“I don’t like this…” the Brit sighed to himself. “The chosen one will need extra protection this year, I just know it.” he gazed at pictures of other countries and found that there was only one who was right for the job. “I need to call…the Axis.”
“Germany! Hey Germany!” the young Italian ran up to his blond friend, Romano not far holding up an odd black bushy mustache, laughing at first, then freaking out. “Oh, hello Romano.” The said Italian quickly swiped the mustache behind his back while his face turned a deep tomato red.
“What is it Italy?” Germany asked, clutching his head.
The redhead held up a paper and waved it in the air. “I got a letter from Britain! It says that he needs us there immediately!”
The German took the paper out of Italy’s grip and searched the paper for any suspicion. “Dear Axis,” he read aloud. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I have an emergency in my country that the Allies can’t handle. I regret to say this, but you are my only hope. I’m willing to give anything I can possibly offer to you for your assistance. This is no trick. I desperately need your help. I’ll explain when you arrive, and I promise that I, along with the rest of the Allies, will be unarmed. Consider this my white flag.” Taped to the bottom of the paper was a stick and a white cloth tied to it to resemble a flag with Britain’s signature. “As you can tell, I’m desperate! Please help, Britain.”
Germany, Italy, and Romano exchanged glances. Though they all knew that Britain was far from a friend, it was obvious that he was a country in need.
The next day, they arrived at the home of Britain. Glares were exchanged between Allies and Axis, but none of them were armed as promised. England walked towards them thankfully and shook their hands. “Thank you! Thank you!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe my letter!”
“How could we not?” Germany asked, crossing his arms angrily. “You offered us anything, and sent a white flag.”
“You WHAT?!” all Allies exclaimed in unison at the Brit.
“I was…no. I AM desperate!” he defended. He turned to the German and Italians, scratching the back of his head, smiling weakly, and chuckling nervously. “I guess I forgot to tell them that.”
“Alright! Alright!” Romano yelled impatiently. “What is this about Brit?!”
“Well…” England was slightly embarrassed to explain the situation, but it had to be done. “You’re aware of my country’s…magic school?” The three nodded. “Well…in that school, is a boy…not just any boy, but he’s known as ‘The Boy Who Lived’, and he’s entering his fourth year.”
“Get to the point!” Germany yelled.
“I need him to be protected, and I just know that there is something that’s going to go wrong at that school.” he explained. “I know well enough that the only person who can protect him is…well…you Germany.”
“Oh no!” he refused. “No way I’m going to some school to be a bodyguard while all you Allies torture Italy!”
“He can come with you.” England quickly promised. “Romano too.” The Italians and German looked back at the Brit, listening intently. “Even though I’d have to make you look like first years, you’d still be the only one with the courage, and strength that not even Russia has.”
“Sorry Russia, but it’s true!” he defended as he looked at Germany’s face, full of thought and seriousness. “I’ll provide you with a spell to make you three look the proper age, a supply list, and the most money I can gather for you to collect your supplies, and goods.” There was a silent pause. “All I ask is that you protect Harry Potter, and write a quick report once in a while on his well-being. Please, Germany. This is important for the sake of not only my country, but yours, Italy, China, America, Russia, Japan, all around the globe, though they don’t know it, their lives depend on this boy’s survival.”
“We won’t do it!” Romano exclaimed. “Right Veniciano?” The younger brother couldn’t respond. Romano turned to the German. “How about you Potato Bastard? You’re not buying this bull, are you?!”
Germany was twisted with emotions. Flattered, confused, protective, curious…and willing. “Exactly…how young do you mean when you say ‘first years’?”