15.

Going and Coming

"What a shame, really!" Francis Bonnefoy of France laughed with a sober shake of his head. "Can't you stay just a little longer? I'm sure you will enjoy the Tournament. Are you afraid it will bore you?"

Arthur, his mouth drawn, attempted a hoarse chuckle but nothing came out. "Yes, it is a shame. I would have very much enjoyed viewing it, what with the festivities you and Bulgaria already have shown us, but I have something to do… a lot of things to do, at that."

"Such as what?"

Francis wore a gauzy blue coat over fine pants. His shoes were polished to shine and his hair, fair and elegant in each curl undisturbed by even a single outlying hair, remained tidily pulled back. He stood well above Arthur, who wore raggedy black robes and held a valise under his arm, his wand tucked away. Arthur appeared of average temperature, though pale, as though he had just gotten over a sickness.

"Don't answer if you don't want to." Francis said at last with a polite smile, gently patting Arthur's shoulder. Then, he stopped quite suddenly. Their backs faced each other. They could hear each other just fine over the dull din of students.

"Yes, Francis?" Arthur said, not moving. He kept his eyes on the open doors on the failing vegetation just beyond. Fleecy clouds were scattered through the blue sky, hinting bad weather.

"Is she still there?"

"Yes, she is."

"Do you mind if I pay her a visit?"

"If you can find her, be my guest."

And, though Francis did not see it, Arthur smiled coyly, a near sneer Draco would be proud of.

"Good luck in whatever it is that comes your way. Bonne chance, Arthur." Francis said. Arthur barely heard him and left.

Francis stood there for some time, worried about Arthur's further actions. Francis would only be there occasionally to watch the Tournament and then flit out when he needed to do some business.

Standing there, Francis wondered if Arthur had forgotten what had been done to him—or better yet, forgiven him. Francis doubted it. Some ill-divining spirit was at work, and even if Arthur did not spring up now, like a stalking tiger, he would eventually attack his prey mercilessly.

The thought drifted in Francis's mind, eventually sinking below the waves, and he stalked away in the opposite direction from Arthur, his heels clicking.

The Tournament and all its events proceeded undisturbed. Harry was chosen to enter and the others were annoyed. Arthur never showed his face, much to the disappointment of Francis who still nursed the hunger to apologize.

Francis proved to be the only one who noticed Arthur had left. Dumbledore did not appear to, and if he did he showed no sign. Harry and Hermione both quite forgot about Arthur for some time. He did not fall away from their memories, to be sure, but he settled at the bottom like sand in a jar of water. Hermione kept the lessons inside her head passionately and Harry was too busy trying not to die to care what had happened to the strange man. If anything, he would rather have never met Arthur.

What did alert them of his absence was a sudden feeling of emptiness. Hermione and Dumbledore noticed this especially. It seemed as though the school had been reduced in some way. It was back to normal, but, like a crown that lost a jewel later added but not there at the beginning, the school felt vacant, as if all the spirit had been sapped from it.

I apologize for the brevity of this chapter. Thank you for reviewing, by the way! You all are awesome.