Lily's Theme, Inception OST.

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Snakeskins

A Dash of Floo

If there was ever going to be one impossible thing, one question that no nation no matter how old was ever going to have a simple, succinct answer to, it was involvement. How close was too close? How soon was too soon?

There would always be an inkling of things about to go wrong, a light fever that barely registered in the morning but that hung on for days and weeks at a time, an unconscious tremor or subtle restlessness that burrowed right down to the bone and sank its teeth in for the long haul.

And to be perfectly honest, even after his thousands of years of life the Nation now known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland still wouldn't have noticed the issue at all if it hadn't sprung up right under his nose.

Or.

To be a bit more literal.

It sprung right out of his chimney flue.

"Minister Kirkland! Terribly sorry to intrude!" It was a rude little man in an indigo robe, a lopsided green hat with yellow tassels swinging from the side like Romani coins: terribly out of fashion but there none the less. "Would have sent an owl you see but there was no, oh- uh- Hello!" And he was traipsing green gas and smoke across Arthur Kirkland's study.

The ash was long gone from the converted fireplace as it had been sealed at some point over the last three decades, but that wasn't enough to stop someone like this. No, in fact the decorative grate set in front of the hearth was doing a much better job of getting in the short little man's way as he fumbled and fought and eventually tripped his way properly into the room, knocking that florescent hat off his head and exposing a rusty crown of thin red hair combed with grey.

"M... Minister Weasley..." Under these circumstances, Arthur Kirkland gave himself credit for not losing his composure all at once and jumping up screaming for the old man to get out of his office. For once, he managed to keep calm with a raging pulse and bile in his throat. "I'm in the middle of something."

Something, meaning his two guests: a pair of men in suits who'd both twisted around in their chairs to look at the fireplace when it exploded with green flames. One was done up in charcoal grey with a white collar flattened around his throat, the other steel blue with expensive leather shoes creaking somewhere out of sight as he shifted. They were both wearing fine wool with polished cufflinks, fashionable ties and starched shirts.

Not the sort of people he wanted exposed to a frumpy wizard, because that was Arthur Weasley in a nutshell: frumpy, well-meaning, and nearly as witless as the rest of the magical community.

But then it struck him that there was far too much silence in the office for one of the wizarding world's usual check-ins.

"Mister Weasley?" Dropping the title, Kirkland watched the man in the brilliant robe do something he never did in front of muggles: he went terribly pale and started to shake. "Arthur?"

Even calling him by his first name didn't inspire a change, but before the Nation could stand up and try something else, one of the men across the desk from him stood up first.

"Please, have a seat, signore. You seem faint."

"Weasley?" the question was for Kirkland and he looked at the speaker directly, not afraid of irritated green eyes telling him how annoying this interruption was and how much he didn't want to be slouched over in that chair for much longer not getting anything done. Trying to come up with as solution, Kirkland held his breath for a moment before remembering himself and finding the words for an introduction.

"Gentlemen, this is Arthur Weasley, my domestic contact from the department of Muggle Relations here in London. Minister Weasley," and a quick look at his guests before confirming which names to use. "These men are the Vargas Brothers, my international counter-parts from Rome, Italy."

"A pleasure, I- actually no."Weasley spoke first and stopped the rest of them from saying anything. The wizard wasn't looking at any of them anymore, he was still staring blankly at the seat the younger brother, North Italy, had just offered him. It was like he'd forgotten what a chair was as he shook his head, wearing his age on his face as he looked up with sad grey eyes. "Not a pleasure at all, I'm afraid. Minister Kirkland you must come with me at once."

"What? I'm in the middle of-"

"There's no time," Hearing someone who was usually bumbling and good-natured raise his voice was uncanny, but Weasley brought it up just high enough not to be insulting, just persistent. "We must go."

Kirkland checked his watch and when he looked back up Weasley was staring at the floor.

"It's ten in the morning, man, there's no reason-"

"Sir there's been a death!" If Weasley had been looking at him he would have been shouting, but instead the old wizard was just standing there trying not to shake. At least now the strange behaviour made sense.

"A death where?" He asked.

"Two. Two deaths, sir..."

"Where?" He pressed.

