Part IV
Bill and Fleur's wedding was approaching quickly. The Nations soon found themselves spending a lot of time at the Burrow, helping them with wedding preparations.
"This is awful," Alfred grumbled as he and Kiku mucked out the chicken coop once more. "I didn't know weddings took this much effort…"
Kiku said nothing, merely watching Madeline and Mrs. Weasley air out the laundry not too far away.
"I mean… a lot of my cousins get hitched and stuff, but their weddings weren't this hard to prepare and they were usually in churches and stuff anyways…"
Kiku still said nothing.
Later on after lunch and a change into clean clothes, Kiku found himself roped into sorting out wedding presents.
"So many," Ron groaned as he picked up a parcel with a sour look on his face.
That, thought the Japanese, just about summed up my feelings as well.
When he stumped downstairs into the living room where the others were congregated to Floo back to their apartment, he had the resigned air of a medieval monk. Recording wedding presents was dull work.
"The Delacours are coming tomorrow," Francis informed him as Alfred stuck his hand in their bag of Floo powder. "We're expected back to welcome them."
"Brilliant," Kiku grumped.
"Mon dieu, you sound like Ar–" Francis caught himself before he finished the sentence. Kiku raised an eyebrow, still saying nothing.
"Tell me the secret to your immortality," Voldemort demanded. He wasn't beating around the bush this time. "Tell me how you became a Nation."
Arthur glared up at him, resolutely refusing to speak.
They tortured him with the Cruciatus Curse for so long that he half-wondered why he hadn't gone insane.
The Delacours were very pleasant guests and by the end of their first day of visit, Kiku was feeling less resentful towards them.
They and Francis immediately took to each other like a house on fire, jabbering away in French with Madeline occasionally putting in her two cents' worth. Monsieur Delacour was portly and jovial, Madame Delacour was tall and regal, and Gabrielle Delacour was a little version of Fleur.
"Do you know Aurélie Bonnefois and Mabel Clouseau?" Francis asked Gabrielle as they finished colour coordinating the favours. "They attend Beauxbâtons; they're three years older than you."
"Un peu," Gabrielle replied. "Zey are razzer populaire aux Beauxbâtons."
"I should think so; they're related to me," Francis remarked, puffing out his chest slightly. Kiku had a sudden urge to whack him with a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests.
The wedding was now only a day away, he realised later at night when he was sprawled out over his bed looking at the stars outside his window and listening to Alfred's snores in the twin bed nearby. Tomorrow would be Harry's seventeenth birthday. And then it would be the wedding – and once the wedding was over, he could go back to worrying himself sick over Arthur.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were acting a bit secretive, he also remembered. They were always trying to meet each other, as if they were plotting something.
He wondered if they were going back to Hogwarts at all this year.
Arthur woke up from a pain-induced unconsciousness and for a moment, he vaguely wondered why the world was so dark around him.
Was he dead?
But he could still feel the prickly aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse, and he was still bleeding from where they slashed at him with fire and steel, carving words into his bare back and leaving them there to bleed.
He realised that he was naked from the waist up, and the dungeon was made of cold, unyielding stone. Not exactly the most comfortable place to be, but then again, Voldemort wasn't famous for treating his prisoners well.
He was also dreadfully hungry. Arthur felt that growl in his stomach, that empty gnawing feeling that made him sick at heart. In the darkness, he crawled in one direction until he collided with the stone wall, leaning heavily against it.
His wounds were slowly healing, but he had a premonition that they would leave him with scars – scars written into his back like tattoos, forever marring him.
Hungry, tired, miserable... he missed his friends and his family, the warmth of joy and love and peace...
Arthur curled up in a ball and cried. Partly for himself, partly for the people he lost.
Harry's seventeenth birthday dinner was interrupted by the arrival of the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.
Scrimgeour was the former head of the Aurors and he bore a striking resemblance to a lion. He pulled Harry, Ron, and Hermione aside, and then looked down at a sheet of paper.
"I also require a word from Messrs Alfred F. Jones, Kiku Honda, and Arthur Kirkland," he said.
"Artie's not here," Alfred replied. "He got kidnapped –" Francis silenced him before he could continue, but the damage was done.
