Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hetalia, or any affiliations of either. If I did, what the poop would I be writing this for?
AN: Yay okay. Another chapter, however how late it is. -whispers- i'm so sorry
I'm going to basically be moving my Author's Note to the bottom of the page from now on, because it's just easier to talk about things that way. Up here you can just expect a disclaimer and a bunch of excuses and apologies to the lateness of the chapter. So uh... That stuff out of the way, let's finally get this show on the road, shall we?
Arthur caught himself on the bicycle rack that stood next to him. He grimaced as the tugging sensation that came from apparating dissipated from his stomach. Standing upright, he took in a deep breath to steady himself and looked up to the building in front of him. It was tall and almost looked like a huge panel of mirrors, the clear blue sky reflected on its sides. He fiddled with the tie he had put on that morning and readjusted his grip on his briefcase.
"It's now or never," he muttered to himself as he made his way towards the large revolving door. It was almost strange, seeing a door like that; England had gotten used to the medieval-like setting of the Hogwarts castle, and any form of modern architecture reminded him that no, people did not still use oil lamps for lighting. Most people anyways.
As soon as he pushed the door open he was attacked by something that nearly sent him flying back into the door with a muffled yelp. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but he figured since whatever it was that was clinging to him was obviously rather short, the something was Sealand.
"You jerk!" the 45 year old child yelled into the much older Brit's shoulder. "Don't you ever leave me with those meanies ever again. They're worse than you! You could've just left me with Mama and Papa, you know. Jerk." The personified fort then thwacked his older brother on the head, not sparing any mercy.
"Ouch! Well, sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking."
"Damn right you weren't thinking," the little blonde mumbled into Arthur's shoulder, regretting his choice of words the second he said them.
Eyes narrowed, England attempted to glare down at the little boy, but all he could see was the ribbon on his little blue sailor's hat. "Did you just swear, Peter?"
Lips pushed out into a firm pout, said Peter dropped to the floor and sent a scowl to Arthur that he had picked up from him. "You do it all the time. I don't really see why it matters if I do or not. Scotland didn't mind it," the last part he mumbled and hoped the older man wouldn't hear.
"Well Scotland doesn't have a lick of decency, so don't listen to him. And besides. I'm a lot older than you. You're technically still a kid." Knowing he would follow, Arthur started towards the elevator, picking up the briefcase he had dropped somewhere in the midst of being attacked.
"Kid schmid. I'm older than a lot of the schmucks that are swearing now-a-days." Peter nearly had to jog to keep up with the taller Brit.
"In my eyes you're still a kid. Because you are," the brothers entered the elevator and Arthur pressed the button for the top floor, where the meeting would be held. "You're not even a country!"
"I am too! I'm the best country! Best country ever! I'm the great Sealand!"
"You're a fort."
"I'm a country!"
"ENOUGH! We could hear you two from three floors down!" A loud, rather loud and German sounding voice made the Brits jump; they hadn't even realized they had reached their destination. That argument had taken more time than they had expected.
They stood before a very ruffled, red-in-the-face Germany, who had very clearly been the one to yell at them. Behind him stood a smirking Prussia, who was moving as slowly away from his angry brother.
"Don't think you're going anywhere, Gilbert! I'm not done with you." That was when he grabbed the albino by the ear and dragged him off towards the meeting room, chewing him out for sneaking in to the meeting with him.
"Speaking of that," Arthur looked down at the little sea nation - fort, fort! - out of the corner of his eye as he followed the ranting German into the conference room, "how did you get here, anyways?"
"The Jerks brought me. Not you jerk, obviously, but the other jerks. Scotland, North, and Wales. They dropped me off; something about 'not wanting to take care of a bleeding snot-nosed bairn'." Peter shrugged, and sat down in the seat next to Arthur. "And something about a drink and their lack of."
England groaned and rubbed his forehead, attempting to ward off the upcoming headache. "How did they even get you here?"
The small Brit shrugged again and began to trace the patterns in the wood on the table. "We flew."
"You... flew... You flew here. In a plane." England sent an incredulous look over at the boy.
"Well... yeah," he said, flicking a glance over to his big brother before returning to his tracing.
A groan followed by a thud indicated England had dropped his head to the table.
"Jerk? Jerk, did you die? Because that'd actually kind of suck. I mean, who else is going to take your place as the jerkiest jerk in the universe?" Peter poked the blonde head several times before he got another groan and he picked his head back up again.
