Disclaimer: I do not own neither Harry Potter or Axis Powers Hetalia. They belong to their respective creators. The oc's mentioned belong to my friend and me.
His feet hit the ground hard and fast, splattering water this way and that as he made his way down the barren street. It was empty, which was odd, seeing as a little rain never stopped any of the residents from their daily tasks; but then again, whenever something like this happened to him, no one ever seemed to be around, broad daylight or not. He was being followed, but he already knew this— had already known this for the past 10 minutes. He was getting tired, but he wasn't going to face them here. It was a public area, and someone, even though no one was ever around, could get seriously hurt. He didn't want anyone hurt, not if he could prevent it.
His steps collided with the cobblestone streets as he turned into a residential section. He wondered a moment how silly he must look to the surrounding residents before a dirt road leading off into the distance came to the forefront of his vision. His mind working scary fast with adrenaline quickly noted the well-worn path, half covered with overgrown plant life, which meant it wasn't used much now, or led somewhere secret and private. Either way, this bade well for him, so he turned down the path, the overhead foliage covering him quite efficiently from the rain. His wet footsteps made soft, dark colored indents into the mostly dry road, but he didn't care if he was fallowed, just so long as he got his pursuers away from the general populace and to someplace where he could figure out how to destroy them all. The path was generally strait, but had a few smaller ones that branched off into various directions in the forest. He swerved a bit, taking one of the winding paths, and then another branch off that one a few minutes later, hoping to outrun his pursuers before he fell into the dirt in exhaustion. Miraculously enough, he'd reached a clearing mostly made up of lake, and cursed to himself silently. There wasn't much room to fight, and he couldn't remember how to cast that bubble-head charm, much less if he'd be able to cast it quick enough.
The sound of footsteps was difficult to hear over the pouring rain, but the sudden fear of never being happy again alerted him to his lack of planning time, if he had of it left at all. Yes, he could see the dementors now; circling overhead in more numbers than he was sure he'd seen a couple of moments ago. And then, off the path came Death Eater after Death Eater, more than he could count with all the adrenaline rushing through his system. He cursed silently to himself. At these odds, he was pretty much screwed.
Almost instantly everything went flying. Stun spells, curses, hexes, anything he had in his arsenal of dark magic fighting. And with these curses, Death Eater after Death Eater fell. It was only when they started dodging and shielding, only when all the newbies and rookies had been taken care of, that he started worrying. The fact that the dementors were closing in didn't help, either. He made a beeline for the trees, hoping to be able to climb up into the foliage, dodging the curses aimed for his retreating figure using instinct alone. He was almost there, almost at his partial safety, when the wet grass and soil beneath him gave way, and he slipped into the mud. The wind was knocked out of him for a few seconds, and he tried to scramble back to his feet, but a sharp pain exploded, and his ankle refused to let him stand. He turned onto his back towards the enclosing footsteps, wiping his glasses with the back of his hand, just enough so he could see, and cursed.
He was surrounded.
The dementors were closing in as well. He could tell because the rain turned to hail, cutting at his skin and leaving small wounds to mix with the mud. He knew he was finished, but that didn't mean he was going to give in, not without a fight. He raised his wand with incredible speed, pointed it half at the Death Eaters before him, half at the dementors flying above.
His voice cracked as a bright light radiated from the end of his wand, bathing the clearing in a silvery-white glow so bright, even he had to close his eyes to keep from going blind. His arm fell into the grass, his energy gone, and his thoughts focused on breathing. He was tired, he was limp, hell, if it wasn't for the faint sensation of soft rain through the numbness, he would've thought he were dead. He opened his eyes slightly, to see a dementor free sky that was quickly covered by wet splatters on his glasses. His vision started to become blurry, and his eyes started to close. He struggled to keep them open, struggled to stay awake, but it couldn't be helped. He had nothing left. 'I'm probably going to die here.' He thought to himself as the gray of the sky started to fade. The last thing he saw, the last thing he heard, was a glowing figure; a glowing figure and a few soft, jingling words before he slipped from consciousness and into what he could only guess was certain death.
