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England stood in a grassy field, allowing the cool breeze to drift over him and brush his hair. He held a lily in his hands, gentle white petals softly grazed his finger tips. He hadn't the heart to tear or destroy a single petal. A single creature living on it. He brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on one of the petals and smiling. He crouched down and looked at the engraved words. 'Here lies…' and some name of a woman he once knew. He never spoke to her, she had been dead for a good fifty years. He placed the lily gently on the grave. He stood and shifted the bouquet in his arms and moved on. The next grave was of a man, who died too young. Here, he placed a daisy, as lively as he was. Next was a little girl, a rose. A woman, a tulip for her.

"What are you doing here?" a trembling, elder voice spoke from behind. Arthur stood, a bitter smile lying on his lips. His eyes glowed as dim as a dying sun.

"Just a final good-bye," he mumbled, and turned around. Professor McGonagall stood there, watching him with worried cat-like eyes.

"Good-bye? Where are you going?" she asked, stepping closer.

"Away, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for a thousand years," he replied and handed her the remaining flower; a tiger lily.

"Thank you," she took it and examined the pretty flower in her hands, "why? What's going to happen to you?"

Arthur smiled at her, "don't worry about me, ma'am. I will be back, I just haven't done this in so long…" he added in a tone of dread. "I'm afraid,"

McGonagall shook her head, watching him leave the graveyard. "I understand you are afraid," she called after him, still unsure of his plans, as I assume you dear reader are.

"All in good time, lass, I still have a few weeks," Arthur said back, waving his hand. "Don't worry, please don't, I'm not going to," he laughed, a song like golden bells.

School continued on, and the first challenge came about. Arthur watched from the crowds, never cheering, only smiling and nodding respectfully towards the winners. France spotted him and sat closer. "Bonjour, you aren't enjoying yourself it appears," he said.

"What? Oh no! I'm just…" England fumbled over his words, trying to formulate a believable lie.

"Ah, do you ever smile? You're just as dreary as your weather!" France exasperated, placing his hands on his lap.

Short, super duper short chapter. I beg your pardon! No time, no time…