Chapter XI: The Buried Past
Arthur was born in South London and had, up until age seven, lived a relatively normal life. His father was an accountant and his mother a dental nurse. They took him camping in Scotland and boating on the Thames. They instilled in their only child a love of reading and fulfilled his Christmas wishes every year by giving him fairy tale books and unicorn plushies. Whenever his mother read him stories of mischievous pixies and wise unicorns, the magical beasts seemed to come alive on the page. With a twinkle in her eye, she whispered to him that magical creatures were real. Arthur had all the things that children needed: plenty of love, good teeth, and a small savings account for his college education.
His life as a comfortable, normal child ended on New Years' Eve, when his parents died in a car accident. Arthur remembered the frightened look on the babysitter's face when the police arrived at the door. He remembered how frail and sad his grandparents looked when they attended their daughter's funeral. With his grandparents in a hospice and his mother's cousins in Perth unable to take him, he was left adrift in the foster care system.
Arthur began to notice strange things that happened when he was stressed and unhappy. And he began to see creatures that no one else saw. He continued to read his fairy tales, so his first set of foster parents attributed his childish insistence that fairies were real to grief and a vivid imagination. His stay with them lasted two years, during which a number of dishes and plates mysteriously broke each time the family told Arthur that fairies and Flying Mint Bunny weren't real. He blamed the pixies. The family blamed Arthur. By the time he moved on to his second set of foster parents, he learned to keep the fairies secret.
The next few foster families weren't cruel, but the other children avoided Arthur because of his sad past and strange habits. He grew more withdrawn and some days he felt like the fairies were his only friends in the world.
On his eleventh birthday, he received the letter that would change his life for the better. Arthur Kirkland was invited to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His foster parents thought that the letter was a joke, but Arthur felt an immense sense of relief. He finally understood why he was different. He planned his escape that summer and on September 1st snuck away to King Cross's Station.
Once at Hogwarts, Arthur excelled at his studies and made new friends, although he was disappointed to discover that his ability to speak with fairies was unusual even among wizards. His favorite class quickly became Care of Magical Creatures.
"I've got a real treat for you today!" the groundskeeper said, leading the eager students in his Care of Magical Creatures class towards the stables that housed Hogwarts' menagerie of fantastic beasts. The group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors gathered round as he lifted up a cage. "Ta-da!" he said with a broad grin.
The schoolchildren, who had been hoping for hippogriff, reacted with disappointment.
"That's a fox," one girl complained. "Foxes aren't magical."
"No, it only looks like a fox," he corrected. "This is a kitsune. They're shape-shifters."
"Why would you look like a fox when you could look like a hippogriff?" a boy pointed out, hoping that the magical creature would listen to his idea. Although he would have preferred a real hippogriff, he was willing to settle for seeing a fake one.
"They typically take on human form. Attractive maidens or wise men," the groundskeeper explained. "They can be tricksters or faithful companions."
"Wise tricksters? Does that mean the headmaster's a kitsune?" one kid joked.
The groundskeeper sighed. "Pay attention, or I'll make you deal with glowing blobworms for the rest of the semester." The class quieted down and listened as he told them about the magical beast and the difficulty of capturing and keeping it. Arthur listened with half an ear. Mostly he watched the fox, which watched him back, a mysterious intelligence in its dark eyes. It looked lonely, and Arthur understood that feeling well.
While the rest of class hurried on to Potions (Arthur's least favorite class), he stayed behind and knelt down in front of the cage. "Are you really as smart as the professor says?" he asked. He didn't like the way the groundskeeper talked about 'keeping' magical creatures as if they were pets or livestock. Arthur preferred to be friends with them.
In Arthur's third year, the Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard Tournament, bringing with it an influx of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. A few, among them Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, liked the school so much that they decided to stay.
It was Francis who first noticed that Arthur's last name and thick eyebrows matched those of an old wizarding family. Arthur, who was just beginning to recognize his attraction to other boys, felt flattered by the handsome French boy's attention. When Francis suggested meeting the Kirklands that summer at his family's estate in Normandy, Arthur leapt at the chance. He had always dreamed of discovering that he had a big family somewhere waiting to welcome him with open arms. He wanted a family to live with permanently, a family where he could be normal again.