"Kidnapped?" Scrimgeour repeated, raising an eyebrow. "By whom?"
"By his... parents," Kiku lied hastily, trying to will down the lump in his throat. "Because they... had plans tonight and he forgot about those in favour of Harry's birthday party."
"Right," Scrimgeour replied, looking as if he didn't believe them at all. "How may I contact Mr. Kirkland?"
"Through us," Francis cut in. "He's, euh, très reclusive. Doesn't send his owl anywhere, and doesn't like people visiting him. Got it from his parents, voyez."
Scrimgeour raised both eyebrows. "I suppose I'll just have to tell the rest of you to tell him about this. In any case, shall we? I don't want to keep you away from that cake for too long."
The five of them trooped after Scrimgeour into the sitting room, Harry lighting the oil lamps with a flick of his wand. They all took their seats.
"I have questions for all of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. I will start with Ronald, if the rest of you will wait upstairs –"
"We're not going anywhere," Harry replied. "You can speak to us all together or not at all." Next to him, Hermione nodded.
"Well, actually, Alfred and I don't mind being questioned separately," Kiku cut in.
"But I wanna hear –" Alfred began, but one serious stare from the Japanese was enough to get him to wait upstairs.
They had left him bleeding underneath the drawing-room table again.
Arthur lay with his head pressed to the carpet, feeling blood seep out from the reopened wounds in his back. His eyes were closed and his heart thudded against his ribcage like a battering ram.
"Tomorrow we strike," the high, cold voice of Voldemort spoke from somewhere beyond his refuge. "The Ministry will fall into our hands and a new order will begin."
Arthur's heart raced a thousand miles without leaving his chest.
"I am here, like I was for Mr. Potter and his friends, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
Kiku found it odd that it took a month for the Ministry to get the contents of Dumbledore's will to them, but he didn't say anything. Scrimgeour had a rather livid look in his amber eyes, and Kiku was sure that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had angered him during their interrogation.
They did hear raised voices, after all.
Next to him Alfred sat nearly bouncing with excitement at having received something from Dumbledore.
Scrimgeour scrutinised them for a moment. "Would you say that you were close to Dumbledore, Mr. Jones?"
"No, not really," Alfred replied. "I mean, Artie was the one –" Kiku shot him a warning look and he clammed up – but once again, it was too late.
"So Mr. Kirkland was close to Dumbledore?" Scrimgeour queried. Alfred gave a tiny nod, looking at Kiku out of the corner of his eyes. "Then why did he single you out in his will? Like I said previously to Mr. Potter and his friends, Dumbledore made very few personal bequests. The majority of his possessions went to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were chosen?"
"Uh... I dunno," Alfred replied, scratching his head. "I mean, we talked once or twice... and he knew I liked sherbet lemons..."
Scrimgeour gave a dry, humourless laugh before turning his attention to a scroll of parchment. "Herein is the last will and testament of Albus Dumbledore," he said, gesturing to the scroll. "And it says here: 'To Alfred F. Jones, I leave a vial of Fawkes's tears, in the hope that one day he will be a true hero and heal those that are hurting.'" From a bag, he took out a little vial of clear liquid, passing it to Alfred.
"I'm already a hero," Alfred mumbled as he accepted it. Kiku rolled his eyes.
"Phoenix tears are extremely rare and powerful. I do believe you know their properties, Mr. Jones?"
"Healing powers," Kiku cut in before Alfred could answer. "It's the only known antidote to basilisk poison and it can cure almost every sickness and injury imaginable."
Scrimgeour nodded. "So why do you think Dumbledore would have left you with such a rare and valuable item, Mr. Jones?" he asked, pointedly directing the question at Alfred.
Alfred looked at the vial. "Because he wants me to heal someone, I think," he replied. The name of a certain bushy-browed, green-eyed wizard passed through Kiku's mind unbidden and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes.
Scrimgeour turned to Kiku. "For you, Mr. Honda, Dumbledore left you his glasses."
