Chapter Text
It was a hot, muggy day in Rochester, New York.
Alfred Jones huffed, blowing a tuft of sweaty hair out of his eyes as he scanned the newspaper before him. The words were practically blurring together at this point, boredom making it even more difficult to piece together the morning news.
He groaned, giving up and setting the newspaper down. These last few days were supposed to be a vacation, something to lighten his mood after his trip to Japan last week, but the melancholy of it had yet to leave his mind, he supposed. Even the scenery wasn’t helping. The small house Alfred owned in the outskirts of Rochester wasn’t enough; usually his spot in the kitchen made him feel better. The sun was streaming in through the windows, the leaves were green and full, and the lady next door was passing by with her dog, but he couldn’t bring himself to summon up the energy to be anything but bored.
Ugh. Alfred sighed, glancing at the calendar. August 20th, 1995. Nothing was going on; even the international scene was fairly quiet. His boss didn’t have any work for him; Alfred had hardly even talked to his government in the last few years, mostly just check-ins and occasional public appearances to make sure he was still around.
One of those public appearances being the 50th anniversary of the atomic bombings in Japan.
Alfred knew he was lucky. He and Kiku, for all their conflict and differences, were on very good terms now; he’d even stayed at the other’s home for the last two weeks. Japan itself was doing very well, too, but whenever Alfred spent too much time thinking about the end of World War II he started to get all mopey, and he didn’t like it.
Jeez, Rochester was supposed to lighten his mood, not make him all broody.
There was a near deafening crack in his living room.
For a few heart-stopping moments, Alfred thought it was a gunshot. He nearly fell off his stool before he was on his feet, newspaper discarded on the counter as he grabbed a pistol from where he kept it in one of the kitchen drawers.
“Alfred!” He was approximately two seconds from turning to sweep his living room when a familiar voice rang out. Alfred sighed, lowering his pistol as he stepped fully into the room.
Sure enough, there was his twin brother, Matthew Williams, pulling himself up from where he was half-sprawled over the couch. He snorted, leaning on the doorway as his brother stood up with a grunt, brushing pale blond bangs out of his eyes.
“I thought I told you to not apparate near me!” Alfred said by way of greeting, putting his pistol back on safe. “Jesus, Mattie, I thought you were a gunman!”
“You’ve moved your couch,” Matthew accused, jabbing a finger at him. “This spot was totally clear last time I came by.”
Alfred recalled reorganizing the entire first floor on a whim two nights ago. Right. The sofa used to be underneath the windowsill, and the spot where Matthew had fallen used to host the rug.
“Impulse cleaning,” he shrugged, stuffing the pistol into his pocket in a way that made Matthew wince. “What? I was bored.”
“No, that’s not—” his brother sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea.”
And that had alarm bells going off in Alfred’s head. For one, Matthew had apparated into his living room. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, except his brother knew what Alfred’s opinions on apparition were and was usually polite enough to phone in and give him a warning. Secondly, he could definitely see a wand holstered up his brother's sleeve, peeking out from underneath his sweater.
So this was magic related. Joy.
“I thought I was the one who came up with the hare-brained schemes,” he said slowly. Matthew just waved a hand.
"Key word here is hare-brained,” he replied dismissively. “I know you’re not busy, Al, you always sulk for a while after coming back from Japan—”
“I do not sulk!”
“Alfred, you only ever come to Rochester to sulk, don’t try that on me. Anyways, where’s your wand?” Alfred stared at him blankly. Matt snapped his fingers, brushing past him and into the kitchen. “ Wand , Al, I know you have one!”
“I don’t know!” Alfred exclaimed, throwing up his hands. How long had it been since he’d last used magic? World War II was probably the last time he used it seriously, maybe once or twice during the Cold War? He racked his brain for the last time he’d seen the old thing. “New York, maybe?” He paused, thinking. “No, maybe San Francisco? Or Guam. One of those houses, somewhere in an attic.”
“Of course you don’t know where it is,” Matthew sighed, glancing at the counter. “Newspapers, Alfred? You must really have been moping.”
“...Yeah…”
“Well, you’re not going to be bored anymore. So the wand is a lost cause. I’m assuming you don’t have an owl?”
“What are you getting on about?” Alfred asked, tilting his head.
“There’s a magic fascist on the rise in the UK and England is doing jack shit about it,” Matthew said, as if he didn’t sound like he’d gone bat crazy. “So I’m gonna make sure we kill the guy and squash his movement, but I don’t want to do it alone and you need to brush up on your magic.”
“Who and a what now?”
“Magic fascist,” Mattie repeated, leaning on the counter. “There’s this guy called Voldemort in England right now who basically is a wizard supremacist. Dude got revived back in June and England’s annoying me with how little his government is doing about it.”
Alfred blinked. Then blinked again.
“Alright, then,” he shrugged. “We’re killing a fascist now, I guess.”
“Wonderful!” Matthew grinned, clapping his hands. “Now then, I’m going to need you until…” he paused, eyes flickering upwards as he thought. “Till next June at least. Extended operation. I know you’re not doing anything without the Soviet Union to rile you up.”
“ June?!” Alfred blinked, waving a hand incredulously. “I thought we were just killing somebody.”
