Title: the fine print
Summary: It was either pure genius, or sheer stupidity. Judging from the fake moustache and high explosives, England was leaning toward the latter.
Pairing: America/England.
Words: 4, 685
Warnings: None, OH! A few expletives but, it's the interwebs right? And a spoiler for the last HP book, but hey, if you don't know that one then where have you been. Seriously?
A/N: Oh man, I am stunned no one's done this already~ XD

"This is lame."

"Shut up." England hissed, nestling his head further into the warmth of his red and yellow scarf, the chilly night air nipping his frozen ears. Around them people began to mimic his actions, the previous enthusiasm making way for the brief lull of shivering.

"It's boring," America whined, elbowing the elder nation sharply in the spine, "and cold. It's July, why is it cold?" England tried to pull his head into his torso, in failing that he resorted to glaring angrily at the wall. It served a preferable alternative to the current company, who had now begun poking him enthusiastically in the back of the head.

"Iggy, Iggy, Igg-y~!" Arthur counted to ten, exhaled noisily through his nose before turning to face his former colony, narrowly avoiding having his eye gauged out.

"...yes?" He enquired through gritted teeth, after ensuring both his eyeballs were securely within their sockets.

"I'm bored."

"Good for you." England grumbled sticking his hands into his pockets and spinning back round to face the group in front. They were enthusiastically discussing their theories for the next instalment, wizard hats bobbing as they talked. England wanted to join in but feared leaving the American to his own deadly devices.

"Entertain me!" America persisted, prodding the elder sharply between the shoulder blades. England growled a curse and span back round, scarf flying with the movement.

"How old are you? Five?"

"Two hundred and-"

"Shut up!" England snarled, fisting his numbing hands into fists in his coat pockets. America pouted, folding his arms tightly across his chest and snorting indignantly.

"Well, you asked." He mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately England had the parental gift of super hearing and promptly fired back, twisting his head round to glare at the bane of his existence.

"It was rhetorical!"

America sputtered a noise of resentment; "how was I supposed to know?" He protested. His arms flung skyward with the sheer momentum of his question, nearly knocking a death eater mask flying off a fan behind him in the process. England considered fighting back but the heated glares and hissed murmurs in their direction made him reconsider the tactic.

"...whatever." He dismissed haughtily, sticking his nose proudly skyward.

"Eurgh, you're like...older than Jesus, please don't say whatever." America shuddered, grimacing slightly at the thought. England was frumpy, England was old, England did not say things like 'whatever' – that would be like Germany using acronyms such as 'lol'.

He shuddered again; England gave him a very worried look, and by that he was probably concerned for the safety of his place in line rather than America's sanity.

"What's wrong with you?" He grumbled, an irritated scowl creasing his features.

"Over exposure to British-ness, it makes me queasy." England scoffed; rolling his eyes to the heavens (which were currently covered with cloud) yet made no comment, choosing instead to complain in mumbled curses to his Gryffindor scarf. Which, really, was no fun for America, what kind of entertainment was it insulting England if he didn't even bother fighting back?

Huffing America checked his watch; 10:59. They'd already been stood in the line for hours now, with an hour left to go before the queue even started moving.

"This is boring." He bemoaned once more. England pretended to be interested on the lines in the pavement, trying fruitlessly to drown out the voice of the other nation. Despite his lack of response America ploughed on, "really dull, like, if boring ever got married to dull this would be their estranged offspring called tedious and-"

"I get it!" England snapped. His hands curled into the perfect shape for fastening round America's throat as he faced the irritation once more, "it's boring! You're finding this all rather monotonous! Well, I happen to like queuing! In fact...I LOVE it! So if you really must insist on-"

"Um, excuse me-" England broke off from his rant, America backed half way onto the street by this point, and turned to find a rather bashful young witch (Hufflepuff, he should have guessed) tapping him on the shoulder. "Um, I was just wondering, we – I mean, we were just wondering if you could keep it down a bit?"

