I'm so, so sorry for the late update. To sum up what happened to me: I've moved countries and I got sucked into new fandoms (cough Marvel Game of Thrones cough). I'm in Canada at the moment finishing up my last year of high school before going for university in September, and I needed some time to adjust to stuff here but I really apologise for updating this story so infrequently. Also, my copy of the Order of the Phoenix is still at home and I can't refer to it while I write this story now so there might be some mistakes in terms of chronology.

Also, I need new betas. Message me if you're interested! The downside? I sometimes disappear for months, so you got to have lots of patience in dealing with me hah...

I don't think you need to hear anymore of my boring life, so on with the story!

His heart was beating furiously.

America glanced around the corridor, thoughtlessly adjusting his glasses as he stared dully at the door in front of him. Tentatively, he raised his right hand to the door before pausing just as his knuckles were an inch away from the wood, trembling slightly as he exhaled, eyes shut tightly.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down," chanted America to himself , hand still shaking slightly. "She just wants to talk, it has nothing to do with-"

The door abruptly opened in front of America, causing him to nearly jump a metre back in fright. Professor McGonagoll exited Umbridge's office, her left eyebrow raising in surprise when she spotted America. "Is there something wrong, Alfred?"

"No!" America all but yelled a little too quickly. Catching Professor McGonagoll's disapproving look, he lowered his voice. "I mean, no, I didn't do anything-it's just, she wanted to meet up with me to talk about my job as Quidditch referee-"

"Well, you're in luck then Alfred," replied Professor McGonagoll crisply. "Because I was just on my way to inform you that I have spoken with Dolores," the name was spoken with so much bitterness that America winced inwardly, "and she has given approval for the Gryffindor Quidditch team to continue playing."

America nearly laughed out loud in relief, but seeing the way Professor McGonagoll was eyeing him, he restrained himself and settled for solemnly nodding along to her words. "Uh, I don't quite know how to thank you professor-"

"Alfred?"

America groaned as Umbridge's voice floated out of her office. With a sympathetic look, Professor McGonagoll waved him towards Umbridge's office before striding away down the corridor, the students parting before her as she walked through the throngs of young witches and wizards.

Umbridge's face was sour as America entered. Before he could even close the door, Umbridge spoke snappily. "Permission has been granted to all teams to continue playing Quidditch. Looks like you're a very lucky young man, Alfred." An ominous atmosphere hung in the air, a silent threat. "You still have leave to stay at Hogwarts but the moment you are not required Alfred, you will be sent away. Am I making myself quite clear?"

At that moment Alfred could've have given a single damn to whatever Umbridge was saying to him. He was jubilant, happy that he wasn't out of a job and that he still got to stay with England for a while longer and frankly, that was all that counted to him. In his head, he punched and leapt into the air joyously, ignoring everything else.

"Did you hear what I just told you, Alfred?"

America froze and turned around to face a very, very annoyed Umbridge. "Maybe?" he stuttered.

The way Umbridge was staring at him, America wasn't going to get to leave her office anytime soon without a long lecture.

Scotland threw a brown folder down on the table and pushed it towards Canada who was sitting in an armchair facing the table. The Canadian had taken a quick shower and had changed into clean clothes provided by Scotland that were two sizes too huge and hung off his thin frame, making the younger man look like a homeless scarecrow on the run.

Canada quirked an eyebrow as he picked up the folder while Scotland paced around his personal office agitatedly, his footsteps short and rhythmic. "What is this?" Canada asked as he flipped the folder open and started speed reading through the contents.

Scotland whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the folder. "Two weeks ago. It happened two weeks ago. There was a security breach in the oldest document vault in Downing Street. By the time I got there, several documents concerning us," the emphasis on the word got Canada's attention, "Were missing. Vanished into thin air. Yours, mine, England's, your brother's folders. All gone. Whoever our thief was, he knew what he wanted. And he got it." Abruptly, Scotland slammed a fist on the table, sending stray papers flying and pencils rattling. "What the hell is going on here?" The words were spat out furiously. "First the Ministry of Magic monitoring Muggle fireplaces, now documents from World War Two disappear into the void! I am fed up with this mess, and I want out as soon as that obnoxious, thick-headed brother of mine gets back from his teaching position at Hogwarts!"

Canada recoiled physically. Abashedly, Scotland lowered his voice.

"I'm sorry," Scotland said quietly after a few seconds of awkward silence. "This had nothing to do with you. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"No, no it's alright!" Canada replied hastily, clutching the folder to his chest tightly. Thoughtfully, he added. "Do you need any help?"

