Chapter X: Red and Green
Sleeping in was normally Alfred's favorite part of winter break, but he soon discovered that his sleep schedule had one big drawback: getting up late gave his mother and Arthur time to talk during breakfast. And his mother loved to share embarrassing stories.
The problem started on the first day when Alfred rolled out of bed around noon. Still yawning, he made his way to the kitchen hoping for coffee and breakfast. As soon as he rounded the corner he saw his mom and Arthur chatting at the kitchen table. He thought nothing of it, and was even pleased that the two seemed to be getting along.
"...until he was about five. We had to buy so much of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover that the local store ordered a crate per year just for us," she said with a light chuckle. "I've never found a muggle product that works half as well."
"What's for breakfast?" Alfred interrupted as he made a beeline for the pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup, adding plenty of cream and sugar.
"You mean lunch. There are some cinnamon rolls next to the stove," she said, pointing to the food and the cupboard with the plates. She turned back to Arthur and continued her story after taking a sip of her own coffee. "When he finally stopped, we used all of the money we saved on stain remover to buy him a broomstick." Alfred paled and nearly dropped his cup, realizing that his mother had been telling Arthur about his bed-wetting as a child. The stain remover was used to clean the sheets, and his parents really had purchased a broomstick to celebrate when he finally stopped.
"Mom!" he shouted as he blushed, deeply embarrassed to have that information shared with his rival/crush/maybe-sorta-boyfriend (they really needed to have a talk about their precise relationship status). Neither his mother nor Arthur even look ashamed. In fact, Arthur looked like he was trying to hold back laughter, and Alfred's mother just smiled in her usual endearing, but slightly clueless, way.
"Oh, don't be upset, Alfie," she said. "Arthur saw me using a cell phone and he wanted to know if I thought that muggle technology was better than magic. I think it is for many things. But I've never found a muggle cleaning solution as good as Mrs. Skower's."
"Mom," Alfred whined. He sighed and sat down, realizing that he would need to keep Arthur away from his mother if he didn't want his rival/crush/whatever to know every single embarrassing moment of his childhood. And there were plenty of them.
"What? It is a good product! So what are you two planning for today?" she asked. "I think your father and I want to take a day to recuperate from the broom lag. Transatlantic brooms are rockier than I remember."
"We're going to look at the latest models of broomsticks!" Alfred said excitedly. He couldn't wait to take them out for a test ride, even if it was cold outside.
"Well, sweetie, be sure you don't get stuck in a tree," she advised him. She then turned and explained to Arthur, "He did that when he was seven. I still don't know how he managed to lose his broom and end up on tree branch instead."
"Thanks for breakfast we're gonna go look at brooms now bye Mom!" Alfred said, quickly dragging Arthur away before his mother could share any more childhood stories. He wondered if he could convince the Gryffindor boy to drink a memory-erase potion so that he'd forget everything he had heard that morning. Judging by the sly grin on Arthur's face, it seemed unlikely. This called for a distraction.
Alfred pulled Arthur into his bedroom and shut the door. The American stepped forward and placed one hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's expression softened and he tilted his head slightly upward in anticipation, giving Alfred permission to plant a kiss directly on his lips. The first touch of their lips was a tiny spark that lit the fuse, and suddenly Alfred couldn't get enough of Arthur—his warm lips, soft hair, sweaty palms; the way his lower back curved perfectly into Alfred's arms; the appreciative murmurs as they stumbled together to the bed. Alfred felt himself being pressed until he was seated on the mattress.
"Perhaps we shouldn't do this on your bed, you might wet it," Arthur said teasingly before he bent forward to continue their kissing.
Alfred pushed him back, not forcefully, but enough to let Arthur know he wasn't happy. "Hey, I was five. And if we want to talk about embarrassing crap, what about that time you fainted while trying to kiss me?" he said, crossing his arms. If they were going to share embarrassing stories, he wasn't going to hold back.
Arthur flushed. "I was drunk." He sighed. "Don't be mad. Your mother's stories were lovely. You must have been an adorable child."
"Well, you were an adorable drunk!" Alfred retorted.
