Summary: (Harry Potter / Hetalia Axis Powers Crossover) England decides to teach at Hogwarts to keep an eye on the Boy Who Lived. But the famous Trio (Harry, Ron, Hermione) are becoming suspicious of their new professor... Can England keep his status as a country a secret? And what does Voldemort want with him?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter was created by J.K. Rowling. Hetalia Axis Powers was created by Hidekaz Himaruya. Harry Potter and Hetalia belong to their rightful owners. I do not own either.
England
It was early in the morning, and the Great Hall was relatively empty save for a few early-risers. The humanised-representation of Great Britain was among these individuals.
England gloomily spread butter on his toast, his tired green eyes drooping and his dishevelled blond hair hanging low over his head as he bent over his plate. He hadn't had the greatest sleep last night, and this showed in the lines etched in his face and the dark shadows under his dull green eyes.
Yawning, England sat back and rested his head against his chair, bringing the toast up to his lips so he could nibble on it slightly. His appetite wasn't 100% at the moment either...
With a sigh England abandoned his toast and rubbed his exhausted eyes with frustration. None of this made any sense. Last night's episode had no explanation whatsoever. Sure, in the past he'd coughed up blood before. That was regular occurrence during wars. But this was just a single killing... Voldemort had only targeted the two muggles... and for what... for fun... for sport... The thought of the couple's cold-blooded murders made England's blood boil. Sometimes, before You-know-who had been subdued by Potter, England had experienced brief glimpses and flashes of the emotions and thoughts of his people moments before their deaths, especially when He-who-must-not-be-named for feeling particularly murderous. However... he had never actually seen a vision from the point of view of the victims like he had had last night.
With another huff England pushed these thoughts aside and focused on the now.
More and more students were starting to file in the Great Hall now, filling up their house tables and eagerly piling food onto their plates for breakfast. They were completely oblivious to the two murders that had been committed just last night, while they had all been fast asleep... England saw Potter, Weasley and Granger enter the Hall as well, chatting amongst themselves. Harry looked up, and England briefly met his gaze before the boy quickly looked down again, as if he somehow couldn't bear to stare at England in the eyes for more than a few moments.
England turned and let his eyes wander aimlessly around the hall. There was still a little over a half-hour to go before classes started, and then he'd have to go and teach. But for now, he could just sit here and let his mind rest a bit. At one point, England even relaxed enough to have a pleasant conversation with Professor McGonagall. A few minutes later though, England spotted Dolores walking through the large open doors to the hall, headed towards the staff table. England excused himself to McGonagall and left the hall, passing Dolores briefly, but not meeting her face.
Harry
/a little while earlier/
Harry walked into the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, his mind anything but tranquil. He felt really troubled this morning... Last night, Hermione had tried to convince him to teach a study group some Defence Against the Dark Arts tips, which had taken him by surprise, and to top that off, he hadn't slept well... His dreams had been very disturbed the previous night. They hadn't been quite nightmares, but had been in a category all their own. What made matters worse, was that upon waking, he couldn't really remember much of the dreams... Harry remembered feeling happy and gleeful, but not in a good way. In his dream, he had been... excited... about something. All he could recall was feeling murderous anticipation, and then he had woke up with his scar burning. The rest of the details of his dream were a complete mystery, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this was probably for the best... that he wouldn't want to know what he had dreamed.
Hermione kept on sneaking looks in his direction, her eyes flitting towards him from her book, and it was starting to annoy Harry a bit. He had vaguely told her last night that he would think about her suggestion to teach DADA to a study group, and she seemed to be eager for his decision. However, to her credit, she never once brought up the matter again or pressed him for a decision, instead letting him think privately to himself.