Arthur Weasley was not a wizard known for holding his tongue or getting scared of anything. He was a veteran of two magical wars with children and children-in-law decorated as heroes and soldiers. But he didn't speak up now, sixty years of hard work and magic made a lively wizard appear old and rugged, so when he looked up he found Feliciano Vargas first where he was standing next to the vacant chair, then looked to Lovino who was still seated across from Kirkland at the desk and watching closely. It brought a kind of weight to the moment that their host had to admire and take seriously when it was finally his turn to carry that stare again.

"At Hogwarts, sir. This morning, nine o'clock: they found them."

One of his guests gasped, Arthur just felt cold.

"Tell me they weren't students." It was the only thing he could say.

"One fifth year, one seventh. Siblings sir."

"Tell me they-"

"International students, sir, which is why the Minister of Magic and Headmistress are both asking for you."

It was a mechanical response, still sitting behind his desk, for the representation of England to look at the dual personas of the Italian Republic and try to address them. South Italy spoke first:

"We can reschedule, my brother and I can keep busy at the consulate for today."

"Or we can come with you."

South Italy did not like this idea, but Kirkland really didn't have the presence of mind to worry about that, he just spoke up with a different question for Weasley:

"International: from where?" Who was Arthur going to have to call and visit to discuss this with?

"I don't know if I can give information like-"

"Weasley!"Now was not the time to be keeping information from him, there was precious little space left in his brain for anything that wasn't trying to piece together the situation and work out where precisely he had left his wand and robes.

"Italian, sir. Sirs."

That settled it. From the way South Italy closed his eyes like he was suddenly in pain to North Italy's fingertips biting into the wooden back of the chair, Kirkland stood up immediately and spoke to his original guests.

"Do you have any of your materials?" Robes, wands, anything that would let them easily move around in Wizarding London. Of course, North Italy was the only once to answer with a quick shake of his head, but he was already speaking quickly to his brother in their own language:

"I'll go with them and learn what I can, but one of us has to be in Rome."

"I'll be on the next flight home this morning and contact our ministry while I'm in the air. Fuck." South Italy already had his phone out and was surfing through apps to find a ticket, and Kirkland didn't wonder why he didn't simply suggest magic: South Italy had never been very tolerant of magical travel.

"Minister Kirkland-"

"Eng- Arthur, I need to borrow robes."

"Yes, this way."

"Kirkland!"

"Do you expect us to wander around wandless in suits and ties, Weasley? Hurry up, there's another fireplace downstairs!" While Kirkland spoke, South Italy was stuffing papers in a brief-case and already had his brother's laptop bag over his shoulder. The host quickly led the other two away. He heard Feliciano call back with a question but the answer was a shout to hurry the hell up and not worry so much. Whatever rude feelings came from abandoning a guest to see himself out of the house were washed away by the reason why.

Thank god they weren't at Parliament today. It was always better to take fellow nations to meetings at his private home: there was nothing stressful between himself and Italy at the moment anyways. It was 2017, the recession that had strangled Europe was slowly fading day by day and as Kirkland hurried down into the basement of his London Townhouse he wasn't edgy about showing North Italy where he kept his magical closet.

A locked door with a simple charm to recognize who he was when he touched the knob, and a trio of fairy friends fluttering around the corner that Weasley saw at once and ducked away from while Italy put on a face like he might sneeze without recognizing them.

His basement wasn't to code, not London building code at least, but the heavy stones reached almost too far into the ground so a bit of magic had been needed to bend the sewer pipes out of the way. Tall closets, dusty tables: he didn't come down here as often as he'd like anymore but still knew where everything was. No electric lights, just candle stubs charmed to light up when the door opened so they could give the dingy space a murky glow.

"Here, pull this on." The second closet he passed was full of wizarding robes, a midnight blue with green cuffs coming out first as he rifled through the folded clothes and shook one out. They were nearly the same height, but Italy made a terrible face as he quickly took the velvet and started opening the buttons and toggles.

"Even I can see that this is out of style." But that didn't stop him from pulling it on. The blue didn't look very good with the auburn wash of his hair or the sun-kissed look of his skin, but he didn't complain about the permanent wrinkles or shower of dust as his expensive grey suit was covered up completely.

The grey robe Kirkland found for himself was threadbare in a few places and he wouldn't look like much of a minister with the trodden hem, but he was more concerned with hiding muggle office clothes as he pulled the heavy thing on and kept walking, leaving the closet open and rifled through as he immediately went hunting for his wand.