“Well, that’s the end goal. There’s a few steps in between that. Anyways, we need to buy plane tickets. England’s too far to apparate and we’ve got to be there by the 30th. You can buy the tickets for me, right? I’ve gotta go grab myself some supplies.”
Alfred frowned, folding his arms as he regarded his brother. “How long exactly have you been planning this?”
“Three weeks, but the idea’s been around since England told me in June,” came the reply. Mattie was already turning around, bouncing about in that way of his when he was comfortable and caught up in an idea. Despite everything, Alfred couldn’t help the surge of affection that rose in his chest at the familiar movements. It was rare to see his brother get so expressively passionate about something. “I had to owl the Netherlands a few times and iron some things out before I went to you. Wanted to make sure I had everything in place.”
To be fair, it was pretty easy to get passionate about killing fascists. But Alfred wasn’t about to complain.
“Wait, what do you mean by the Netherlands; what does he have to do with this?” He asked, the name clicking. Why was Jan involved?
“Didn’t feel like talking sense into Arthur, he’d get too caught up in the ‘I have to follow orders’ schtick he’s got going on.” Matthew made air quotes with his fingers. “Now, I’ve got some potions to buy. Call you tonight!”
With that, he twisted on a foot and disappeared with another bullet-esque crack, leaving Alfred staring at a blank patch of tile.
“Love ya,” he said to the empty air, then sighed, shaking his head as he turned to pick his newspaper back up. “Fucking hell, I hate apparition.”
Alfred had never been one to pay much attention to the magical world. No, he’d been pretty adverse to the whole thing since 1692, and the United States had never had a massive magical population on top of that. There hadn't been much reason for wizards to immigrate to the Americas back in the colonial days; they didn’t face the same economic hardships their non-magical counterparts did and had mostly remained in their homelands. Sure, America had a half dozen magical schools scattered across the country, but they were small, the high number more to account for America’s size and diverse culture than any massive population.
As the embodiment of the United States of America, Alfred F. Jones shared the same sentiments most of his American wizards did when it came to magic: blend in and act normal.
Canada—his twin brother, Matthew Williams—was a different story. French wizards had been very prominent when it came to the fur and lumber trade back in the day, mostly seeking new wand materials and potion ingredients, and Alfred knew for a fact that he’d been privately tutored as a kid while in France’s care. England had been all too eager to continue that education after dealing with Alfred spurning magic all of his childhood. While Canada did have a Quebec and an English-Canadian school with a very prominent rivalry even he’d heard about, homeschooling or going overseas were also pretty common practices.
Alfred huffed as he checked his notes about the flight he’d booked out of New York, fingers tapping as he worked to remember the right time and terminal. He put the small notepad back in his pocket before continuing on through the JFK International airport. He’d planned to stay in Rochester for another week or two, but Matt had made it very clear in their call last night that they needed to leave as soon as possible, so he was here on the 23rd instead.
He paused, worrying his lower lip as he thought. He didn’t know much about continental Europe’s magical system, just that it’d hardly changed in the last three hundred years and the people in power were all aristocratic pricks. There’d been a conflict that roughly coincided with World War II that he knew Matthew had been involved in with England and the other Europeans, but Alfred had been too busy in the Pacific theater and the non-magic side of things to pay it much thought outside of the few clashes that had occurred on his own soil. There’d been another one twentyish years ago, he thought; he distinctly remembered England complaining about it, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it had been about. That one had been pretty well contained to the Isles.
Whatever. Alfred swerved around a young family with a stroller, pausing by the terminal hosting the tell-tale sign of London, United Kingdom. He was around fifteen minutes early to boarding, so he paused, glancing around until he caught sight of a familiar mop of blond hair sitting in the corner.
“Yo! Mattie!” He called, waving an arm. He got a roll of the eyes in response, and Alfred laughed, walking over to meet him. He could see his brother wince at his volume, eyes flickering across the airport terminal before he sighed and stood up. Alfred grinned in triumph, giving him a tight hug.
“Do you have to scream every time you see me?” He complained, shoving him away. “And stop that. Every time you hug me you try to suffocate me.”
“It’s an expression of loveeeee, Mattie, don’t you spurn me.”
“You are the worst brother.”
“I know!” Alfred grinned. It had been way too long since he’d hung out with Matthew. He supposed a whole ten months with magic wouldn’t be so bad if he got to hang out with (re: annoy) his brother the whole time. He paused for a moment. Speaking of family… “Are we meeting Arthur on the other side of the pond or no?”
Matthew shook his head. Alfred paused, studying him, and his brother looked away.
“Oh my god, Arthur doesn’t even know.”
“He does!” A pause. “…will.”
“What did you tell him?”
Mattie fumbled a little bit, then wriggled a hand. “There’s a note on his desk.”
Alfred laughed out loud, a brief bark that had a few heads turning towards them. “You know how many notes Arthur has on his desk, he won’t see it for the next month. That’s gold, Mattie.”
“Ask for forgiveness, not permission,” Matthew muttered, eyes flickering over to the gate where, out the window, they could see the plane they’d be taking across the Atlantic. “Come on, we’ll be boarding in a few minutes. I’ll fill you in on the basics on the plane.”