The British teenager blinked in confusion. "I... uh... thank you?"
They both averted their gazes, choosing to study the really interesting shade of beige paint used on the walls. Even Alfred, with his limited ability to sense the mood, could tell that their impromptu make-out session had become five kinds of awkward. He considered just kissing Arthur again, since that seemed to take care of their short-term problems, but he still didn't really understand what the other boy thought of him, other than the fact that he apparently found the American very kissable. Alfred pouted. He really liked Arthur, but the Gryffindor seemed to have a low opinion of him judging by Arthur's drunken rant about disliking handsome jerks. He doubted that a few childhood stories would change that negative opinion. Alfred stood up and walked to the corner of the room to grab his jacket. He turned back to face the other teenager, who was watching him with a guarded look.
"Artie, are we boyfriends?" he asked.
A look of panic crossed Arthur's face. "You mean... publicly?"
Alfred frowned. That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. "Well, yeah. If we go walking around Diagon Alley, there are probably students who will see us."
"We could wear disguises," Arthur suggested hopefully.
"We could. Just give me a month to brew up some polyjuice."
"Accio jacket!" Arthur summoned his coat with a flick of his wand. He slipped his arms into the summoned jacket, zipped it up to the top, and tucked in his red-and-gold scarf before responding, "Surely there are other disguise potions."
"I guess I can think of some gender-changing ones." Alfred tilted his head to the side, trying to imagine what Arthur would look like if he were a young woman. Short and feisty, he would guess. He grinned. "Is that what you had in mind?"
"Not particularly," Arthur admitted.
"Then don't call me Shirley."
His joke earned a soft chuckle from Arthur. "I guess we'll just have to risk it. Start insulting me if you see anyone we know from school." The British teen's eyes softened as he took a few stops closer and reached out to readjust Alfred's scarf. In his one attempt at a disguise, Alfred had replaced his Slytherin scarf with a Christmas scarf. Though red and green clashed during most of the year, he still thought they looked nice together.
"Can do," Alfred cheerfully agreed. It wasn't until much later that he realized he still hadn't resolved the conundrum of his relationship status.
Seeing Alfred in a broomstick store was like watching a hungry child in a candy shop. Alfred hopped from broom to broom (occasionally in mid-air), insisting that he had to try them all. Arthur couldn't decide whether to watch Alfred with an indulgent smile or pretend that he didn't know the American teenager who kept drawing the other patrons' disapproving glares. He settled for smiling indulgently when no one else was looking.
"Watch this, watch this!" Alfred called as he sped directly upward and then flew upside down all the way across the glass dome of the shop. In addition to rows and rows of broomsticks, the store also had a large atrium so that people could test the merchandise no matter the weather outside. (And given that it was London, the weather was often chilly or damp.) Alfred zipped dramatically around the other store patrons and came to a sudden halt only inches away from Arthur.
Arthur shrugged apologetically as he caught the shopowner's disapproving stare. "Alfred, do stop playing around or we'll get kicked out before I find a new broom," he warned.
The American sighed, but dismounted. He continued to eye the new brooms longingly, caressing the wooden handles with light touches. Perhaps Arthur just had a dirty mind, but the soft strokes looked a bit naughty. A few completely inappropriate pick-up lines flashed through his mind, most revolving around riding broomsticks and talking about 'wood.'
"Can I help you find something, boys?" the shopowner asked, pulling Arthur away from his pleasant thoughts. She asked the question politely, but Arthur could tell that she wanted them to leave if they didn't plan to buy something soon.
"I'm looking for the Cleansweap Twelve, ma'am," he replied politely.
Her face instantly brightened into an approving smile. "Oh, excellent choice! You know, most young folks just want the newest, flashiest brooms," she gave Alfred a hard look, "but the Cleansweeps are a good, dependable model that will keep you flying year after year. The stick shift takes a little more skill to fly, but in the hands of a skilled young witch or wizard, they're amazing brooms." After delivering her sales pitch, she pulled out a broom from beneath the shop counter and handed it to Arthur. He examined it and then pulled out the pouch of coins Peter had given him to purchase a replacement.
