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

Two days ago...

"Get your arse in motion, yank."

Canada sighed, hair falling in his face and that single strand of curled hair drooping. "For the last time, I'm not American..."

It was a good thing that Matthew Williams had become used to being mistaken for his brother many years ago, or he would have been screaming in frustration at this point. It was like some kind of a cruel joke that even He-who-must-not-be-named had thought he was Alfred. Sometimes, it felt like the universe was laughing at him... If not for his situation, Matthew might have even laughed out loud himself.

Shortly after introducing himself to Canada, making threats, giving instructions and warnings, and other things that were to be expected after just kidnapping someone, You-know-who had poofed off to who knows where, leaving Matthew alone with his sinister Death Eaters. Some of the Death Eaters had quickly gone about taking Matthew to some pre-prepared place where he would no doubt be spending his days until he either managed to escape, or by chance that someone noticed he was gone, was rescued. Clustered around him were at least fifteen Death Eaters. Four of them were especially close to him, shadowing his every movement like highly-trained bodyguards, while the other eleven were randomly scattered some distance away, but they still stayed close in case their intervention was needed. The other Death Eaters that Canada had seen earlier had apparated away right after You-know-who's own departure.

"You know," said Matthew in his hushed voice, rolling his eyes to himself, but all the while being careful to act as subdued as possible to lessen the risk of provoking his captors. "I'd probably be able to move a lot faster if you untied my legs a bit more. I'm just hobbling and hopping my way over here..."

The Death Eater pressed his wand further into the small of Canada's back, so much so that the feeling of the wand's tip against his back had gone from tolerable to uncomfortable. "Shut your mouth and mind your tongue-" he said in a scowling voice, then stopped, as if something had just occurred to him. "Well, actually, the prisoner does have a point..."

I guess it's hard to find good help these days. These guys aren't too sharp... Canada's face brightened. Perhaps he could use these wizards' incompetence to his advantage, if the situation arose. Maybe his position wasn't as dire and as without hope as he had originally predicted.

With the ropes loosened a bit, Matthew's mobility increased exponentially. Moving forward with the one Death Eater at his back, two at his sides, and one leading the way in front, they went through the alleyway, stopping at a door that the Death Eater in front opened with a murmured word and a tap of his wand.

At that moment, taking a whiff of the gorey smell of dried blood and rotting flesh that wafted out of that door as it swung open, Canada decided that now was a good time to start fighting. It took the Death Eaters by surprise, since not a few seconds ago he had been submissive and meek, not causing any trouble. But right now, that docile passiveness had vanished, replaced by a desperate need to struggle. (1)

Back in Berlin, Canada had had difficulty with the two Death Eaters who had originally captured him. But although there had been less men there and then than there was here and now, Canada had been taken by surprise the last time, and had still been recovering from two grave wounds afflicted on him by the wizards. Although those two wounds were still very much present, rending open his skin and bleeding through his ropes and clothes at this very moment, he had already become more accustomed to them, and this time, he was the one taking the Death Eater's by surprise, not the other way around. There was still one severe impairment and disadvantage though... the numerous thick ropes that had tied his limbs together.

With a grunt Canada jerked back, shuffling into the four Death Eaters closest and making them stumble and yell. The other Death Eaters who had stood a ways off suddenly burst into action, surging forward to aid the four guards in subduing Canada. A stunning spell hit Canada in the chest. He flinched, but otherwise didn't react. A second one struck him in the head, making him reel, but still failing to stun him. Five more met his head almost at the same time, and this proved to be enough to finally bring Canada down enough so that he could be moved into the house.

When Canada's vision cleared, and he could make out his surroundings, the sight he was met with was not a pleasant one.

On the ground was a mound of unmoving, pale-faced people. Every last one of them was dead, without a doubt. Their bodies had already begun to rot a bit, (which explained the smell of rancid decay that permeated the room), although magical measures seemed to have been taken to preserve the bodies and slow the decomposition process. It was obvious from the smell that the bodies were many days old, and yet their flesh had yet to show major signs of deterioration, which must have been a sign of magical tampering. Discarded in the pile there was a woman with her hair tied in a bun, a man dressed in casual clothing, and a small girl and boy with empty, unseeing eyes.

Coiled next to the pile of bodies was the most massive snake Matthew had ever seen. In many ways, it resembled a python of sorts, but at the same time it was in a category all its own. Its scales were green, and formed diamond-like patterns, and its pale stoic eyes seemed intelligent, gazing at him levelly. Under different circumstances, Canada might have even found the snake to be a beautiful animal, despite its dead-eyes... but right now, all he saw was another demon whose sole purpose was to cause him unease.

The snake tore its eyes from Matthew and reared up, and in a way that almost seemed like a gentle caress, opened its deadly mouth around the small boy's head, encasing it as it prepared to swallow him whole...