England looked past the girl to the rest of the crowd, all of them sharing the same condescending look of understanding. Colour slowly began its treacherous march up his neck, spreading across his cheeks. Fighting back the urge to splutter England spat out a hasty apology before returning to his place in line, ears burning red in mortification.

"This is your fault." He managed to hiss round a mouthful of scarf. America, who was still at least a metre away from the crazed nation blinked owlishly.

"How?"

"If you weren't here I'd never behave so childishly." England insisted in a hurried whisper, America rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah, because with people like France and your brother's you're the image of collected and mature," England spluttered something unknown in any language before rounding on the taller blond once more.

"THOSE EXAMPLES ARE-"

"Ssh!"

"Those examples," England repeated in a barely restrained hiss, fists trembling with suppressed rage by his sides; "are extreme cases. Anyone else-"

"Prussia." England faltered mid-spiel, leaning back and fumbling for all but a few seconds.

"Um, well, he doesn't cou-"

"Denmark."

"Yes, well, that was a long time ago and-"

"Russia."

"...I-well-he..." England paused, his fingers freezing from their entwined dance routine and hastily getting stuffed back into his baggy coat pockets, "...fuck off." He sniffed, spinning on his heel in a complete 180 so he ended up facing the wall, looking completely ridiculous in America's awesome opinion.

"Tch, way to win an argument Iggy~"

"We weren't arguing." England insisted, tossing the remark back over his shoulder.

America rolled his eyes – he seemed to be picking the habit up off England – before replying; "Um, yes we were." He added a well deserved 'duh' –complete with melodramatic facial expression – on the end.

"No," England insisted, speaking directly to the brick wall and earning several concerned whispers from those in the surrounding area, "we were having a discussion which I terminated, I am far too mature to resort to bickering with you." He nodded, in England's head this all made perfect sense.

(Of course in England's head unicorns were real and his food was delicious, a dark and terrifying place indeed.)

"We were arguing! You lost and now you're sulking!"

"I do not sulk!" The amount of loathing England could fit into a one syllable word was an impressive feat indeed. The brick wall cowered under his ferocious scowl, America however merely snorted.

"Uh-huh, and the last 200 plus years have been, what? Terminated discussion?" Ok, even America had to admit it was a bit of a low blow. England flinched, shoulders hunching as he cast a betrayed glance over his shoulder, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to resist the torrent threatening to blow.

For a second they just stared at one another and then England sighed, twisting round to face the flow of the queue. His face was turned, the streetlights hitting him at such an angle that America couldn't see his face. Guilt swelled, twisting his stomach into complicated knots.

"England it was just a joke."

Arthur sighed, his gaze still averted, "of course it was America."

"America?" Someone chirped, both nations jumped and spun round. Looking sharply down as the source of the voice tugged on their trousers. A sceptical looking child, 7 or 8 if Arthur had to wager any guess, stared up at them.

"W-what?"

"You called him," the kid dressed as Harry Potter pointed an accusing finger at America, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights, "America."

"No I didn't." England insisted, his voice itching just a pitch higher as he waved a hand dismissively at the wizard child, "I called him Alfred."

"...no you didn't."

"Yes, yes I did."

"Did not!"

"Yes I did you little-"

"Ahem, is this man bothering you son?" England assessed the situation, on the one hand the kid had overheard and on the other his father was very big and could easily snap him like a twig, giving his brother's gloating rights for the next few years if they had their way...

He came to an abrupt decision.

"Oh no!" Arthur squeaked at the exact same time America replied exuberantly with a; "hell yeah!"

"Excuse me?" The now angry father growled, cracking his knuckles. England resisted the urge to throttle his companion and hastily tried to amend the situation.

"Oh just ignore him he's-"

"Hey," America cut in, rather rudely if England had to be perfectly honest, "your kid was asking personal questions! It was only natural we got annoyed!" The man's gaze swung from England to America, both of them sizing the other up. Clearly the dad viewed America as nothing of a threat (England allowed himself a brief internal snort of amusement) and stepped forward slightly.

