Title: Harry Potter and The Keening

Summary: Matthew's age is revealed, Arthur gets a sunburn and just add buttons.

Warnings: Matthew abuse, mild cussing, illegal activity, possible future sexual situations and the abuse of people and animals.

Rating: PG for now, and Francis doesn't actually bump the rating, but there are several other people who shall.

Notes: Based off Dakt37's (at deviant art dot com) Harry Potter and the Extremely British Professor. This is based (marginally) off her head cannon, though a lot of it is no doubt not something she even considered, but that's okay.

Disclaimer: Not mine, at all, premise belongs to Dakt37, known and beloved characters belong to their various networks and creators. The few OCs which appear are mine, but if for some reason you wish to play with them, ask and you shall receive

Author's Note: Ummm...I don't really know why I posted that last version of chapter nine. I really don't. It's not very good, so here I am, re uploading with all the proper edits. Yeah. Wow. No clue why I did that, sorry. Please leave a review, tell me how you like the changes maybe.

Milan, Italy, August 2nd, 2000

"It's really not that big a deal Francis," Arthur said tiredly as he was all but dragged through the streets of muggle Milan. Francis stopped suddenly, turning to look at Arthur, one hip cocked to the side.

"It is a big deal Arthur," Francis said, sounding as if the word coming from Arthur's mouth were in a completely alien dialect, never before uttered on Earth. "One does not go to Paris without shopping, and one certainly doesn't go to Milan and not shop. It is," he paused, looking for the right word, "it is sacrilege." He ignored Arthur's snort of disbelief, resuming his trek through the fine streets of downtown Milan. "I really shouldn't be surprised," he said, more to himself than anything, "you don't dress very well, one might think you were hiding something." He turned again, eyeing the shorter blond. "You aren't, are you? I once read a teaching text that warned youngest children are prone to body image issues and I assure you, sourcils, you've nothing to worry about."

Arthur blushed bright red as the Frenchman spoke, ignoring the sly looks the people around him were giving them, wishing for once that less people on the continent spoke English. "Let's just go get whatever it is you're looking for," Arthur muttered, grabbing the others arm and dragging him mindlessly forward. Francis laughed, stopping and forcing Arthur to do so before grabbing Arthur's hand, a softer smile than before on his handsome face.

"Ah sourcils," he said gently, walking at a slower pace, "to fix your wardrobe, we're going to need so very many things."

xXxXx

Matthew, hidden in one of Francis' front pockets, much to Arthur's displeasure, watched in interest as the people of Marseilles walked by. Matthew watched entranced as people bartered at small boutiques, men, women and children weaving in and out of the bustling crowd. For the faerie, this was the busiest place he'd ever seen, even more so than the awful black market, and it was both extremely interesting and extremely intimidating.

"So where," Arthur asked Francis icily, or at least tried to sound icy, though there was a tinge of something Matthew recognized as longing in it, "do you expect to find clothing for a forest faerie?"

Francis chuckled at the other, ignoring Arthur's squawk of indignation that followed the sound. "Sourcils," he said patiently, "Matthieu and I have discussed clothing already, as he was getting dressed, and I'll have to do more work on his shirts, but I assure you, he'll be fine." Arthur huffed at that, looking at Matthew, who was barely visible in Francis shirt pocket.

"Lad?" he asked, waiting for confirmation and the faerie hauled himself out of the pocket some more, showing a clothed chest.

"Just add buttons," he told the other solemnly, and Arthur let himself smile at the tiny blond.

"Very well," he said, "now let's get this over with, I hate shopping." Francis sighed at that, shaking his head and Matthew slid back into the pocket, making sure he could still see.

If nothing else, Francis turned out to be a very efficient shopper, and by the end of an hour they had several pairs of pants, as well as several shirts and sweaters. Francis seemed content to leave Matthew with this amount of clothing. "do you require shoes, mon petit?" he questioned as they passed a boutique selling leather goods. Matthew paused, obviously considering the question, before shaking his head.

"No, not exactly," he said, "in the winter we wear very thick sock like things that are water proofed, but shoes are heavy and make for bad landings so we avoid them when possible." Francis nodded in understanding, pausing to think.

"Sourcils will have to locate some wool socks for you when you leave then," he murmured, more to himself than anything, "I do not think we'll get any good ones here, and," he flicked his gaze over to Arthur, who was looking miserable off to the side, "we best take pity on the poor Brit and go back to the school." Matthew, who apparently lacked in Francis' teasing spirit just looked at the red faced man in concern, nodding.

"Oui," he agreed seriously and Francis laughed.

"Come along rosbif," he said, slipping into a nearby alley, "on quit!"

