Welcome, to the newest edition of my story! I've nothing really to say, so...not mine, I suppose?

Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Into the Woods

The fires of Hogwarts are strange things. Mostly, they're like normal fires—they crackle insistently, puff out smoke, and eat things with a vengeance. They were cast by magic, naturally—who'd want to make a fire with a flint and stone in a magic school?—and some of them were reenforced with everlasting spells, but mostly they were pretty normal.

But this is Hogwarts, and nothing in Hogwarts is completely normal. (What blasphemy!)

So, the fires (and fireplaces included) are strange things indeed. Perhaps this is attributed to the fact that they obey their master's command, and their master is none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sat in his office, looking over the multitude of sheet and statistics and grades that all teachers were required to look through. It was his job to make sure that everything ran properly and the students were focused. Besides, even in a magic school, some things remained the same. His fireplace crackled comfortingly, sending a flickering orange-yellow light around the room.

Suddenly, it gave a particularly loud crackle and flashed a color that was almost gold but not quite. Dumbledore turned, the light reflecting in half-moon glasses. Setting his colorful quill gently on the table, he crouched by the fire, pulling his heavy robes around him.

A small strip of curling paper shot from the fireplace and began drifting lazily down. Dumbledore caught it deftly and extinguished the burning parts with a flick of his wand. The parchment was yellowed with heat and the edges were brown and scraggly, still warm to the touch. The message it held had been written in black ink with sharp, quick handwriting. It read;

Meet me at the Forbidden Forest at midnight. Be th-

The rest of that message was burnt and gone, stolen by the fires of Hogwarts. Frowning, Dumbledore stood and placed the message delicately on his table, where it shimmered under the candlelight.

"Thank you, old friend," Dumbledore said appreciatively to the fire. It said nothing and Dumbledore turned the message. Who was meeting who at midnight? This was troubling stuff indeed. He wondered if it was the Ministry witch, who was obviously here to spy on him and interfere with his precious school. Or perhaps it was one or both of those young and very suspicious oddballs who'd suddenly appeared from nowhere. And they seemed to know each other too, each not knowing about the other's employment, as he'd seen them whispering angrily at the feast.

It could even be some of the students, although it was a bit odd for them to be going to the Forbidden forest. Probably those new teachers, he thought. He'd better keep and eye on them, as he knew they were doing to him.

Dumbledore glanced back at the message. Odd, that some of it was missing. The fires were usually so efficient, they wouldn't have let part of it burn like this. But then again, strange things seemed to be happening at Hogwarts every which way he turned. Powers were shifting, he was sure of it. He knew he needed to watch his back.

Dumbledore placed the burnt parchment to the side, resolving to attempt to restore it later, and restarted working on the school documents, quill scratching painfully loudly.

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]

England shook mud from his boots irritably and glared at Norway. "Well?" he demanded. "You brought me here, what do you want?" The other nation looked completely unconcerned as he leaned on the door of his wooden cabin slightly within the woods. Norway had been offered the Gamekeeper's old cabin but refused, preferring to build his own. It was made of oak wood and birch taken from the Forbidden Forest and still smelled of tree sap and rusted metal.

"There are things I haven't told you, UK," Norway said. He gesticulated slightly, summoning England after him into the threatening trees. "Things not meant for a room filled with ears."

An unnerving mist enveloped them so that they could only see a few feet ahead of them. The trees had grown very close together, their branches intertwining high above and preventing even the faintest stream of light from reaching the forest floor.

Norway pulled out his wand—Norwegian pine, Ridgeback heartstring and troll toenails duo core, England recalled—and whispered "Lumos," under his breath. The tip flared up, illuminating a previously invisible oak straight in front of them. England jumped. Norway seemed completely unbothered. He picked his way around the tree, wand outstretched. Suppressing a shiver, England followed him deeper into the woods.

"How is it," he asked, "that you know these woods better than me and they're on my land?" He pushed a clawing branch away and slipped after Norway and his light.

The other nation shrugged. "I have more forests than you, Britain," he said by way of explanation. England snorted.

"Then why did you have me come down here?" He flicked a dead leaf from his nose, irritated.

"Because your Voldemort is causing more trouble than you think," Norway said, lifting a branch to let England pass. "We stop here."

"Voldemort is not mine," England spat, dropping down under a tree. Norway sat beside him.