Alfred glanced over his shoulder and frowned, creasing his forehead in confusion. "Don't you want to try it out?" he asked.
Arthur shook his head. "It's bad luck to fly a broom before its first game," he explained, reciting an old wizarding poem. "Leave the first ride 'til the match / and you're sure to get the catch."
"Oh my, I haven't heard that one in a while." The shopkeeper smiled. "I'm glad that some people still keep up the old Quidditch traditions. Although in my day, people preferred to save their first ride on a broomstick for a sweetheart. 'Get the catch,' you see?"
"Er," Arthur dropped a coin onto the ground. He quickly bent down to pick it up. He stared fixedly at the broomstick on the counter, knowing that he would start to blush if he had to look at Alfred's undoubtedly amused grin.
"So, which team do you play for, dearie?"
"Gryffindor," Arthur replied proudly.
Her eyes lit up. "Of course! I knew I recognized your eyebrows. Your parents came in a few months ago to get a broom customized for your brother. Peter, right?"
Arthur's smile dimmed. "Those were my aunt and uncle, actually."
"Well, you've done a lovely job as seeker. I was in Gryffindor myself back in the day and I still follow all the games. This last season has been rather exciting, hasn't it? I can't wait for the final match. But you should watch out for the Slytherin seeker—he sounds like a sneaky one."
"Yes, I will definitely watch him," Arthur promised while Alfred tried to keep a straight face. Arthur elbowed him in the ribs as he started to chortle.
Oblivious, the shopowner patted Arthur's hand. "Poor dear, having to buy a new broom after those Slytherins hexed yours. Well, don't worry, I always give a discount to Gryffindor Quidditch players." She accepted a few galleons from Arthur, but gave most of them back. Arthur thanked her and carried his new purchase from the store.
Alfred couldn't stop laughing as they left the store and wandered along the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. "Artie, Artie, are you watching me?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and continued watching the street. Plenty of witches and wizards filled Diagon Alley, carrying an assortment of presents ranging from owl cages to joke wands to delicious treats. Because he was keeping watch, Arthur noticed a familiar face before the other student spotted him. "Quick, into the store," he hissed, ducking into the closest shop and trusting that Alfred would follow his lead.
They found themselves in a labyrinth of cages stacked three meters high, surrounded by all sorts of squalling, squawking, and squeaking creatures.
"Magical pet store!" Alfred cried as he began excitedly exploring the shop. He pointed at the various beasts. "What's that? What's this? Can I have one?"
Arthur glanced at the first two creatures Alfred noticed: a thin, sad-looking bird with flame-red wings and a lizard with silver-green skin. "An augurey, a moke, and no," he replied instantly. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I don't see why the ministry even allows these places to exist. Some of these creatures are as intelligent as you and me."
"Oooh, Pygmy Puff! You've very puffy, yes you are," Alfred cooed, reaching into one of the cages to pet a spherical creature covered in soft fur.
"Probably more intelligent than you," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"Puffy and fluffy! Sorry, what did you say, Artie?"
"Nothing, nothing."
They wandered through the shop for several minutes more. Arthur tried to avoid meeting the creatures' gazes as they watched the teenagers walk past. For some of the animals, it was dangerous to look them in the eyes, for others, Arthur just didn't want to see their pleading, forlorn expressions. He nearly tripped over the other teenager as Alfred stopped suddenly and knelt down to examine a small cage near the floor. Inside was a bright red fox-like creature. In the spirit of the season, someone had tied a green bow around her neck.
"Why do they have a fox here?" Alfred asked.
"That's not a fox."
"If it looks like a fox, and acts like a fox, and uh... makes noises... like a fox, then it must be a fox." Alfred frowned to himself. "What does the fox say?"
"Usually he just gives me a significant look and draws a picture," Arthur replied absent-mindedly as he knelt down to Alfred and joined him in examining the magical creature. "But that's not a fox. It's a kitsune. They're native to Japan."
Alfred whistled and pointed to the price tag at the front of the cage, which proclaimed that she was worth four times as much as Arthur's very expensive new broomstick. He doubted that this shop-owner gave a Gryffindor discount. "She sure is pricey."