"Yes." came the short reply. "I had an emergency meeting over in Berlin a few days ago and do you know what they told me?" In a dramatic reenactment of the meeting, Scotland threw his hands up into the air, "'Leave it be! Let Arthur sort it out! Stay out of it! Oh, and make sure nobody else breaks into anywhere important!'."Scotland sent a glowering look into the wall behind Canada. "And regarding your brother-"

"Is he okay?" Canada said quickly, alarm rising.

Scotland snorted. "Are you joking? It would take an entire squadron of tanks to even dent your brother. No, he's fine. I just got a letter from him, and he even managed to send me the counter-curse to that bloody hex England put on me and my brothers earlier. No, it's you I worry about, Canada."

"Me?" Canada could have swore his voice went up three octaves.

"Voldemort's after you." It wasn't a question. "He wants you for whatever twisted reasons he has. Which means he knows what you are. Which also means somebody told him. Which means our beloved thief who stole those documents must be somebody on the inside."

A chill ran up Canada's spine and it had nothing to do with the air conditioner. "You're telling me there might be a spy in Downing Street?"

"God no, not Downing Street." Scotland said with an oddly pained expression. "I'm talking about the Ministry of Magic."

"Well that's not surprising if you consider the fact that there are still a few former Death Eaters working there-"

"Exactly!" Scotland pointed at Canada. "So when you suddenly start working at the ministry, what will those so called former Death Eaters do? Call the big guy down? Send a Killing Curse at you?" The Scotsman was grinning now. "And when they make their move...wham! We'll get them!"

Canada's mind screeched to a halt as he stared up at a smiling Scotland. No, he must have misheard it. It wasn't possible. "Hold up. Did you just say...work? At the ministry? Of magic? I-I can't do that!"

Scotland loomed over Canada. "Says who?"

Canada sighed."You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"One glance at the older man's face was enough to reassure him.

"God help me," Canada thought wearily to himself. He was getting too old for these sort of undercover missions. Sitting at a desk doing paperwork looked far more appealing now. The sudden thought that he was becoming more like England sent a wry smile across his face. What would America think of him?

"How is this going to work?" asked Canada. He wanted every single detail, right down to the number of hours and minutes and seconds he was going to be working at the ministry. There was no way in hell he was going to end up like his brother, getting pushed around by those higher than him in Hogwarts. Getting stuck in rough situations and then getting out of them unscathed was America's ability, not his, as evident by the bruises forming on Canada's face and the jagged wounds still glistening red on his arms.

Scotland looked pleased with himself. Too pleased for Canada's taste, in fact. "We have inside information already on how these Death Eaters are pulling the strings around Fudge-oh, he's the current Minister of Magic," he said quickly in response to Canada's questioning look. "Fudge himself is oblivious to everything important going on around him and prefers to stick with unimportant shit. Trying to change Hogwarts, stop the Order of the Phoenix and boot out Albus Dumbledore etcetera, etcetera. That's another story for another time, sorry. You, Canada, will help bring us inside information on everything happening around Fudge and whatever nonsense those Death Eaters get up to in the Ministry. Is that alright with you?"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "And just exactly what will I be working as in the ministry?"

"You'll be Fudge's junior assistant's assistant."

An eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"Fudge's junior assistant. Percy Weasley. You'll be his assistant. Run errands, fetch tea, get spare paper, whatever wizards tell their assistants to do. It's a perfect position." Scotland looked proud of himself, and Canada didn't want to burst his bubble. "You'll be able to listen in on everything that goes on in Fudge's office and identify the game the Death Eaters are urging us to play with them. And yes, you'll report to me. I'm in charge of this mission, after all."

"But Scott, I can't do this-" Canada put his hands up in defense when Scotland bristled. "Hear me out, please. Give me a moment." He took a deep breathe. "This is too risky. Anything could go wrong in there, anything could happen and if something happens to me, if they break me and they find out anything..." There was a lump in his throat now. "I want you guys to be safe, but what if I give you all away? I'm not as strong as America, not as brave as England and I'm not tough as Germany. I… don't think I can do this."

Suddenly, Canada felt a warm hand grip his shoulders. Startled, he looked up and saw Scotland looking down at him, an unrecognisable expression on his face, his eyes clouded over.

It was a few seconds before Scotland spoke. "I understand." There was a strong swell of emotion in his tone of voice, something unidentifiable. "If you really don't want to do it, I won't force you. I can always call France over for help. I just thought you might want in on this mission, since you and England are quite close…" A small smile flickered over the Scottish man's face. "Well, closer than I am with him, anyway."

Canada was at a loss for words. He had never seen Scotland this desperate before. A small voice nagged him at the back of his head, urging him to help. His logical side however, urged him to turn away from it all. This was none of his business, why get involved? It would only get more complicated later on, why risk everything for this matter?