Norway sighed and began, "Last time he attacked, he and his Death Eaters mostly stayed within the confines of the United Kingdom, preferring to target British families and your Ministry. But since his return...yes, I knew the moment he came back," Norway said, seeing the incredulous expression on England's face. "Since then, he's spent the last few months gathering followers from other countries." England groaned.

Norway took a breath and continued, "Mostly countries around Europe since the America's and Asia's wizard communities are rather small. He's gathered nearly trice his previous amount in wizards from France, Germany, the Netherlands...the list goes on. There are a lot of wizards in Scandinavia—magic history is strong there—so I fear that his next target."

England took a deep breath and leaned against his tree, steading his breathing. "Then, why are you here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be in your own country, helping?"

Norway shook his head. "Perhaps. I wanted to go to the source of the problem; you."

"Thanks," England said sarcastically.

"Not like that," Norway said bluntly. "Here I can watch his progress more clearly. It's better to cut a weed at it's root, you know."

"True, true," England mused. "So Voldemort's trying to expand his army beyond my lands?" He ground his teeth. "That can't happen. I may not like my neighbors very much but a worldwide wizarding war would have devastating consequences. No, it can't happen."

"My thoughts exactly," Norway said, looking vaguely pleased. "Have you still got that charm I gave you?"

"Yes, of course," England said, pulling the blue stone from under his robes and rubbing it idly.

"Good. I've also got Romania on speed-dial, he's the third most magical nation besides you and me. His human name is "Vladimir Popescu," for the record. There is another reason I came here though."

"Oh? It appears you've done far more than I have so far," England said, intrigued.

"Harry Potter," Norway deadpanned.

"That boy? Sure, he stopped the Dark Lord the first time, but I've met him and he didn't seem like much."

A tiny smile quirked Norway's features. "You truly have been cut off from the wizarding world."

"Yes, at your command, or have you forgotten?" England glared at Norway. "And it didn't work, did it?" He curled a taut hand around the fabric of robe near his heart. "I've been still feeling the current affects of Voldemort." He ground his teeth and glared at Norway, anger simmering like a volcano beneath the surface.

Norway was unperturbed. "It didn't work. I've yet to figure out why but when I do I'll tell you."

England looked like he really wanted to strangle the other nations but in the end he relented and sat back and gestured for Norway to continue. "What about Harry Potter?"

"There is a prophecy about the boy. It concerns him and Voldemort." Anger presently forgotten, England leaned forward, interested. This changes everything.

"I didn't know about about a prophecy," England said.

"It's in your Department of Mysteries, I believe," Norway said, blunt as always. "Very few people know of it's existence."

"How is it," England griped, "that you know more about the magic of my country than I do?"

Norway shrugged, his shoulders barely moving. "You disconnected from magic for fourteen years."

"Yes, and who's idea was that? Because it was completely useless."

Norway shrugged again. "In short, the prophecy says that Harry Potter is the only one able to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Is he, now?" England growled, grinding his teeth again.

"You wanted to take off his head yourself." A statement, not a question.

"And feed it to my owl," England added morbidly.

Norway stood and stretched. "It matters not now. I believe the best course of action would be to simply watch and wait. We can't let our identities be known. Teach classes, don't interfere, and keep and eye on everything. Do you agree?"

England stood too. "Yes, that would be best," he said, having already determined this to be the cleanest option.

Norway studied England for a moment before calling him with a flick of his hand. Norway lighting the way with lumos, they picked their way back out of the forest, avoiding tree roots and low hanging branches. England was, admittedly, impressed with Norway's ability not to get completely lost and turned around in the dense mess of trees.

England breathed in the night air in relief as they stepped into the sunlight. He liked trees—they were a rather vital part of his status as alive—but the Forbidden Forest was awfully creepy. He stroked one of the trees lightly, feeling the old magic that ran through it.

Norway was watching the castle. A few lone lights still glittered in the wee hours of the morning but the rest were dark. "You'd best be getting back, England," he said.

"Yeah..." England agreed. "By the way, why to you keep switching my name?" he asked.

Norway looked vaguely embarrassed, if that were possibly on his blank face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to call you."

England raised an amused eyebrow, a sliver of the anger he'd felt at Norway's crap advice sliding away. It was not an uncommon problem.

England was the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, which included England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Yet the latter three were their own personification while England was always the UK. But he wasn't really Scotland, Wales, or N. Ireland, he was England. But he was always them because they were part of him, part of the UK... (This is one of the long list of things the nations prefer not to think about for fear of migraines and/or dreadful internal crises.)

"Just call me England, it's easiest on the tongue," he said. "Or better yet, Arthur."