Arthur remembered the thrill of excitement when he first met his aunts, uncles, and cousins. He had been bitterly disappointed. Although the Kirklands had been happy to meet him too, he soon realized that they were pureblood bigots who had disowned Arthur's father, the middle child of three sons, because he was a squib. They hadn't cared about his father's marriage, his muggle mother, or even Arthur. All they cared was that Arthur had been born with magic, proving that their blood was still 'pure.'
Over the course of the summer, Arthur grew to hate his three older cousins (the sons of his older uncle) because they teased him relentlessly about being muggle-born. He also found his younger cousin to be very spoiled and incredibly aggravating. The only pleasurable part of the summer came when Francis introduced him to French kissing and speed Quidditch.
Arthur decided that kissing in general was nice but kissing Francis involved too much stubble. What had seemed like suave charm when he first met the French boy over time grew into snotty smarm. When the kissing grew dull, Arthur and his cousins spent the summer playing fast-speed Quidditch. Arthur had never taken much interest in the sport before, but he surprised his cousins and himself with his impressive aptitude for catching the snitch. By the end of the summer, Arthur had given up on his dreams of a welcoming family, broken up with Francis, and decided to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
When he agreed to spend Christmas with Alfred's family, a part of Arthur had wondered if his winter trip would end the same way. He couldn't decide what scared him more: that the break would go poorly (leaving him sad, but able to ditch Alfred), or that it would go well, forcing them to figure out some way to manage a relationship on the Quidditch field and in the halls of Hogwarts.
"I bet that Santa Claus is a wizard," Alfred announced from within his fortress of presents and discarded wrapping paper. "Just think about it. He flies around in the sky, his helpers are all magical creatures, and he probably has some sort of time stopper so he can visit all of houses in one night."
Arthur cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're joking or not, and it rather worries me."
Alfred grinned, neither confirming nor denying whether he believed in wizard Santa. Instead he changed the subject as his eyes lingered on the wand that lay at the top of Arthur's pile of gifts. "What sort of joke wand did your cousin get you?"
"Nothing too special." Arthur picked up the wand. "It just lets you do different types of accents," he added in a perfectly flat American accent.
"But does it do Southern?" Alfred drawled back, his words rough and sweet, meandering like molasses and warm as the full heat of summer. Arthur sucked in a breath, finding the accent unexpectedly attractive. The words made him want to fan himself and swoon in a very manly way. Noticing the sudden interest, Alfred leaned in closer. "You okay there, darling?" he asked sweetly. "Maybe I should try a British accent."
"Mmm," Arthur murmured dreamily at the word 'darling' before remembering his national pride. "It's an English accent, you prat."
Alfred grinned, crushed his wrapping paper into a ball, and tossed it at Arthur's head, starting a spirited wrapping-paper fight between the two teenagers. Arthur ducked behind the sofa and found himself at an immediate disadvantage in ammunition. (He had unwrapped each gift carefully, leaving him without any balls to throw.) He retaliated instead by using his wand to make the paper balls explode into mid-air confetti. The tiny shreds of paper floated to the carpet, creating a snow-like layer of colorful tissue.
"Boys, are you making a mess in there?" the teen's father called from the kitchen.
Unwilling to take the blame, Alfred dashed through the flying paper and leaped over the sofa, laughing as he landed next to Arthur. The English teen shook his head, but couldn't stop from chuckling himself. They heard a sigh as Alfred's mother walked into the living room and surveyed the damage. "Alfred, come down here and clean up your mess, young man!" she shouted up the stairwell.
"I dunno why she always blames it on me," Alfred whispered.
"Because she knows that I am a perfect gentleman."
"Pfft. She should see you when you're drunk."
Arthur glanced over to see the merry sparkle in Alfred's eyes and he couldn't resist leaning in for a quick kiss. In the back of his mind, he imagined that Alfred's lips tasted like hominy and honey.
Once the coast was clear, the teenagers emerged from behind the sofa and collected their pile of gifts. Remembering what he had learned in charms class, Arthur waved his wand in a circular motion, creating a magical whirlwind that collected all of the pieces of wrapping paper until they had merged into one large, multi-color ball. He then picked it up and threw the paper away. He frowned as he noticed one last, tiny present hiding near the back of the tree.