He cursed silently to himself as mud slipped from his trousers into his boots. He always hated the feeling of anything in his shoes, be it sand, mud, small rocks, whatever. He also hated that he was trekking through the woods instead of doing his preferred activity of curling up on the couch next to the fireplace and reading, moping, wallowing in his pessimistic melancholy, whatever you want to call it. He wouldn't even be out in this god awful rain if it hadn't been for the faeries. There had been a fight out in the forest, and one of the combatants was injured, or that's what he could put together, at least. They could usually speak to him on the same linguistic level, but as of now they were too antsy to form human words, too high strung to do more than chirp, flutter, and tug insistently at his coat in the direction they were all evidently headed. Either way, whoever this person was, they were worried about them; he could tell by their ever constant fluttering, and by the tone in which they jingled. It was more anxious than the usual clip.
His trip took a total of 15 minutes, which was half the time it normally would have taken because of the fervent mixture of running and jogging the faeries insisted on. 'Whomever this person is,' he thought to himself as he stepped into the glade, panting lightly from his run. 'They must be pretty special for the faeries to like them so much.' He noticed the rain stop instantly, but he could still hear it, pattering just outside the clearing over the foliage, slipping from leaf to leaf and finally to the soft earth beneath. He wasn't surprised to find the Queen's glade like this, as it was common knowledge— at least for him— that while the faeries liked rain very much, they liked the sunlight even more so, and would often put up sun barriers to give themselves a few nutritious rays of warmth. What he hadn't expected, was for the Queen to be out, in her full, natural height— she could change it, after all— and bent worriedly over a figure sprawled in the grass and covered in mud. He closed his umbrella and jogged over, bowing slightly towards her in respect; even though every time he did so she looked slightly annoyed and promptly asked him not too.
"Wynfrith(1), is something the matter?"
"This child... " She said softly, her voice ringing clear in his head like a bell. It was a sort of telepathy, sort of not, and it was how the faeries spoke when they chose too. "He is human, and injured. Come, take a look,". He stepped forward, looking over the boy, lying there with an impossible stillness. He had mud in his messy, ebony hair, and was quite pale with just a hint of a tan, suggesting that the paleness was either due to his current state, or he had strayed recently from the outdoors. He looked small and frail with his discoloring complexion and overly large, gray clothes. His ankle was twisted in a direction that didn't look comfortable in the least, and there were numerous cuts and bruises marring his skin. He didn't look to be in any sort of good shape.
"His ankle might be sprained, but it doesn't look broken," He said after a few moments of taking in this bedraggled appearance. He shucked his jacket and lifted the boy slightly, dozens of faeries coming to his aid as he wrapped the protective layer around the boy's small frame. "He'll need tending too, and fast. Thank you for alerting me,"
"Thank you for coming, Arthur," Wynfrith replied. "You're the only one I could trust him with,". Her eyes shone briefly, and it was in this instant that he realized why the boy wasn't just transported to the outside of a nearby hospital. He had magic radiating from him like the gamma rays of a far off super nova, magic that was so dispersed, so broadcast, that he knew this boy, when fully healed, could be almost as powerful as himself, with the proper training. He was still a child, after all. "I'll need to get him home fast," Arthur said, shifting the boy in his arms slightly so his head wasn't lolling over the bend of his elbow and was instead resting on his shoulder, pointing inward. "He won't be able to last another 10 minutes in this condition, much less with the addition of rain and his depleted reservoirs,"
"I thought that, as well," Wynfrith said, nodding once. "That's why I've sent for transportation,". Almost as if on cue, a soft nickering sounded from behind him, as well as the footfalls of hoofed feet on damp grass. Leofwine(2) cantered up, nuzzling into Arthur's shoulder affectionately.
"Hullo, Leofwine," He smiled. "Can I trouble you into taking me to home? I'm afraid this boy might not make it should I travel on foot," Leofwine nodded once before again nuzzling into his shoulder.
—Of course, Arthur of Ciricland(3)—
It took a few moments for Arthur to mount, and only few more to maneuver the unconscious responsibility securely in his arms without fear of either of them toppling off Leofwine's back.
