Adopted from Crazy as a Cheshire Cat. After being kicked out of the Dursley household by Vernon, Harry collapses in the snow, right in England's line of sight. One thing leads to another and, well, let's just say that Wizarding Britain is not ready for a savior raised by countries. (FrUk)

Chapter 1

A young boy shivered in the cold, barely covered in the thin rags his aunt and uncle kept him in. He stumbled through the snow, feeling the beginnings of what could only be frostbite on his bare feet. His throat was raw and numb from the cold, but he tried one last time to yell for help, but it instead came out as a mangled warble. His attempts seemed to not be in vain, however, as before he collapsed, he saw black boots and green pants before him and a worried voice asking after his well-being. The world soon went black.

~Hetalia!~

Emerald green eyes slowly opened and slowly focused. The boy looked around and tried to get out of the soft bed he was in, only to fall, his legs weak. He slowly sat up and climbed back in carefully, being careful to not aggravate his injuries further. Although he was only eight, he knew what happened; he wasn't a stupid child by any means. While he was attempting to orient himself, the door slowly creaked open, and the boy found himself facing a blond man with huge eyebrows and green eyes.

The man noticed he was awake and - after putting down the tray he was holding - rushed over to the boy to check on him. After making sure there was no fever remaining, he rewrapped the boy's feet, to minimal protest. Standing, he looked at the boy, with soft eyes creased in worry.

"Hello lad, what's your name?" He asked, despite already having suspicions after seeing the lightning bolt scar. "Why were you out in such weather?"

The child looked at him - warily, the man noted - before responding in a raspy voice, "My name? I'm not sure, sir. My aunt, uncle, and cousin always call me Freak, and they're my only family. My parents are dead, they died in a car crash." He answered innocently, deciding the man would've already hurt him if he had any intentions to do as such. "I was kicked out of the house by my uncle and decided to run away. I got lost and passed out. Who're you?"

Looking slightly shocked, the man replies with a shaky tone, "My name is Arthur Kirkland. Tell me, my boy, do you believe in magic?"

"Magic, sir?" The boy asks tiredly, feeling sleep pull at him again. Arthur notices the slow, long blinks of the boy's eyes and his large yawn.

"Go to sleep lad," Arthur says, pulling the covers to the boy's shoulders and leaving the room.

~Hetalia!~

When the boy wakes up again, there's a different man tending to his nearly frost-bitten feet. This man has nearly shoulder-length blond hair, blue eyes, and stubble on his chin.

"Ah, bonjour, petit enfant, are you feeling well?" The stranger asks kindly; the boy nods,

"Francis-" Arthur stops in the doorway, seeing the boy awake. "Hello Harry," he says with a smile.

"Harry?" The boy asks, tilting his head.

"Oui, the name your parents gave you was Harry," the Frenchman answers.

"While you were asleep, I managed to find out who you are," Arthur elaborates. Of course, it didn't take very long, anyone who's been in touch with the Wizarding World these past seven years knows of the famous Harry Potter and his scar.

"Sir, does that mean that you'll be taking me back to my relatives?" Harry asks in a fearful voice, something both men pick up on.

"No, you'll be staying here with Francis and me," Arthur answers as Francis gives Harry a small, sad smile. They don't tell Harry about the bruises and scars Artur found while stripping Harry of his cold, wet clothing to put him in something warmer. After a few diagnostic spells courtesy of the magical nation and some photographic evidence, it was easy for Arthur to convince his boss to make him Harry's legal guardian.

Harry's stomach rumbles loudly, but instead of looking sheepish, as most would, the boy flinches as if expecting to get punished for the noise, which he was. He curls in on himself, protecting his stomach. Francis is the first to react, kneeling down at the boy's bedside, carefully putting a hand on Harry's blanket-covered foot.

"Non, Cher, don't be afraid," he says kindly, and Arthur joins him, sitting on an empty space of the bed.

"We won't hurt you poppet," Arthur reassures the boy whose head is peeking up from his knees.

"Really?" Harry asks in a scared voice. Arthur and Francis look at each other before responding in unison.

"We promise."