AGH! Sorry for the long pause... I was thinking of maybe putting this story on hiatus due to my crippling writer's block. I literally could not think. You know, usually the characters have almost minds of their own? Yeah, when I tried to write, I was trying to picture them but it seemed forced - like they were just puppets for me to manipulate using my vaguely literate powers. Shoutout to... meh, I don't have the energy anymore. Shoutout to my crews for Wallingford Head on Saturday. I hope that we win!

Next update should be on Sunday, as I have a free day.

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Alfred looked at Arthur. Arthur didn't blink.

"Um, England?" He probed gently, "You going to let it ring?"

"It'll stop eventually." Arthur said dully, "It always does."

Alfred mentally slapped himself for not probing deeper when his calls went unanswered, when the phone was probably left to stop. He reached over, picked up the small, silver landline and pressed the green button.

"Hey, this is Alfred Freedom Jones, can I take a message?"

There was a pause, and then a woman replied in a slight Scottish accent.

"Hello? Is this Arthur Kirkland's phone?"

"Yep!" Grinned Alfred, glancing over at Arthur and seeing the Brit perk up for the first time in ages. Actually, 'perk up' was the wrong phrase. The man looked livid. Arthur made a swipe for the phone and Alfred let the Briton grab hold of it.

Arthur pushed the phone to his ear.

"I'm terribly sorry about that." He spoke carefully, each word measured. "Just… a friend of mine. What is it that you are wanting?"

Another pause, presumably whilst the woman too composed herself.

"It is Minerva, I'm calling from Hogsmeade. Due to recent teacher illnesses there has been a slight problem and I was wondering if you could come in tomorrow evening to chaperone the Yule Ball? If you have plans then I'm sure that we can figure a way around it but really…"

Arthur sighed irritably and pressed his fingers against his temples, thinking.

"I am the last port of call?" He finished her sentence for her.

"Yes. I'm terribly sorry for disrupting your holidays…"

He interrupted, not very rudely, but out of character for him. "This isn't very convenient. I have… family around. Oh dear, I don't want to turn down the offer but I don't see how I can reschedule my life!"

"How many family members do you have over?" Asked McGonagall.

"One, Alfred Jones."

"How old is he?"

"Nineteen."

"Well then, he can come too! Not to sound too desperate but we are running very low on chaperones. If we can't find at least one more person, the Yule Ball will not be able to go ahead - for the first time in over a century."

"Oh."

"Please? You'll get paid extra…"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine. We'll both be in tomorrow evening."

McGonagall sounded relieved.

"Thank God. You are a life-saver, Arthur. It'll just be you, me, Filius and Dumbledore. Oh, and of course 'Alfred'. See you then. Thank you."

A muted beep and the phone lay dead in his hand. England turned to America.

"Alfred, come with me. We're going to a ball."

000000000000

"Dammit! I look like a girl!" Moaned Alfred, tugging on his robe cuffs petulantly.

"Shut up, America." England said absently, fixing America's collar and standing back to examine the man with a critical eye. "Well… You'll do, I guess. Just be thankful I had an old pair of robes that fit you. Otherwise you would have been embarrassingly short on fabric. Come on! We'll be late."

They were standing outside the Hogwarts gates, Arthur having taken Alfred on his first apparition ever. Suffice to say, it had not been a pleasant experience for either of them. Arthur's ears were still ringing from the American's shrieks and America was whinging about how his 'tummy' hurt.

They walked up the winding path to the castle, England stepping out briskly whilst America was lagging behind, taking time to look at interesting features such as rocks and birds. It was twilight and the castle cast a large, ethereal shadow over the forest, much like an old Rackham illustration.

Finally they reached the front doors of the castle and Arthur pushed them open, Alfred following, looking at the world around him in awe.

"Whoa. It's all so old!"

"Well observed." England said, with only a trace of sarcasm as they reached the doors of the great hall and heard music playing from within. "Remember, no country talk. You are a wizard, not a landmass."

He opened the door and they both stepped inside. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people. The student champions were dancing in a space in the middle of the floor, some awkwardly, others waltzing like they were born to do it. The three pairs looked fresh and vibrant, the epitome of youth and strength, the image of champions.

Dumbledore smiled happily when Alfred and Arthur approached the top table, but Norway wore an unfathomable expression as he watched them draw nearer. France, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime and Karkaroff, each wearing navy robes, were applauding the champions politely. Arthur and Alfred took seats next to France and soon there was a lull in the conversation, as the champions finished their dance.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Alfred picked his up uncertainly and looked around - there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"

Arthur did the same, then Francis, then the rest of the students. Alfred looked at his own plate and, feeling rather foolish said,

"Um… Burger?"