With a shudder Matthew looked away and fervently wished that he was both blind and deaf. Now he understood why the bodies had been preserved. They were being used as that snake's source of sustenance.

Luckily, Canada didn't need to stay in that room for very much longer. The Death Eaters roughly relocated him upstairs to one of the next levels of the house, wherein was an empty, musty attic. There wasn't a piece of furniture to be seen, but against the walls chains with cuffs had been implemented. Canada had a terrible dread that these were for him... and this suspicion was confirmed when the Death Eaters began to shove him towards the wall, reaching for the cuffs.

Although Canada had recovered enough from the multiple stuns to the head enough to be able to see and be aware of what was going on, he was still a little out of it and whoozy, his limbs weak and slow-moving. Before he knew it, Canada had been shackled to the wall, the sharp metal rims of the cuffs digging and biting into his wrists.

For the first time, Canada saw the faint glow that surrounding the chains. It was so light that the glow was easy to miss, but still very much visible if you looked at it long enough. They must be magically reinforced, Canada realised, suspecting that it would be extremely difficult to break these chains. Who uses chains anymore anyways? It's so barbaric... medieval, even. Then again, these are wizards, and they haven't exactly caught up on the times...

For a while, they left him after that. Part of Canada almost wished they had stayed, because he felt so alone in the quiet, dusty attic... Only two remained behind, and they stood guard on the other side of the open door. Meanwhile, the gashes on Canada's shoulder and back were still bleeding through his suit, ruining it to the point where it would be impossible to repair and restore.

All Canada could do was stand and wait. The length of the chains wouldn't allow him to sit. Canada entertained himself by testing the strength of the chains and swearing under his breath and in his mind.

Maudit! Tabarnac. Marde. Osti de tabarnac de calice!(2) He repeated to himself, gradually growing more colourful and creative in his oaths.

Canada never would have thought that this could have happened to him. Just yesterday, it had been Halloween. He had been handing out candies and sweets to delighted and endearing children, dressed in all manner of charming costumes, who had come knocking at his door. But now, he was chained to a wall in an attic, with no idea of where he was or when he'd be able to escape.

For what felt like an age, Canada waited. His patience was eventually rewarded when the sound of a large group of people tramping up the stair-well reached his ears. He perked up, feelings of excitement and anxiety piercing him in the same instant.

A large procession of Death Eaters entered the room. To Canada's apprehension, He-who-must-not-be-named himself was at the front, having returned, and was the first to step through the doorway. He looked as frightening and unnatural as ever, with chalky skin, with thin diagonal slashes for nostrils, and reptilian eyes the colour of gore.

M-maple. Canada hadn't the slightest idea how You-who-who had come to look like that, but something told him he wouldn't want to find out.

At first, You-know-who didn't directly acknowledge Matthew, and was instead engaged in a conversation with one of his hooded-servants.

"Where are Robinson and Thompson? They have yet to make an appearance since I sent them out this morning."

"They have not returned my lord."

"...And what of Martin and Harris? They are missing as well."

"None of us know, my lord."

He-who-must-not-be-named sniffed scornfully at the lack of enlightenment his servants could bring to him. "I suspect that they failed in their mission, and like the cowards they are, fled to escape my wrath. Or else, they are dead, which would be far better for them. If I ever find one of those four again, knowing they deserted me, they will wish they had died during the mission..."

With painful slowness, He-who-must-not-be-named sauntered over to Matthew, in no hurry. When he was about a foot away, he stopped and drew out his wand, eyeing Matthew the whole while like he was some unusual specimen.

Canada didn't speak a word, just stared coldly, while You-know-who did the same.

Without any emotion, the dark wizard put his wand about two inches from Matthew's face. Before Canada could react, two fateful words slipped out of You-know-who's mouth.

"Avada Kedavra."

Darkness. Blackness. Emptiness. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel.

Nothingness.

And then, just as quickly as the sensation came, it left. With a gasp Canada was back in the room, You-know-who's red eyes still boring holes into his face. His ears were ringing painfully, and his head felt like it had been bashed into a brick wall. Nothing much had changed, so Canada inferred that he must have been gone for only a few seconds. There were a few differences, though. Canada was no longer standing, but had fallen over. The chains connected to the cuffs on his hands had prevented him from hitting the ground, so he simply hung limply by his arms, his knees an inch above the ground. You-know-who had crouched down so that he could remain eye-level with Matthew.

"Remarkable..." You-know-who grabbed Canada's chin with his long, boney, pale fingers, tilting it from side to side. His fingers felt cold to the touch, like a hungry blizzard that would devour all in its path if it had the chance. A fiery tongue of anger rose up within Canada's chest indignantly at the contact. He spat on the ground and glared, all fear consumed by his disgust.

"Feisty," observed the pale-faced wizard in a chuckling undertone, but he let go and stood nevertheless.

