Summary: "Of course I wouldn't have told you, America. See, the British are different from you Americans. We do not air our dirty laundry for others to hear. It's simply the British way of dealing."

Pairing(s): America/Harry, France/England

Warning(s): AU!Harry Potter universe, slight AU!Hetalia universe

Author's Note: Harry Potter is the representation of England's magical civilization. So, for the purposes of this story, all wizarding wars are concentrated in England, which they, pretty much, are to begin with. Also, this is going by the Hetalia anime seasons, of which there are only the first two seasons, and I want more. T^T

Disclaimer: I own nada. ._.

Contemplation

It was quiet.

Unusually quiet in the hotel room America had rented for the week. Normally he would be out messing with the locals or to, perhaps, drag England off for McDonalds. However, that was only on a normal day.

After the meeting with England, in which said ex-caretaker turned his world up-side-down, all America really wanted was to be alone to think over the newly acquired information.

And so, here he was, lying on a mass-produced hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling.

England had a brother.

England had a brother that nobody knew about for hundreds of years.

Just trying to wrap his head around this thought was hard for him- heck, it would be hard for anyone!- and he wondered how Iggy had accomplished this feat.

As far as he knew, this boy was neither a nation nor a micro-nation. England said it himself, that it wasn't Peter in pain.

If anything, surely he and the other nations would've felt the presence of another if this guy was a personification of that nature.

They had a connection like that.

Every nation could feel a slight connection to one another. Likewise, every nation had a connection to their citizens. It's what let the nation know when there was a natural disaster or a spreading disease. At the same time, the connection between nations is what lets each of them know if anything has happened to another nation.

For example, Germany could feel the change in connection when Prussia ceased to exist as a nation and became part of Germany.

Oh, the connection was still there between the two- after all Prussia hadn't died, he just had to hang around at Germany's house now- but it wasn't as strong.

Granted, America wasn't really sure if the same could be said for Ancient Rome and those guys. After all, he wasn't around at that time.

But, coming back to the point, he- Alfred- would have felt England's brother if said brother was a nation. Heck, if the guy was a nation, he would've spent his childhood used to feeling the connection.

Therein was the crux of the matter.

How could this Harrison possibly be alive still if he wasn't a nation? He obviously wasn't an alien- Toby mentioned that his people did not really get interested in Earth until the space race had started- but he couldn't possibly be a normal human either.

It was a lot to take in.

And America would freely admit that he was curious. Perhaps, had he gotten the chance to actually meet this other person, some of that curiosity might have been sated but England was tired- mentally and emotionally- even if he didn't show it, and so felt it best if America left…though not before threatening him, and blackmailing him, should mention of his brother ever pass his lips when in the presence of other nations.

America never could quite read the atmosphere- he still didn't know what that meant because his people, obviously, got to the moon and back- but he at least had some semblance of tact to know when to be serious. And this was one of those Serious Moments.

And so, here he was, hours later, lying on a bed in an economy hotel, thinking and getting his thoughts in order.

~x~

Harry was pained.

His children, though they did not know this, were fighting each other again. Families fought against other families just for the simple reason that one side uses light magic and the other uses dark.

Oh, when would they ever realize that magic did not have a side?

That magic had shades of gray in it that was much more fulfilling than any white or black could ever hope to fulfill.

And it all boiled down to the mechanics of Voldemort and his own beliefs. Voldemort, the man who held the belief that people of a certain blood lineage should not possess the gift of magic.

The creation of terms was used to categorize these people.

Mudblood…

Half-breed…

Squib…

There were more that was used in reference to the ones in high standing, but they did not matter for these terms were the ones that hurt the most. They were the derogatory words.

His children were prejudiced, though he wished otherwise, and refused to acknowledge that even the poorest of persons had a right to use their own magic.

Harry hoped against all hope that, with the fall of Grindelwald, his teachings would perish.

And they did.

For twenty-five years, Harry was able to enjoy blissful peace.

There were still some stirrings in his body, especially in the very early days of peace, but they were nothing compared to the hell that was during the World War II years. Unfortunately, even he knew that war would start once more.

His magic could never quite settle down during those years, hissing the air in agitation, making the atmosphere in the house thick and charged.

He would admit, embarrassed and apologetic, that his magic would sometimes be so thick that his own brother would get a sharp shock each time he entered his bedroom.

God love his brother, England.

England, who was always so kind and patient with him, took care of him during his darkest hours.

It wasn't just by taking care of him, though. England was, and still is of course, understanding.

England only ever spoke in quiet understanding even when the pain was so much that he would sometimes yell at his brother.

His caretaker…

Cursing England for attempting to keep him healthy and alive instead of letting him perish; though, inwardly, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to die easily at all.

But when delirious in pain, there was no place for common sense.

And through it all, England never raised his voice back. England never once thought about abandoning him even though any other lesser being wouldn't even think twice about it.

There was a reason why England was always referenced as Mother England and the Mother Country by the humans.

He could appreciate England's gestures during his moments of peace, though he found them overbearing during Grindelwald's reign of terror.

England would put his foot down if he wanted to be out in the garden- not that he'd have had a chance to enjoy it mind you- but would instead open a window for some fresh air.

Nor would England let him cast a spell that took too much effort.

One time, he had tried a simple levitation spell on an object when his brother was away, only for the thing to shoot up through the roof, creating a mid-sized hole.

His magic had gone haywire when casting the spell, causing the spell to become overcharged.

They had yet to find the keepsake box.

Harry did not know how England repaired the hole- nor how he explained the hole to the repairman in the first place- for England moved him to another room for the duration of the repairs.

Afterwards, Harry apologized profusely, but England just stroked his hair and said that he was only figuring out his boundaries. England did tease him by saying that next time he could pay for the repairs, though.

That was a few years after the wars were officially over.

And now, here he was again, feeling the overall draining effects of a second war when he had yet to recover from the results of the first one.

He hated this.

Hated the fact that he was so weak, and how Voldemort got the idea that it should be him to decide who was gifted with the ability.

If he could, he would make Voldemort's powers null and void, would make Voldemort's magic turn on him, tearing his own body a part arm-by-arm and leg-by-leg.

But, with the way his strength was right now, the most he could do was even the odds a little.

He got a feeling during Voldemort's first reign, and gently 'encouraged' the Trelawney to 'See' the Prophecy, all the while praying that Voldemort fell for the trap.

It was his will that Neville should survive that Halloween night, as well.

It was because he gave the phoenix a mental nudge, that he helped Neville against the Basilisk.

It was all he could do to help Neville when he couldn't deal with Voldemort himself. All the while desperately hoping that, should they ever meet, Neville would forgive him for forcing him to lose his innocence at such an early age, and for forcing him to become an adult in a child's body.

But he had to take that chance.

Had to take the chance for the betterment of both worlds, where there would finally be peace.

For he knew that, should Voldemort win, the whole world would be at stake. Already, he knew that some of England's people were beginning to notice that something was going on.

His brother tried to hide it, but he could tell that his war was starting to affect England, as well.

And, if it affected England, who's to say that it wouldn't, eventually, affect other nations? France would be one of the first to experience the affects, due to how close he was compared to Russia or China.

So he would take that chance to save England, to save the nations.

And if, by the end of the war, in order for Voldemort to die, magic- and, consequently, he- had to cease to exist…

Then so be it.