October 15, 1977

This was either the stupidest thing Arthur had agreed to, or the most fun. After much persuasion and chocolate frog bribery, Francis had coaxed Arthur into adventuring with him into the Forbidden Forest. Francis had claimed he saw a unicorn in the forest, near the groundskeeper's hut, and the two planned to feed (and pet) it. Arthur, though, mainly wanted to explore the mysterious woods.

As Arthur was following the French boy, he couldn't help but cringe at the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. He quickly looked around, hoping no one heard him.

"Get down," Francis hissed, from behind a tree root the size of an elephant's foot. "Or you'll scare her away!"

Arthur crawled up beside him, but not without glaring at him. "How do you know it is a 'she' anyway? Unicorns can be male, too, I think," he whispered.

Francis motioned for Arthur to quiet down and move closer. Arthur peered over the Slytherin's shoulder. As he did, he was vaguely aware of the lean muscles Francis had built over the summer, and the smell of shaving cream. He seemed to have grown at least an inch as well.

"Over there," Francis breathed, and Arthur looked where he was gazing.

The unicorn was a youthful one; silver with golden specks gave that much away. Although it hadn't yet grown a horn yet, Arthur could easily imagine the pure white cone between its ears. As for its mane, the hair was long and silver, and seemed to reflect moonlight.

However, as quickly as the creature had appeared, it was gone, spooked by something else entirely. Francis immediately glared at Arthur.

"I told you to stay down!" Francis jumped to his feet, dusting dirt off of his robes.

"Me?" Arthur said, aghast. "It was probably you! Couldn't you hear how loud you were breathing?"

Before Francis could retaliate, a large shadow fell over them and they immediately fell silent. Arthur's stomach churned as a hand as big as a bear claw clamped onto his shoulder. It seemed that Hagrid, the gamekeeper, had found them.

October 16, 1977

"Make sure to get the undersides, too!"

Arthur sighed and nodded, wiping a moist rag against a candelabrum's wooden surface. For punishment, he had received the pleasure of polishing the castle's candelabrums for the rest of the week, from six PM to eight-thirty. But according to Filch, this was light work, compared to "traditional discipline."

Fortunately, Alisdair was now an adult and working, so it was impossible for him to find out, unless Patrick and Daffyd decided to rat him out. Otherwise, Alisdair would have already prepared some torturous task, like cleaning the Quidditch teams' showers or the Owlery (whichever was worse, Arthur had no idea).

And maybe, if that French frog could find a better place to hide, other than behind a suit of armor, Arthur might be able to sneak past Filch's hunched back.

'Come here,' mouthed Francis, waving a broom in the air like it was bait.

'No,' Arthur replied silently, 'Filch is here.'

Francis rolled his eyes, but stayed where he was. Arthur was standing at the intersection of two hallways, and one the Filch was strolling in was adjacent to where Francis hid, so any visibility of the other was impossible. However, if Filch was able to be lured towards the Slytherin boy, maybe Francis would be sent back to the Detention Chamber, under more watchful eyes. After all, it was all because of him that Arthur got in trouble.

Arthur almost dropped the candelabrum when Francis mounted his broom, and began floating down the hallway. He grinned evilly at Arthur, who stood in shock as the boy began to fly faster and was heading straight him.

Arthur ducked.

"Au revoir!" Francis sang, at the top of his lungs. He had missed the Gryffindor by mere centimeters, and even had the valor to graze past Filch. Filch, of course, was set like a ticking bomb, and raced after him, screaming bloody murder and spitting venom.

Arthur ran.

By the time Arthur reached the Great Hall, most had already eaten dinner, and so it was only half-full. He managed to sneak in, feeling very nervous, and nearly collapsed on the table bench.

"You look like you ran from the lake," remarked Gawain, spooning the last of his stew into his mouth. "What happened now?"

"Filch," Arthur wheezed, before helping himself to a goblet of pumpkin juice. "He's insane- and Francis, too."

"Francis?" Daffyd repeated, although he was more focused on removing mashed potatoes from his ponytail. "What about him?"

"He, well he…" Arthur then told the epic tale of how they got detention by unicorn-watching in the forest and their later life-threatening escape from detention. It was only after he finished speaking did he wonder whether Francis really did managed to avoid further punishment.

After rotating his body an entire 180 degrees and glaring at the Slytherin table, Arthur found the French boy seated at one end, sneering into his goblet. But as though there was a psychic connection between them, Francis looked up and their eyes met.