Without warning, Canada felt something entering his mind, like some kind of disease invading his very thoughts and memories. Instinctively, he recoiled from the mental contact, frantically setting up barriers to keep out the intruder. Canada was no expert in occlumency and legilimency, or in other words, the art of defending or penetrating minds, but he knew enough to know when someone was attacking his mind. He also knew that You-know-who had allegedly been known as a well-accomplished practitioner of occulemcy and legilimency; a very talented occlumens and legilimens.

Canada remembered something that Arthur had told him, many many years ago, when he had just been a colony... Although at the time, Canada hadn't really taken this advice seriously, right now it seemed to be of the utmost importance. Like a voice calling to him from the grave, he remembered those words: "If you find your mind under attack, first, you have to remember to stay calm and keep a muzzle on your emotions. Then, it's best to organize your thoughts and memories into bundles, keeping the least important or relevant ones near the front, like an impenetrable wall. Next, fortify and hide the memories most precious to you in the places where they will be the hardest to find. It also helps to focus on something completely random, so that whoever is trying to delve into your mind may only be able to glimpse whatever you are currently thinking about. Looking at something, counting to one-hundred, or chanting a poem to yourself helps." Canada vigilantly tried to follow and replicate these instructions, knowing they were his best chance at driving out You-know-who.

First, he forced himself to keep his emotions in-check, shrouding his initial panic under a quilt of serenity. Inspired by some of the alpine forests back home, he assembled and structured his thoughts and many memories into a circular-shaped forest, with smaller trees and shrubs near the outsides of his mental taiga, and with the "trees" growing larger and sturdier as they went farther from the edges. In the very epicenter of the forest was a monstrous maple tree, at least thrice the size of a regular maple tree. Its twisting and outstretched limbs branched out of its trunk, making a canopy of brilliantly coloured leaves. This tree was the heart of the forest, and it was where Canada had stored the memories he wanted to protect the most. With that done, Canada focused on a crack in the floor as an extra precaution, studying and tracing his eyes over its lines while quietly humming a song to himself.

In his mind, Canada could sense a brief flash of annoyance from You-know-who, who had not been expecting such resistance. Canada was putting up quite a fight, but he was at a serious disadvantage because he had no inkling of what exactly You-know-who was trying to gather from his mind. Therefore, he didn't know what memories he needed to protect the most.

You-know-who slashed a spear of thought into one of the "trees" closest to him, splitting open the bark like it had been hit with an axe. He continued to concentrate his efforts and energy on that single tree until it could take no more abuse, crashing to the ground and releasing a torrent of memories. Involuntarily, Canada groaned aloud in a hushed voice as the memories escaped from the felled tree.

"Alfwed, we'll get into so much twouble..."

"Don't you worry Mattie! The hewo will pwotect you!" A younger Alfred placed an arm over a small and uncomfortable Matthew's shoulders. He still didn't know Alfred very well, and Arthur had once told him that he was a bad influence... Still, he found the bright-eyed boy to be good company, a little rowdy, perhaps, but he always meant well.

"But if big bwother finds out you stole his undergarments and hung them in the tree..."

"ALFRED!" As soon as Matthew had said this, there was a yell. The twin boys began to tremble, hiding in some bushes and ducking down to avoid being seen. Alfred's face was a strange combination of shame, fear, and gleeful laughter. The bush was filled with his giggles.

"Now you've done it..." scolded Matthew. "That was a vewy mean thing to do."

Alfred looked at him, shaking his head sadly. "You're no fun Matt. You never want to do anything fun, just for once."

Matthew froze, considering this. The words hurt. That wasn't true, he liked having fun... just, not like this... right? ...He supposed, after Arthur had stolen him from Francis, he had been a bit more quiet, less daring, but he still knew how to have fun! He loved to have sleigh-rides over the frozen-over lakes and streams during the winter. The races were especially fun. He liked running through the woods, and enjoyed joining some voyageurs in their canoes as they paddled across the St. Lawrence River to transport and deliver furs. No, he would show Alfred. He was still fun!

You-know-who scoffed at this memory, tossing it aside like trash. He hadn't found what he was looking for, which comforted Matthew. Still, it wasn't a pleasant experience to have someone sift through your personal memories. Canada did his best to conceal that Alfred, Arthur, himself, and anyone else were nations, but he feared that eventually he would mess up.

"So," said He-who-must-not-be-named coolly. "You're not Alfred... It seems I was mistaken, you are both two separate people. It does not matter, though. You will do just as well. The both of you are extremely old, if that memory is accurate. I'm curious as to who this "Arthur" is, though..."

He plunged into Matthew's mind again, moving through the trees and cutting open the ones that caught his interest. Now, though, Canada had some inkling of what the dark wizard hoped to find. If he was "curious" about Arthur, then Canada would do all in his power to keep all he knew about England from him. Canada transferred almost all memories involved with England into the maple tree situated in the middle of his mind. Every time a tree collapsed, making memories stream out of its trunk, Canada would keen in aloud in a small voice. The deeper into the forest You-know-who went, the harder it became for him to chop down the trees, and the harder it became for him to press forward. Eventually, he was forced to stop and reluctantly withdraw from Canada's mind.