"Looks like you missed one," he said, picking up the small, red box and showing it to Alfred.
"That's weird. It doesn't have a name on it," Alfred replied, giving a confused look to both the box and Arthur. "Is it from you?"
"No, but I think you should open it." Arthur pressed the small gift into Alfred's hands. Never one to turn down a gift, the American teen opened the present. His frown deepened when he only found a single flower blossom inside.
Arthur peered over his shoulder. "Ah, prunus mei," he said, expertly identifying the plant based on the flower petals. "Quite a lovely specimen, too."
"So... what's that mean?"
"It's a plum blossom. Asian plum."
"Oh, goody. A flower," Alfred snarked.
Arthur swatted him lightly on the arm. "I think it's more than just a flower. Some magical creatures use... well, markers or tokens... to show that they owe you a favor in exchange for a favor done for them. They're very keen on repaying favors."
Realization dawned on Alfred's face. "You think it's from the kitsune?"
"Yes. Unless you've been helping some other magical creature lately."
"No, not that I can remember." Alfred smiled as he added the box to his other gifts and gathered them in his arms. "So... what kind of favor? Do you think she'd do my homework for me?" he asked as he began to climb the stairs towards his bedroom.
"For the rest of the year? Highly unlikely. I think you're better off asking for one favor and saving it for something important." Arthur felt a warm rush of nostalgia as he remembered the beautiful red chrysanthemum he had received several years ago. It would have been nice to tell Alfred why he knew so much about the flower tokens, but it wasn't Arthur's secret to share.
"Hmm," Alfred said thoughtfully as he pushed open his bedroom door with his foot and dumped his gifts onto his unmade bed. "Something important like a Quidditch victory?" he suggested with a teasing grin.
"That would be cheating," Arthur replied primly. This time he was certain that the American teenager was joking. If Alfred really wanted to cheat by calling in the kitsune's favor, he wouldn't be dumb enough to mention the idea to his main rival.
Alfred snapped his fingers and smiled. "Wait. I've got it! I could use this to figure out who jinxed your broom!"
"No!" Arthur grabbed the box out of the other teen's hands and snapped it shut. Alfred was too surprised to protest. Meanwhile, the gears churned in Arthur's head as he tried to come up with a good excuse for why using the favor would be a bad idea. "You can't use for that because we'd have to explain the whole kitsune business to the headmaster and everyone would realize that we spent Christmas break together," he hastily extemporized.
Alfred wrinkled his forehead. "I could tell the headmaster about the kitsune without mentioning that you were there."
"Yes, but do you really want to try telling a partial truth to the headmaster? He sees through lies in an instant. And you can't even explain how you arrived at the muggle park without an apparition license." Arthur pointed out logically. "Plus, I think it's against Ministry regulations to release a magical beast into a muggle park. You'd be admitting to an international wizarding crime."
"I guess. Still, it would be helpful if you knew," Alfred pressed. "Then you could watch out for him, or maybe follow him around and find some other evidence of his guilt."
Arthur shook his head and handed back the box. "Keep it for something more important. I... have some suspects in mind. I think I can uncover the truth myself," he said, feeling a pang of guilt for hiding the secret from Alfred. It was sweet that the American cared so deeply about finding the person who jinxed his broom, but Arthur couldn't take the risk that Alfred would tell the headmaster when he found out. And at this point, Arthur would likely also be punished because he had decided to protect Peter instead of doing the right thing. He shouldn't have let it sway him, but like Peter, Arthur was worried what would happen if the Gryffindor team lost 100 points.
"Fine. But let me know if you figure out who it was. I'd like to have a little chat with him." Alfred rubbed his fist, looking a little eager to mete out punishment himself. He would probably feel more conflicted if he knew that the culprit was only twelve.
"I promise to let you know if I find out anything new," Arthur replied truthfully. He just didn't plan to tell Alfred what he already knew.