"Well, they like their freedom. They're very difficult to capture and very difficult to keep, so the stores charge high prices."
Alfred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or... you could just grab a few regular foxes and sell them at a big mark-up. That's what I'd do."
"That's because you're in Slytherin."
"What can I say, cunning is my middle name."
Arthur gave him a side-ways look. "You spell cunning with an F?"
"Uh..." Alfred suddenly brightened. "Yeah, foxy!"
"Your mother told me that the F stands for Franklin, after your great-uncle."
"Damnit. She always ruins my fun." Alfred pouted and turned his gaze back to the fox. "So how can you be sure that she isn't just a fox?"
"It's easy enough. Just ask her, 'Are you a kitsune?'"
The fox nodded.
Alfred looked at her suspiciously. "That could be a coincidence."
The fox shook her head.
"Okay, okay. I believe you."
"You want her? I offer very good price," an elderly voice said behind them. Alfred stood up and found that he towered over the old Asian man who owned the store.
"You shouldn't be selling sentient creatures. That's slavery!" Arthur protested. "I ought to report you—"
"I'll take her," Alfred interrupted. Avoiding the shocked expression on Arthur's face, he handed over the princely sum, leaving him with only a few sickles.
"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur protested as Alfred walked out of the shop with the kitsune's cage in hand. "You can't keep an intelligent creature as a pet. This better not be some plot to have her do your homework for you."
Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm with his free hand. "Trust me, Artie," he said with his most winning smile. "Could you apparate us to a muggle park?"
Feeling his misgivings begin to vanish, Arthur nodded. It was a risky to apparte into a muggle area, but he knew of a small copse of trees that provided a nice hiding spot in Greenwich Park. He remembered the area fondly from the many summers he had spent reading there as a child, when he didn't want to go home to his foster family. Arthur focused and in a flash the crowds disappeared. Apparition was as disorienting as ever—his eyeballs felt like they were compressed until they touched his feet—but they safely arrived in the same shape they started. Alfred stumbled and looked green around the gills, though he didn't vomit on his shoes, so Arthur considered the trip a success. The pine trees hid them from view, just as Arthur remembered. And because it was the dead of winter, the park was mostly empty. If he didn't know better, he could have imagined that they were somewhere out in the countryside, instead of southeast London.
While Arthur watched for muggles, Alfred set the cage on the ground. The American fiddled with the lock for a few seconds and then grinned as it clicked open. "Go on, you're free!" he encouraged her.
The kitsune took one hesitant step out of the cage and then dashed into the nearest thicket of underbrush, disappearing in a flash.
Alfred smiled as he watched her go, his smile widening when he turned to see how very impressed Arthur looked by his selfless gesture. Well, mostly selfless. He remembered what Madeleine had said about convincing Arthur that he was good boyfriend material. "I hope you didn't want a Christmas present, Artie," he remarked as he felt Arthur stand next to him. "Cause I just spent all of my money for presents."
"That's quite all right," Arthur replied. He shivered. As much as he loved the park, it was a little too nippy during the winter. "Want to get a bite to eat?" he suggested.
Alfred's stomach grumbled in assent. Five minutes later, they were sitting at a muggle cafe enjoying a hot tea, a cup of cocoa, and two mince pies. Alfred looked at the pie dubiously. "What is mince?" he asked.
"Minced-up fruit. Means it's diced. And it's traditional to make a wish when you eat the first pie of the season." He took a relaxing sip of tea, and then offered a final piece of advice: "Oh, remember to eat the pie silently or your wish won't come true."
Alfred nodded eagerly, and they both lifted their pies to their lips. The American closed his eyes and then took a bite. He mmm-ed in appreciation and quickly devoured the rest of the dessert. Arthur finished his at a more sedate pace and as he slowly chewed he wished for good scores on his NEWTs, success in Quidditch, and an opportunity for some uninterrupted snogging. After they finished their pies, they continued to sip their tea and cocoa in comfortable silence. Arthur took his final sip of tea and prepared to refill the cup from the tea pot, but before he could add more liquid Alfred stole away the cup. "I'm going to read your fortune, to see if the pie worked," he announced, before peering into the cup.