"I think it's time we tried something new, hm?" he said, turning and walking back to the watching group of Death Eaters. When he had reached them, the red-eyed wizard turned to face Matthew again. "Avada Kedavra on our prisoner." he ordered, without taking his gaze off of Canada. Canada paled, his eyes widening and moving side to side like a trapped rabbit, looking for some way to get away.

"Won't that kill him?"

You-know-who growled, whirling on the man who had spoken. "You dolt," he said, clasping his hands onto the front of the terrified man's robes. "Did you not just see me cast the killing curse on him not a few minutes ago? And yet he still lives. Did you honestly believe that any mortal man could have withstood me casting the killing curse on him, and lived to tell the tale?"

"Harry Potter did," pointed out the man, wincing and turning his head to the side.

A flash of green light later, and the Death Eater was dead, face-down on the floor.

"...Now," casually said the Dark Lord, as if nothing had happened. "Any more objections? Good."

Like a trained firing squad, the Death Eaters lined up and aimed their wands. Almost in unison they shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

Canada knew no more but darkness after that. Once in a while, he would resurface, only for another curse to hit him and knock him unconscious again. In those brief waking moments, he could only feel agony, nothing else.

...When will they stop? Make them stop!

As time dragged on, Canada's body started to numb. He began to feel less and less, which he was grateful for, as this meant he would experience less pain that way.

And then, it was all over. Matthew slumped in his chains, delirious and only half-aware. His head was limp, but in the back of his head he could hear people speaking...

"Why have you stopped, Cotton?" It was He-who-must-not-be-named's voice.

Another voice replied, one Canada vaguely recognised... It was one of the Death Eaters who had captured him in Berlin, the one who had been bitten by Kumachachacha. "...I'm sorry, sir. It's just... well, look at him. It's pathetic. He can barely breathe, and if you don't mind me saying, you won't get much more from him if you make us continue on like this..."

"Do I detect pity? Or perhaps, insubordination? A disobedient servant is a useless servant."

"N-no, sir..."

"...You are right this time, Cotton. But don't assume that you will be right a second time..."

Once again, for the third time, Matthew felt You-know-who break through his defenses and enter his mind. After the onslaught of killing curses, Matthew had been weakened, and his thoughts were all over the place. He faltered, but even in his daze, somehow was able to protect the memories he deemed most significant.

With frustration, You-know-who's presence left, and Matthew allowed himself a brief satisfied and victorious mental cheer of relief. He had held him off. ...But for how much longer?

Present Time...

Harry

The end of the day brought an unpleasant twist for Harry.

That day had been the day of the Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch game. Almost everyone in the school had come out to witness the event, students and Professors alike. Harry had even seen Kirkland in the stands, wearing no colours to identify or show his affiliaton to either team. A tucked away green tie was all that could be found on the Dark Wizard, which made Harry suspect that deep down Kirkland was probably rooting for Slytherin, but was doing his best to appear more-or-less neautral at the same time.

The game had had a rough start. Ron just couldn't seem to concentrate during the entire thing. Gryffnidor fans had been praying that the Keeper would be able to get his act together quickly, while the Slytherins had begun to jeer and taunt Ron further by singing a rude song dubbed by the school as "Weasley is our King". This mockery had severely diminished Ron's remaining shreds of self-confidence. Luckily, Harry had been able to catch the snitch in time, thus saving Gryffindor the game.

The elation of victory had been tarnished and ruined when Crabbe had decided to aim a bludger at Harry right after the conclusion of the game, and then as if that hadn't been enough spoil-sport Malfoy had decided it was a good time to start insulting Harry and the twins' families. Harry could usually keep his anger under check when verbally attacked by Malfoy, never letting his resentment control him to the point of retaliating with physichal violence. After the game, though, something inside of Harry had just snapped, and he and George had lashed out at Malfoy. Fred probably would have given Malfoy a few good-sized bruises as well, but the rest of the Quidditch team had been able to restrain him.

This action had earned George, Harry, and even Fred a life-time ban from Quidditch courtesy of Dolores Dumbridge herself, as well as having their brooms confiscated and shackled to the walls down in the dungeons.

The twins had been very mopey after this. George had been the worst of the two, kicking at the ground and growling threats and curses under his breath. Fred had done his best to cheer up his brother, despite his own unhappiness.

"At least McGonagall let us off easy after that Halloween fiasco," said Fred to his twin.

"That was only because she didn't have any proof that that was our fault," grumbled George. "And now look at us. Banned for life from Quidditch... and you didn't even do anything to deserve that," George jabbed a finger at Fred.