"You really do live like muggles, don't you? None of this has been touched in ages!"

"Twenty years." Kirkland answered, following a path between dusty tables of abandoned maps and discarded potion materials, a little bit of fairy light helping him along to the small podium resting against the far wall.

"That makes sense, but Signore Weasley, please: my wand is in Rome, can't you do something about these wrinkles? Or the colour?"

"To travel so far without magic, I wish I was young enough to try something like that again."

Arthur Kirkland's wand was one of the most heavily protected items in his home. He didn't use it very often: he could still remember a time before wide-spread wand usage, and he'd learned from nations who'd never imagined endowing so much power on a simple wooden rod. Thirteen inches of English Oak with a lock from a chimera's mane serving as the core, that last part was something of a secret after the banning of chimera hunts back in the eighteenth century. The golden lustre of the old wood was alluring, almost hypnotizing, with decals of roses winding around the base to form a grip.

Three enchantments were set over the wand and its stand. One fell away simply by Kirkland himself reaching through it, the next needed a few ancient words, and the last...

A small pocket knife and a tiny knick on his thumb next to the nail, just a little bit of blood to make the last hex break apart and stop him from bursting into flame or being tossed right across the Thames for daring to come too close.

It was like saying hello to an old, sleepy friend who was happy to be of use again as his hand closed over the roses. There was a warmth that came to him before the hazy question of why began to nag at the air, but that question did not have a pleasant answer.

"Alright, let's go!" The podium had a little cabinet door and Arthur quickly rifled through that for what he needed: a bag of pocket change with at least one gold galleon as emergency money, and a leather sleeve for his wand that hooked up under his robe to stow the old rod out of sight until he needed it.

There was another fireplace down here just like he'd said, looking back at the others just in time to see North Italy's face as he flinched from the gust of wind from Weasley's wand. It blew a terrible mess of dust from the floor and fabric and he didn't look much better for the experience, but at least they both came hurrying along.

"Are you sure you want to come with us?" A stash of Floo Powder in a china tea pot rattled as he pulled back his wand for the first time in twenty years, rolling the oak rod between his fingers and setting off a gout of red fire directly into the hearth. There was no wood: it didn't need any to burn for a little while.

"You just told me two Italian children are dead at your school." Kirkland expected to turn and see Weasley next to him, but the footsteps were Italy's, and an uncharacteristically harsh expression was on his narrow face. "Of course I'm coming."

"That settles it." A pinch of floo powder between his fingers and with a sudden blast of light and sound, the red flames turned brilliant green and Kirkland looked for Weasley. "Lead on, where are they waiting?"

"Hogsmeade Village, sir."

"You first then, show us the way."

Both nations stepped back enough to let the Wizard through first. Arthur Weasley's stooped shoulders and balding head made the flames lick and swirl around him so high the grandfatherly old man almost vanished without saying a word.

"Hogsmeade Station!" He declared in a full voice, and with a loud roar of flames Arthur Weasley vanished, leaving Kirkland and North Italy standing in a London basement.

"Feliciano," Kirkland offered the floo powder to Italy first, watching him nervously take a pinch between his fingers as the flames settled back to a crimson glow. "However this turns out, please know that I'm sorry."

It almost looked like Italy tried to grin at him or say something foolish, but reality came back too quickly and it crushed the forced cheer. He took the breath and wore the smile, but they both faltered and slipped silently back to the dusty floor.

"I wanted to take expense reports home with me, England. Not caskets."

He didn't apologize again. Maybe in his heart, or in the brief silence that hung there with red light splashed over their faces and trying to burn the borrowed old robes covering clothing they were both far more comfortable in, but he didn't say it again. He just held Italy's gaze until the other man broke away first, tossing the silver powder into the fire and letting it change to a safe green again before hesitantly stepping forward. It was hard getting used to magic after decades of equating fire with burns.

A deep breath that looked like it almost pulled old soot into his mouth, and with an accented voice raised high enough to make sure the words were clear:

"Hogsmeade station!"

Italy vanished in a storm of green sparks, and England soon followed.

There are currently 14 (and a half) chapters of this story completed, so hang around for the next few days and I'll get the next update proof-read and posted!

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