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: I don't own Harry Potter or Hetalia
England
After Rose had hurriedly left for dinner, England placed the kitten he had recently received gently on the ground and packed up his stuff in the History of Magic classroom. He tucked all his notes, lesson plans, and the returned quizzes from today's class under his arm and stood up. Once he had straightened up England swept his eyes over the empty classroom for the kitten, but she was nowhere to be found.
"Where the hell...?" he murmured, frantically looking under the student's desks for the kitten. All the sudden, he felt a tugging on his pant leg and a calm mewling sound. He looked down at his foot and there was the kitten, staring up at him innocently with two paws wrapping around his ankle. England sighed and bent over again, scooping up the kitten into his arms. However, the little one had seemed to develop an attachment to his pant leg, and wouldn't let go without a fight. He had to pull her tiny claws out of the material in order to lift the squirming little thing.
With all his possessions gathered, England left and locked the classroom door behind him. It was the last meal of the day, but England wasn't too hungry at the moment. Besides, if he needed something to eat, he could always call a house elf. At first he had felt reluctant about intruding upon the already-busy house-elves of Hogwarts, thinking it as rude. But he had quickly discovered that the house-elves were more than happy to provide for him if he should need it and they relished the opportunity to have extra work to keep themselves busy. There was also this little kitten to think about... he wanted to get it settled before leaving it alone in his room. So, ignoring the smells wafting from the Great Hall, England set out to his rooms.
Upon entering his office, the kitten began to mew with renewed fervour, even struggling in his arms a little bit. England gently placed her on the ground and watched her scamper off, sliding on the slippery wooden ground and exploring the new, undiscovered space.
Shaking his head, Britain went over to his desk and placed his lesson plans on top of it. He also pulled open a locked drawer that had all his documents sent from Wales, who was taking care of business back home and keeping him posted. On the top was a letter from Wales detailing his latest correspondence with Turkey. After going over the letter, England put the letter back in its rightful place and locked the drawer.
"Meeew?" came a high pitched sound. England looked in the direction from which the sound had come from, and saw that it was the kitten, batting at his shoelaces playfully.
The kitten let out a surprised squeak when England grabbed the kitten by the scruff and placed it in his lap. He eyed the little, fluffy thing critically, and it almost seemed to cower in his lap under the country's intense gaze.
"Hmm, well, I guess you're going to be staying with me now, little lass," he murmured, hesitantly stretching forth a finger to scratch the kitten on the cheek. The kitten purred and rolled onto its back in his lap. "Well, I suppose you're going to need a name..." he contemplated thoughtfully, continuing to scratch the purring infant feline. At this his mind began to ponder the many possibilities of names for the calico kitten. Suddenly, a certain name stuck out to him. Deliberating a moment longer, he concluded that this was the one, and snapped his fingers, startling the little kitten slightly in the process.
"I think I've got it," he declared, leaning back in his desk chair.
The kitten tilted its head a bit. "Mew?" it went, as if to say: "Huh?"
"Brandee," he said, rubbing the kittens head a bit. "How do you like it?"
"Mew."
"I'll take that as a yes." England paused, and with embarrassment realized he had been talking to a baby cat. Ah, well, it wouldn't be the first time he had engaged an animal in conversation.
/
Two weeks passed, and things began to get better for England.
His new cat Brandee was a doll. And although she was a hyper little puff ball that had a tendency to get into trouble, he adored her and couldn't stay mad at her for too long.
He began to work more on his room, to make it look more personally attuned to him.
England started by painting the walls a nice, dark and deep shade of green. He had ordered the paint, brushes, and other supplies from Diagon Alley beforehand, and one day he moved all his furniture away from the walls, conjured some sheets to put over everything that could get paint on it, and got to work.
However, he was often held up by Brandee... who had a great interest in interfering in his work. She would bat at the cans and trays of paint, and England would have to shoo her away for fear that she would tip them over and spill paint everywhere.