Kiku blinked once more; Alfred stifled his sniggers with his hand. Scrimgeour showed no reaction, merely continuing by reading aloud from the will: "'For Kiku Honda, I leave my glasses, in the hope that he will discover worlds he cannot see otherwise.'" He paused. "Has Dumbledore ever discussed these 'other worlds' with you?" he asked as he took out the gold-rimmed half-moon spectacles from his bag and handed them to Kiku, who inclined his head as he accepted them.
Kiku shook his head. "Iie, we rarely talked."
"And yet he chose you, out of thousands of past students, to receive these glasses. Why you?"
"I have no idea, sir. I am sorry to not be of any assistance," Kiku replied politely.
"Nah, it's probably because he thinks your eyesight is horrible," Alfred joked. Kiku glared at him.
"We have inspected the glasses and found an unidentifiable charm on them. It does not seem to be of Dumbledore's doing – in fact, it may be that whoever made the glasses had charmed the parts. But the Ministry could not detect anything Dark in these glasses – although the magic used in its making is foreign to us. Has Dumbledore ever mentioned this to you?" He peered intently at Kiku over his own wire-rimmed glasses, but Kiku was intently studying Dumbledore's glasses. After a while, he looked up and shook his head.
"Iie."
Scrimgeour did not seem intent on pressing the question. "Very well, then, now the last object should go to Mr. Arthur Kirkland. But since he is... unavailable at the moment... I suppose one of you will have to give it to him later."
"I'll do it," Kiku said quietly.
"Good. Now the will says... 'For Arthur Kirkland, I leave him the diaries of Odoacer of Germania, in the hope that he may discover more about himself from it.' These diaries are very old – dating back to Roman times, in fact. Why do you think Dumbledore would have left Arthur these ancient books and told him he might find something about himself in them?"
"Maybe the Germania guy was his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather or something," Alfred replied, shrugging. Scrimgeour said nothing, merely passing Kiku a set of ancient pieces of parchment with runes and other symbols marked all over them. Kiku looked intently at the first page, trying to decode the runes – but to no avail.
Even after Scrimgeour left, Kiku was looking down at the diary.
Arthur closed his eyes and dreamed.
He dreamed of flying, flying away from his prison, flying through the clouds. He was wild and free, like a bird.
And then he was landing – not like the landing that had taken his life before – gently, gracefully. He landed in front of a house. A big house all lit up and happy.
The door was open and he walked into a warmly-lit entryway. Somehow it gave off a feeling of familiarity, and he did not need to think; his feet carried him of their own accord.
Down, down passageways all lit with brightly glowing lights. Down, down empty corridors, walking with some unknown purpose.
Arthur entered a study, a study with a warm red glow. Books lined the walls up to the cathedral ceiling. A handsome mahogany desk stood in the middle, with a big red armchair behind it. There was a cup of hot tea sitting on the desk, and a book – The Tales of Beedle the Bard – sitting there ready for him.
He sat down in the chair, opening the book. There came a noise. He closed the book and listened.
Laughter, childish laughter. It reminded him of Peter's squeals of joy when his brother had been a toddler. Boisterous and mirthful, ringing with the innocence of childhood... the laughter filled the air and Arthur felt a smile creep onto his face.
A little figure was suddenly silhouetted in the light from the doorway. "Papa!" she squealed, running towards him. She had slightly messy dark hair and thick eyebrows, but her eyes were a striking shade of green that seemed to mirror his own. Her laughter was contagious; Arthur found himself laughing as well as he took her in his arms and swung her up high.
"Papa, papa, I missed you!" she said cutely, smiling widely with dimpled cheeks.
Arthur only laughed, setting her in his lap so that she could see the book on his desk. "Would you like me to read to you?" he asked. She nodded happily, kicking her little feet slightly.
Arthur began to read 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' to her, but halfway through he paused, seeing someone in the doorway.
Kiku stood there, wearing a dark blue kimono, a little smile on his face.
The wedding was supposed to begin in the afternoon, but the four of them were supposed to be there in the morning to help with the final details.
"Stupid dress robes," Alfred grumbled. He had been forced into a set of dark red dress robes by Mrs. Weasley at wand point; he was originally going to wear his bomber jacket to the wedding. Kiku and Francis were in dress robes as well – Kiku's were dark blue and Francis's were dark green. Harry was also there, disguised as a red-haired Muggle boy from the nearby village.
