We open our story on a particularly dark gloomy night in the basement of a particularly old Victorian mansion in the heart of London. If you were to look into this particular basement you'd find a royally steamed Englishman darting around, pulling beakers and vials off of shelves and from cabinets while muttering angrily under his breath.

"I can't believe I let Alfred surprise me with that damn Russia last year, I'll have him screaming bloody murder with what I've got planned" he ranted while putting the finishing touches on a rather suspicious looking potion simmering in an immense iron cauldron in the center of the darkened room.

For this particular spell it was imperative that the room be kept dim, any intense light would have dire consequences and would either tear a hole between dimensions or just explode, either way wouldn't be very pleasant. It was a week before Halloween and Arthur wanted to be prepared for his annual feud with Alfred way ahead of time, there would be no way he'd let him get the best of him twice in a row!

"I was saving this incantation for an emergency, but I'll be damned if I don't win against that Yank, I just have to add these last ingredients and then I'll be able to start the spell".

He took a handful of a sparkling crimson powder from an ancient earthenware jar and slowly started his chant; "Obscura et potentes quaeso, subvenite surgite, surgite, surgite, Victi hostes Vincam inimicis!"

He read this chant from an weathered grimoire that was propped against some old bottles full of a cloudy liquid and there were two tallow candles lit on a holder near by to give him just enough light to read by.

"Oh, I almost forgot to add the most important thing!"

He swung around suddenly to retrieve the missing ingredient and in his haste knocked over the two candles, breaking the bottles which unfortunately seemed to be very flammable by the way they set the grimoire ablaze, lighting the whole room very brightly.

"Bloody hell!", he ripped off the cloak he had been wearing and smothered the flames but they had already burned the grimoire to a crisp. Well at least nothing else caught fire he thought dejectedly.

"The spell!" he had almost forgotten! He ran over to the cauldron and since it obviously hadn't exploded it must have ripped a hole in some dimension! But after closing his eyes and concentrating a minute he couldn't sense anything amiss, "Must of not done anything after all!" he said happily. Now he wouldn't have to deal with mending tears in space and time and could focus on the more important matter at hand, beating America!

Little did he know his spell did rip into one of the many dimensions, a small rip, but a rip nonetheless, on the second floor of an apartment complex, a teenagers apartment to be exact. And judging by the amount of Hetalia posters on the walls, she's in for quite an adventure!

Translation for England's chant: Dark and powerful spirits I beseech you, rise and aid me, rise, rise!
Help me to conquer my enemies and vanquish my foes!

Hello! I've had ideas for this story floating around my brain for quite a while and I finally sat down to type it out! This is my very first fanfiction so hopefully I'll do a halfway decent job! I'd love to hear what you think of it so far, so please leave a review and tell me what you think!