For hours he laboured, trying to finish the coatings of paint on the walls during his free time from teaching. Finally, he could stand up, wipe the sweat from his brow with a paint-covered green hand, and admire his work with a hand resting on his hip.
Next on his list was curtains for his bare and empty windows. England considered himself a decent sewer, and was also rather adept at cross-stitching, mending, knitting, and many types of thread-work, (he'd never admit this though, for fear of ridicule and possible scorn from some of his fellow countries). One Sunday, he sat himself down in one of his padded seats and began to sew some elegant curtains, made with fine silk of a vibrant black colour. He could have used magic to sew them slighter faster, but England enjoyed the sensation of hand-sewing. It calmed him down, gave his hands something to do, and it was one of his favourite past-times when he needed to clear his head. But, once again, his work was interrupted by a certain little kitten... It was hard to get into a peaceful frame of mind when Brandee insisted on batting at the ends of his thread and leaping into his lap, demanding attention.
England sighed, eyeing Brandee who was currently lounging in his lap, preventing him from making his curtains. "What am I going to do with you," he said in a resigned tone, picking Brandee and instead depositing her on her shoulder, where she was more out of the way. This was one of Brandee's favourite perches, and she immediately nestled into the crook of his neck, drawing a ticklish sensation from England as her soft fur brushed against his bare skin.
Once the curtains had been completed, England hung them up over his windows, satisfied at their appearance. The walls were still relatively bare though... maybe he could place some photos on them later... Suddenly, England let out a cry and sharp intake of breath in surprise and looked down at Brandee, who had leapt from four feet away to latch onto his leg, climbing up it like a tree.
England growled in exasperation. "I need to get you trained..."
Although England was in a better mood nowadays, tensions continued to rise between him and Umbridge, and England made it a point to rarely stay in the same room with her for more than a few minutes. The other teachers treated her in more or less the same manner, but for slightly different reasons. At the same time though, England was careful to remain inconspicuous in his behavior, for fear of arousing even more suspicion in Umbridge. He didn't want to give the Hag the satisfaction of knowing that he was a little bit tens and wanted to avoid her. But more important than that, he didn't want her to think that he had something to hide.
During lessons, Brandee couldn't bear to leave England alone, so no matter how often he left her in his room, she always found a way to slip past the door on his way out and follow him to his classes, creeping in his shadow.
Usually, the animal was content with badgering England, but sometimes she got into mischief with his belongings. On one such occasion, England was quietly reading novel in his office when all the sudden he caught sight of Brandee batting at one of his particularly fat and old books on his bookshelf, which was tilting precariously... in danger of crushing the infant. With a yelp of alarm England had sprang across the room and grabbed the book, just as it was about to fall on the oblivious kitten.
England had glared down at Brandee, who still hadn't comprehended the danger she had been in. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know," he had scolded her. She ducked her head slightly in response, as if guilty.
Harry
Hermione didn't bring up the idea of Harry teaching DADA for exactly two whole weeks. She broached the subject while the three of them were in the library, doing potions homework. While Ron and Harry struggled through their potions work, Hermione had two books open: one for potions, and one for her own independent research. (Harry had asked her once a few days ago if she had had any breakthroughs about Kirkland's missing records, but she had replied with a "not yet".)
Coughing, Hermione drew her eyes away from her books. "So, um, Harry. Have you thought at all about what I told you two weeks ago...? About... teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
Harry sighed, knowing that she would have eventually confronted him about this sooner or later. It had only been a matter of time. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Yea, I have..." he admitted reluctantly. It had definitely crossed his mind many times these last few weeks. Unconsciously, he had even been mentally drawing up lesson plans and lecture in his head... "I dunno, Hermione," he continued. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for this. No one's going to want me to teach them."
Hermione shook her head energetically, her curly brown hair swinging back and forth.
