AN: I have no excuse. Also I want to know, longer chapters with more time between updates or shorter chapters with quicker updates. I'm trying not to have anymore long waits though. Also quick name guide:

- Seychelles (Madeleine Bonnefoy-Kirkland)

- Hong Kong (Leon Xiao Wang-Kirkland)

- Canada (Matthew Williams)

- America (Alfred F. Jones)

Arthur Kirkland and the Job

Chapter Eleven

Prussia was in all honesty impressed. He, and much of Europe, had long suspected that England had lost that old pirate savagery that had quelled the Spainish Armada, fueled his empire, and made him a lion in bed. Something Prussia had learned from experience during the War of Spainish Sucession, right after the Battle of Oudenarde. Something he probably shouldn't have brought up during their "conversation". He also probably shouldn't have propositioned the Englishman while doing it. But in his defense he'd been in the middle of a nervous breakdown, which still had not seemed to worked its way through his system.

England stood with his hands on his hips when he was angry and despite not looking alike, besides the blond hair, he looked the exact same as Canada when he did it. Prussia had noticed it before, some similiar actions in the way England moved, no doubt Canada had picked them up while growing up, but they were completely different on the young Canadian. Prussia had been very pointedly ignoring these things though for his peace of mind. But when England had thrown him to the floor and glowered down at him with an expression and stance not unlike Canada when Prussia had gotten Kumajiro drunk that one time something in Prussia died a little.

Because England wasn't Canada. England's eyes didn't have the undertone of affection that seemed to linger on Canada's face whenever he looked at him. England didn't possess that wild curl that Prussia delighted in pulling only to get his hand smacked by a not-really-mad blushing Canadian. England didn't curse solely in French, peppering any rant or scolding with the language, never ceasing to make Prussia smile when he "complained" to France about his former colony after he'd been booted from the house after said scoldings. England didn't make pancakes the mornings after when Prussia came back, usually with an apology on his toungue and some maple-nut ice cream on hand to wiggle his way back into Canada's good graces. And England didn't make Prussia pulse quicken with a beautiful smile when he happily accepted the peace offering.

Because Prussia wasn't in love with England.

It had taken three seconds for Prussia to come to this conclusion and the second those words were processed he shut down. He'd gone through out the rest of the conversation and the beating acting like his worst most obnoxious self trying his best to get England to the point of stomping off, but in reality all he wanted was to run and hide and throw up and scream all at the same time. He hadn't thought he could feel worse than when Canada had confessed to him, but it turned out he could.

Prussia admitted to himself that he'd ran away from Canada, but he'd been telling himself this entire time that it was in Matthew's best interests. Prussia had a bad track record with people who loved him. All of them he'd hurt. Holy Rome had almost died because of Prussia, but by some miracle survived. The only person he'd ever allowed himself to love romantically had been a disastor spiralling into wars and hatred. There relationship was still strained even today. So Prussia had told himself to leave Canada for his sake, because he was his friend. He had to leave before he loved the lovable Canadian. That had been the thought that had given him the strength to hurt him as Prussia felt necessary.

It was also total bull shit it appeared. Prussia loved Canada. Gilbert Beilschmidt, for the second time, was in love. In love with a self-concious, amazing man named Matthew Williams, his Birdie.

And it terrified him.

Prussia had not left because he would only hurt Canada, he'd left because he was scared that Canada would hurt him.

Prussia was a fucking coward.

"Coward." he said outloud, with as much venom as he could muster, shaken to his core. He'd hurt Matthew because he was a coward. And now he was to terrified to know wait to do or how to fix this or even if whatever this was should be fixed.

. . 0 . .

England left the Owlery feeling rather satisfied with himself. Beating Prussia had been almost as enjoyable as beating France. The letter he'd just sent though would make sure Prussia suffered though. England hoped Hungary wasn't too shocked by the delivery of the owl, he had felt the rage of her frying pan once when he'd snuck up on the woman and didn't fancy having to replace the poor bird or explain to Dumbledore why exactly it had died from a frying pan wield by a very skilled Hungarian woman.

As he walked away from the school though, England had no intention of getting caught in his current get up, his smile turned into a frown. Something was off about Prussia. And it had nothing to do with the beating he'd just received. Prussia's little flirting/teasing/insulting earlier had been off. That was the best England could describe it. The Prussia England knew didn't bother with his unique brand of "flirting" unless he was truly interested and an interested Prussia was single minded and persistant. England could attest to that.

England scowled at the thought remembering Prussia just had to bring up the Battle of Oudenarde. Then he frowned again the marked differences between the predatory way Prussia had acted then and the rather lackluster actions earlier even more prominent. There was a distinct lack of drive and Prussia was nothing if not driven, despite how he smetimes acted. But he'd just been going through the motions earlier, not really there.

England wouldn't exactly say he was worried about Prussia. England couldn't say that he and Prussia were friends, but there had been a softening in their relationship with one another. It lacked a certain malice and dislike that had existed before. Not that he really liked the Prussian. But he was a little troubled, because England was almost certain that Prussia had looked almost scared and that was an emotion England had never witnessed on the Prussian. It was concerning.

England pushed his no longer hair out of his face with a growl. Whatever was wrong with Prussia he certainly couldn't do anything about it. Hungary might be able to. Despite their seemingly hostile relationship the two were as thick as thieves and always had been. So after Hungary finished kicking Prussia's ass over the little tidbit he let slip in his letter to her, the two nations could work out whatever was going through the albino's head and England wouldn't be stuck with a more emotionally disturbed than usual Prussian as his roommate.