Satisfied with that promise, Alfred nodded. He began sorting through his gifts (most of which were more Quidditch supplies) and started packing a few into his suitcase. "How do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?" he asked while packing. "Flowers and magical creatures and all that jazz."
Arthur snorted. "Well, shockingly enough, our school has courses dedicated to Herbology and Magical Creatures. And I pay attention in class."
"Teacher's pet," Alfred teased.
"Total prat," Arthur retorted.
"Terrible prefect."
"Tongue-tied prig."
"Uh... tiny... person."
"Are you calling me short?"
"Yeah, it was that or 'toilet paper.'"
"I'm in love with an idiot," Arthur complained.
"Really?" Alfred's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
"No, you're not really an idiot. You just don't have the advantage of our slang. I still had 'pest,' 'prick,' 'plonker,' and 'pillock' to use."
"No, Artie. The other part!"
"The...? Oh." Arthur's cheeks began to redden as he realized what he had admitted. He wondered if he should take it back or repeat it or just pretend it never happened. Not used to talking about his feelings, he was leaning toward the third option.
Alfred reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Hey, it's okay. I think I am too."
"Good, I'm glad you agree. I mean, obviously you're a bit of an idiot. Toilet paper! Really. And the insult battle was going so well," Arthur replied, mock-annoyed.
Despite his inability to read the atmosphere, Alfred had clearly been learning how to read Arthur, because he just grinned and leaned in for a kiss before Alfred's parents called them down for a big, Christmas dinner.
New Year's Eve arrived far too quickly for Arthur. He stared pensively out his window, staring past the delicate frost patterns to see the gray buildings in the distance. He had spent New Year's Eve at a variety of places—Hogwarts, with foster families, and with his guardians—but the day always left him in a somber mood.
Arthur sighed, his warm breath fogging up the window. His aunt and uncle could seem nice to the unwary, so he wanted Alfred to understand why he hated his relatives so much. For better or worse, the American seemed intent on slithering his way into Arthur's life, but he really had no idea what he was dealing with in terms of Arthur's family. Arthur wanted the other teen to understand why he could be such a grouch sometimes.
"My parents said we're on our own for dinner. You want to get burgers?" Alfred asked as he popped his head into Arthur's room.
Arthur shrugged. "Fast food sounds fine, but there's somewhere I want to go first."
"Okay!" Alfred agreed cheerfully, pulling on his warm brown coat. He bounced on his feet, always excited by the possibility of burgers. (Meals at Hogwarts suffered from a distinctive lack of the traditional American food, he felt.) Arthur grabbed his warm clothing more slowly and then offered his arm to Alfred. Destination, determination, and deliberation, he thought to himself. Within seconds they disappeared. The world twisted and stretched, creating an unsettled feeling that made Arthur glad he had an empty stomach. The world returned to normal as they arrived. Arthur glanced at the American to make sure he was alright. Alfred looked a little nauseous but otherwise fine.
"You wanted to visit a cemetery?" Alfred asked with a small shiver. He stepped closer to Arthur. He was still holding Arthur's arm, but Arthur found that he didn't mind. It was even a little comforting, given their destination. Without bothering to reply, Arthur led the way through the headstones and grave markers. It was dusk, but he didn't have any trouble finding his way. The cemetery had lights along the main paths, and light pollution from London kept the sky in a perpetual twilight gray.
"This is it," was all Arthur said when he reached his destination. He used his wand to summon an evergreen wreath and placed it on the headstone.
"Your parents?" the American asked hesitantly as he read the names on the gravestone. They shared the name Kirkland and the date of death was exactly ten years prior.
Arthur nodded as his breath created a small, white cloud in the cold air. "They died in a car accident," he explained. "Afterwards... well, I couldn't stay with mum's parents because they were too sick to take care of me. And at the time I thought that my father's parents were dead. So I hopped from foster family to foster family. I think all of them knew that there was something a little strange about me."
He felt Alfred's grip slide down his arm as the other teen clasped his hand. "I'm sorry," the American murmured.
"Then I received the Hogwarts letter. I ran away because my foster parents thought it was a joke. I'm probably still listed as a missing child somewhere."
"And when you got to Hogwarts you discovered that your dad's side of the family were wizards and went to live happily ever after with your aunt and uncle?" Alfred asked, eager for the story to have a happy ending.