"No no no," she said, smiling a bit. "I know for a fact that its not just Ron and I that would want your tips and pointers, Harry. See, I've been asking a few people about their opinions on this-"
"You what?"
"Calm down, Harry. They all said they'd be more than happy to have you teach them."
Harry slumped into his seat. "...How many?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.
"Oh, just a few people," said Hermione dismissively.
There was silence for a moment after that as Harry considered all that had been said.
"So, what do you say mate?" finally asked Ron.
"...Okay," Harry gave in a little grudgingly, but at the same time, secretly eager.
Hermione looked just about ready to cheer, and Ron was about to open his mouth and let out a whoop of victory, but the two stopped themselves at the sight of Madam Pince peering suspiciously through a book shelf. It was never a good idea to be loud in the library with its librarian lurking... She was known to throw fits when someone compromised the blessed silence of her precious library.
The three of them made plans to meet with the people Harry would also be tutoring the next Hogsmeade trip.
"Don't worry, mate, you'll do great," assured Ron confidently.
Ron and Hermione seemed a rather excited to be learning some actual DADA soon, and although Harry would never say it out loud... he felt a little excited too.
England
During the wee hours of the morning, England was eating his morning meal in the Great Hall. Brandee was curled asleep at his feet underneath the table, sleeping and purring contentedly. Ever since he had received the kitten thirteen days ago in HoM, the cat had been inseparable from him. On his plate was sausage, eggs, and hash-browns. With his hand he plucked off a tiny piece of meat from his sausage and held it under Brandee's nose. She stirred and sniffed the tiny morsel before nipping it gently out of his fingers with a grateful mew.
Just then, a stream of owls flew into the Great Hall, most of which were carrying packages and letters to deliever to their owners. It was mail time. England did a quick glance over the crowd of fluttering feathered birds, to check to see if he could see a letter for himself from Wales. Wales usually sent his letters to England privately and not during breakfast, in case anyone saw that their contents were of international concern, but England checked anyways just to be sure.
Although England could not see the recognizable Tawny Owl that was Wales' owl in the mass of birds, he did see another eerily familiar sight... one that did not give him a good feeling in his stomach.
In the crowd of owls flew a distinctly large bird that was obviously NOT an owl. It was large, with massive, long-spanned evenly brown-feathered wings. It's head was stark white, and its gleaming, wicked sharp beak a bright yellow. Its fierce eyes scoured the great hall as it slowly glided along, drawing the attention of many students eating down below.
"I know that blasted bird..." England whispered in horror, automatically ducking down self-consciously into his seat. A few of the teacher's looked at him in confusion and concern, and Mrs. Sprout even asked him if anything was wrong. Students weren't just staring at the bald eagle, (for that's what the bird was), they were also starting to point at an easily seen bright red envelope that it was clutching securely in its talons. Dolores Umbridge saw the red-coloured letter as well, and eyed it with shrewd interest.
A howler.
Why can't I ever get a douse of good luck? mentally moaned and mourned England, praying to God that the bird didn't see him.
It was in vain though. You can't fool the eyes of a Bird of Prey. The eagle zeroed in on England and with a thrust of its mighty wings and a triumphant call she dove down like a bullet, air screaming past her.
"JESUS CHRI-!" yelled England as the bird pulled up at the last moment and dropped the letter on his lap, its body literally inches from his face before she climbed into the air again. England could have sworn that he felt a feather brush against his cheek, the eagle had been that close. Everyone else in the Great Hall had a completely opposite reaction to England's. Most of them breathed sighs of relief that the dreaded howler had not been addressed to them, before turning to watch curiously as the letter in their Professor's lap began to smoke...
A little shaken, England quickly retrieved the slowly smoking letter and looked around desperately. Bloody hell, what should he do-
At that moment, the letter exploded and a booming voice filled the chamber. And just as he had suspected... it was that voice... The one he never seemed able to escape from, even from the other side of the world.
Switch to Harry's POV...