"I thought you were bad at divination?" Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Well, you've definitely got a cat and a squiggle here... so that means you're going to get a cat as a pet and then play with it with a bit of string!" Alfred grinned happily, pleased by the fortune. "Did you wish for a pet cat?"
"I see why you're not very good at this. You're far too literal. The cat doesn't mean an actual cat, the symbol stands for a treacherous friend."
Alfred frowned. "Oh. What about the squiggle?"
Arthur sucked his teeth, pondering the potential symbols. "Well, wavy lines in general mean an uncertain path. But given the cat... maybe it's a dragon? That means unforeseen trouble. Or a corkscrew is curiosity causing trouble."
Alfred frowned. "Wow, those all sound really negative. How come divination is filled with negative symbols? I think I'd like it better if it gave happier futures." He handed back the tea cup. "Keep drinking until you get a better fortune."
"It doesn't work that way," Arthur said with a chuckle. And if he wanted to drink for a different future, he'd use rum as his drink of choice. He accepted the tea cup and filled it again from the pot. Despite the negative fortune, he was feeling quite cheerful. First, given the American teenager's poor divination skills, he doubted that the fortune was even accurate. Second, Arthur had spent the past four months feeling like he wanted someone he couldn't have or that wasn't good for him, but now he could see that what he wanted was right within his reach and his for the taking. Arthur had always believed in self-fulfilling prophecies, so he carefully slipped off his shoe and tapped Alfred's foot. The other teenager blinked at him and slowly grinned. Taking that as his cue, the Gryffindor touched Alfred's ankle with his toes and then gently caressed the other teen's leg.
The American giggled a bit—apparently he was very ticklish—and Arthur smiled. He wondered if Alfred was ticklish everywhere and made a mental note to find out. There was a great deal he wanted to find out about the other boy, starting with something that had confused Arthur from the very first day of school: why Alfred was in Slytherin.
"You shouldn't let it get you down when people call Slytherins sneaky," the Gryffindor said softly. "I'm afraid they go a little overboard on school rivalry."
"Yeah, I kinda assumed the rivalry was limited to Quidditch teams," Alfred said, shaking his head. "So when I decided to transfer to Hogwarts I just researched Quidditch teams." He slipped off his own shoes and began rubbing his foot against Arthur's leg, carefully lifting up Arthur's trousers and touching Arthur's leg directly with his soft woolen socks. Arthur focused on keeping his expression calm. The thrill and challenge of footsie was playing under the table while maintaining a normal conversation above-table.
"You've never read Hogwarts: An Updated History?" Arthur asked, pleased that his voice sounded so calm. He took a small sip of tea. It suddenly made sense why Slytherin had so many international students—they knew less of the house's dark history. The effort to bring in more students from overseas was itself a testament to measures taken to reduce the likelihood of another wizarding war. The Headmaster felt that sharing more cultures was important for tolerance and respect. Arthur suspected that he also liked the higher fees that international students paid. Hogwarts had needed a lot of repairs after the final battle.
Alfred shrugged. "Nope. I just wanted to know about the Quidditch teams. That really helped me decide, 'cause I didn't think I had a chance of being seeker for Gryffindor since they had you. And could you see me in Ravenclaw?"
"You've got the specs for it," Arthur replied, carefully hiding his shock as he realized that he was the reason Alfred had chosen Slytherin. It was sad and almost ironic. Their status as rivals had brought them in constant contact, but it had also proven a source of major tension between them. "What about Hufflepuff?"
"Huffle-who?" Alfred laughed. "No really, I like the 'puffs, but they haven't had a decent Quidditch team in years." Arthur nearly dropped his tea cup as he felt Alfred's foot stroke his thigh. The American had the audacity to just grin at him across the table. Apparently he played footsie as aggressively as he played everything else.
"Well, I think you would have made a top-notch beater on the Gryffindor team," Arthur said, and he meant it. The American was fast on a broomstick, but he was a bit too tall and bulky for the Seeker position already. He would excel as a beater, though, because that position called for stamina and strength.
