An: I'm going through an Hetalia thing and since Hetalia/Hp crossovers are so unrepresented I wanted to add my twist. Anyone who can guess the three classes Arthur is student-teacher in gets a cookie and a favorite pairing in either series.
Arthur Kirkland And The Job
PROLOGUE
It was summer of 1993, and the beginning of what would soon become known as the Great Escape of Sirius Black or the Year of Terror to the Wizarding World. But to the countries of the world it was always referred to simply as the Great Drinking Contest Incident. In a Wizarding pub in London sat the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, more commonly called England by others, and Arthur by a select few. England knew he shouldn't have done this, any other day he probably could have stopped himself. But not today. Not with what he'd gotten in the mail today from a naïve Italian.
England lifted his class to examine the small piece of paper. It wasn't particular decorative or eye burning, very unlike Alfred. Just a simple creamy color with very slight pale gold embroidery around the edge proclaiming the date, time, and place the event would occur. Very casual, very classy. If it wasn't for the extra note that had come with it, England might have been happy, cheerful even at the thought of rebuilding his relationship with Alfred, even if it would have been awkward and a bit painful to celebrate that day. It would have been worth it.
But right as he'd been half through the RSVP number on the invitation he'd seen the small notebook paper peeking out. Curious the Brit had picked it up to read it over.
Dear Mr. England,
I know you and America argue sometimes, but me and big brother do that to! I thought it'd be great for you to come too and since Germany said you probably hadn't gotten one I sent you mine! I hope you come!
Sincerly,
Italy – Feliciano Vargas
He'd dropped the phone and had been out the door before he could even finish. Feeling sick to his stomach England had headed towards his favorite Wizarding pub, The Wolf's Howl. It was owned by a werewolf and most of its patrons were such. They left England alone and he returned the favor moping in the corner as he nursed another glass of their finest firewhisky.
Which of course was when something had to happen. Of all people to walk into his pub, it had been Prussia. That bastard older brother of Germany. Prussia had explained that he enjoyed visiting The Wolf's Howl because of the 'awesome' mixture of alcohol and violence. Somehow along the line their conversing had lead to England accepting a challenge to a drinking contest and a bet was made. Whoever lost had to work part time as a normal human job for a year that the other chose for them. As an added bonus the winner got to watch the loser's torture along with freeloading with the loser.
It was down to this drink and they both knew it. Prussia had fallen out of his chair three times in the past ten minutes and England had loudly bawled out the story of Alfred leaving him. Thankfully he'd been sobbing so loudly his words were so indistinct that the crowd had no idea what he was saying. Unfortunately they'd heard enough to gather he was crying over a man leaving him and had jumped to the wrong conclusion. England's green eyes fluttered over to the dark-skinned brunette wolf that'd had the nerve to comment. The werewolf flinched and clutched the ice he held to his more sensitive appendage tighter. His nose was also swollen from where it had been broken twice. One for the comment. The second after his friend had healed it. Prussia had done it apparently taking offense in honor of his 'West'. None of the wolves had understood, but England knew he meant Germany.
"It seems this is it," Prussia slurred lazily, his red eyes glinting. "Not even the awesome me can keep this up much longer."
England snorted, sloshing a bit of the whiskey out of his mug. The man pouted a little and Prussia chuckled. England returned the chuckle with a friendly smile. It turned out Prussia wasn't such a bastard, his alcohol clouded mind decided happily.
"Yep this is it," England agreed, a bit slow to reply. Prussia gave another wide grin, not seeming to care.
"To firewhisky!" Prussia cheered holding up his glass. England raised his to meet it.
"To Alfred!" England slurred.
"To West!" Prussia shouted.
"To Ogden!" they cried in unison and drank. The fire flowed down England's throat in a familiar welcoming manner. Now a calming warm, since he'd been drinking so long, instead of its usual burn. He knew he'd lost before he'd finished. The world began to tip and blur. The only thing keeping him focused as the black took him was a pair of perfectly sober, clear red eyes. He'd been tricked. And dammit he should have known better. This was Germany's brother and had been under Russia for pity sakes! Russia who could almost drink the Bonny Girl, as he and his brothers all called Ireland, under the table. Of course he'd hold his better than him. As he lost consciousness England wondered with despair what the warm hands that caught him would make him do.
…
"Your credentials are quite amazing Mr. Kirkland," the old man said with a calming smile to the younger on fidgeting in front of him. "And of course the reference from your grandfather makes you quite a jewel of a teacher."
The young blond paused as if he wasn't sure rather being a 'jewel' was a good thing or not. Dumbledore smiled, but hid it. The boy was amazingly polite for a boy his age. Most of the young people who came to him for a job interview were either overly arrogant in their youth or terrified of his reputation. It was quite a bother when the hiring process began. But Arthur defied that.
True, he was nervous, but the normal sort of nervous that one got when they were hoping for something. He met Dumbledore's blue eyes with his own mild green gaze with a polite respect that one would treat well known colleague. The boy also had a confidence he rarely saw in young people his age. One free of arrogance. Dumbledore found it all quite refreshing. Then again he should expect nothing less from the grandson of his dear friend Arthur Kirkland the first. True they hadn't, met face-to-face in years, but they'd kept in regular contact through owls.
"I'm pleased to tell your application as student-teacher has been accepted." Dumbledore hid another smile as the boy looked as if he'd die of relief. Dumbledore gave his mind a light scan and only caught a flash of 'the next job the bastard would pick would probably dragon-dung scooper at Gring-' before the boy's shields throw him out with vengeance.
Arthur left with a suspicious look on his face, obviously knowing very well what had happened, but too much his grandfather reborn to comment. Dumbledore simply smiled, wondering who in the world this Gilbert was.