They both grinned.

"Arthur," a voice ground out, and said Gryffindor boy froze.

"Patrick," Arthur mumbled out grudgingly, and glared up at the prefect. "Do you need anything?"

The freckled Sixth Year frowned and crossed his arms, brushing his fingers across his badge as he did so. "Shouldn't you be in detention?"

Arthur raised both eyebrows in fake surprise. "What? Not at all!"

"Uh huh…" Patrick made a face, as though he was sucking a sour lollipop, and tilted his head. "Maybe I should ask Professor McGonagall? You're probably just mistaken."

"No!" Arthur jumped to his feet, and held his hands out in a 'stop' gesture. "Uh, you probably wouldn't want to. After all, look at how she's enjoying her dinner…"

Arthur scowled and lowered his arms, fists clenched. As for Patrick, he just smiled and led him out the Great Hall, grabbing Francis along the way.

"I'll be nice and let you boys polish the trophy room. How does that sound?"

"Bloody brilliant," Arthur mumbled sarcastically, scowling at the back of Patrick's head. Maybe if he stared hard enough, he would disappear. Unfortunately, he did not.

"Wonderful," Francis said under his breath, and the two misfits exchanged looks of suffering.

As they trudged after him, though, Francis reached out and grabbed Arthur's hand. Staring out the window, they saw a beast standing stock still among the trees. It was a silver silhouette, in the shape of a horse.

December 25, 1977

"Merry Christmas, rosbif," a very enthusiastic Francis greeted. He had been waiting by the Great Hall's entrance.

"Merry Christmas, Frog," Arthur replied, tiredly. "I couldn't get a wink, I was so hyper."

It was Christmas morning and Arthur was spending it at Hogwarts. His mother's condition had worsened and she was currently being hospitalized at St. Mungo's. Meanwhile, Alistair was busy with his new job –Arthur believed he specialized in the protection of endangered magical birds- and so the brothers wouldn't be going home. But by the time summer vacation came, Patrick would be legally old enough to take care of the twins.

"Me too," agreed Francis. "Though, it was more because it was so silent, you know? Everyone's gone except a few of us… Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Why?" Arthur smiled at Francis.

Francis studied Arthur's expression. "I don't know. You seem a little down, recently." He gave Arthur a sympathetic look. "Is your mother okay?"

"No, but she's being taken care of well. St. Mungo's has always been the best, by the way."

"So I've heard, but if you need anything-"

"I'm fine and I don't need anything except…" Arthur sighed and took a step away from the Great Hall and Francis. "I'll be on the Quidditch field. See you, Frog."

Francis found Arthur in the Divination classroom, curled up in one of the armchairs. A misty crystal ball sat before him on the table. Occasionally red would blossom on the surface, or a green light shot across the glass like a shooting star.

"I was hoping to see my mother," Arthur said quietly. His voice was thick and heavy- had he been crying? "But I always end up seeing you instead."

"Me? How?" Francis asked curiously and a little bit hopefully. He felt a pang of guilt when he remembered what Arthur was going through over his mother. "Are you-"

"I saw your parents."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

They never brought it up again.

December 27, 1977

It was midnight and Arthur was home in Angus Glens. He stood alone before the Kirkland family vault. Two silver plaques hung over the locked entrance: Mum and Dad. A charm kept them from weathering and both looked as though they'd been put there that very day. But then again, one of them really had been hung there that morning.

Arthur's father had been in the tomb since 1970, the beginning of the First Wizarding War. He was an Auror at the time, and to his sons, the bravest one.

His plaque read:

James Richard Kirkland

1935-1970

A loving father, caring husband, and courageous hero

But for once, Arthur couldn't bring himself to look at the plaques. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the ground and spoke quietly to his mother's plaque.

"Hi, Mum, Alisdair picked me up from the train station yesterday when he found out what happened…I'm okay, but miss you. I wish you could be here and things could be easier. I wish Dad had never died so that you wouldn't have fallen ill."

Arthur swallowed hard.

"I love you, Mum."

Cordelia Maccailín-Kirkland

1936-1977

A strong woman and irreplaceable mother.

End of Chapter 4

Word Count: 1,618

This was really hard for me to write. I'm not used to writing sad/tragic literature. However, I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Also, the next chapter should be uploaded soon. :)