While walking to the Gryffindor table, Harry let his eyes move up to the teacher's table and caught the eyes of Professor Kirkland. Green bored into green, and Harry found himself quickly looking down again. In his brief moment of meeting Kirkland's gaze, Harry had noticed something... off, about the Professor. His eyes, usually so lively and at the same time full of strictness, were now so dull and resigned. It was if Kirkland had just seen a man die,(1) or hadn't slept or eaten in ten days.
Ron nudged Harry and jutted his chin towards Kirkland. "Mate, have you noticed Kirkland doesn't look to well?" he murmured curiously. So it wasn't just Harry. Ron had noticed their teacher's, detached, distracted and tired condition as well.
Hermione looked up from a book she was carrying with her and looked at Kirkland discreetly as well. She frowned. "He doesn't seem his best, does he?" she agreed in bemusement. "I wonder what's the matter...?" she trailed off before shrugging in confusion.
"Everyone has their bad days, I guess." Harry commented, Ron and Hermione nodding in affirmation.
Ron quickly piled food onto his plate, scooping a spoon into bowls and depositing the contents on his growing pile of breakfast. Hermione, however, was so absorbed in her book that she eat very little in comparison, only distractedly biting into a scone as she hunched over her book.
"She must be bloody mental if she favours that book over a meal," Ron muttered to Harry. Unfortunately, even when immersed in her book, Hermione still had ears like a bat. She abruptly snapped her book shut, (not before swiftly inserting a book mark between the pages) and turned to face Ron.
"Have you forgotten, Ronald," she hissed slightly. "That I promised to do some research on Kirkland and his Ministry and Hogwarts records yesterday? And this is only the beginning. Today at break I'll be heading down to the library to get into some serious research."
"Oh, right," said Ron in realisation.
"Besides, reading a book is not a waste of time. You should try it sometime," she added, partly snide and at the same time passionate. Jokingly, Harry thought to himself that he wouldn't be surprised if Hermione one day brought a book before the altar to be wed.
Harry coughed uncomfortably. He really wished Ron would stop getting on Hermione's bad side, and that Hermione wouldn't be so impatient and quick to anger with him. "Erm, Ron? What do we have first?" he inquired, hoping to change the subject.
"Uh, Divination, I think," answered Ron, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice.
"Right," said Harry, nodding before going back to his meal.
Breakfast passed quickly, and afterward Ron, Harry, and Hermione parted and went their separate ways to their classes. Harry and Ron bid Hermione goodbye before she left for Arithmancy and they began to make their way to the Divination tower.
While talking with Ron, Harry accidentally bumped into something. It was hard and unyielding, like a stone wall. He bounced of the object and recoiled, looking up to see what he had hit. He was met with a pair of sullen green eyes, their usual vividness mostly absent.
"All right, Harry?" asked Kirkland tiredly, nodding slightly, brushing off his suit and walking around Harry before he could stammer out an apology.
"I could ask you the same thing..." murmured Harry quietly to himself, staring at the teacher's back as it turned around a corner. Ron nodded, his face a little confused and concerned.
"He's definitely not in the right mind today," he noted to Harry.
/
England
/
Later in the day, England was teaching the 5th year Gryffyndors and Slytherins Care of Magical Creatures again, but at least this time Umbridge wasn't around to throw threats at his head. She hadn't reared her ugly head at him since yesterday, and seemed content to pretend as if nothing was amiss... But her declaration yesterday had really shaken England, more than he cared to admit. He was not used to humans taking such an active interest in him, and it made him uneasy at the prospect that Umbridge might uncover the truth.
As his students gathered on the lawn, awaiting the start of class, England was fully aware of the animosity between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, and the obvious division between the two groups. Each house stood separately, and there was no mingling between them besides the occasionally snappy comment. This made England feel a great sense of disappointment. He was fond of both these houses. Slytherin had been the house wherein he had briefly been a part of when he'd gone to the school all those years ago... and Gryffindor's symbol was the emblem of England, himself: the lion. If the ensuing war that England was sure would come to pass between Voldemort and his followers and the rest of the Wizarding world was to be won, then they needed to sway the Slytherins onto their side and mend the gap between the houses.