"Have a safe trip," Wynfrith said, placing a soft kiss on all three of their foreheads. Arthur nodded his response, and Leofwine neighed before galloping off in the direction of Arthur's house. The instant they stepped out of the clearing, the rain came pouring down onto them, almost small spears on Arthur's back with the increased speed of Leofwine's gallop. He held the muddy adolescent close to his chest, shielding him form any cold that he could and simultaneously getting mud all over himself. He could always get it out later if he really needed to, and it wasn't like he especially liked this particular shirt, or anything.
The trip took a total of 10 minutes. Arthur took note of the boy's shivering as well as his own as he slipped from Leofwine's back and to the stone steps that led up to his garden door. —You can replay me by getting inside and warming up, Arthur— Leofwine said, knowing the question Arthur was going to ask before he asked it. This situation happened often enough. Arthur nodded, smiling softly.
"Thank you, Leofwine," He nodded. He was replied with a bit of nickering before his friend galloped off and he headed for the warmth of his house.
Kicking off his shoes, his footfalls fell strait for the lavatory, starting the bath and getting it to a warm temperature as the boy was propped up against the wall, his conscience more worried about the minimal blue hue on the boy's pale skin more than anything. As he left the tub to fill, he quickly stripped his visitor of his clothing grabbing a bath towel from the linen closet— one of those thick, warm ones he remembered getting from Kiku for Christmas a few years back. Nodding slightly to himself in approval, he placed it next to him on the tile, rolled up his sleeves, and set the boy gently into the tub, careful to keep both his mouth and nose above the water. After a thorough scrubbing of the skin, he drained the water a bit and floated the boy over, grabbing the shampoo and dutifully cleaning the mud from the black mop of hair. After about three washes, he deemed it clean enough, and added a bit of conditioner to ease a bit of the hassle in the brushing process for when the boy awoke. Afterward, he drained the tub and pulled the boy out, nodding with a smile of satisfaction now that his current charge was cleaner, warmer, and had a more natural skin color. He wrapped the boy in the towel, drying him easily before leaving briefly to grab a pair of his own pajamas and a pair of boxers he'd shrunken once on accident and couldn't really fit into any more. He returned, promptly dressed the boy, and carried him to his bedroom, where he could get some proper rest while that ankle— which was, in fact, only sprain; he had checked it while he was bathing him— and the numerous cuts could heal. He tucked him in gently, grabbing a few extra quilts and piling them on top to keep him warm. It was only then, when he was running his final check over his guest's status, that he took notice of the boy's forehead. On the right temple, etched into the skin, was a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.
His eyes widened slightly. So this boy was... he could barely believe it. Though it did explain a decent bit of things, and it did give reason as to how he'd gotten so far into a magically enchanted forest to begin with. He just hadn't expected this small, skinny figure to be The Boy Who Lived. He poked at the scar a second, chuckling slightly when a green spark of magic came to meet his fingertip, before he headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Boy Who Lived or not, he was safe now in the bedroom, and with that knowledge in mind, Arthur's neat-freakishness started to show through. Grabbing a rag and a bucket from the broom closet down the hall, he hastily headed to the bathroom to clean up the mud.
A/N: Alright, so I've had this for a while now, and I figured I'd post it before the number of fanfictions grew any higher from the original two I found as inspiration. Arthur will be a bit OC at the beginning, because honestly, wouldn't you act differently around your own people as compared to the other countries? I think so. Not to mention I probably can't write him worth anything.
Tell me what you think, please! A review would be absolutely fantastic.
1)) Wynfrith — An Ango-Saxon name meaning 'friend of peace'. In history, was the name of a missionary for the Roman Catholic Church who was sent to Frisia and Germany to spread Christian faith before being martyred in Frisia in 754 A.D. It's usually used as a boy's name, but in this one it's the name of the Queen of all Faeries.
2)) Leofwine — Another Anglo-Saxon name. Means 'dear friend' and is derived from Old English Roots. It was the name of an 8th century Saint, also known as Lebuin, who did missionary work in Frisia. In this, it's the name of a unicorn.
3)) Arthur of Circeland — 'Cierce' is Old English for 'church', and seeing as the meaning of 'Kirkland' is 'Church Land' I thought it fitting that his magical friends from way before surnames would probably call him by a title that evolved into his surname.
All the Old English I use can be found in this dictionary: http : /home . Comcast . net / ~modean52 / oeme _ dictionaries . htm just delete all the spaces