But his brother was in trouble, and England too. For once, everyone needed him. What would America do in a situation like this? He'd do what he thought was right, Canada's inner voice told him.

"Fine," Scotland turned to look at Canada, who had stood up, a fire burning in his violet eyes. "I'll take the job."

A small grin flittered over Scotland's face.

"Hey, Harry!" Harry turned around to see Angelina running down the stairs to catch him. "Harry, wait up!"

Harry waited a while for Angelina to catch her breathe before asking. "What's up, Angelina?"

Angelina triumphantly waved a piece of parchment before his face. "Guess what? McGonagoll got permission for us to continue playing, hah! Practice is on at seven tonight!" She peered closely at Harry. "You don't look well, Harry. Did something happen?"

Harry stared at Angelina. Just this morning, Hedwig had flown in during History of Magic class, her wings bent at an awkward angle. Despite Professor Kirkland's assurance that she was going to be fine after resting for a day, Harry was still concerned. What if someone had read the contents of Sirius' letter? And just yesterday, Umbridge had nearly caught him and Sirius in the fireplace, her stubby fingers grabbing around in the fire where Sirius' head had been previously. Just thinking about it sent coldness seeping into Harry. "I'm fine, Angelina. I'll see you tonight."

Angelina leaned in closer, whispering into Harry's ear. "Hey, about that other club, have you organised the first meeting yet?"

Harry shook his head. At this very moment, Ron and Hermione were still looking for suitable rooms. Most rooms were too small to fit their group and those that were big enough were located too close to Umbridge's office for Harry's taste. "Not yet, I'll contact everyone when I find somewhere suitable for us."

Angelina shrugged. "Alright, just make sure none of those Slytherins find out, okay? I hear Malfoy's still on your tail. See you later, Harry!"

Harry merely waved halfheartedly at Angelina as she skipped away, his mind a thousand miles away on Sirius.

Percy Weasley stared at the young man before him. When he'd said he wanted an assistant, he wasn't expecting somebody so...young. Ironically, he was probably the same age as or even younger than his new assistant.

Canada stared down at his shoes as he sat in the chair. Other than a mumbled "Good morning," as he'd entered, he had not spoken a single word to his new employer sitting across from him.

"So, let's start then. What's your name?" said Percy once he realised that the shy young man in front of him was not going to speak first.

"Matthew Williams," muttered Canada as he continued staring down at his shoes.

Percy sighed frustratedly. "Alright then, Matthew. You can start by clearing out these," he waved at three cabinets that were bursting with parchment. Canada gulped. "Then when you're finished, you need to accompany me to a meeting with the Minister of Magic. I need you to record the meeting for documentation purposes." He squinted at Canada. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Canada intoned dully. Internally, he cursed Scotland for always sending him to boring jobs that threatened to kill him with boredom. Why couldn't he get sent to Hogwarts instead? Of course, it was his brother that went instead of him. Always America, never Canada, the silent younger brother in the hero's shadow.

But now his brother was in danger, and England too. Everything depended on how much intel he could leak to Scotland, who in turn would alert his own brother at Hogwarts.

Canada sat up straighter in his chair.

England bolted upright in his bed. Sweat was beaded on his forehead as he tried to calm his racing heart. The sheets were tangled around his waist as he sat in the dark, listening to America's gentle snores in the corner of the room.

It was just a dream, he thought silently to himself. England hadn't had a nightmare that bad ever since the night Voldemort had returned in his physical form last year.

In his dreams, England had felt anger and impatience so intense he had cried out in pain, his body writhing in his bed. He had seen Voldemort, heard him hissing at his followers, heard the venom in his voice and felt his frustration.

The Dark Lord wasn't happy with something, that was for sure.

Previously, years ago, he had consulted with Dumbledore on the issues of his nightmares. There was a limit to his knowledge of magic, and the realm of dreams was one of them. Why could he feel what Voldemort did, see through his eyes and even read his thoughts? Even Dumbledore had not been able to give a full explanation, offering an idea instead.

"Voldemort is a part of you, however much you try to deny it." Dumbledore had said gently. "His actions, his thoughts, his emotions are all a part of you. I think, if you concentrate hard enough, you may be able to see into the minds of your own citizens, decipher their feelings and emotions..."

"I know I can do that," England had replied curtly, "Although frankly, it doesn't interest me. In general, I just feel what the people are feeling towards the nation, sense their thoughts pertaining to the country and that's it. I don't go any further. Why is Voldemort disturbing my dreams then? I don't sleep well enough as it is." Centuries of bloodshed and heartbreak would do that to a person.