Harry
From up above flew Hedwig, who upon spotting Harry happily and gracefully swooped to perch herself on his shoulder. Their were always "oohs" and "ahs!" from the girls at the Griffyndor table whenever Hedwig payed him a visit. Harry never really understood this, and it kind of annoyed him at times. But Harry couldn't really blame them, after all, he was impressed with Hedwig as well, and was proud to have such a fine owl as his friend.
Hedwig nibbled on Harry's ear affectionately, and he lifted up a hand to stroke her feather's in welcome.
"Hey, look," said Ron, pointing a finger up into the flock of owls.
Hermione and Harry paused in their activities to look at where Ron was directing their gaze. At first he couldn't see anything, but then Harry noticed that one of the owls was especially large... He commented on this to Hermione.
"That's not an owl," she replied. "I think its an eagle..." she said uncertainly, squinting up at the ceiling where the large bird was gliding.
"Look at what its carrying," Ron added. Harry looked closer and saw a small, unassuming red envelope. Despite its appearance, this red written-message was not to be underestimated... Everyone in the Great Hall was glancing anxiously at the dangerous little letter... hoping and crossing their fingers that it wasn't for them...
Suddenly, the eagle let out a chittering noise followed by an ear-piercing scream and tucked its wings in, moving at the speed of light to... Professor Kirkland? The Professor was sitting low in his seat, trying to draw attention away from himself. The Professor's recently acquired young cat that seemed to follow him around wherever he went leapt to its feet and hissed in alarm, hiding behind Kirkland's legs. At the last possible second the eagle flared its dark brown wings and swooped back upwards, dropping the letter on Kirkland in the process. It was a magnificent sight to see, but the Professor was not amused by this display.
"JESUS CHRI-!?" he hollered, blinking furiously. It only took him a few moments to regain his bearings, but the howler was already beginning to smoke and made a foreboding sizzling sound. Kirkland fumbled with the letter, his eyes darting around the hall nervously, when the howler suddenly burst open, its edges flickering with heat.
The voice of a young-sounding man, perhaps in his twenties, echoed throughout the hall. Some students plugged their ears at the loudness of the howler's projection. Hedwig hooted loudly in surprise, puffing up her feathers and flying off.
HEY ARTHUR.
The voice that Harry heard wasn't particularly angry, but it wasn't happy either. Notably, the only other thing Harry could gather from the voice was that it had an American accent.
Ron, Hermione, Harry, and many other people in the hall leaned forward curiously as they listened to the message that came forth from the fiery red letter. It wasn't really respectful of privacy, but it was impossible to not ignore the loud message anyways.
"What the heck, man? You never write, you never call... Okay, I know that you're busy at that school and that cellphones supposedly don't work there, BUT COME ON! IS IT BECASE OF THAT ONE APRIL FOOLS INCIDENT? BECAUSE I SWEAR I DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO GO THAT FAR AND IT HAPPENED YEEAAARS AGO."
Harry jumped, startled for a moment. He also realized in his head that the writer of the letter must be a foreign muggle-born or something if he used a cellphone and wasn't as familiar with Hogwarts.
"You could AT LEAST write! You owe me that much!...WELL ACTUALLY YOU DON'T OWE ME ANYTHING... BUT ARTHUR, I'M REALLY TICKED RIGHT NOW! IS IT SO BAD THAT I MISS MY BROTHER, IGGY?"
There was some collective chuckles throughout the students at the childish word "Iggy". If the writer of the howler was Kirkland's "brother", than "Iggy" must have been Kirkland's brother-given nickname at one point. It was strange, Harry had never imagined Kirkland's family... he knew that he must have one, but he had never thought of it before now. A pang of unreasonable jealousy ran through Harry at the thought that somewhere out there, Kirkland had at least one family-member that cared for him... Well, cared for him enough to send him a howler, anyways... Harry had a feeling he wouldn't be fond of being the recipient of such a letter, but so far he had been fortunate enough to not receive one.