This class, he had brought back Uni for his students to study. His fairies had flown off somewhere today, and besides, they needed to go over the anatomy of a Unicorn for the upcoming OWLs taking place at the end of the year.
The females of the class were especially delighted to see Uni again, and Uni was delighted as well. She loved attention and the entranced students were more than happy to provide Uni with that much-wanted attention.
First, England had his students pull out their sketchbooks and draw and label Uni's horn. Then, (because he took pity on the members of the class who disliked drawing), he had them write down in-detail notes on the main body parts of a Unicorn. Their assigned homework was to write down three paragraphs on the purpose of a Unicorn's horn, and its properties.
The remainder of the class was mostly spent with a gaggle of girls and a bunch of tentative boys stroking Uni. There was literally a mob of children surrounding her, but as long as England was in her sight, Uni was as calm and gentle as a lamb.
"She's such a sweet heart," cooed a Gryffindor girl, named Parvati Patil, her friend Lavender Brown making faces of agreement beside her. Uni lowered her head passively and nudged the two girls lovingly, as if she knew that she had just been complimented. England smiled a bit from afar, leaning against a tree and observing the scene. It had been the first time he'd cracked a smile all day, as he was still shaken and moody after his... "nightmare". Potter and a few other students looked up incredulously at the sight of England smiling.
"Have you ever ridden her?" asked Lavender, pausing in her patting to look at England.
England's eyes hardened a bit, and he was instantly back in a bad mood. "No, and I don't ever plan too." he said stiffly. "Uni is a friend and companion, not some common pet or beast of burden to be used as some joyride."
Lavender ducked her head with embarrassment. "S-sorry Professor," she said meekly, her face a tiny bit hurt. "I was just curious..."
Almost immediately feeling guilty, England sighed and hung his head. Great, now he had gone and snapped at a young girl, just for asking an honest question... "Look, Miss Brown, I'm sincerely sorry. It was an interesting question, and I answered a little too harshly," he apologised. "I-I... I'm just not myself today."
"I-it's okay, Professor Kirkland," said Lavender Brown, her eyes softening in forgiveness.
A few minutes passed and Kirkland dismissed the class. They all trooped back up to the castle with England watching them by Uni's side.
"I don't know what to do, girl... about all of this..." he murmured to her, his hand resting on her back. Uni brought her muzzle up to Britain's cheek and nickered, blowing warm air against it as if to kiss it in comfort.
/
Finally, it was the last class of the day he had to teach. England was to teach the First Year Hufflepuffs History of Magic right now.
Once all the students were sitting in their desks, England walked down the rows, handing out a mini review quiz on what he had taught them so far so that he could check their understanding see what they had learned. Then, once all the quizzes had been given out, he went back up to the front of the class and sat in the desk, observing them to make sure there was no cheating going on. All the First Years were dead silent as they hunched over their quizzes, their faces showing their concentration as they recalled dates and events.
As they wrote, Britain began to drift off into his thoughts, into a memory. He recalled the first time that You-know-who had... come out in public. He was there when You-know-who's reign of terror had officially begun...
/FLASHBACK/
About twenty-four years ago, England was on his way to his brother's Scotland's house. It was raining, and he had his coat drawn up over his head in replacement of his umbrella, which he had foolishly forgotten back home.
The four United Kingdom brothers usually had a... brotherly get-together of sorts, once every year. This time, it was Scotland's turn to throw it, so he had invited England over to his house for a drink. England, however, was NOT looking forward to this. Every year, no matter what the brothers' did, by the end of the day they usually ended up drunk and screaming at each other before trying to throw the other out of the house. This had happened every year for the last... 300 years or so? Even before there was a United Kingdom, they had still done this, in hopes of having a day they could just bond and respect one another. At first, it always seemed to work, but almost every time someone would pull out some liquor or they'd run off to a bar together... and all hell would break lose.
