Summary: "Of course I wouldn't have told you, America. See, the British are different from you Americans. We do not air our dirty laundry for others to hear. It's simply the British way of dealing."
Pairing(s): America/Harry, France/England
Warning(s): AU!Harry Potter universe, slight AU!Hetalia universe
Author's Note: Special recognition goes to Kimanda and her awesome input- of which I shall keep in mind for future chapters as well. Seriously readers- go bow down before her awesomeness.
Disclaimer: I own nada. ._.
The British Way of Dealing
"Ah, mon ami, I only cut your hair in a way that would be- how you say?- hip and cool for you! Honhonhon!"
England glowered as France flounced away, proud of his newest way to get England's attention. Before completely leaving the clearing, though, France quickly looked over his shoulder and shouted, "But, if I were you, I'd trim the eyebrows, too!"
That was the straw that broke the camel's back, with a cry of outrage; England launched himself in France's direction, intent on pounding his face in.
However, France was quick to dodge, and disappeared.
A rustling of bushes turned his attention away from his anger, and England frowned. Was it an animal? He waited until he could hear the rustling again before heading in the direction of the noise, intent on finding out.
Peeking into a bush, he frowned at seeing a small baby, swaddled in blankets, asleep on the ground. Curiously, he watched for a few minutes before noticing a few glowing lights land on the baby's cheeks.
This would be his first time seeing fairies as well as his own brother.
Making his decision, he quickly gathered the babe in his arms. "Harrison…I'll name you Harrison."
England smiled gently as America begged him to stay and not leave him. After all, whenever he had to leave, it would sometimes be weeks before seeing him again.
Feeling a twinge in his chest, he quickly hid the grimace, and leaned down to ruffle America's hair.
"Little man," England said affectionately, "I'll be back soon, but take care to grow strong, okay? Remember all that I taught you."
Somehow it seemed as if this would be the last time he would see America this affectionate.
But Harrison's health came first…he always came first.
It was raining. A fitting weather for all the pain he was experiencing.
He heard America say that he used to be so big, and asked what happened, but he couldn't answer. Not with the pain he was experiencing from both Harry as well as the pain of a colony tearing itself away.
Feeling the pain blossom in his chest, he knelt on the floor as America turned his back on his ex-caretaker and left with his army. It would be the last time England would ever let someone other than Harrison near his heart.
Only Harrison, with his own pain, would stay by England's side.
Standing in the doorway of the room, England shifted on his feet hesitantly before asking quietly, "Does it still hurt, brother?"
In the bed, Harrison looked over to his big brother, and bit his lip.
"Brother? Can you sing to me? You know, that melody you used to sing in the Tudor era?"
It was an avoidance of the question, and England knew it.
Still, coming in to sit on the edge of the bed, England gently ran his hand through his brother's locks, and started to sing softly.
"-and who I thought to find-"
Breaking off, he smiled gently as he noticed his brother's eyes closed in sleep.
"Please get better soon, Harry."
England frowned as Harry let out another loud cry of pain. While he could feel painful twinges himself, it was nothing compared to Harry experiencing it first hand.
After all, Harry had the painful experience of feeling both World War II and Grindelwald terrorize the United Kingdom.
He felt helpless listening to Harry's screams, and he hated being unable to take the pain away.
England felt even more miserable with the fact that he'd have to leave Harry alone with only a housekeeper for months, perhaps even years, due to the war.
Leaving some last minute instructions to the newly appointed caretaker, he turned to his brother's form, arching and straining from the pain.
Gently running his hands through his brother's hair, he tried to memorize the feel of those soft locks, unwilling to forget a single thing about his brother.
"I'll come back for you, just you wait."
The war was over, and Grindelwald in prison, and Harry, for the first time in quite a long while, was able to slowly walk from his bed to the large-stuffed chair in his room. Only with England around to help him, though.
Sometimes England felt as though it wasn't fair for his brother. His brother was the human embodiment of magic, so he should be able to enjoy using his own powers and his own magical world. But because of humans- people with magical powers but humans all the same- tearing his civilization apart by war and greed, he was unable to experience all the wonders of the world like his older brother.
"Arthur…I feel on edge. Like something's going to happen soon."
Arthur frowned before feeling Harry's forehead, "You feel a little hot, are you sure it isn't just residue of your health problems?"