"Just forget it. And you can't sit there; we don't have enough room for everyone as it is."
"Well then where am I supposed to sit?"
"I dunno. You're not even supposed to be here in the first place. Why don't you... Go outside and do some exploring or something. But don't go too far."
"Noooo that's booooring! Exploring alone is no fun. I'd need a buddy, obviously. Besides, if I want people to recognize me as a country I need to attend the world meeting."
Realizing that he was getting nowhere with this argument, Arthur sighed and allowed the small boy to climb onto his lap. It made it a bit difficult to see everyone, but it wasn't exactly like he wanted to anyway.
Minutes passed without either of them saying anything. Peter continued tracing patterns into the table and Arthur nursed the headache that he had gotten not too long ago as the rest of the nations began filing in. He could hear Denmark yelling at someone, which was a bit of a surprise before he remembered that he was the host country. That was the only reason he was on time in the first place. (Really, it was a mystery as to why they still held these things in the first place if all they ever did was argue, and half the nations showed up late). Germany was still lecturing Prussia, but at this point, England doubted the big albino child was even listening, if he even had from the beginning.
Seats around the massive oval table were being filled, but England only took note of a few of them. Spain had somehow managed to sneak Romano in again, it seemed, and Greece was napping away as usual. Switzerland yelling at France for being in the same room with Liechtenstein, Italy screaming to no one about pasta or something of the like, and America was nowhere to be seen; everything was normal.
England looked to his left and nearly jumped to see that the seat had already been taken. By Japan, no less, so it made sense that he hadn't even noticed him sit down; he was awfully quiet. The quiet nation simply gave a small smile and a nod to acknowledge the two Brits, and turned his attention back to the front. How he stayed so calm at these things, Arthur would never be able to understand.
On his left, Arthur couldn't quite put a finger on who it was. If he didn't know better, who would have said it was America, though this man was much too quiet to be him. Apparently sensing someone was staring at him, the blonde that looked considerably like a certain loud American turned to face the island nation and gave a smile and a small chuckle as he glanced down at the boy in his lap. "Hey England. And Sealand."
Peter looked up hopefully when he heard his name, but then only frowned when he couldn't quite recognize who it was. Instead of saying anything, he returned to his patterns. The other man addressed simply smiled and tried to avoid the fact that he had no clue who the man was. "Hello."
Obviously, he noticed the pointed lack of a name used, and only sighed. "Canada," he said calmly, like he had been through it many times before. "I'm Canada, remember?"
"Oh, right, yes of course! Sorry, I just... I'm just a little out of it today." Arthur smiled his apologies and pinched Peter lightly on the back to stop him from saying something stupid.
"It's alright. I understand," the soft-spoken man looked between the two on his left with almost teary blue eyes before turning back to the front of the room.
It was a good half hour after the meeting had been supposed to start when Denmark blew on a whistle to get everyone's attention. Ever since a while ago and the rest of the Nordics had teamed up to get him the "rape whistle" as a present, the spikey haired Dane had carried it with him. It was quite effective during meetings, though he usually used it to blow people's eardrum's out, or Germany had gotten a hold of it to bring everyone to order. Either way, it had become a regular part of world meetings.
"Alright!" the loud Dane yelled, gaining the attention of only half the room. "Let's get this thing started!" It didn't seem that his yelling was doing much. "OI. SERIOUSLY, I'M UP HERE."
It only took three more lines of shouting before the door slammed against the wall and none other than "THE HERO!" walked in. That seemed to grab everyone's attention, and now everyone directed their anger and voices at America who was blatantly ignoring all of them and sipping his large soda happily all the way to his chair.
England would admit that he was one of the people shouting, though no one could make out any one person's voice, as the room was nearly exploding from all the sound. Several "FINALLY!"s or "YOU'RE ALWAYS LATE!"s were definitely heard, along with a few colorful words and names of choice.
After another while of screaming and pointing and accusations, it seemed that the time for screwing around was over. They had had their bickering time; it was time for Germany to call things to order.
Really, England thought with a huff, do things ever change?
Meanwhile, the Golden Trio sat in the Gryffindor common room, the two boys' faces flushed from the try-outs. They had not yet changed out of their robes, and were currently seated as far away from the fireplace as they could. Ron had already threatened to pass out from heat exhaustion on the pitch, and none of them wanted that to become a reality.
