CHAPTER 2: NOCTURNE

Even if he'd turned down the job, England knew that Albus was right; dark times were coming. Voldemort had far more flaws than virtues, but one of the few he possessed was determination. He would never give up something as important as regaining his own body after one failed attempt. Knowing him, he'd probably blame it all on Quirrell and try to find a worthier servant. Really, that man (if he could still really be called a man) was the most narcissistic being England had ever encountered, and that list included Prussia.

So, he was preparing. He'd been rather lax about the whole magic thing over the last twelve years, and most of his best weapons were in a rather bad state of disrepair. Many of them were beyond the ken of mortals and would require Norway and Romania's help to fix, but there were a few that could be fixed by wizard specialists. And since the nature of those objects would most likely get him sent to Azkaban just for possessing them, there was only one place to go.

Mr. Borgin looked up from a very thick, very dusty, very menacing-looking book when the bell at the door tinkled. He closed the book and put on a large, at least partially genuine smile. "Ah, Mr. Kirkland, so nice to see you again. I must say, you are looking as well as ever. Are you here to buy today?"

England shook his head. The nice thing about Knockturn Alley, he'd found, was that no one asked questions about why he never seemed to age. He was pretty sure most of them assumed he'd discovered some very Dark Art that allowed him to maintain the appearance of youth. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Borgin. I have certain… objects… that require repairing."

Mr. Borgin's smile became just the slightest bit more genuine as England slid a list over the counter. He always liked business that ended with him getting richer. He put a pair of glasses on his nose and began reading it. "Hmm… yes, I can see why you would have brought this to me… some of these items are rather… suspicious." His eyes paused over the last item on the list. "Busby's Chair?"

England nodded. "Yes. It's been broken for about fifty years. Someone tried to fix it with Spellotape, believe it or not." There were two reasons England didn't admit he'd been the one to do so; One, it had been fifty years ago, and he didn't want to bring too much attention to his inexplicable youth. Two, it had been a really stupid idea and he wanted to distance himself from it.

Mr. Borgin shook his head in disgust. "A priceless, ancient Dark artifact and they try to fix it with Spellotape. From what I've heard of it, it's supposed to be extremely resilient. How exactly did it get broken?"

"It encountered something far, far more evil and dark than itself and couldn't take it." It was close enough to the truth. The man wouldn't believe someone sat in it and it exploded, now was he? Damn that Russia…

Mr. Borgin folded up the list and slipped it into his pocket. "I'm sure you realize how extremely rare most of these items are – some, like the chair, are one of a kind. I'll have to do some research, but I'm sure I'll be able to repair them. For the right price, of course."

England tried not to visibly grit his teeth. His savings would probably receive quite the dent from this, but he'd learned the hard way how impossible it was to bargain with Mr. Borgin. "Of course. I'll send them to you next week, then?"

Mr. Borgin nodded. "Yes, yes, that should be fine. I'll send a letter – and the final cost – when the repairs are done."

England bid his farewells to Mr. Borgin and left the shop. Well, that was one load off his mind. He started slowly making his way towards Diagon Alley. While he was here, he needed to pick up America' and that other one's school supplies. Before that, however, he'd replenish his stock of potion ingredients and spell components that you'd never find in Diagon Alley, as well as catch up on recent gossip. The latter goal was rather hit-and-miss. The younger witches and wizards or those who had obviously started frequenting this place only recently were suspicious and close-mouthed. The older ones, however, greeted him like an old friend and were happy to talk. He'd been an institution of the place back in the day. From them, he learned that the Ministry had been performing more raids recently, and Mr. Borgin was facing a deluge of ex-Death Eaters trying to sell any incriminating objects. Many of the people he talked to had heard some version of the events at Hogwarts at the end of the last term. As an elderly witch babbled to him about how an apparition of Voldemort had risen from the dust that was all that remained of Quirrell and tried to kill Harry, England marvelled at how vastly different truth and rumour could be.

Most worryingly of all, he heard rumours that something big was happening at Hogwarts this year. England would have put it down to the events of last year, but there were too many people saying it, and they seemed too confident. Maybe he should have taken that job… then he imagined trying to teach a class of twelve-year-old Gryffindors that included America and any doubt in his decision vanished.

He was just talking with an aged witch selling human fingernails when she leaned over to a black-haired boy who looked far too young to be here without supervision and hissed, "Not lost are you, my dear?"

England was just about to chastise her for being unnecessarily creepy when the boy whirled around and started backing away. Brilliant green eyes looked at the world behind broken glasses, and the messy black hair didn't quite cover the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He was covered in soot and looked very lost and frightened. "I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just-"

England stepped toward him, trying to seem just the right mix of stern and unintimidating. He didn't want to scare him off, but the kid seemed like he needed an adult at the moment. "Harry? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

Harry Potter – for it was undoubtedly him – blinked at him once, then seemed to almost crumple with relief. "Mr. Kirkland! I was lost… Floo powder…"

Ah. That explained it. Having been raised by Muggles, he'd probably never used Floo powder before and gotten lost. "Well, at least you didn't get too far from your destination." He placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and said to the witch, "My apologies, Griselda, but I need to escort this boy to Diagon Alley. We'll have to catch up some other time."