"You're not from round here are you?" England blinked and America looked just as thrown.

"What? No, I'm from the good ol' US of A!" He beamed, trade-mark thumbs up and grin making a brief appearance, much to the dismay of Arthur. Honestly, the boy never could resist a chance to show off...

"Hmph," the other snorted in amusement, England frowned at the sneer crossing his features, "damn yanks. Mindless drones the lot of you and-"

England would blame it on the adrenaline, yes, that was it. For one second the poor man was upright, insulting the living daylights out America with a fully functioning jaw, and the next he was quite inexplicably sprawled on the pavement bleeding heavily from the nose, completely unconscious, with England's fist still positioned in the spot of impact.

For what felt like an age England just stood there, mouth hung open like a fish. Then the child burst into tears, surrounding groups of fans all turning a horrified eye toward the scene. Abruptly aware England spluttered, shaking the offending hand as if in hope of dislodging it.

"Oh god!" He squawked, flailing wildly, "I am so sorry! Is he okay! I think I broke his nose! Oh god I am such an idiot! Does anyone have some tissues? Or an ambulance? I think an ambulance would be-" There was a sharp tug on his arm, causing England to stumble wildly into the street – making an interesting 'WURGHA!' noise in the process – before being dragged off in the direction of his parked car.

America was near hysterical; trying to run whilst laughing was surprisingly harder than it looked. Especially when he glanced back at Arthur, who still had the general expression of someone who'd just been told their mother was a walrus on his features.

He fumbled with the keys to the car, barely able to see the buttons from laughter, and threw the other nation inside, rushing round to the driver's seat just in time to watch the police on duty twist round to give chase.

With a dramatic spin of the wheels – with lots and lots of smoke, because America was bad ass like that – they were gone, whizzing down the near deserted streets in a swerving, out of control flare – trying to drive whilst hysterical was even harder.

"Wh-what did I just do?" England mumbled, slumping to one side so his head slammed off the window. America snorted, spinning round a corner unexpectedly quickly, Arthur flying out his seat and rebounding off the other man, a disgruntled 'oomph' bursting from his lips as he sprawled back against his side's door.

"Drive properly you twat!" He hissed and, just to be spiteful, America did it again, the car tipping to the side sending England flying around like clothes in a washing machine.

"Stop that!" England growled. America beamed in mock innocence.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe I should just punch a civilian in the face instead~!" The extra emphasis was not needed; England flushed right down to his toes and began muttering excuses under his breath, eyes averted to the side. America chuckled and pulled into a parking space, "it's cool; you were kinda awesome back there anyway."

"-totally unprovoked and a complete...wait...what?" England blinked up at America, confusion evident in his scowl.

Shifting uncomfortably America went on; "yeah. I mean you didn't have to hit him that hard but it was still pretty cool...y'know, sticking up for the hero and all that jazz. Plus it makes a nice change from punching my civilians in the face."

"I- I was not sticking up for YOU!" England insisted, "I was merely...merely...putting him in his place! Yes. That's it! He was obviously an ignorant person and needed to- shut up I'm not lying!" America managed to stifle his snickers behind his fist, only the light shake of his frame giving away his laughter.

"Shut up!" England repeated, smacking him sharply on the arm. It didn't hurt in the slightest but America relented, raising his hands in mock defeat, pursing his lips as traitor snorts attempted to pass his lips. This however seemed to be enough to satisfy the other who slumped back into his chair and scowled out the windscreen.

"...so..." America ventured, drumming his fingers off the steering wheel. England huffed, twisting in his chair to glare out his window instead.

"I'm not speaking to you."

"Oh come on! It's just a book!" The minute it left his lips America regretted it. England's whole posture stiffened, hair appearing to even stand on end from the comment.

