee.
"Indeed," he answered the harried nation. Seychelles had never grown out of her teenage years, so if it had something to do with that, it wasn't a surprise that England had thought of him. "But I don't think that Seychelles is the problem, is she?"
"No," England admitted, an unhappy expression on his face. "It's America." Here he interrupted himself, as their food and drinks arrived. They thanked the waitress and watched her go, before they turned back to their conversation.
"He's going through a phase of teenage rebellion, again. If I tried to talk to him right now, he would be contrary just because he can," England said exasperated.
"And you want me to talk to him? Why me?" France asked, slightly uncomprehendingly.
"It's well known that you and I don't see eye to eye. Maybe America will be willing to listen to you, if he doesn't want to listen to me," England shrugged. Honestly, he went through one teenage rebellion of his ward, he didn't want to go through another one. The war of independence was well and enough.
"I will try, England, but I can't promise anything, as you well know. Teenagers aren't known to be the most reasonable of people," he joked slightly.
England gave a tired half-smile, drinking the last dredges of his tea. "Thank you, France, I know you don't have to do this, but it means a lot to me."
"That's quite alright, mon ami," the long-haired blond answered. "And you go to sleep now. I will take care of your problem for you. You look like you need a good night's sleep."
With that said, France watched England getting up, paying for his food and leaving the coffee shop behind him. The mainland nation soon followed the footsteps of the other nation, leaving the shop behind him and going for a walk around the island. This is where he found a young, black-haired boy with stunningly beautiful emerald green eyes, who was yelled at by a man, who could have passed as a walrus, if it hadn't been the English language spewing from his lips and insulting everything about the boy in front of him. The boy in question just ignored it and continued to struggle with a bag full of trash that looked to weight almost as much as the boy himself. Nobody else in the neighbourhood was doing anything to help the blackette, just watching on and sometimes even nodding in approval.
As white hot rage took place in France's chest, he didn't know that he would find his very own capital in the boy in front of him, nor did he think that he would end up bringing the boy home to France with him. But, as the story goes, this is how France ended up with the boy-who-lived, the most famous of Wizarding Great Britain in his care.