Norway nodded. "Very well then, Arthur. Although I might recommend that before too long you should try to read as much of the important recent news concerning the wizarding world and Harry Potter. Also, if you don't know already, most don't believe that Voldemort is back. Tread carefully, old friend."

"You too, Lukas," England said, nodding his thanks. He flipped the hood of his cloak over his head and tightened the black cloth around him. Norway disappeared back into his new cabin. England began the long march back to the castle.

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}

Morning dawned bright and early and England wined as his magically enhanced analog alarm clock screeched. He punched it irritably and it fell the floor, shuddering violently and shrieking profanities. Once again glad that his room was in a rather unused section of the school, he, groaning, pulled himself from the bed and pressed the off button with a bit more force than necessary. The clock abruptly stopped and he placed it on the bedside dresser. Having damaged one triangular leg, it promptly fell over.

Stretching, England opened his forest-green curtains with a flourish. His room overlooked the large green field that extended between the castle and the west end of the Forbidden Forest. The mountains peaked in the distance and England spotted an orange sun peeking out from between two of them.

His clock read 7:00—classes started at 8:30. That was good, he had time.

England wandered down to breakfast in the Great Hall 20 or so minutes later, his hair wet and curly from the shower. Over half of the students were already down, muttering sleepily to themselves and picking at the array of breakfast foods displayed on the long tables. England spotted Draco Malfoy, the bigoted boy from Robin's who kept asking about his blood type. And there was Ginny Weasley, the redhead from the train, talking to her equally redheaded brother, Ron.

He spotted Harry Potter as he wandered in, looking sleepy and disheveled. Following him was the ginger girl who'd been adamant that anthropomorphic personifications of nations didn't exist. Hermione Granger, that was her name.

England chewed thoughtfully at his toast as he watched the comings and goings of the Great Hall. Some of the students who were done with their meal were heading out, only to be stopped by the prefects and pushed back down. England wondered why until he saw the 6th year Hufflepuff prefect carrying in a swaying pile of paper he remembered from his previous Hogwarts times as the schedules.

Norway dropped into the seat beside him and nodded a nigh invisible greeting. England figured they'd come to a individual conclusion not to let on that they knew each other, for safety reasons. His and Norway's identities were delicate things and couldn't fall into the wrong hands. He nodded briefly back.

"Excuse me, Professor Kirkland?" asked a voice from behind him. He turned around to see a dark skinned girl, presumably a prefect, with long braids holding several of the folded pieces of paper.

"Yes, m'dear?" The girl handed him one. It had Prof. Arthur Kirkland written on it in fancy green script. "Thank you," he said. She nodded and moved on the Norway.

England opened the paper and studied the chart sketched neatly on it in the same thin green ink. Today, he would be teaching 4th year Gryffindors-Ravenclaws and then a short break. After the break he taught several more classes of varying years and houses, finally ending with 7th year All Houses (not all the 7th years took History of Magic). Seemed to be an interesting day. A happy smile spread across his face. It had been awhile, and he'd forgotten how much he liked to teach.

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}

"Look at this!" Ron complained, shoving his schedule under Harry's nose. A pointless endeavor, considering Harry's was exactly the same. "Care of Magical Creatures, double Potions, Divinations, and Defense Against the Dark Arts...we have to deal with that new guy—he's got a shifty look about him— then Snape, Trelawney, and Umbridge. All in one day! I wish Fred and George'd get those Skiving Snackboxes or whatever they're called sorted..."

"Ron!" Hermione chided.

"Seriously, that guys gives me the creeps! Look at him up there, all quiet and still..."

Harry agreed. The unknown professor had an odd look about him, like someone not quite there. "I hope he's not going to turn out to be crazy like Quirrel or something," he commented.

"Oh, yeah, that would suck," Ron concurred. He lowered his voice. "D'you think he's a minion of You-Know-Who?"

"If he was, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him," Hermione said reproachfully. "And his name's Professor Bondevik."

"Whatever it is, I don't like the looks of him. Wish we had Hagrid back..." Harry privately agreed. Although, he wasn't as worried about Bondevik as he was about Kirkland. The guy appeared out of nowhere and Harry was sure he had seen the guy before, he just wasn't sure where. Besides, Bondevik was from Norway, if the gossip was to be trusted, too far to be a minion of Voldemort. But Kirkland...