Fred suddenly broke into an unexpected grin. "Ah, but remember oh dear brother of mine... at least we won't have to deal with this for much longer..."

George's face brightened considerably at this. "Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten our little plan... I'm thinking that we should wait at least a few more months and then ditch this place for good... Blimey, Mom is going to kill us..."

Harry had watched the twin's exchange with interest, but had been unable to decipher the meaning of what they had been discussing.

In short, it had not been a good day. Quidditch was Harry's favourite past-time, and ever since he had discovered the sport during his first year, it had consumed his thoughts and free-time. Now, thanks to Umbridge, he may never play it again.

More than that, Harry was feeling concerned for Ron. He had spent a good while just wandering around outside, wanting to be along and likely feeling shame, guilt, and disappointment in himself for his performance during the game and all the goals he had let in. Harry just knew that if Ron could only gain some self-esteem, he would perform better in front of the school. Harry had seen with his own eyes the talent that Ron displayed when he was feeling confident with himself.

Just when Harry was about ready to completely abandon himself to his melancholy and the bitterness he was feeling towards Umbridge, Hermione said something that lifted his spirits.

"I know something that may cheer you both up," she said, her face to a window in the Gryffindor tower common room.

"And what in the world is that?" asked Harry gloomily, Ron stared unblinkingly into the distance with dead eyes.

"There's lights in Hagrid's hut. I think he's back."

England

It was past dusk. The sun already gone to sleep leaving only dim hints of light behind; remnants of its kiss to the earth. The clouds had parted to reveal the moon, which cast a pale glow on all it touched. Tonight the air was surprisingly still. Nothing moved and there were no sounds to be heard. Silent snow blanketed the landscape, and England's breath came out like mist.

Out in the cool night air, England stroked the necks of one of the school's recently acquired pegasi; the female, to be exact. Weeks ago he had received custody of the two young winged horses that he had discovered from an add in the daily prophet, that had had now been deposited into the care of the school. One of the yearlings was a colt, and the other a filly that was not yet a mare. The male's breed was Granian, and like the other members of it's breed, was gray-coated and extremely swift-footed. The filly was a chestnut Aethonan, and was extremely even-tempered, trusting, and gentle, while the Granian was more frisky and skittish, often shying away from England's touch.

Right now the Granian was standing far off to the side of the pasture that England had constructed with his own hands in preparation for the arrival of the two winged equines. With its nose in the air and it's wings slightly unfolded, the stormy-gray colt refused to look at England and the Aethonan filly, who was happily allowing England to lay his hands on her.

England had yet to use the two horses in one of his lessons, as these past few weeks he had been simply trying to get them acquainted and accustomed to him and their new home. It would be dangerous to allow even some of his most experienced students to approach the animals until they were a little more gentled. The Aethonan had quickly taken a liking to England, and England was confident she wouldn't hurt a fly (although it was hard to tell what a horse would do sometimes. They could be unpredictable...). The Granian, on the other hand, worried Britain...

The two pegasi pricked their ears and turned their heads to the Forbidden Forest, their ears erect and facing forward. England heard the snap of a twig, and he followed the example of the winged horses.

Out of the trees stumbled a hulking figure, with hair surrounding it's face and feet the size of small tree-trunks. The darkness concealed the towering man for a time, before England could finally make out his features. Surrounding his head like a halo was a grizzly beard of black and tangled hair. He must have been at least eleven feet tall, and tumbling over his shoulders and to the ground was a monstrous overcoat made of mole-skin, that contained many bulging pockets full of who-knows-what. Overtop the mole-skin coat was a travelling cloak, black in colour.

Despite having never met the man, (England had a sneaking thought he was half giant), England had heard enough about him to know that this could only be one person. Rubeus Hagrid. The Game Keeper of Hogwarts.

A polite smile graced England's face, although he still felt uneasy and on guard. "You must be Hagrid," he greeted pleasantly. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, the Assistant Professor and Care for Magical Creatures sub. It's good to see you made it back, safe and sound..."

Hagrid paused at the introduction, jerking slightly in surprise. "Um... nice ter meet ya um, Kirkland..." His voice was rough and gruff, but innocent and kind. His dark eyes roved over the two pegasi. "Nice lookin' beasts ya 'ave 'ere." he complimented.

England allowed himself another smile. "I'll have to agree with you, though they aren't mine, but the school's. What I'm more impressed with are the school's Threstrals." Even in the darkness, England could see the limp that plagued the bearded man, and the dried blood that coated his face and hair. Curiosity was aroused inside England as he wondered at where the large Professor could have been or what he had been doing. Nevertheless, England dared not confront or question the tall part-giant, as it was none of his business.

"We'll 'ave ter talk sum more later. It was good ter meet ya, 'rthur." Britain inclined his head in agreement, taking a liking to Rubeus Hagrid, though they had only exchanged a few mere sentences and courtesies to each other.