"I decided to take matters into my own hands! (1)Patrick told me that I could reach you by-way of owl, but owls are so LAAAAAME that I sent Liberty here instead! By the way, 'AINT SHE A BEAUT?! I SAY, IF I HAVE TO SEND YOU A LETTER THE OLD-FASIONED WAY, I'LL DO IT IN SYLE! THIS LETTER BETTER MOTIVATE YOU TO WRITE ME SOME MORE IGGY. PLEASE DON'T CUT ME OFF FROM ALL MEANS OF COMMUNICATION. PLEEEASE?...Oh, wait, Mattie wants to write in here too..."
There was an abrupt change in voices, and the loud and energetic one was replaced by a much quieter and shyer voice that sounded out of place emanating from a howler.
"I'm really sorry about all this, Arthur. I tried to convince him not too, I really did," came the passive, apologetic voice. "But he insisted. He means well, Arthur, he really does. Alfred may be a hose-head, but he just misses you. I do too."
The howler switched back to its original voice. "OH, JEEZ. I'M RUNNING OUT OF ROOM TO WRITE. I GUESS I'LL SQUEEZE IN MY MAIN POINT: IF YOU DON'T WRITE ME ARTHUR, ALL HELL WILL BREAK LOOSE." The ominous threat hung in the air for a moment, before the effect was suddenly ruined by this "Alfred" character's closing remarks. "BE SAFE MAN, PEACE OUT DUDE~!" The howler was engulfed by flames and drifted to the ground in ashes.
There was a moment of dead silence, mostly spent by the majority of people by staring at Kirkland. Even Dumbledore had an interested gleam in his eyes, though he was polite enough to pay attention to his food and not Kirkland. Kirkland looked too shocked to say anything for a while, but when he stood up, Harry was sure that he saw murder in the Professor's green eyes. He was not happy... Pushing back his seat Arthur stalked off, his cat close by his heels.
Gradually, noise and talk returned to the Great Hall, with most of the conversations concerning the strange spectacle they had all just beheld.
"I have to say," commented Ron casually. "That was the strangest howler I've ever heard in my life. And believe me Mate, I've heard a LOT of howlers."
"I don't doubt it," muttered Hermione.
/
Author's Note: (Please read before asking questions, but ignore the spazziness that is often prevalent in my notes to my readers...)
BRANDEE BBY.
NAMED FOR HER PATCHES OF ORANGE FUR-(LIKE A BRAND OF FIRE) AND ALSO BECAUSE OF... BRANDY. Like the drink. ...DUH XDDD
For those who are wondering if more countries will be appearing in this fanfic... the answer if YES! :D But not for a while yet, sorry. You're going to have to wait a bit. A lot of the appearances will be through memories and references, but some characters WILL be playing key roles! (However, England is STILL the star of all this, and along with Harry is the MAIN character. Sorry other countries :(... )
Okay, yea, I know, TOTALLY UNORIGINAL IDEA TO USE A HOWLER LIKE EVERYONE ELSE but come ON, you KNOW you loved it. ;) I can't imagine ANY APH/Harry Potter crossover WITHOUT a howler scene.
Not a lot happening in this chap, but hey, I updated like lightnin' fast people! And you know why...? Because of the OVERWHELMING positive feedback I received from you lot! Seriously, thank you so MUCH :'). I did it for YOU because of all the reviews you guys took the time to write. :) I'll try and keep up the quick, speedy work!
Keep the reviews coming! And thanks to everyone who did review!
(I EVENTUALLY GO BACK AND FIX SOME TYPOS ^^;)
(1)EDIT 11/03/2014 Changed Scot to North Ireland! That was a mistake on my part, I meant to write Ireland ^^;
I imagine Scot as a: "Don't-talk-to-me-you-bloody-yank-I'm-busy-with-my-own-crap" type of guy, and North Ireland as a "If it'll make England mad, COUNT ME IN!"