"Just...a...book..." he repeated, barely above a whisper. America had to resist the urge to yelp as England spun round; hands on the handbrake as he leaned toward the younger nation, fire in his eyes. "Just," he seethed, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip, "a book?"

America pressed himself flat against the driver's side door, hand fumbling for the handle under the homicidal stare he was currently receiving.

"Oh. This is not just a book." England sneered, taking one hand off its perch to prod America in the chest. Overbalancing in the process and thumping awkwardly against the radio, normally the younger nation would have laughed but feared for his life if he did.

"It is," England growled, still managing to radiate intimidation when one side of his hair was spiked upright and the other was completely flat, America fought the urge to laugh, "the book."

"It's just Harry Potter, England..." he croaked weakly before gaining confidence and sitting upright, surprising the other with the sudden movement, "besides! The movies are better!"

From the way England reacted you would have thought that America had just proclaimed Shakespeare was just a guy with way too much spare time on his hands.

(Which he had, actually, just not on this particular occasion.)

England reeled backwards, mimicking the pose America had adopted earlier only with one hand clutching at the place just above his heart.

"You don't mean that..." he hissed, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Of course! It certainly saves reading all that teenage angst crap and boring back story!" A map of Dorset was thrown at America's head, England already reaching inside the glove compartment for better, thicker ammo. The book bounced off the window and landed in America's lap, showing him wonderful images of the countryside he could visit.

"How dare you! Those books have revolutionized the 21st century! Millions of children worldwide have been inspired by this generation of reading!"

"It's not the bible Ig-" his sentence was cut off as a copy of Queen's greatest hits multi-CD was thrown at his head, numerous photo's of Freddie Mercury exploding round the driver's side as the plastic shattered on the steering wheel. America yelped in alarm, glasses slipping to dangle from one ear as he attempted to dodge the projectiles.

"That instalment meant everything!" England picked up the windscreen cleaner, the foam bouncing of America's forehead and joining the map and CD's on the floor. By this point the elder was quickly running out of things to throw, along with steam to throw them, both of which America was extremely thankful for.

"One time, one!" England ranted; a half eaten packet of fruit pastilles chucked half heartedly across the space. It hit America lightly on the chest, bouncing off once again. "And you had to ruin it for me!" He persisted, pulling fluff out the seats and throwing that in a last ditch attempt.

"I'll probably get banned from bloody Waterstones for this..." he moaned. Curling his knees up to his chest England sighed and folded his arms over his knees, burrowing his head in between the gap.

"...is it safe?" America probed, ready to leap out the door at the first sign of retaliation. England simply kicked the side of his seat, a frown obvious on his features even from the bizarre angle.

Deeming that response as a 'why yes, I've run out of objects to hurl at your head' America sat back in his seat, helping himself to a fruit pastille and fixing his glasses in the process.

"Come on Iggy, look on the bright side!" England growled something that certainly did not sound optimistic; however he wasn't reaching for the stray air freshener so America took it as a good thing.

"What bright side...I always got them at the midnight relea-" as if on cue a cheer went up from the direction of the shop, a distant clock chiming in chorus. England spun round in his seat, practically pawing at the glass, the dejected – near heartbroken – look on his face finally caused America to crack.

"What's so funny?" England snapped. "Do you think my eternal suffering is amusing? It certainly doesn't surprise me if you did, god this is why I should of invited Canada...he would never have had a fight, well, normally and besides you-" America shoved something under his nose, so close England balked backwards on reflex, hitting his head painfully off the ceiling.

"Ow..." he grumbled, rubbing the patch on the crown of his head and glaring in the direction of the younger nation, "what the hell was that about you damn-"

He cut off, abruptly realizing exactly what it was that the other had clasped in his hands.

"...are those Harry Potter glasses?" England muttered tone laced with suspicion at this bizarre turn of events. America grinned, nodding enthusiastically, however seeing the wary stance the island nation had taken against this assault he took the initiative and placed the comic specs on himself, grabbing a witch's hat from the back seat and sticking it on England as well.