But this year, when England arrived at Scotland's house, with North Ireland and Wales already present, Scotland announced boldly that he was determined that they would all stay perfectly sober tonight. This was a relief to England's ears. He was sick of embarrassing himself at these gatherings (not that he and his brothers weren't drunk enough too remember much...), and tired of the massive headaches that usually resulted for the next few days.
With the good news that they were not going to go out drinking together this time (as fun and brotherly as that activity was...), England entered Scotland's house and into the drawing room, spotting Patrick (North Ireland) sitting on a couch, smoking a cigar from Scotland's stash. He'd obviously already made himself at home... but where was Wales? England's question was answered for him when Wales walked into the room from a connecting hall-way, giving England a brief incline of the head and a finger-wave as a welcome. England nodded in reply.
"How are ya, Arthur," said North Ireland casually, fondling a cigar and lighting it.
"Fine, and you?" answered England, directing the question to not just Ireland but Scotland and Wales as well. He was doing his best to try and start a friendly conversation.
"Just dandy," said Scotland, rubbing his nose, while Northern Ireland leaned farther into the coach, his eyes closing peacefully.
"Sooo, whit ur we gonna do?" said Scotland in his thickly accented voice, rubbing a bit of stubble on his chin.
"Hmm, I say we play a game of cards," put out England.
"What about a game of Phat?" suggested Wales. "There's four players here."
And thus, the four brothers began playing a game of Phat. England and Wales were on one team, while Ireland and Scotland were on the other. At the moment, Scot and North Ireland were winning.
"Ah, I can't take mach more of this. I need a beverage ur I'll die ur thirst." said Scot, throwing up his hands and standing.
"Nothing hard, I trust?" said Ireland. "Yer made a promise we wouldn't be gettin' trollied."
"Aye, It's nothin' alcoholic, I'm telling ya," promised Scotland, leaving the room. When he returned, he was holding an old bottle with no labels and four glasses.
He poured England a glass first, as he was closest. England was a bit wary, but he was so thirsty and focused on the game that he drank the glass right away without a second glance. When the first drop touched his tongue, England knew something was wrong... Oh no... Scotland must have swapped the bottle for one of his home-made Scotch bottles... the extra special kind... And Scotland's homemade Scotch was so strong it would be made illegal if humans discovered it.
"Oh, no..." murmured England, swaying in his seat a bit. His mind was going to sleep, and his thoughts were becoming scattered and incoherent.
Wales suspiciously sniffed a confused Britain's breath, recoiled in shock at the smell, and turned to stare incredulously at Scotland.
"What did you do?!" he yelled in horror. England was amused in his drunken state. This year's "brotherly social event" was not turning out like they'd hoped, England mused woozily to himself, his vision getting blurrier and blurrier. They were only a few hours into it and already they were starting to yell...
"Ooops..." said Scotland, sniffing the bottle. "Eh, that might have been the hard stuff... the extra hard... damn, I was going to save that...Um, sorry Iggy, I accidentally gave ya a bevvy..."
England was deteriorating fast. Scotland and Wales' voices were becoming fuzzy, and his eyes began to glaze over. Scot's... "special brew", which was made by means of magic, was so powerful that it took effect almost instantly, and could quite possibly kill a human being if drunk by them.
"Ah, he'll be fine," said Scotland with a dismissive wave of the hand. "He just took one swig, after all."
Within a few minutes England was as drunk as a lord. North Ireland made the excuse of going to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to deal with the ensuing chaos.
"Arg, gimme tat bottle," said England, reaching for the bottle that Scotland was holding with his inner-pirate voice coming out a bit for a brief moment.
Scotland withdrew almost immediately, clutching the bottle to his chest protectively. "Oi, you don't need oni mair!" he growled. "You're as blooter'd as it is an' aam savin' thes fer me!"