Hermione would glance up from the book she had chosen for that evening; one of the ones she had gotten from the library earlier that day. Harry had asked about it, but she simply shook it off and said, "Just some outside reading. Nothing important." She wanted to tell her friends what she was doing, really, she did, but she could only see them scoffing at her and rolling their eyes. "It's too early in the year for this!", they would say. Well, Hermione thought with a huff, let them think what they want. What I'm doing is important. Very important!
None-the-less, the three sat in silence; Harry staring off into space, Ron all but passed out on the table, and Hermione pouring over her book. The rest of the people in the common room went about their business as usual, ignoring everyone but the one they were directly addressing.
Finally unable to take the silence anymore, Harry all but jumped up and hurriedly mumbled something along the lines of "I'm going to change," before quickly stalking over to the stairs and up to his dorm, leaving his two friends behind.
Ron had tried to stand up to follow him, but slammed his head back down onto the table the second he attempted muscle movement. Hermione barely glanced up from her book.
Once he was changed out of his sweaty robes and into an old pair of Dudley's jeans (at some point he was going to get his own, even if he had to steal them) and a simple t-shirt. It was Saturday, so they didn't need to wear their robes, which Harry was thankful for.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a bit, soaking up the silence. Though his friends downstairs weren't talking much, save for Ron's random moans or complaints, it was still rather loud, and he liked the peace the dorm held. It was helping the headache he had gotten from making sure his red-headed friend didn't slip off his broom.
Harry clenched his hand as he looked down at the carving in his skin. I must not tell lies. He hadn't exactly lied to his friends about what he was doing in Umbridge's detentions; he just wasn't telling the whole truth. Earlier that week, Harry had already managed to land himself an entire week's worth of detentions, just for standing up for Cedric. It had angered him that she could just talk about his death like he slipped on a banana peel and hit his head. An accident? Pah! The truth, and what did Harry get? A lie carved into his hand.
His scowl deepened as he curled his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm. His bones moved underneath his skin and made the words more pronounced. The toad was making him write lines, yes. That much he had told Ron and Hermione. What he didn't tell them, however, was that he was basically writing them in his own blood. Stupid witch.
Honestly, he was surprised - and a tad disappointed - that neither of them had noticed the ginger movements he made with that hand, or even the words themselves. He made sure he hid them as well as possible, but still. Just goes to show how observant they were.
Scowl more prominent than ever, the brooding teen stood up and slowly made for the door. He was reluctant to leave the quiet, but he knew that if he stayed up there too long either his friends would worry, or someone would show up and ruin it
Making an effort to hide the scar on his hand as best he could, he descended the stairs again, to find Ron and Hermione exactly as he had left them. Smacking Ron lightly on the head to alert him that maybe it was time for him to get changed, he returned to his seat across from the slumped form of his red-headed friend. "Oi, come on. You can't just stay there forever."
"Watch me," came the muffled reply.
Hermione rolled her eyes and snapped her book shut, immediately stuffing it into the bag she had hung on the back of her chair. "Well, I dunno about you two, but I think it's about time for dinner. Those tryouts went awfully late."
"Food?" Ron picked his head up slowly at the mention of dinner.
"Yes, Ronald, food. But no food for you if you don't go and change right this instant. We'll just stay here all night."
It didn't take long for the youngest Weasley boy to stumble out of his chair and up the stairs. He only narrowly avoided tripping on his own feet.
Harry snorted. "I swear, sometimes he's worse than Dudley about food."
Hermione gave a half grin and slung her book bag over her shoulder. They were just going to the Great Hall, but she wasn't about to go anywhere without those books. They were her number one priority at the moment; aside from preparing herself for the O.W.L.s, of course. That was always first. Always.
When Ron had returned to the other two, much sweeter smelling, now that he was rid of the sweaty clothes, they walked in silence to the Great Hall. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just a lack of conversation.
The rest of the meal continued in silence as well. They listened to the chatter of the rest of the hall, though they had none of their own. Ron was busy reflecting on how well (or not well, depending on how you looked at it) he had done during his tryouts, Hermione distracted by thoughts of her research, and Harry simply wallowing in his own angst. Not that he was doing that, because he definitely wasn't.