"Hm...missing something." America mumbled, leaning back to admire his handiwork.

England blew his fringe out his eyes, glaring from under the rim of his hat, "...I would normally ask what, but I fear the answer." However the comment bypassed the other entirely.

"Aha!" America clicked his fingers, a light bulb nearly visible above his head as inspiration struck. He began to fumble with the zip on his flight jacket, and England felt the colour drain from his face.

"I-I don't know what kind of nation you think I am America but-"

"Put this on!" The jacket was flung at his head, nearly knocking his hat askance. England fumbled with the heavy material, giving the other nation a bewildered look as he slipped the clothing over his shoulders. America however was already delving under the seat, pulling out what appeared to be a blueprint of the building, binoculars and a fake moustache.

Yeah.

"...why exactly-" England began, but was cut off as America placed the binoculars over his eyes and swung round, nearly battering the elder nation clean round the face in the process.

"Whoa! Your head is huge England!" America crowed, England narrowed his eyes, yanking the device out the other's hands.

"Like you can talk," he grumbled, placing the binoculars on the dashboard. America, always moving a mile a minute, had moved on from admiring the epic zoom on his latest stolen piece of military equipment and was instead unfolding the blueprints.

"This is our target!" The layout of the Waterstones they had just vacated greeted England's vision, he blinked slowly.

"...we're targeting Waterstones." And because he couldn't quite believe what he was saying himself, he felt the need to repeat the name once more, "Waterstones." America, oblivious to the incredulousness of the other nation, merely grinned.

"Yes! We shall disguise ourselves in-"

"Disguise?" England blurted before he could stop himself, "I'm wearing a bloody witch's hat and some glasses America, and you've just put on a fake moustache!"

"Pshaw," America waved off the complaint with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "I've done this a million times Iggy! Trust me! Anyway back to the-"

"Call of Duty does not count, America!"

"I did not do it in Call of Duty!" He squawked in indignation, looking rather ridiculous with his new curly, black facial hair. England made an internal note to get some pictures. "It was Assassin's Creed...and anyway," the younger ploughed on, all too eager with this new contingency plan, "our plan is simple, we shall simply concentrate all our forces and high explosives – yes I have plenty of those! - on the main entra-ah-ance! HEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" England opened the door, glaring daggers at the group of young women who wandered past, giggling at his bizarre get-up.

However his brief solitude did not last for long, the door he had just exited slammed open once more, hitting him in the back and sending him stumbling forward into the road. America glared at him from his precarious position leaning across the two seats, blueprints in one hand and the other desperately trying to keep a grip on the door handle.

"I wasn't finished." America huffed.

"Well I was. It's bloody Waterstones America, not flipping Normandy!" America mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'boring old man' under his breath but for the sake of his blood pressure England chose to let that one slide.

"Hey! Now where are you going?"

"To call a taxi! If I have to put up with any more of your company my brain may explode from overload of stupidity." And bizarre moustaches.

"Hey, hey! England, Iggy!" America was running to catch up with him, grabbing him by the shoulder and tugging him to a halt, "I ruined your chance to get the book the first time, at least let me help you get it this time round!"

England looked dubious, "with a silly moustache?"(And high explosives, his mind added rather darkly on the end.)

"What is it with you and the moustache?" America queried, however he shook his head and continued on before England had a chance to respond, "never mind, so, ready to give me a chance?" England glared at his former colony, lips twitching upward slightly at the image of how ridiculous they must have appeared.

"One more chance," he retorted as haughtily as he could manage. America beamed and before England could comprehend what was happening he was being crushed into a tight embrace. It was awkward, England's hand was crushed in between their chests, the faux wizard glasses pressing up against his cheek and his other hand would either have to dangle uselessly or rest uncomfortably close to America's hips.

Not a very dignifying position for a gentleman such as himself, however it was quickly over. England felt his ears burning, fairly sure his cheeks were blazing in a similar manner.