Arthur shot him a dirty look but lo and behold, a burger appeared on the plate.

"AWESOME!"

Arthur looked mortified.

"Alfred, we are in polite company… for God's sake, take a hold of yourself."

"Hon hon hon… Polite company, moi? Angleterre, you flatter me."

France had appeared behind them. Arthur glared at him, acid green eyes almost burning into the French man's pale skin.

"Hey, Frog?"

"Oui, Rosbif?"

Arthur ignored the slight.

"Why does the French flag have Velcro?"

Both of the blonde haired nations looked at him, confused. Then Francis hesitantly replied:

"To stick it to ze flagpole?"

"Nope." England grinned. "So the blue and red sections are easily removed during a time of war."

France huffed at the French joke and tossed his long, silky hair.

"Zis 'Castle' of yours is nothing," He said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. "At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we 'ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course . . . zey are like 'uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb." His accent was becoming more pronounced by the word, as Arthur and Alfred snorted with laughter next to him. "It's true! We have a restau…"

"How do you spell that?" America asked, trying not to catch England's eye.

" R.e.s.t.a.u… it is short for restaurant…"

"I have a feeling that it shouldn't be spelt like that…" Arthur smirked.

"Yeah, cos American English is better than Frogese."

"Agh! Les anglophones volent des mots à d'autres langues puis chialent parce qu'ils ne sont pas orthographiés comme ils le voudraient." Muttered France as he turned away from the 'anglophones' and started conversing in rapid French with Madame Maxime.

Both of the English nations finished their food. Arthur left his knife and fork politely in the centre of the plate - Alfred had used his fingers. At that moment, Snape came in, looking cold and hungry.

"Does anyone want to watch the grotto whilst I eat? The pubescent kissing there is driving me literally insane."

Arthur raised a hand.

"Alfred and I will go. Don't worry. I can handle any untoward behaviour."

They left out of the back exit of the hall and walked along one of the crisp grotto paths. Arthur could see the fairies glimmering in the trees, he pointed them out to Alfred, who merely shrugged and muttered something that sounded like,

"Schitzo."

"Hey!" Arthur shoved Alfred, who fell into a rosebush, crushing two fourth years that had been up to 'untoward activities'. They ran off as they saw the assistant teacher and the grotto was empty, silent except for the buzz of the fairies.

They sat down on a bench at the end of the rose arches. Arthur shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes and Alfred mimicking him, both of their breath making steam clouds in the night air, like the dragon Arthur had faced a few weeks previously.

"So…" Arthur said. "Is this it?"

"What?" America asked, looking confused.

"This!" England exclaimed, gesticulating as best as he could with his hands in his pockets. "This awkwardness, this silence. Have we ruined it?"

"I-I don't know." Alfred said, eyes lowered. He had been wondering the same thing.

"I mean," Continued Arthur. "We have only been bonding over our mutual dislike of Froggy recently. It will be absolutely typical if I've screwed this up again. I'm starting to think that the 'special relationship' between our countries is a whole load of…"

"Hey!" America clamped a hand over the Brit's mouth. "There is so a special alliance, you know that as well as I. We just sometimes have to be brave enough to follow through our words with actions."

Then he kissed him, there, in that sparkling grotto garden, lit by the moonlight as the clock struck twelve. On the twelfth stroke they broke apart, Alfred grinning happily, Arthur looking dumbstruck. He raised a shaky hand to his lips. It had been their second proper kiss.

"Christmas day…" He muttered.

"Are you convinced?" Asked Alfred, blushing slightly.

"Yeah, I guess I am convinced." Replied Arthur, going a deeper shade of crimson. He looked as though he was making a difficult decision. Then he rushed forward and embraced the American. Alfred looked stunned. Arthur never usually 'initiated contact'. He was always the one who had to give the prickly Brit affection before he got any in return.

"Arthur…"

"Don't get used to it, git." England smiled, stepping back.

"I'm not sure I can stop myself, you being so affectionate all of a sudden." Alfred joked, although it was half true.

"I'll write." Arthur said, looking up at the school. "I can't leave yet."

"Yeah, I know." The American rolled his eyes, then picked something off Arthur's dress robes. A small, bejeweled insect. "Hey, Iggy. There was a beetle on your shoulder!"