Arthur snorted. "No. The first two years I had no idea who the Kirklands were. It was actually Bonnefoy who made the connection."
Alfred nodded. "Yeah, Francis, Gil, and Toni were telling me how they decided to stay at Hogwarts after Gilbert got kicked out of Durmstrang. I'm glad they stuck around and made an awesome Quidditch team."
"It's not that awesome," Arthur sniffed. "Anyway, once I met the Kirklands I learned that they had disowned my father because he was a squib. I don't think they really wanted to take me in, but it would have looked bad if they didn't, so they did."
"God, they sound like such... prats!" Alfred said heatedly.
Despite the cold and the time-worn sadness he felt each time he visited his parents' grave, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "You still have no idea what a 'prat' is, do you?"
"Something bad?" Alfred guessed.
"It means a fool."
Alfred huffed. "All this time I thought it meant something really terrible and you've just been saying that I'm an idiot?"
"Rather proves the point, doesn't it?" Arthur wished his parents a silent farewell and then led Alfred back to the street. The teenager relaxed as soon as he was outside of the dimly lit cemetery, although he still kept his grip on Arthur's arm. If Arthur remembered correctly there was a Fine Burger Company not too far away. If he was going to eat hamburgers, they would at least be gourmet ones from an English chain.
Alfred acted upset, but after a few hamburgers he forgave Arthur for the insult. They ate and talked and laughed about silly things that happened in their classes. New Year's Eve was a good time to remember the past, but on the morrow, Arthur intended to turn his thoughts to the future and come up with some plan for how he and Alfred could maintain their close relationship while at Hogwarts. And perhaps he would think of a way to encourage Alfred to use a Southern accent more often.
"Alfred, you forgot your toothbrush!" the teen's mother called. She handed it over while Alfred continued to frantically toss his clothes into the suitcase. His mother watched him and sighed. "You should have packed last night."
"Yeah, yeah, that's what Arthur said." Alfred sat on top of his suitcase, using his weight to help him pull the zipper closed.
"He's a smart kid. Mature, patient, kind. I really like him." She had a thoughtful look on her face as Alfred finished grabbing the last few items from the room. "Have you asked him how he feels about adopting?"
"Mother!" Alfred protested. "I'm sixteen."
"Well it's never too early to start thinking about the future."
"Geez, Mom, I'm kinda focused on Quidditch right now," Alfred said, giving his room one last glance before he picked up his bag and carried it to the entryway. He found Arthur waiting for him with his perfectly packed bags. Alfred kissed goodbye to his parents and let Arthur lead the way to King's Cross station.
Although they had never really settled on the exact status of their relationship, they had agreed on continuing what had worked in the past: meeting on Mondays afternoons in the library, in addition to Thursday evenings in the Prefect's bathroom thanks to Alfred's new status. Two days per week seemed like far too little time, but they knew that they could arrange more clandestine meetings by owl, making plans to see each other on the weekends in the abandoned North tower or at the Hogs' Head Pub. By unspoken agreement, they pulled short just before entering the platform to Hogwarts.
"This is it," Arthur noted.
"Yeah," Alfred agreed.
Filled with worry that the next five months would prove too much for their fragile relationship, Arthur cupped Alfred's face and kissed him hard. He wanted to remember the taste of Alfred's lips as something to keep him warm on cold nights. Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither heard the gasp of shock from the other side of the platform.
. . .
Author's Notes
I always feel terrible for giving Arthur a bad home life. But I wanted parallels to the Harry Potter books, and he drew the short end of the stick: the orphan stuck with a terrible aunt and uncle and spoiled cousin. But I also think that this backstory meshes well with his personality, explaining why he has difficulty expressing his feelings and why he maintains a prickly outer shell to hide his tender heart. Poor baby.
While I was looking up how to spell "Durmstrang," I noticed that Malfoy said in the HP books that his father considered sending him there, which I'm going to take as canonical proof that wizarding schools accept international students. Yay! I feel less bad about filling my HP story with international students. (This is the danger of writing Hetalia stories and trying to keep everyone from their home country. Oh, well.)