Teenage stomachs filled, they returned to the common room. Conversation still didn't seem to be in the forecast, so Ron mumbled something about homework and stumbled up the stairs once more. He returned with his and Harry's bag, dumping them both on the table in front of them. The boys grudgingly took out parchment and a quill complete with an ink pot to begin their Potions essays for Snape. Hermione was already a good chunk of the way done with hers, so she figured she could take tonight as a free read night.
There were a few people in the room with them, either studying or chatting, though she figured most of them would be in the Great Hall or off doing God-knows-what at who-knows-where.
The trio spent the next three three hours either doing homework, or, in Hermione's case, searching through each of the books she had brought back from the library. She had been able to fit a total of five into her back, and so far she was finding nothing about Kirkland's story.
At this point, that's exactly what it was looking like: a story.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Peter heaved another sigh as he watched the form of his caretaker repeatedly drop his head onto the hard table. "That's not going to help your headache any, you know."
"Shut up, Peter," Arthur's voice was muffled against the wood, but Peter still heard him. He rolled his eyes. That seemed to be the only thing he heard from the older nation these days.
The self-proclaimed nation sat with England at the table farthest in the corner of the break room. Peter swung his legs back and forth and sipped at the juice he had convinced Arthur to buy him. He may seem like a big grumpy-pants, but really he was just a big softie. Especially with kids.
Peter loved juice. He didn't know why, he just did. Maybe it was because when he was with the other jerks, all they had was alcohol and water, and then Mama Finland wouldn't let him have juice. He said it wasn't very healthy; baloney, Peter thought. It's made from fruit, so obviously it was healthy.
Truthfully, Peter hadn't actually wanted to come to the meeting. Last time he came, he found that it was not fun at all, especially when no one recognized him. Besides, all they did was talk about depressing things, like global warming and stuff. Not Peter's favorite topic. He would much rather talk about those big robots that Mr. Japan had shown him that one time. So much cooler than global warming or budgeting.
But the other jerks had apparently had enough of Peter, and flew him off here, where jerk England could take care of him. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay with him though. Whenever Arthur went off to do something Peter was left behind. Every time he asked why, the jerk just said he was too young. Which was absurd, by the way. He was sure Arthur just didn't want to deal with him. Totally rude. Arthur would just leave him with the other jerks (which was on rare occasions because Arthur didn't like them any more than Peter did) or Mama Finland and Papa Sweden. Peter didn't really mind staying with his mama and papa, but sometimes he liked being with Arthur. Not because he liked the jerk or anything, he just really liked to annoy him. Peter didn't miss the jerk. Not at all. Like hell he'd ever miss him... that jerk.
They stayed like that for a good half hour. England was giving off very strong "do-not-talk-to-me-do-not-approach-me-or-so-help-m e-God-I-will-rip-your-genitalia-from-your-body-lat her-it-in-marmalade-and-feed-it-to-the-alley-dogs" vibe, and the other nations understood loud and clear, giving the two Brits a wide bubble to themselves. Peter almost wished one of them would approach them, just to save him from the older man's grumpy silence.
Peter took another, almost angry, sip of his juice and frowned- NOT pouted- ever-so-slightly at his angry caretaker. He had noticed that the other nations had begun to filter back into the meeting room, and didn't want them to be left behind. Gently, Peter tapped the head of messy blonde hair in front of him. A groan escaped, but other than that, no response. He tapped the head again, slightly more determined, but only received a louder groan.
Growing irritated, Peter sat back in his chair. "Fine. I guess they'll just have to start the meeting without you."
"Let them," was the muffled reply.
"Have it your way then," said the micro-nation as he jumped out of his chair. "I have no choice but to sit in for you."
"Oh no you don't," England retorted, finally getting out of his own chair and grabbing on to Sealand's shoulders.
Resigned to his fate, Arthur gently guided Peter towards their seat and sat down, pulling the smaller nation onto his lap, not even bothering trying to get him to stay outside. As the last nation had taken their seat, Denmark once again took to the front of the room, calling everyone to order.
It took everything Arthur had in him not to simply apparate elsewhere right then and there.
Completely exasperated, Hermione shut the book closed with a thud. Looking around the common room, she realized it was late. Later than she had intended.