"I'd like that," said Arthur honestly. "I think I'll take my leave, now..."

Harry

Under the cover of both darkness and his father's invisibility cloak, Harry and his friends quickly picked their way down from the castle to Hagrid's humble home. Despite the trio's impatience to speak to Hagrid, they made sure to not make too much noise, feeling paranoid even when confronted with the unlikelihood that anyone would spy them at this time of day, when all were supposed to be inside the castle.

When they came to the door, Harry stretched forth his hand and knocked. Immediately a familiar and obnoxious yapping sound filtered through the door. It was the sound of Fang's barking.

"Hagrid, let us in! It's us!" said Harry, his teeth chattering from the cold.

"Shoulda known!" Though Hagrid's voice sounded exasperated, Harry could tell that Hagrid was actually delighted that they had come to welcome him. Just hearing the sound of his dear friend, returned at last, was enough to make Harry's mood grow warm and buoyant. It was an even greater feeling to see Hagrid when the door flew open. However, this initial joy was quickly replaced by shock and horror when Harry fully saw the state that Hagrid was in...

Hagrid's hair was thoroughly covered in blood, that seemed to have dried up into a dark red crust some time ago. He had a black eye... no, that couldn't even be classified as a "black eye". His left eye was so bruised, that it has swollen to a monstrous size over top the eyeball so that only a silver of Hagrid's eye was actually visible. Various cuts and bruises adorned his hands and face, and Harry had a feeling that more could be found beneath his shell of clothing.

Hermione let out an appalled scream, while Ron and Harry simply gaped.

"Hush! It's nuthin'! Merlin, you'll wake up the entire school ya will," said Hagrid, silencing Hermione.

Too stunned to speak, the three Gryffindors clustered inside Hagrid's house, their eyes never leaving their old friend's mutilated and abused face. As the door closed behind them, Harry took of the invisibility cloak, relishing in the warmth of Hagrid's roaring fireplace, but too worried for Hagrid to fully appreciate the heat.

Hermione blinked, like she was coming out of a dazed trance. "Oh, Hagrid..." she said in a dismayed voice.

"What happened to you?" asked Harry, horrified.

"Told ya, nuthin'," Hagrid firmly brushed off their concern, grabbing his copper kettle and preparing to serve some tea as if nothing was wrong... But of course, there was something very wrong, and Harry was determined to find out what had happened.

"You think that that," Ron pointed a trembling finger at some of Hagrid's more notable and grotesque injuries. "Is nothing?!"

Wringing her hands uncomfortably, Hermione said, "You should be in the Hospital Wing-"

"Would you three stop actin' like a bunch of mother 'ens? I'm fine!"

Ron rose up with indignation. "Like hell!" Despite Ron's display of passion, Hagrid didn't even flinch.

No matter what they tried, the Gryffindors couldn't get Hagrid to tell them what had happened. He evaded their questions without any sign of letting up, and unwillingly Harry felt admiration rise up in him at Hagrid's strong will. They did manage to gather that Hagrid had been on a diplomatic mission for the Order of the Phoenix, and had gone to try and make ties and relations with the Giants before Voldemort got a chance. Unfortunately, the mission had been a failure. The trio suspected that Hagrid's state must have caused by the Giants, but Hagrid wouldn't confirm this. The four of them talked to each other, catching up on what they had missed. Harry told Hagrid about how he and Dudley had been attacked by Dementors during the summer, and Hagrid recounted to them his visit to the Giants in the mountains, (while still keeping to himself how he had ended up so beaten and bruised). Harry felt a great weight of disappointment that Hagrid hadn't managed to convince any Giants to join Dumbledore's cause, and that Voldemort's Death Eaters had been more successful in their labours to gain the Giants' allegiance.

"I met me substitute, that Kirkland fellow." commented Hagrid, when there was nothing else to say. "'Seemed like an okay bloke."

At the mention of Kirkland, Harry's mind wandered back to last night, when he and the other DA members had been caught in the act of sneaking back to their common rooms after a meeting. The only explanation Harry could think of for why Kirkland hadn't told Umbridge yet, was that Kirkland and the other Professors liked Umbridge just as much as most of the students did. In other words, Kirkland's fondness for Umbridge was non-existent. Still, Harry couldn't trust Kirkland, knowing what he was...

"Hagrid," said Hermione, shifting in her chair. "About Kirkland... Harry, Ron and I think he's-"

At the door there was a sudden outburst of knocking. Harry could see the shadowy squat form of a person through the curtains.

"It's her!" Hermione said. Harry and Ron knew who Hermione was referring to... The figure outside could only be Umbridge herself.

Fast as deer, Hagrid, Harry, Ron, and Hermione worked to hide their mugs and to erase any evidence of them being there. Harry threw the invisibility cloak over the three of them. They huddled in the corner under the cover of the cloak, not daring to make a sound.