Satisfied with this thought England smiled and it broadened as he arrived at the Quidditch Pitch. It was a short walk to get to the Professor's Box and once there England relaxed, laying out on the benches and give a long luxiorious strech. No team had the Pitch scheduled for today and neither were they any matches and as most of the students would be off at Hogsmeade he was guaranteed peace and quiet as long as he hid out here until the students were in bed. then he could slip back in his rooms and sleep the potion off.

Feeling a bit of the wood dig into hi uncovered leg England sat up to readjust his skirt. He wished he could have had some pants, but when he'd gone back to his room everytime he put something else on it would change into women's clothing, losing more and more material the more he tried. He'd even stolen some of Prussia's clothes. But after they had turned into some lingerie that really couldn't be considered more than scraps of fabric and ribbons with a see-through baby doll top England decided to just go with the what his military uniform had turned into. The experience was made even more bizarre by the fact that everytime he put something new on he swore that he heard something in the room with him, but eveytime he turned towards the noise he was alone.

"Bloody arse." England muttered outloud, almost flinching at how soft and feminine his voice sounded. It really was strange being a woman. The fact he didn't look that different only made it weirder.

"Professor?" a voice asked from in front of him, quiet and concerned. England stiffened and looked up from the dress he'd been glaring at to find Harry Potter hovering in front of him on a broom with an experession of worry that melted his heart and made him think painfully of all his children, nieces and nephews, and younger siblings all at once. Horrified, Englnd realized his eye were pricking with tears.

"Hello Potter." England managed, trying to ignore the painful emotions swelling in his chest and the fact that waves of love were rolling off the small boy only intensifying them. Harry looked even more concerned and landed in the box getting off the broom. England knew almost instantly that he wasn't hiding his emotions very well because when Harry looked back up at him the panic that only a boy when faced with a crying girl could manage appeared on Harry's face.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, green eyes worried and looking nervous, as if he both wanted to bolt and comfort England, but had no idea how.

England gave the boy a watery smile and sniffed delicately. England really hated this potion. He knew very well that not only did it change your gender, but it messed with your emotions to. The fact that Harry was a beacon of painful emotions wasn't helping. Neither was the dementors, whose presence England could always sense in the back of his mind rankling him and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"It's the potion, it messes with you emotions." England explained calmly. Harry looked almost relieved.

"Oh, so that's way you looked so angry." The boy relaxed and actually managed a smile. "Professor Lupin and I thought you were going to kill Gilbert over some prank. Professor Lupin's looking for him right now and I went to find you, to make sure you were okay. You were upset so I was a bit worried."

Harry shut up instantly at that suddenly looking shy and startled at his own words. England's smile turned genuine. No doubt the boy was confused that he felt so connected to who was mostly a stranger, but it wasn't an unusual reaction in his citizens and it never failed to warm England's heart. It helped ground his emotions and the urge to cry lessened as he accostumed himself to the magic around Harry. It was a bit more difficult than it would have been on his own land, but easier on his brother's than it would have been say in china or elsewhere.

"Thank you for your concern Mr. Potter. I just came out here to be avoid being seen, given my current state."

Harry nodded seeming to understand the desire not to be spotted in a dress and then, to England's surprise, he sat beside him rather than flying away. That was rather touching. Harry looked at the surprise on England's face and smiled, but his green eyes were serious.

"You didn't say why you were crying though."

Clever boy, England thought fondly. The stubborn expression, mixed in with clear concern is what decided it. The boy looked just like Canada when he was worried.

"It's just you reminded me of my children is all." England told the boy perfectly honest and Harry's eyes widened as he blanched. England wondered at that for a moment before he remembered. No doubt the boy as thinking of the boggart. There was an awkward silence before Harry's Gryffindor courage and curiousity reered its head.

"You have more than one?" It could have been a statement, but it was clearly meant as a question. England smiled.

"Yes, three boys and a girl. I also have a few younger siblings and some nieces and nephews." England said smiling to himself as he pictured his family. "My oldest is Alfred. He's always been a very lively boy, getting into trouble, and wanting to be everyone's hero. His twin, Matthew, was always the better behaved. He's a very sweet boy. Loyal and kind, but he has trouble standing out poor lad. Alfred has always been so showy that people tend to over look Matthew because he's so quiet. Next would be Madeleine, she's more like Alfred than Matthew. Very lively and friendly, but not as showy, though she seems equally fond of bright colors. Matthew and she get on well, though that might have to do with the fact she can't cook very well and Matthew always agrees to make something when she asks. Leon is the youngest, he was always very hard working, but loved to drive me crazy. I can't count the number of times he set off firecrackers while I was trying to work."

"You really love them." Harry said, distracting England from his reminesing. The boy looked sad and almost longing. Without thinking England reached out and ruffled Harry's hair with a gentle smile making the boy jump.

"Come on lad, enough about me, why don't we do something fun?" England said attempting to be cheerful, in all honesty feeling simltaneously lighter and heavy. Harry, who looked a little embarassed by the ruffling, looked at him curiously.

"You're a Seeker aren't you? Why don't we play a little so I can see if you live up to your reputation?"

At Harry's smile England realize dhe'd said the perfect thing to get the boy out of his melancholy, but then Harry pointed out a very obvious fact.

"But Professor, you don't have a broom."

England drew his wand with a smile. "Accio Firebolt."