"What-" his voice was a tad high pitched so he coughed and tried again, "What, was that?"

America grinned, "A hug, I'm pretty sure even a lonely dude like you has had one before right!" England scowled. Well, he thought wryly, it was nice while it lasted. "By the way," England glanced up, hoping to high heaven he wasn't actually pouting, "you look pretty damn awesome in that jacket~"

Well.

Well, England mused as what felt like all the blood in his body rushed to his face, he hadn't seen that coming. However, before he could even formulate an answer America was dragging him off in the direction of the book shop, already eagerly discussing possible plot points that he'd gotten off one forum or another – so much for the movies being better, England thought in wry amusement.

"-oh man," America ranted on, grinning with elation at the shared interest topic, "I so think Harry's gonna kick Voldie's ass. Bad guys can never stand up against the hero~!" England's lips twitched upward, a rare unguarded smile gracing his features, the grip on his hand increasing in pressure by a small amount as the Waterstones loomed into view once more.

England's phone buzzed, a familiar jingle that caused America to snicker growing louder with every minute left unanswered. Confused as to who would be calling at such an hour – after all America was the only one that conveniently seemed to forget time difference - the ID flashed on screen and England ground to a halt.

"What is it?" America asked his curiosity piqued as he leant over to get a better view. However England quickly slid the phone open, pressing it to his ear, irritation rolling off his form in waves. He also noted that America still hadn't let go of his hand.

Trying not to stammer England barked, "What the bloody hell do you want?"

There was a lot of background noise, the sound of several hundred, possibly thousands, of people jabbering and screaming at once. England had to press the phone closer to his ear, just to pick out the barest of words from the speaker.

"Final battle - Hedwig – Harry – horcrux - dies!"

"What?" England muttered, pulling America and himself away from the crowd of shoppers. America pressed his ear against the other side of the phone and England failed at fighting back the eruption of butterflies in his stomach, he could feel the warmth of America's cheek through his gloves...

"-fucking dies!"

England shook his head, clearing his thoughts, "Sorry, I missed that again!"

"Oh give it here, you drunken idiot!"

"I am not drunk you sheep shag-"

"Wales?" England uttered, more for America's benefit that anything. However he was still taken aback himself, after all, it wasn't every day that his brothers went anywhere together, let alone in the evening when alcohol was in the vicinity. England recalled that particular morning after with horrific clarity...

Then it dawned on him, the late night, the noise in the background, Scotland's urgency to try and get the message through, HEDWIG.

"NO!" England shrieked, leaping backwards and attempting to hit the hang up button, however all he achieved was putting it on loud speaker, Scotland's voice ringing down the line with shocking clarity.

"-the end of this book, VOLDE DIES."

There was a ringing silence.

"Well, happy reading~!" Then Scotland hung up.

"I..." England croaked, staring at the phone in his hands as if praying that another call would come through and tell him it was all a practical joke. Which it was, but maybe not one laced with actual spoilers. "I-" England repeated the single letter all he was capable of at this very distressing point in time.

"England..." America began, unsure if it was safe to approach the bordering hysterical nation.

"THAT BASTARD!" England exploded, "COMPASTIONATE COUNTRY MY ARSE!" He threw the phone at the wall, the screen cracking, before realizing that was a rather stupid thing to do as it was the hotline all his MP's and boss used to contact him on and promptly rushed to pick it back up again.

"-selfish wanker," England ranted, "just because I let slip how Doctor Who ended..." He wiped at his eyes, determinedly looking anywhere but America, "och, lik at mee, ah'm bonnie Scotland, worst older brother EVER!" His accent was so spot-on America had to fight back a snort. "Hmph, see if he finds it funny when I re-build the damn wall..."

There was a pause, America shifted from foot to foot as England attempted to compose himself.

"...you know..." he ventured, "I still have those explosives."

England grinned.

A/N: RUN SCOTLAND. RUUUUUUUNNNN.