The witch waved. "All right, Arthur. See you again soon!" With a cackle she wandered away.

It was a short walk to Diagon Alley, thankfully. Once they were in the sunlight England gave Harry a good look. He was looking a bit pale, and he was still covered in soot, but he didn't seem to be injured at all. He was looking much calmer now that he was in familiar territory. England released his grip on the boy's shoulder and brushed some soot off. "You look quite the mess, but I'm sure you'll be fine. For future reference, you should really stay out of Knockturn Alley. It's not a place for someone like you." Yes, considering the number of Voldemort supporters skulking about the place Harry was lucky to be unhurt.

"I realised that," said Harry. Now that he'd calmed down a bit, it seemed he'd regained his powers of sarcasm. "I told you, I was lost – what were you doing down there, anyway?"

England tried not to look guilty. "Just catching up with some old friends." He quickly changed the subject. "You didn't come here on your own, surely."

"I'm staying with the Weasleys, but we got separated," Harry explained. England could tell from his tone that he'd noticed the sudden change in subject. "I've got to go and find them…"

"Well, I'm certainly not leaving you unsupervised after that little incident," said England. "Let's go." They set off together down the street.

"So, how are Alfred and… er… Matthew?" asked Harry. "They're on their own right now, right?"

Oh, yes. This. England would have to try and seem like an at least somewhat responsible guardian, but he didn't want to outright lie, either. This kid was too curious for his own good. "They can take care of themselves," he said. "And if they need help, they have people they can ask." It was close enough to the truth.

Harry didn't seem entirely reassured. "And you're fine leaving them on their own? You don't miss them at all?"

Tch, this kid didn't know when to give up, did he? Maybe England should have left him to find the Weasleys on his own. "As I said, they can take care of themselves. If I ever feel the need to talk to them," Which I almost never do, he thought to himself, but saying that aloud would make him sound like a truly horrible caretaker. "They're just a phone-call away. Phones are much more convenient than letters, don't you find?"

Harry nodded. "It is much faster, and you don't have to worry about it getting intercepted by mad house-elves."

"Alfred mentioned something about that. Care to tell me the whole story?"

And so Harry told him all about how Dobby the house-elf had stopped all his mail in order to try and get him to stop going to Hogwarts. Two things about the story disturbed England. One, if even a house-elf was thinking something was going to happen at Hogwarts this year, Harry was in deep trouble. Two, the Dursleys seemed to be some of the worst caretakers England had ever heard of. Really, locking their nephew in his room, only letting him out to use the bathroom, and just barely giving him enough food to live? By comparison, England, America and Canada must look like the perfect family unit.

When he finished the story Harry scratched his nose, which brought England's attention to his broken glasses. "I can fix those," he said, pointing to them. Harry handed them over, and with a tap from his wand (his proper wizarding one, not the one with a star on the end) they were repaired. He handed them back and Harry put them on, blinking a few times as he obviously got used to being able to see properly again.

"Thank you," he said.

England didn't get the chance to say 'You're welcome', because a young female voice called out, "Harry! Harry! Over here!"

They both looked towards the source and found it in a young girl with extremely bushy brown hair standing at the top of the white steps to Gringotts, waving at them. England recognized her as Hermione Granger, the brightest witch in her year, and perhaps the whole of the student body of Hogwarts. She ran over to them and started speaking rapidly. "Where did all that soot come from? Hello, Mr. Kirkland… Oh, it's wonderful to see you again, Harry… Are you two coming into Gringotts?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

Spotting a small red-haired horde advancing towards them, England said, "I doubt you'll have to wait long." Harry and Hermione looked around and spotted them as well.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far…" He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic – she's coming now."

England took a step away from the group and said to Harry, "Well, since you seem to have found your chaperones, I'll take my leave. Take care, Harry." He walked into the crowd, hoping very much that he'd completely disappeared into it. He'd never admit it aloud, but England always liked to make a dramatic exit.

A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I can't really think of anything to say about this chapter, so I'll just answer questions in reviews! There are two this time, both from Berlin, who wanted to know if I was a GerIta (Germany/Italy) shipper. And the answer is YES! I'm a supporter of the 'Germany is an amnesiac Holy Rome' theory as well, so I feel bad about shipping them with anyone but each other. Even if neither one of them realizes, Holy Rome came back to Italy... GAH ALL THE FEEEELZ! The other question Berlin asked was whether Harry or Hermione will find out about America and Canada first. The answer is thus; I don't know. I'm just making this up as I go along, really. I have some ideas, but they're subject to change. Berlin, you are great, have a hug. \(^-^)/ NEXT CHAPTER: Harry goes to Flourish and Blotts and wonders about Mr. Kirkland, Alfred and Matthew. See you all next time!