"Ah, belt up, you blooming pansy," said England, lashing out a hand and downing the bottle before throwing it at a horrified Scotland's head, where it promptly shattered.
Scot ducked, and came up with murder on his face. "Oi! You wanna go ya filthy highlander?! Get yar bleedin' carcass off me property before I-"
"Bugger off you! I'll stay as long as I wish," England slurred, his head lolling slightly.
"SHADUP!" screamed Wales, storming into the room. "You!," he yelled, pointing at England. "You need to leave and take care of yourself! And you," he continued, pointing at Scotland. "Need to stop giving Arthur your brew! You know as well as I do that he's a complete lush!"
"Am not!" bellowed England.
"CLEAR OFF RIGHT NOW!"
England stumbled out of Scotland's house, grumbling the entire way. He had enough sense even in his drunken state to call a cab to take him home, and Wales watched him leave, making sure that he didn't try and drive himself and kill some poor unfortunate old lady.
After pacing a bit and waiting for his cab, England came across a large group of whispering people, all fearfully crowded around something...
Almost immediately England became serious. He still wasn't quite sober. He still walked with a stumble and precarious lilting in his step, but his mind had awakened a bit and his eyes had cleared and were somewhat alert. His "inner-country" knew something was off... that something wasn't quite right... With determination and mumbled apologies he pushed his way through the crowd and into the middle to see what everyone was so scared of. The sight that met him was not a pretty one.
THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING
These were the words written on the cobble stoned side-walk... in bright red blood that stood out against the dull grey stones.
It was signed.
-Your Lord and Master Voldemort
On the ground lay the bodies of a family of muggles. The wife's face frozen in eternal terror, the husband's arms protectively wrapped around her even in death... The children laying in a semi-circle around their fallen parents...
England gagged in disgust, doubling over slightly. His eyes got a little misty at this unnecessary loss... Who could have done this? Who was... Voldemort? England looked closer at the bodies, and realised that there was not a wound on their bodies besides a slight bruise over their chest... He now knew what had killed them. This had been the work of a rampant wizard using one of the unforgivables... the Killing Curse.
Now England noticed the peculiar-dressed people walking amongst the crowd, discreetly using memory charms on the ones in front. They were ministry wizards, trying to cover this up the best they could. Police sirens echoed in the distance, rushing to the scene of the crime.
You-know-who had struck for the first time, in Scotland. And like his message had implied, this had only been the beginning..
/endofflashback/
England was shaken out of his thoughts by students standing up and placing their tests on his desk. It had only been a memory... nothing more. England collected and gathered the remaining quizzes and quietly wished the Hufflepuffs a good night, sitting down heavily on his desk. He was loosing it... How could he handle a second wizarding war? Not knowing when or where You-know-who was going to strike...
Suddenly, England looked up in surprise. There was still a student standing there at his desk, looking at England curiously. He recognised her. It was Rose Zeller, the shy little girl he had escorted across the lake the first day of school.
"How are you, Rose?" asked England tiredly, but kindly. "Doing well in your classes, I hope?"
Rose nodded timidly. "Yes sir."
"Do you need something, honey?" he asked gently, wondering why the girl was still here.
"Oh, no, sir. Actually, I have something for you, if you want it..." all the sudden the girl stuck her hand into her open book-bag and pulled out something small and soft. She thrust into England's face, blushing furiously.
It was a kitten.
"Erm," said England, staring at the baby cat in confusion. "You had this thing in your bag the entire time...?" he murmured.
"Uh-huh, she doesn't like to be left alone, unlike her siblings," answered Rose sheepishly, scuffing her feet and staring down at the floor.
The kitten was small, a little older than a newborn. It was a calico cat, with white fur covered in large, scattered patches of dark brown and orange fur, though the orange was especially prominent. It was fuzzy and full of fluff, making the little thing appear chubby and twice its size. Its eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and it was making soft little purring noises.