When Hagrid opened the door, Umbridge rudely invited herself in, pushing past the large man and walking around to critically examine his humble livings. When Fang tried to lick her, she fended off the large black dog off with her handbag.

"Erm, I don't mean ter be rude," confusedly said Hagrid as he watched her. "But who the ruddy hell are you?"

She didn't pause. "My name is Dolores Umbridge," she said in a slow and loud voice, like she was talking to someone who barely spoke English.

"Don' you work in the Ministry?"

"I did. Now I am the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher-"

"That's mighty brave of yeh-"

"-And the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts."

"...Wha's that?"

Harry watched under the invisibility cloak as Umbridge questioned Hagrid. She was acting towards him in an extremely degrading manner, and it was all Harry could do to not rush out of the cloak and give her a piece of his mind.

Instead of answering Hagrid, Umbridge acted as if he hadn't even spoken. "I heard voices, and there are three pairs of foot-prints leading to your cabin, and none going back to the castle." she said in a calm, but dangerous voice.

"Well... I don' know why that'd be..."

Umbridge searched and searched, while Harry and his friends edgily crept farther into the corner that was their place of hiding. "How did you sustain those injuries?" she asked, still unceasingly inspecting everything in her sight.

"I tripped."

"You tripped?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow and checking underneath Hagrid's bed.

"Ah, y-yes-"

"Where have you been?" Umbridge said scrutinizingly, her questions becoming increasingly more direct and bold.

"...'Been away for me health."

Umbridge gave Hagrid's swollen eye and the many bruises and cuts that disfigured his face a look-over. "Your health...I see..."

"Yeah, bit o' fresh air, yeh know-"

"Oh yes, I understand. As gamekeeper fresh air must be very difficult to come by," said Umbridge in her false-sweet voice. Hagrid flushed and stuttered.

"Well... change o' scene..."

"Mountain scenery?"

She knows, thought Harry despairingly, wishing there was some way he could help Hagrid get out of this one.

It was clear to Harry that Hagrid's mind was working hard and thinking fast to remedy his situation and to think of a good excuse. "Mountains? Nope. South o' France fer me. Bit o' sun..."

"Really? You don't have much of a tan."

"I 'ave sensitive skin..."

Umbridge gave Hagrid a cold look, but didn't inquire any further, much to Harry's relief. "...I shall, of course, be informing the Minster of your late return. You also ought to expect to see me again in one of your classes, as it is my duty as the High Inquisitor to inspect the other Professors to ensure that they are... up to standard. The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers... I daresay I will see you again... soon. Good night, Hagrid." With these soft parting words, Umbridge turned on her heels and walked out into the cold night.

Sealand

Sealand was home, but despite the comforting feel of security that his environment gave him, he had not as of yet completely calmed himself down since the events of Berlin. Two days had gone by, and he still couldn't shake off a horrible feeling...

Peter had always been a very innocent child. Go-lucky and more-or-less optimistic, he had always been able to recover from any trial that came his way, bouncing back and returning to his cheerful and energetic self... but not this time.

Never before had he been attacked like that. And now, Canada was gone, because of him. Sealand didn't even know him well, but he had put himself at risk to ensure that Sealand would be able to evade those two men.

Maybe if I'd moved a little faster...

With an outburst of air escaping from his mouth, Sealand moodily put his hands in his pockets. His right hand curled around something, and when he closed his hand around it and pulled the item out of his pocket, it was revealed to be a handful of crumpled papers.

Sealand moved his head to the side, tilting it quizzically. He remembered these. After the incident in the alley way, one of the cloaked men had dropped these documents while engaged with Canada. Sealand had snatched them up without a thought and ran off. He had clutched the papers like a life-line until he had reached the conference room. After that, Sealand remembered stuffing them in the pockets of his capris. In the heat of the moment, Sealand had completely forgotten that he had even had them in his possesion...

Driven by curiosity, Sealand decided that now was a good time to examine these papers. There was nothing better for him to do anyways (besides repairing the leaks, but Sealand was growing tired of that...) With careful fingers Sealand pried a single sheet of paper away from the crumpled bundle. He straightened out the page, and began to read the words printed on its surface. What Sealand discovered shocked him to the core.

The documents he held were all chock-full of descriptions, and there were even a few photos enclosed as well, although those seemed more scarce. The descriptions and pictures were ones that Sealand recognised, too...

"...Slightly-curly hair varying from light brown to dirty-blond, thick eyebrows, green eyes..."

...New Zealand.

"...Short brown hair, light green-hazel eyes, thick eyebrows, may be seen with a koala... "

...Australia.

"...Long hair, dark brown, often in pig-tails. Brown eyes and tan-skin..."

...Seychelles.

"...Gold-blond hair, out of-place lock of hair that stands up, blue eyes, often said to be wearing a bomber-jacket..."

...America.