Suddenly, he remembered. Kirkland! That's right! He'd seen the guy once before at the Ministry when he went for his hearing. Almost ran into him actually. He'd been wearing dark clothing and looked somewhat like a kid who's been sneaking around and hadn't yet been caught. Perhaps he is a dark wizard! Harry thought, worried. He instantly didn't trust the man.

"Hey, Harry, you coming?" Ron asked, having unfolded himself from the table. "We have Care of Magical Creatures first."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, clambering after them. He ignored the frequent nervous looks and occasional disgust thrown his way.

The sky was bright blue but the sun had yet to climb its way above the mountaintops when they wandered out into the grass for the lesson. A thin trickle of other 5th year students had wandered out, all making a beeline for Hagrid's cabin. Ron glanced at his schedule. "Oh, man, we're with the Slytherins again! This sucks."

As they approached the cabin, they saw the new teacher, Professor Bondevik, leaning against the door. He was a slight man with longish, pale blonde hair pulled back by a clip shaped like a cross, save for an odd curl. But rather than the traditional robes of a wizard, he wore a dark blue sailor's hat and similarly colored shirt and pants, completed by leather boots. A brown belt was fastened around his middle and he wore dark gloves. But the strangest thing about him were his eyes. They were a dark purplish color and completely devoid of all emotion, making his face a mask of nothing; taking in nothing and giving out nothing in return. Despite his small frame, Harry was automatically scared of the man. He and the rest of his party stopped a far distance away and waited for the rest of the 5th years to arrive.

They all gathered around Bondevik in a semicircle, keeping a good distance away. He hadn't moved an inch, preferring to watch them all with dead eyes until they shuffled nervously. Finally, he spoke, "You're all 5th years, correct?" His voice was as flat and dead as his eyes, but not like Binns. No, it held a certain command that had Harry backing slightly away.

The students murmured an assent.

"All Gryffindors and Slytherins?"

Another murmur. The man stood stock still, having not moving a muscle. He watched them all for another moment. Then, uncurling himself gracefully, he walked away. The students stayed in their circle, shifting uncomfortably. Bondevik paused, noticed they weren't following, and made an beckoning motion with his hand. The students hesitated before trailing after him, still keeping a good distance.

Bondevik turned into the Forbidden Forest. "Come along," he said. "As long as you stay with me, nothing will hurt you." The students strayed a good deal closer to him after that.

Bondevik led them through a seldom trodden path. Dead leaves coated the forest floor and crunched loudly as the students picked their way through the forest. It was dark and only a smudge of light from behind lit their way.

Suddenly, the path opened out into clearing. It was covered in lush green grass, and tiny colorful flowered dotted the field. Butterflies flitted around and bright birds pecked at worms on the ground. Yet, the ghastly trees of the Forbidden still surrounded the clearing and a few tendrils of searching mist blurred the edges.

"Wow..." breathed Ron. "Who would've thought this place was hidden in the Forest?" Harry nodded mutely, feeling slightly less scared of Bondevik.

"Sit down," Bondevik commanded, beckoning them into the clearing. The students sat down in a vague group on the ground and stared up at the professor. He watched them again before sitting down at the head of the group too, legs folding neatly beneath him.

"As you should know," he began, eyes blank. "I am Professor Bondevik, and I'll be teaching you Care of Magical Creatures. I understand that you were taught by one Rubeus Hagrid last year?"

There was a murmur of consent.

"Good. This is your O.W.L. year. I'm sure you'll hear all about it from other teachers so all you need to know now is this; come to class on time every day, bring the requested materials, and know the subject. Any questions?"

Malfoy raised his hand. Bondevik nodded in his direction. "Do you know what happened to Hagrid?" he sneered.

"No." The answer was curt and straight to the point. "Any more?"

Hermione timidly raised her hand. "Erm, where are we?" she asked, gesturing generally at the clearing.

"A place of my own devising," Norway said. "We will meet here every day for class. I'll put up signs so you can find it. I expect you'll all be on time."

The students nodded in chorus.

"Good. We'll begin class now. Please take out your notebooks." A nigh invisible smile slipped onto Bondevik's face. "First topic: trolls."

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}

"He had a freaking troll!" Ron wailed, eyes wide. He was still shaking. "That guy is terrifying. Even his name sounded evil. Bond-e-vik."

Harry nodded, glancing nervously behind him. "Yeah. At first I thought he would have quiet and calm creatures—I mean, from a distance, a good one, mind you, you looks very gentle, but he's like a mini-Hagrid when it comes to terrifying creatures."