Harry shook his head, dislodging the hand, "No, the war- both wars- are over. I shouldn't feel like this, but I do. I think another war will start soon."
And all England could do was look at his brother helplessly.
The first wizarding world and World War II nearly killed his brother, what if this possible war finished the job?
England sighed as the G8 meeting finally ended for the day. As usual, nothing really got done, and it didn't help that Voldemort was able to revive himself.
Now that he was on a killing spree- trying to hunt down that Neville boy no doubt- Harry felt multiple deaths bearing down on him each night.
Perhaps, if Harry hadn't had to deal with war and health problems most of his life, he could easily take Voldemort's magic away, but he was weak, and his magic lacked the power that it once had.
Harry always was a rather weak person, smaller than England due to his various health problems.
So, when the meeting finally ended- and really, the only reason he even came was because it was being held in London- England immediately left for his home, intent on checking his brother's health.
The fact that he hadn't even argued- or, really, opened his mouth to criticize- immediately told all the other nations that something was wrong.
But none of them commented, and for that England was grateful.
However, when the meeting resumed the next day, and England never showed up, the nations knew something was up.
Immediately volunteering himself because he was a hero, America gave a grin and left, whistling a jaunty tune on the way to England's place.
As America walked up the driveway to England's door, he frowned as he thought he heard a scream, even though it was muffled from the outside.
He hesitated, wondering if he should bother ringing the doorbell, but instead touched the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened immediately, and it also worried him.
Arthur would never leave the door unlocked like that; after all any random stranger could enter.
But, when he could hear another moan, clearer this time due to the open door, Alfred decided to ignore his ex-brother's privacy, and entered the house only to see Arthur immediately in front of him with an angry look on his face.
"What the buggering fuck are you doing here?"
Rather affronted by that particular phrase being used towards him, though he was used to England insulting other people, he frowned down at him.
"You didn't come to the G8 meeting today."
England groaned before trying to push America out, "No I didn't, and, if you'll excuse me, goodbye!"
Another moan interrupted the struggle, and America looked down at England, worried. "Is…there another person here, England?"
Grumbling, knowing America would never leave without answers now, he tugged America inside before shutting the door.
"Into the kitchen while I make tea, Git."
America followed without a fuss, knowing that any antics he usually did would immediately send him outside again.
In a nervous habit, he pulled out a hamburger but England swiftly stretched an arm out to grab the hamburger, and dumped it in the trashcan. "Don't you dare eat those calorically disgusting things in this house."
America laughed in a nervous manner before clearing his voice, "What's…going on England? Who's that person in your house?"
England sighed, not really wanting to admit it, but kept to his promise. "He's my younger brother, Alfred."
Several moments passed in silence, America too stunned and dumbfounded to react. But, after noticing that his cup of 'dirty water' was spilling down his shirt, he blinked.
"W-What? Peter's here? I coulda sw-"
England cut him off abruptly, glaring all the while. "Not THAT brother, America." England sighed, feeling off-kilter at the fact that he's have to tell someone else about his young brother.
"I found him back before you were ever found. Indeed when I was small, myself."
America frowned, a hurt look on his face. "Why did you never tell me I had an older brother?" Taking Texas off for a moment, he cleaned the lenses with the hem of his shirt before putting them back on again.
England, placing his cup on the table- anything, really, to keep from looking at the nation he somewhat rose from childhood to adult years- frowned, trying to find words. "Even if I had told you, you wouldn't have been able to meet him."
"Why not? I may have been young at that time period, but I could have still travelled with you….unless….was it because of him you always left me? Regardless, that doesn't excuse the fact that you never told me."
England sighed at the direction the questioning went. "Of course I wouldn't have told you, America. See, the British are different from you Americans. We do not air our dirty laundry for others to hear. It's simply the British way of dealing."
Looking weary, from the centuries of caring and protecting for another, England continued. "The only reason why I'm telling you this now is because, as loathed as I am to admit it, I need help. My Harrison…needs someone...to have a friend other than myself. I feel the years crushing down on my shoulders, and worry for Harry if ever something happens to me. He barely made it through the second World War."
America worried his bottom lip, thinking through everything he's learned before slowly speaking. "So…what you're saying is that your brother needs a…hero?"
It was a phrase, profound in America's mind. For, though he boasted of being a hero himself, no one ever truly said to him that he was a hero. It was…refreshing…