Drabble
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'Mysterious, Deadly Destruction of Bridge Causes Panic'
England scowled at the headlines and slapped his newspaper back onto the table. "First it was several small stores getting damaged, then houses getting burned. Now bridges are getting demolished!? Those damned fools... How the hell am I supposed explain this?"
What's next? Honestly, how did they expect him to keep magic under wraps if attacks like this were going on? Blaming the incidents on crazy cultists, drunks or gangs barely covered up the somewhat smaller incidents, but if they kept destroying bridges or, even worse, buildings...
The last thing he needed was for America to butt in, with that unbearable hero bull, and uncover everything he had strived to hide from the millions of non-magic citizens. But he wasn't about to go asking other, more subtle nations for help. He was perfectly capable of handling the magical population within his own borders, thank you very much. He had done so for centuries and one crazed dark wizard and his lackeys wasn't going to ruin that streak. Honestly, he wasn't even the first overpowered magical bastard he had to deal with during his long life.
... Though at this rate, he would definitely have a lot of work on his hands with the war slowly creeping to a climax.
England let out a frustrated sigh and shakily sipped at his darjeeling tea in an attempt to calm himself, not that it was very effective.
What irritated him was that he was very restricted when it came to dealing with problems in the wizarding world. It wasn't like he could get tied up in the war; He couldn't afford to die, which is why nations had whit drawn from the front lines of non-magical war after weapons far more... permanently damaging had been created. At least being a nation gave him the merit of being quite hard to kill, though getting hit with the killing spell twice in his life had been extremely unpleasant. Not to mention uncomfortable considering he had to pretend to be dead until he could get away without gaining unneeded attention as the first, second now, person to survive the killing curse. Hiding the fact from the general public that he was England was hard enough.
But at the same time, he didn't feel content with leaving everything to those fighting against that Voldemort.
He placed his already lukewarm tea down and glanced at the window, noticing a lone pigeon flying by in the grey skies. He could write his concerns, questions and possibly complaints and hope he could get a reply to calm his nerves. But the last time, his reply had taken a week and the damned ministry had simply written back with petty reassuring and excuses, as if he was just a mundane citizen. He had been in a pretty sour mood after that for quite some time. The higher ups knew who he was, damn it, and he deserved some respect from them.
But recently, the actions of an old wizard, Albus Dumbledore, had attracted his attention. While the ministry simple shook in their boots, Albus and The Order had been going around and, well, actually trying to get things done. It was a shame he had never went to talk to them. He had met Albus, along with a few others important Wizarding world figures, once before, so at least he would know that he was a nation, but it was a brief meeting.
England pondered his current predicament while absentmindedly and lightly tapping the smooth side of his tea cup. When he eyed the almost hidden, and quite neglected, container of floo powder behind the canisters of tea on the kitchen counter, he let out another sigh, though more tired than frustrated, and stood up.
Perhaps it was time to pay Albus a visit.
'Mysterious, Deadly Destruction of Bridge Causes Panic'
England scowled at the headlines and slapped his newspaper back onto the table. "First it was several small stores getting damaged, then houses getting burned. Now bridges are getting demolished!? Those damned fools... How the hell am I supposed explain this?"
What's next? Honestly, how did they expect him to keep magic under wraps if attacks like this were going on? Blaming the incidents on crazy cultists, drunks or gangs barely covered up the somewhat smaller incidents, but if they kept destroying bridges or, even worse, buildings...
The last thing he needed was for America to butt in, with that unbearable hero bull, and uncover everything he had strived to hide from the millions of non-magic citizens. But he wasn't about to go asking other, more subtle nations for help. He was perfectly capable of handling the magical population within his own borders, thank you very much. He had done so for centuries and one crazed dark wizard and his lackeys wasn't going to ruin that streak. Honestly, he wasn't even the first overpowered magical bastard he had to deal with during his long life.
... Though at this rate, he would definitely have a lot of work on his hands with the war slowly creeping to a climax.
England let out a frustrated sigh and shakily sipped at his darjeeling tea in an attempt to calm himself, not that it was very effective.
What irritated him was that he was very restricted when it came to dealing with problems in the wizarding world. It wasn't like he could get tied up in the war; He couldn't afford to die, which is why nations had whit drawn from the front lines of non-magical war after weapons far more... permanently damaging had been created. At least being a nation gave him the merit of being quite hard to kill, though getting hit with the killing spell twice in his life had been extremely unpleasant. Not to mention uncomfortable considering he had to pretend to be dead until he could get away without gaining unneeded attention as the first, second now, person to survive the killing curse. Hiding the fact from the general public that he was England was hard enough.
But at the same time, he didn't feel content with leaving everything to those fighting against that Voldemort.
He placed his already lukewarm tea down and glanced at the window, noticing a lone pigeon flying by in the grey skies. He could write his concerns, questions and possibly complaints and hope he could get a reply to calm his nerves. But the last time, his reply had taken a week and the damned ministry had simply written back with petty reassuring and excuses, as if he was just a mundane citizen. He had been in a pretty sour mood after that for quite some time. The higher ups knew who he was, damn it, and he deserved some respect from them.
But recently, the actions of an old wizard, Albus Dumbledore, had attracted his attention. While the ministry simple shook in their boots, Albus and The Order had been going around and, well, actually trying to get things done. It was a shame he had never went to talk to them. He had met Albus, along with a few others important Wizarding world figures, once before, so at least he would know that he was a nation, but it was a brief meeting.
England pondered his current predicament while absentmindedly and lightly tapping the smooth side of his tea cup. When he eyed the almost hidden, and quite neglected, container of floo powder behind the canisters of tea on the kitchen counter, he let out another sigh, though more tired than frustrated, and stood up.
Perhaps it was time to pay Albus a visit.