Bondevik had decided to introduce their first lesson by happily—well, they thought he was happy, it's was really hard to tell with the guy—showing them all creatures they would getting close and personal with during the course of the year. He had trolls, which Harry was pretty sure was illegal on some level, unicorns, a collection of smaller, more harmless things, and, to everyone's horror, a basilisk (which had slithered through the encompassing trees, not coming any closer), a Erumpent (passive, rhinoceros-like creature with a poisonous horn), a griffin (which had sat calmly behind Bondevik and let the professor pet it), an Occamy (winged, snake-like creature that hissed at all of them besides Bondevik) and finally an entire fleet of fairies.

Bondevik had assured them that all the creatures were harmless to them and completely under his control, even the basilisk. He wouldn't harm them. Nor would the trolls or fairies that seemed to always be somewhere near Bondevik.

"That guy is crazy!" Ron stage-whispered. "How the hell does he keep a basilisk?"

"It shouldn't be possible," Hermione was muttering to herself. "A basilisk is rated as a Grade 5 on the M.O.M. scale, it can't be domesticated."

Ron shuddered. "I can't wait for Hagrid to get back. What do we have next?"

"Double Potions," Harry said sympathetically. Ron groaned.

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}

England sat quietly in his classroom and watched the clock tick steadily on the wall. It was still a few minutes till class started but no one had showed up yet. He wondered if he should be worried.

He'd decorated his new room quite nicely, if he did say so himself. Two large windows overlooked the front, sending in plenty of light and brightening the room. The spot between the windows was occupied by a large blackboard, the tray beneath it overflowing with a variety of chalks. Two aisles and several rows of desks faced the board. England like the blackboard; he planned to use it thoroughly during his lesson.

His desk was in the corner opposing the door. Made an unidentified wood, it was a lovely shade of bronze and a variety of drawers and hidden compartments. He'd already enchanted several to safely hold some of his more important documents.

Now, he leaned by the blackboard, watching as a nub of chalk scribbled furiously at his magical command. When it was done, he waved his hand and the writing disappeared. He'd actually taught several times before, once or twice at Hogwarts and many times at various normal schools.

The door creaked slightly and he glanced up. A timid-looking girl peeked around the corner.

"Oh!" she said nervously. "Is this the right place?"

"Yes, yes, come in," England said cheerfully, beckoning her in. "Welcome to History of Magic. What's your name?"

"Emily Jawhem, sir," she said, looking at him shyly.

"Well, Miss Jawhem, please take a seat. Anywhere you wish. You're the first one here." He waved his hand at the arrangement of desk. Nodding timidly, the girl selected a spot at the back row and sat down. "Do you know where the others are?" England asked. The clock read two minutes until class started.

Emily shook her head. "They're probably coming, sir. It's the first day of school, after all, and this is new classroom."

"Ah." England wandered back to his desk and resumed watching the clock. More children began to file in and he watched them from his peripheral vision, sipped idly on a cup of tea.

When each student had wandered their way in and taken a seat, he stood up addressed the class.

"Good morning everyone," he said. "As you should know, my name is Professor Kirkland. However, I don't know any of your names. One at a time, I'll go around the room and expect each person to tell me their name and house. Understood?" The students nodded, watching him curiously. He imagined he was a strange sight; new, young, and unknown, yet here he was, teaching at Hogwarts.

The students stood up one at a time and told him their names and houses. He noticed, with some disdain, that they had mostly separated with the Gryffindors on the left and Ravenclaws on the right. He recognized only two of them; Ginny Weasley and the oddity that was Luna Lovegood. She smiled blissfully at him.

"Welcome, then, to History of Magic," he said. "I understand you all had Professor Binns for the last three years of your schooling?" A series of murmurs and nods affirmed his question.

"And what have you learned about so far?"

A Ravenclaw boy who England vaguely recognized as Donald Dowry raised his hand. England called on him. "We've been learning about the Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars, sir," he said.

England nodded. "And?" he prompted.

Dowry looked uncomfortable. "Erm, that's it, sir."

England stared. "That's all you've learned?" he asked incredulously. "Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars?" The boy nodded nervously. England sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair. This is going to be a bit more trying than I thought. "Well, forget all that. The majority is useless information."

The students stirred and glanced at each other, their backs straightening and their eyes brightening. "But what about the O.W.L.s?" one whispered.

"I will be writing the O.W.L.s this year," England said loudly. "Although you don't take them until 5th year.