"You want me batting for your team?" Alfred replied as he waggled his eyebrows. He gave Arthur a deliciously cocky look and then sipped his hot cocoa. As the American lowered the cup, Arthur noticed the whipped cream coating his upper lip. Normally he would have complained about Alfred's bad manners, but he thought the cream looked delicious where it was. The English teenager felt like a cat that absolutely had to have a bit of cream. He reached across the table, wiped off the cream, and then licked his finger. The shocked look on Alfred's face was completely worth it.
Alfred sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth—clearly ready to ask a question—but instead of speaking, he took another sip of his cocoa. This time, he left even more whipped cream on his upper lip. Enough that Arthur knew it had to be intentional.
"Were you going to say something?" Arthur asked as he once again transferred the dollop of cream to his own mouth with a smooth flick of his finger.
"Let's go see a movie," Alfred suggested.
"In a nice, dark movie theater? Sounds lovely. I suppose I'll be paying though, since you spent all of your money."
Alfred rubbed the back of his head and laughed. "Oops."
Even though he was the one paying, Arthur made the mistake of letting Alfred pick the movie. The American teenager had chosen horror and the previews alone left him a quivering mess, clutching Arthur's arm until he had almost cut off all blood circulation.
The film started slowly—just normal people living a normal life. Arthur could tell it wouldn't end well for the main characters. Indeed, a malignant force began to slowly rip apart their lives. Alfred whimpered.
"Are you sure you don't want to watch the comedy instead?" Arthur whispered.
"Hahaha. No. I can handle this. Oh-god-what's-happening-now?" the American moaned as he practically buried his head into Arthur's chest.
Arthur wrapped his arm around Alfred's shoulders and pulled the other teen close. He felt the American relax in his grip, even if Alfred continued to cover his eyes for most of the film. Even though it wasn't the snogging he had expected in the dark movie theater, Arthur enjoyed the movie's moments of genuine fright, and he felt warm and protective with the other teen curled against him.
Perhaps a horror movie wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Arthur heard the floor creaking next to his bed. He blurrily opened his eyes and saw Alfred standing next to his bed... just standing there, watching him sleep. Arthur wanted to ask what the other teenager was doing, but found that he couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He was trapped as Alfred stared at him unblinkingly. Arthur began to sense a presence in the other teen's eyes. He felt his heart pounding as he desperately tried to shout. He struggled to move even a finger, but he was completely, hopelessly paralyzed.
He woke up with a gasp, still sweating from his nightmare. He realized he had been startled awake by the sound of knocking on the door. Despite the terrible verisimilitude of his dream, there was no one else in his room. Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to calm down.
"Hey, Arthur? Are you awake?" he could hear Alfred asking outside the door.
"I am now," Arthur retorted, his voice still somewhat shaken from his dream. He walked to the door and opened it.
Alfred slipped in, clutching a pillow in his hands like it was his only source of comfort in the world. "C-can I stay here with y-you?" he asked desperately. From his frightened expression, it was clear that Alfred had spent the past few hours huddled in his room with the lights on, jumping at every noise. Given the way the young man had reacted to the movie and the Hogwarts ghosts, Arthur wasn't surprised.
"You really are a scaredy-cat, aren't you?" Arthur asked, although he found it hard to give his words much bite. Alfred's fearful expression and mussed hair made Arthur want to wrap the poor boy in his arms and protect him from the ghosts in his head.
"O-of course n-not," Alfred replied unconvincingly.
"Really?" Arthur stomped his foot on the ground, causing Alfred to yelp and jump under the duvet. Arthur watched the lump shiver and didn't have the heart to kick Alfred out of his bed. Instead Arthur reclaimed his position on the other side of the mattress and advised Alfred to just go to sleep. Alfred sighed and wrapped his arms around Arthur like the other teenager was his own personal stuff animal. Arthur tensed and debated protesting, but there was something comforting about the sound of Alfred's breathing and the warmth of his body. He gave in to the inevitable and allowed himself to be cuddled like a teddy bear. Arthur fell asleep and suffered no more nightmares.
Sometime during the night, Alfred stole all the sheets.