"'Bout bloody time," Arthur snarled, slipping in after them, thankfully remembering to charm the bag he was carrying shut.

With two small pops the wizards appeared at the base of Beauxbaton's hill, and Arthur gave a sigh of relief. It was still early afternoon, so the sun was almost deadly, but Arthur was beyond relieved to be away from the shopping centre of Marseilles, not even really caring that they hadn't stopped for lunch and he was famished.

"Are you coming?" Francis called, already half way up the hill, "if we're quick we'll show up for the tail end of lunch." Swearing, Arthur sprinted after the two francophones, huffing as he finally caught up with them.

"You're a bleeding twat," he told Francis, who gave a light laugh, but didn't bother to respond. Once they were in the school proper Francis paused, taking the bags from Arthur.

"You two go to lunch," he said, "I'll floo down once I get these in place." Matthew crawled partially out of Francis' pocket, collapsing onto Arthur's palm. The two men watched in concern as the faerie flapped his wings slightly, wincing as he did so.

"Are they still sore lad?" Arthur asked, peering down at the small creature. Matthew nodded miserably, sitting up, rubbing a hand at his eyes.

"They'll be fine in a few days," he said, and Arthur looked at him in question. "My mother is, was," he amended, "the healer for our flitter."

There was a small awkward pause as Francis and Arthur traded looks which managed to be both guilty and pointed, as if prompting one another to broach the subject of Matthew's presence. Finally, being the more emotionally invested in the faerie populous as a whole, Arthur sighed bringing Matthew up to his eye height, pretending he didn't feel any glee when Francis frowned at him and leaned down as well.

"Matthew lad," Arthur said slowly, trying to ask his question in a sensitive way, despite sensitivity not being his forte. So to speak. "What, exactly," he paused, obviously rethinking his avenue of questioning, "how did you end up at La Halle. Exactly." Matthew wasn't looking at either man. He instead had his head down, studiously avoiding the humans' gazes, using his pointer to doodle tiny, ticklish patterns of Arthur's palm, privately noting the calluses and storing the question away for later.

"It, it was early one evening, in, in May I think, we don't keep track too well to be honest," he cleared his throat, his hand coming to a stop as he clenched it on his lap. "I was with, with," he swallowed again, the tears easily audible in his voice, "I was with A-Al," he seemed unable to finish his sentence, and Arthur frowned, worry creasing his brow.

"You were with Al," Arthur said, "someone important?" Matthew nodded, still not looking up but his wings were drooping as much as possible, and his body trembled sightly.

"Yes," he whispered, and the humans didn't prompt him to explain. "I was with him, we were teaching the youngest faeries how to fly," he looked up, his face pale but dry, a shaky smile on his face. "Maura's twins were the smallest but they were doing so well," he sniffed, his hands coming up to his hair, almost tugging out the blond strands, not even stopping at the distressed noise Francis made in the back of his throat. "Then there, there was this noise like I'd never heard and the kids started crying and Al, Al flipped out, he seemed to recognize it but everyone was screaming and it was getting dark and Alfred was trying to get the kids away and then there were humans and auguries everywhere and everything," he gave a shuddering sob, cutting off his increasingly hysterical account. "Everything went black."

"Lad," Arthur prompted, "who is Al?"

"My mate."

"A mate?" Arthur said, shocked as Matthew didn't seem that old. Matthew nodded miserably, still sobbing quietly, and Arthur took a deep breath. "How old are you, exactly?" he prompted and Matthew made a small noise he couldn't decipher.

Across from him Francis blinked, giving Arthur a dazed look. "Can he really be seven hundred?" he asked and Arthur nodded, faeries aged very slowly after all. The two humans from looking at the sobbing faerie in Arthur's palm and before the Brit could ask anything more of his charge Francis had somehow managed to scoop the tiny creature into his own hands, cooing at him softly in French. Matthew continued to sob, sounding positively broken, and Francis sighed, holding the little creature to his chest, shoving his bags at Arthur.

"He has not eaten since you brought him in," Francis said authoritatively, "you will take these to my room, or my office if it's locked, and I will take Matthew to get something to eat. That will give him time to compose himself."

Arthur blinked, looking down at the different coloured bags in his hand before scowling at the Frenchman. "You don't even know what faeries eat," he protested, albeit lamely. Francis, already walking away from Arthur didn't even pause, just barely looking over his shoulder.

"Non," he agreed, "but he does." Unable to argue with that, Matthew wasn't exactly your common doxy after all, Arthur sighed, turning on his heel and heading toward Francis rooms. Maybe he'd take some pages from his muggle acquaintances and toilet paper the damn place.