"Now, to set down a few ground rules. I will not tolerate rudeness in this class, to me or your fellow classmates. Any that I hear will result in an immediate detention and a 10 point deduction. I expect respect; respect for me, yourself, your fellow classmates, and any materials we may use." He spoke with an air of unquestioned command and the students were paying clear attention.

He continued, "We will be discussing some sensitive topics, you are old enough that I expect you to handle these with maturity. We will also be viewing in detail a range of occurrences you may find dark or disturbing. If you do not feel you can handle it, feel free to leave. No one will judge you."

The students watched England with growing interest. He imagined they'd never before had a History of Magic class that wasn't filled with Prof. Binns boring, drawling voice. For seven short years, he'd been subject to its powers of lullaby as well.

"Finally, I expect you to pay attention. You don't have to like this class or me, but history is important!" The students jumped at this. "Come to class on time, take adequate notes, and complete each assignment to the best of your ability. Understood?"

The students heads moved in a flurry of nodding and yeses.

"Good. Now we shall begin this class. Everybody should have their book." More nodding. "You won't be needing it very often, so for further reference don't bother to bring it to class." There was a murmur of surprise at this. England repressed a smirk.

"Now, does anybody know why it's so important to study history? Anyone?" The students glanced at each other but not one of them moved to raise a hand. "Alright then, that'll be your homework for tonight." There was a whisper of indignation at this. "Oh, don't whine," England snapped. "Just a paragraph or two on why you think it's important. We'll discuss it next class."

England raised his wand—the silver birch one—and flicked it. The top of the blackboard shimmered and writing appeared there in a clear, elegant text. It read; The World Wars.

"Does anybody know what the World Wars were?" he asked. A few tentative hands reached up. England called on one.

"There were two World Wars, sir," said a girl called, if he remembered, Hayley Anderson. "They both centered around are Europe and were horribly devastating. But, um, weren't they Muggle wars?"

"Very good," England said. "5 points to Gryffindor." The girl glowed with pleasure. "You are correct, the World Wars were horribly devastating wars between, in the First World War, the Allies and the Central Powers, and in the Second World War, the Allies and Axis Powers. And correct again, they were Muggle wars." The was a murmur at this. "However, I should tell you now that we will be covering several Muggle based topics. Why? Because whether you like it or not, the Muggles live right alongside you and you should know the basics of their history. They outnumber you and whatever happens to them may happen to you. It's more important to know some about such matters."

England smiled at the surprised and affronted looks on the children's faces. "Please take out your notebooks and copy everything written here. We'll start the the beginning, with World War 1." He waved his wand slightly and the more words appeared on the blackboard. So, England began to teach.

[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}

Tired to bone, England dropped onto his comfortable bed. Teaching had taken a lot out of him but he was enjoying it so far. Basically every class had spent their last Hogwarts year(s) learning completely useless things like Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars. Well, okay, they weren't completely useless, but for practical knowledge, the majority of their previous classes were wasted time.

He'd opened each class similarly, introducing himself, the rules, and the fact at he would be teaching some basic Muggle history. Many students, especially the Slytherins, had been indignant at this, saying that it was beneath them to study Muggles. It took all of England's self-control not to laugh in their faces. Beneath them, indeed! He couldn't wait to show them some of the lovely pictures he had of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And technology had only advanced since then.

It was sad though, to see his old house reduced to nothing but a collection of bigoted purebloods and prejudiced witches. He hoped he could take them all down a few notches by the end of the year.

England had also asked each class to tell him why history was so important. Those classes that couldn't answer were assigned a paragraph or two on the topic by next class. But he was feeling pretty happy with himself. He did enjoy teaching, watching the next generation of his citizens learn and grow, it was a lovely feeling.

That lovely feeling turned to dust as his insides suddenly retched and growled.

"Oh, fuck," snarled England. He staggered to his feet and just made it into the bathroom in time. His stomach hurt and little flashes of pain flickered in his heart. His people were dying...! No...no, no, no...

He retched terribly. It was just blood, blood, and more blood. With it went his dinner and probably a few important organs as well. He groaned pitifully and clutched at the edge of the toilet seat. What the hell was that motherfucking bastard Voldemort doing now!?

He hissed and pulled himself away, still breathing heavily and choking slightly on caught blood. He spat it unceremoniously into the toilet bowl, an object he was really starting to hate. It swallowed the blood, gurgling. England growled at it.

His evening ruined, he flopped back onto his bed, blood still soaking his shirt, chin, and teeth, and was asleep within instants.