"Arthur, I believe it is because whatever is Voldemort is doing at the moment is directly impacting the country and its citizens severely." Dumbledore stared out of his office's window. On his perch in the corner, Fawkes gnawed on a bone. "Which would offer a vague explanation to why you are dreaming of him, but still doesn't explain why you can sense his emotions and moods..."

England had puzzled over it for years despite the nightmares disappearing after Voldemort had been vanquished, but a year before Dumbledore had sent an owl to him, asking him to come to Hogwarts for an explanation regarding his nightmares. When he'd arrived, Dumbledore had got straight to the point. "I believe I might have an explanation to your nightmares in the past."

England had listened in horror as Dumbledore told him everything he needed to know. Voldemort and his hocruxes, the pieces of his soul lying scattered around the country and finally, Harry Potter.

"Are you telling me that Harry Potter might be a Hocrux?" England's knuckles had gone white from gripping the edge of Dumbledore's table too tightly. "How does that pertain to my nightmares?"

Dumbledore had knitted his fingers together, staring thoughtfully at England before continuing. "I believe the same concept applies to you too, my dear friend. You carry a piece of each citizen inside you, a piece of their soul. One might even call it their essence, if you want to be precise."

England groaned as he sat down again. "So now that Voldemort's back, I'm going to start feeling his emotions again? I don't think I can take it anymore. Generally, his thoughts just go along the line of 'I'm angry at everyone so I'm going to kill them!'. And what about Harry? Have you told him about this matter?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I need more confirmation that a piece of Voldemort's soul is in him, although I already have solid proof that he is splitting his soul. Tom Riddle's diary, his resurrection to a physical body... all proof that he has found a way to cheat death."

"Why would he want to live forever, though?" The words had tumbled out of England's mouth before he could think about it. "It's not exactly a walk in the park, and I speak from experience."

Dumbledore had looked curiously at England before replying. "Pity him, England. You who do not fear death know that there are infinitely worse things than dying. Heartbreak, broken relationships, betrayal... ultimately, Voldemort does not feel as we do and to him, death is the ultimate enemy to be conquered and he believes he has succeeded despite his soul getting maimed beyond recognition in the process." He had sighed. "Until we destroy his Hocruxes, I believe that we are stuck with him coming back from the dead every time he gets killed."

The conversation ran through England's head again as he gripped the bed sheets, his breathing gradually slowing down and returning to its normal pattern. He had to get used to these nightmares from now on, seeing as how active Voldemort was getting in the past few months. It wasn't until he had calmed down significantly that he felt the warm body lying next to him on his own bed.

"HOLY SH-" England yelled in surprise but immediately clapped a hand to his mouth. In a lower tone, he whispered furiously to the younger man in his bed. "What the hell are you doing in my bed, America?"

America stirred, opening one eye as he looked up to see England looming furiously over him. "Geez, old man. Calm down, will you? I heard you thrashing and moaning around in bed just now and I thought..." He looked uneasy for a moment. "Remember when I was young and I'd get scared of lightning and thunder? Do you remember what you did to try to get me to calm down?"

England paused for a moment to rake his memories. "I'd let you sleep in my bed for that night, and I'll occasionally sing you a song or two." He blushed furiously. His singing skills weren't exactly perfect, and France had once likened it to a crow screeching on its deathbed. Of course, France had ended up with a black eye that day.

"Well then," America rolled over and pulled up the sheets to his chin. "Consider this as payback for all those times you used to comfort me whenever I had a nightmare by singing. And I'm not moving from your bed. You can go sleep in my bed, if you want." There was a smug expression on America's face as his eyes closed, and soon enough he was snoring softly.

England's frown softened as he laid down on his pillow, staring at America's face as he slept. The young nation looked vulnerable, his face strangely relaxed in his sleep.

I'd let you sleep in my bed whenever you got scared as a child. England stroked the top of America's head, seeing once again the young boy he'd raised. And now you're repaying the debt.

"Thank you, America," whispered England as he settled down, sleep claiming him once again.

On the other side of the bed, America smiled.

I think I'm getting a toothache from all this fluff and I'm the one writing it. Amazing. I need to cut down on the fluff and get on with the story.

If anyone's interested, I have a new Hetalia and Hunger Games crossover up. It focuses more on Canada and America's relationship (as opposed to England and America in this story) so you should check it out if you're interested. :)

Also, vote on my profile if you think I should set up a tumblr blog for all my stories and writing in general. I'll get back to everyone regarding the poll in the next chapter. And I need betas too, so hit me up with a message if you're interested!

Reviews will make Voldemort cry.