The situation was far worse than anyone of them could've imagined. The countries' identities had been compromised to the point that some of their photos and descriptions had been leaked. At least nothing in the papers seemed to point to them knowing about them being anthropomorphic nations, so that probably remained a secret...

Throughout history, certain curious individuals and historians had recorded what they could about the nations, not knowing what exactly they were, but still intrigued by how such similar people could crop up in different points in time, almost as if they were a single entity, without signs of aging. Governments had done their best to erase all traces of the countries' existence. They had paid people to keep quiet, burned photos and books, and yet, information about the nations still persisted and remained... if one knew where to look.

Sealand was astonished and amazed to find that someone had dug up enough of this information to compile these documents. They had been quite thorough in their research, but they still lacked quite a few things...

One thing was certain, and that was that Sealand needed to show someone this. This was too big to keep to himself...

America

After the meeting in Berlin, Alfred's boss had insisted that he come home straight to the capital. America would have preferred to stay in Berlin a bit longer to look for Matthew, but when your boss tells you something, it's very hard to ignore... Thus, Alfred was now staying in his house in Oregon. At first, Alfred's boss had urged him to come stay in his other house in Washington, where he would be "safer", but due to Alfred's arguments had allowed him to stay in Oregon. Besides, his house in Oregon was far more secluded and secure than his house in Washington. It was actually more of an elaborate cabin than a "house", per se.

Only two days later did it occur to America that someone hadn't told Iggy what had happened. He deserved to know, just like everyone else. This affected everyone. The fact that a nation had been whisked away during a meeting was extremely alarming. Plus, England had raised Canada.

Alfred hated having to use birds to communicate by letter. It was so... old-fashioned. Not to mention, totally uncool. America knew that Iggy was old, but jeez, this was taking it a little far... Still, in this case, it was necessary.

Once Alfred had written a letter that explained the situation as gently as possible, he called his eagle Liberty over to attach the letter to her leg. He knew this was going to be a long flight for her, across the ocean and Europe. Still, Liberty was no ordinary eagle, just as wizards' owls were always something more than an average owl.

Liberty gave America a look of reproach once he had firmly tied to letter to her left leg. She hated delivering letters almost as much as Alfred disliked mailing them. She would have much rather liked to spend her time hunting for all manner of rodents and fish.

"I'm sorry gal. Please, for me?" America pleaded, putting a finger under her beak. She snapped at it irritably, drawing a bit of blood.

"Ouch!" said Alfred, bringing his maimed finger up to his lips to suck on it. "Bad bird!"

With a self-satisfied flutter of her massive wings, the female eagle took off through Alfred's window. The wind lifted her up, higher and higher into the sky, where she glided over the tree-tops of Sun Pass forest. America watched her leave, awed by the sight.

/

/

Liberty soared, thermals of warm air rising up beneath her wings allowing her to glide with ease and without the constant flapping her wings that would eventually bring her to the point of exhaustion.

She flew over a lake, and her keen eyes caught sight of the silvery-sleek form of a trout dancing just beneath the surface. Without thinking, she dove down, tucking her wings close to her sides and raking her talons forward. She snatched up the squirming and slippery fish with a splash of water before she began to rise up again, perching in a nearby pine tree to eat the kill and to preen herself. Only after the fish was nothing more than a pile of bones did she notice that the uncomfortable letter tied around her left leg was missing. She swung her sharply-shaped head from side-to-side, and eventually spotted the letter floating in the lake, completely soaked through. Apparently, the letter had been too loosely attached to withstand that dive.

...Whoops.

Author's Note:

Review please! They make me write better and faster :3

Phew! That was a long chapter. Sorry it took so long to update. There weren't as many reviews for a while, I've been busy, and this chapter was a WHOPPER to finish.

Everyone was going, "OMGOSH WHAT HAPPENED TO MATTHEW WE MUST KNOW D:", so, now you know! :3 Sorry that there wasn't as much England in this one. They'll be a lot more of him next chapter. Also, sorry that this is just another filler.

Another sorry to the fact that I probably made a lot of mistakes here. Sorreh ^^;

(1) Matthew be like: Oh hellz no I ain't going in dar, ain't nobody got time fo that!-*SHOTREPEATEDLY* ^^;

(2) Here's sum Canadian French profanity for you... it probably won't make much sense to any France-French speakers (things are spelt a little differently in Quebec sometimes, and a lot of the swears are religiously-centered.). Marde=crap, Maudit=Damn. Tabarnac is extremely hard to translate and explain, because its meaning... is just... kinda imbeded in the language. XDD I guess its closest English equivelant is the F-word, but even that is stretching it, because it doesn't mean the same thing. I am in no ways a fluent French-Canadian speaker... at ALL. But I have a friend who is from Quebec, and lived for two years as a kid in Paris. She's back in Quebec now, but before she left, just to playfully bug her, I learned some... profanity... :3 hehe...