Arthur woke up with cold feet. Grumbling, he pulled the duvet away from the American. Instead of relinquishing the blanket, Alfred rolled with it and half-sprawled across Arthur. The English boy used his cold feet to his advantage, pressing them against the other boy's legs and causing him to wake up. The sight of Alfred's blue eyes, still fogged with sleep, created a small pool of warmth in Arthur's stomach. The young man's messy blond hair rivaled Arthur's own. In the soft morning light, he looked like an angel who had fallen to Earth and needed a hair brush. Arthur didn't want to, but he couldn't help but forgive the other boy for being an inconsiderate bedmate and stealing all the sheets.
"Your feet are freezing," Alfred mumbled.
"Whose fault is that, hmm?" Arthur retorted. Their feet lay tangled together and Arthur already felt considerably warmer. He should have prodded the American with his cold feet hours ago. But if Alfred was an unrepentant sheet-thief, he was at least considerate enough to cast off heat like a small furnace. Arthur decided that next time he would be sure to have his own blanket, recognizing that it was a little odd that he simply assumed there would be a next time.
Still only half-awake, the American lifted his head to look at the clock on the nightstand and then plopped back onto his pillow. "It's not even ten," Alfred murmured. The young man sighed. "Hey, Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"What happens when we go back to Hogwarts? Can we still be... I don't know?"
Arthur understood what the other boy meant. He still wasn't quite sure how to classify their relationship, but whatever they called it, he could tell that a non-rival relationship would be next to impossible to manage as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Even a simple friendship would bring a number of stares, particularly given their positions on the Quidditch team. He shrugged, realizing there was little they could do other than keep it secret. "I don't think it'd look right to be dating my rival on the other team. But we could meet up in secret. Some secluded corner with minimal lighting."
"What about ghosts?" Alfred asked anxiously.
"No ghosts," Arthur promised.
"Good," the American replied drowsily. His eyes fluttered shut and Arthur could tell from his soft breathing that Alfred had fallen back to sleep.
Arthur gave in to temptation and snuggled closer to Alfred, sharing his warmth. Though he rarely had a chance to enjoy it at Hogwarts, Arthur liked the sensation of lying half-awake in a comfortable bed. It was the best time of the day to simply let his thoughts wander. But at the back of his mind, he remained uneasy about the fact that he was literally sleeping with the enemy.
The voice of Alfred's mother pulled Arthur out of his half-doze. "Alfie! Time to get up or we'll miss the changing of the guard," she called. She sounded like she was close. "George, have you seen Alfie?" she added after a few moments.
"Have you checked Arthur's room?" he responded.
Arthur felt a moment of panic. He stumbled out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a jumper just before Alfred's mother opened the door. She peered in and smiled.
The words tumbled out of Arthur's mouth: "This isn't what it looks like."
"Don't worry, dear. I know how Alfred can get after watching a scary movie." She patted Arthur's shoulder.
"Mom. Five more minutes," Alfred muttered from his cocoon of sheets.
"You know, he nearly missed his first day of school at the Salem Institute because he wanted to sleep in. I had to levitate him out of bed."
"Okay, okay!" Alfred cried, pulling himself out of bed. "I'm up. You can stop telling embarrassing stories now."
She laughed cheerfully. "Oh, that one wasn't even embarrassing. Arthur, dear, I've boiled some water for you if you want a cup of tea."
"Thank you," Arthur responded politely as he followed her to the kitchen.
"If you want embarrassing, let me tell you about the time he split his pants at his first school Quidditch game when he lunged to catch the snitch..." she said, launching in to her next story as they walked along the hallway. Alfred pulled on his clothes in record time and raced after them. They made it to see the changing of the guard, but Alfred spent the rest of Christmas break trying to stop his mother from sharing stories.
Author's Notes
When I was looking up details on mince pies, I came across this gem of a quote from a Puritan settler talking about why mince pies are the devil's food (remember that the Puritans hated Christmas because they saw it as a pagan holiday): "All Plums the Prophets Sons defy, And Spice-broths are too hot; Treason's in a December-Pye, And Death within the Pot." Reminding us once again that Puritans are where fun goes to die :)