Everyone else had already left for bed, leaving her the only one in the room. She rubbed her eyes intently, and then took a good hard look at the book staring at her mockingly. She had managed to book cover to cover, and found nothing. Even though it was only one of the five, the fruitless search left her discouraged.
She had hoped to find something resembling part of Kirkland's lesson. It had been nothing like she had found in any of her previous readings, and had hoped that maybe it was something new, something fresh. But as much as she wanted it to be true, there was a part of her, the part that had rented all these books, that simply couldn't believe it.
It was frustrating, having her teacher tell her one thing, and then the numerous narratives on the same subject telling her exactly another. She really, really wanted to believe Kirkland, she really did. But everything she had ever read was so contradictory to his lesson, her most recent read included.
Heaving a heavy sigh, she dropped the book into her bag with the rest and decided she should be heading to bed. It was late, and she was exhausted. As she dragged herself up the stairs and into her pyjamas and bed, she hoped that she would find something in one of the other four books.
She really didn't want to prove Kirkland a fraud. She was finding herself quite fond of the teacher.
Thank Merlin, England thought as he stood from his chair and stretched, cracking his back with a satisfying pop.
It had been a long fucking weekend of boring speeches and arguments, and it was finally over. He had convinced Finland and Sweden to take Sealand, after many complaints on the micro-nation's side. It wasn't that he didn't want Sealand to be with him, it was just that Hogwarts wasn't really a place he could take the boy.
He gathered his things silently and ignored anyone that attempted to talk to him. He was tired, and irritated, and definitely not in the mood for pleasant chatting. He just wanted to get back to his cozy little room in the Hogwarts castle.
Although, before he could return, he had to confirm that 'guest speaker' that he had promised the kids.
Great. There goes his 'I'm not going to talk to anyone' plan. Grumbling, he finished packing away the various documents into his briefcase and took a quick look around. Most of them had already left, probably out for drinks or something. Normally, England would have been with them, but he didn't have time for that. Nor did he really care to. The few that remained, however, were chatting lightly among themselves. It would always amuse him how they would fight and bicker like there was no tomorrow during the meeting, and then be so pleasant with each other immediately afterwards.
Shoving his amusement to the back of his mind, he returned to focus; he had business to think about. As he scanned the room and really thought about everyone he saw, he felt his hopes droop. He didn't want to take any of these tossers to Hogwarts. No way.
Defeated, Arthur slowly made his way out of the room and to the elevator. Maybe he would just have to deal with China, as that was seeming to become his only option. And he hadn't even asked the nation if he was interested.
Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought as he stepped out of the elevator onto the ground floor. He didn't really think it completely through before he had promised the class.
Apparently, however, he had not been paying attention to where he was stepping, and ran right into someone at the door. "Sorry! I wasn't looking, my bad," England stumbled out his apologies.
"It's alright," the other man said, "no damage done."
"Norway!" Of course! Why didn't I think of him before? Stupid!
"Yes?" the fair haired man replied, confused at England's outburst.
"Err... d'you... have a minute?"
AN: It's been over a year since the last actual chapter. Oops?
No, it's not really an oops, it's just a combination of lack of motivation, lack of an actual definite idea of what I want to do here, lack of self-confidence and satisfaction with my writing abilities, as well as the actual content, and also laziness.
So, I have a proposition for you all. I could either attempt to continue with the story the way it is, or turn it into a drabble type thing, where I would forego any semblance of a plot, and simply do the different sessions with the different nations attempting to teach.
A big warning though: if I do decide to try and continue with the story as it is going now, there is a high probability of me dropping it. For lots of different reasons, all of which are listed above. I personally would prefer the drabbles, and would probably be a lot more motivated to do that, because I would at least know where I was going with those.
And then of course I could just drop it all-together and leave everything up to our imaginations. I would really like to try not to do that though, as that would be a big blow to my confidence 'n stuff. Because I started out with this with full intentions of finishing it and making it big huge cool story (how naive I was) and it would be kind of sad if I dropped it now.
So... I guess I'll leave it up to you guys, though I'm pretty much already sold on the drabble idea.
Also, apologies if this chapter didn't make much sense. The majority was written almost a year ago, and I'm a horrible editor. So very sorry about that! Additional apologies for the rushed ending.
Anyway, thank you ALL for having such ridiculous patience with me! You're all SUPER GREAT FANTASTIC WONDERFUL!
fo realzies. luv u all 5evur. 3