"Well, sir, its just my cat had some kittens a while ago, and she and the kits had to come with me to Hogwarts. But now, the kittens are getting old enough to leave their mother, so I'm mailing them back home by floo-powder for my Mum to find them good homes. But sir... this one's a runt and... I noticed that... you don't seem yourself today," she said shyly. "So, I thought that maybe you'd want a companion... I hate to shove a cat on you, because they can be hard work and all... but my Mum says that animals can be the greatest comfort on earth, and this kitty is really good at comfort... Please sir, for me? Take her?"
England's eyes were still wide-open in shock, staring at the little sleeping kitten in front of him. "Um, uh,' he stuttered and sputtered. Abruptly, the kitten opened its eyes, its lids slowing parting to reveal curious green eyes. The kitten let out a tiny and high pitched mew, reaching out its tiny paws to put them on England's nose. Jeez... how could he turn down such a cute little rolie-polie of fluff...
Gradually, England's heart melted. He stared past the kitten at an anxious Rose. "...Thank you, Miss Zeller," he said quietly. "I'll... I'll try and take good care of her," he promised, coughing awkwardly.
Rose's eyes lit up, and she immediately placed the kitten in England's arms and leaned over the desk, giving England a hug around the neck. England gasped quietly in surprise, not expecting this and unsure of what to do. He awkwardly patted the young girl on the back, cradling the alert kitten in his other arm at the same time. After a few more seconds of Rose hugging her Professor, England began to embrace her himself, placing his head against the side of her own head and rubbing his hand along her back.
"You'd better get to supper," he said quietly. "And don't worry about me," he added, chuckling a bit. "I can take care of myself."
Rose withdrew, her face a little abashed. "I'll be going now." she said. "Thanks for being so nice to me," she added quietly and sincerely, wiping her eyes a bit before whisking out of the classroom. England stared after her, and then down at the kitten staring back up at him. His heart was warm, and Britain felt better than he'd felt all day.
Author's Note: (Read PLEASE before reviewing)
(1) Hahaha, spot-on Harry! XDD
I'm telling you guys. If you like this, and don't review, the longer it takes for me to update. Views and favourites are great and all, but I pretty much ignore them. It's the number of REVIEWS that actually get me to update. I'll share a secret with y'all: I actually have a set # of reviews that I want as a goal before I update usually. And unless that goal is fulfilled or is at least pretty close, I wait until there's more before I update. XD
So... in conclusion, review? please? :( It helps because unless I KNOW that people are enjoying the story, then I am not encouraged to write more for you guys. If it appears that no one is enjoying it, then I take MUCH longer. By longer, I mean months usually XD. I can't help it if I'm not inspired. Without reviews, I am hit with HUGE writers block and it gets harder and harder to write more of my fics.
I'M SORRY IF THE ACCENTS WERE INNACURATE, I TRIED OKAY? And Wales sounded relatively normal because I really have no clue what the Welsh accent sounds like haha ^^;... Please, be light on the criticism, okay?
Erm, I'm not going to use humans names for England's bros all that much... since they don't really have them since they haven't been assigned official names and also since they won't be appearing too much. But (HEAD CANNON TIME :D) Ireland is OBVIOUSLY a Patrick or a Liam (I was going to make him an Alastor, so he'd have a similar name to Scot... which would be kewl ;3) with Scotland as an Alistair (haha, an obvious, overused choice... ^^;), and I thought that Wales could be a Dylan or Carwyn, or maybe Dylan Carwyn Bowen? Or Carwyn Dylan Something? I dunno XD I just adore the welsh names Carwyn and Dylan... so it has to be one of those. I just don't know which XDD.
OKAY I'M GOING TO PRETEND THAT NYKOTALIA DOESN'T EXIST, OKAY? ^^;
SORREH FOR ANY TYPOS. I USUALLY COME BACK AND TRY TO FIX THOSE, ALRIGHT? :3333