"You and me both," Fred replied, tugging hatefully at the collar of his own robes. "When I get married, I'm not bothering with this rubbish. You can all wear whatever the hell you like and I'll put a full Body-Bind Curse on Mum until it's over."
"Well, she honestly wasn't that bad this morning," George added. "Cried a bit about Percy, but who cares about that pompous git anyway?"
The guests arrived a little after three in the afternoon. Fred managed to escort a pair of pretty French girls into the pavilion where the wedding was to be held; George had to deal with a couple of middle-aged witches; Ron took care of an old wizard named Perkins; Harry escorted in a deaf old couple.
"Ciao, Kiku," said a quiet voice. Kiku smiled to see Feliciano Vargas and his German boyfriend Ludwig Beilschmidt at the front of the queue now forming. "Sorry about that other night, ve..."
"It's okay," Kiku replied. "And really, it's not me you should be apologising to." He led the two of them to their seats.
"Are the others coming?" Ludwig asked. Kiku shrugged.
"I didn't look at the guest list, forgive me."
Ludwig nodded and took his seat. Moments later Alfred walked by with Spaniard Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Feliciano's older brother Lovino. Lovino was calling Alfred a 'hamburger bastard' while Antonio nonchalantly tossed a tomato from hand to hand.
On his way back out of the marquee, Kiku passed by Francis who was escorting the venerable Chinese sorcerer Yao Wang to his seat. Trailing behind him were Mei and Lee; they waved at Kiku. Kiku waved back.
Kiku walked back outside and nearly had to walk back in when he saw who was at the front of the queue.
"Hiya, Alfred!" Peter Kirkland, Arthur's younger brother, was yelling at Alfred who had emerged from the marquee at the same time. Alfred beamed and bounced over to Peter, taking the invitation from Arthur's older brother Liam MacDonald and escorting them into the tent. Arthur's other older brother Arawn Iorwerth was trailing behind slightly, looking rather sombre.
As he directed a couple of distant Weasley relatives to their seats, Kiku tried to get another look at what was left of Arthur's family.
"The Death Eaters left," Ollivander said feebly, and Arthur heaved a sigh of anything but relief. "They're going to the Ministry."
"They're going to overthrow it, aren't they?" Arthur asked quietly, in a way that wasn't accusatory or defensive – just resigned.
"I'm afraid so," replied Ollivander, and Arthur felt tears appear in his eyes.
Then the pain started.
Hermione and Madeline came in late, both of them looking very stunning in their dresses. Madeline's was sky blue and she had tied red satin bows in her hair; Hermione's was lilac and her hair was sleek and shiny.
"You look great!" Ron stuttered at Hermione, who smiled. Francis was whispering something in Madeline's ear that made her giggle. Kiku had a sudden urge to run away and be sick.
Everyone took a seat eventually and the wedding started; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley walked up the aisle followed by Bill and Charlie Weasley – Charlie was Bill's best man. The music, which had been but background noise during most of the proceedings, suddenly swelled as everyone stood up for the bride's entrance.
Fleur walked in on the arm of her bouncing and beaming father. She was arrayed in a simple white dress, with a sparkling tiara on her head and a silvery glow surrounding her. If she had been beautiful before, she was now radiant. Usually that radiance would have made everyone dim in comparison, but today her radiance seemed to beautify everyone it fell on. Ginny and Gabrielle were wearing gold dresses and looking even prettier than usual. Bill, who had been badly scarred due to a run-in with a werewolf months ago, suddenly looked young and whole once more.
The ceremony started as everyone took their seats once more. Kiku sat and stared at the golden balloons fixed above the bride and groom's heads, wishing with all his heart that he was the one standing at the front of the marquee with his hand in Arthur's. A tear rolled down his cheek as he listened to the officiator talk about love and the union of two loving souls. From the looks (and sounds, if Hagrid's trumpeting was of any indication) of it, he wasn't the only teary-eyed audience member.
But he was the only one who cried out of sadness.