A/N: Okay, my dear fellow fanfictionists, I have finally completed chapter two. Writing is something wonderful to do when there's an ice storm outside; at least my characters remember me!

I'm currently debating on how long to make this so it would be a convenient length to read; not too long and not too short. Will six or seven chapters work?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I love this fic so much I've hardly slept at all since I started it, and Dad is threatening me with death if I don't sleep soon.

I don't think he knows this fic is about him and Papa.

Chapter Two: Potions Class is Rigged

Arthur sighed, flopping down next to Patrick and dropping his bag on the ground. Lunch was well over half finished by now, and Patrick looked at his friend curiously.

"What kept you, Artie?" he asked, watching as Arthur spooned a generous helping of food onto his plate and began wolfing it down so fast you'd think he hadn't eaten in centuries.

Arthur swallowed quickly before replying. "Library," he said pointedly, before shoveling more food into his mouth. "Two of my morning classes gave out homework and I also need to find a timeline to one of the goblin wars that isn't in our book before tomorrow."

Patrick sighed, shaking his head. "Good freakin' Lord. Artie, you've officially lost your mind."

Arthur shot him a grin. "And you think I ever had one?"

"How goes life?"

Gilbert popped up behind them, sticking his head into their conversation with an evil grin on his face. "Do I hear something about Artie being crazy?"

"Sure thing, Gil," Patrick laughed, patting Gilbird as he cheeped in agreement. "He's already doing homework."

Arthur made an indignant noise of protest around his mouthful of food. "No, I'm looking for that bloody goblin timeline! Homework is for study hall! There's a difference!"

Patrick and Gilbert exchanged glances as they tried to stifle their grins. Gil coughed, choking down a laugh and earning himself a glare from Arthur, but then something seemed to occur to him.

"Hey, Artie, I just remembered! You know that Francis Bonnefoy kid?"

Arthur nodded cautiously, bracing himself. He knew Gil and Francis were both in Slytherin, but he'd hoped that his friend would have the decency to stay away from that frog. "Do I really want to know?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno, your choice, but anyway, his name sounded familiar, and I was talking with him and 'Tonio down in the common room last night, and I figured out how I knew him! When we were little I lived in France, and just after I turned seven we moved here. We were friends whenever I lived in France! Turns out he knows 'Tonio too, through some freaky pen-pal thing, but anyway, isn't that awesome?"

"Yeah, great. Absolutely smashing," Arthur said dryly, putting down his fork. For some reason he'd suddenly lost his appetite.

Gil looked at him for a moment. "Why so enthusiastic?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

Arthur sighed, now reaching for his bag. "Francis and I pretty much got off on the wrong foot. I get random urges to strangle him anytime I see him."

Gilbert fought a grin. "Wrong foot, indeed. What did he do, rape you? Punch you? Swear at you in every language known to man?"

"He just annoys me, all right?" Arthur glared at his friend, but was prevented from saying anything more as the bell boomed out over the school, signaling the end of lunch. He stood, grabbing his bag and striding away toward the doors of the Great Hall, not once looking back at Gilbert and Patrick.

"I've never met more of a pigheaded Brit," Gilbert reminisced as he watched his friend's retreating form. Arthur was sometimes completely hopeless.

Patrick just nodded resignedly. "I'm with you on that one, mate."

Arthur rounded the corner, heading down toward the Potions classroom when he nearly ran head-on into something, which in his eyes, was quite disgusting.

That new kid, Francis Bonnefoy, had some random girl pressed up against the wall and was snogging her face off. Their disgusting slurps were enough to make Arthur wish he hadn't eaten lunch after all, and it was all could do to restrain himself from gagging as he felt bitter acid rising in the back of his throat.

"Do you really have to do that here?" he managed to burst out, the revolted look on his face adding to the emphasis.

Francis finally came up for air, turning to Arthur with a smirk. "Unfortunately for you, ma cherie," he replied smoothly, blue eyes glinting with mischief. The girl giggled, her face flushed, and Francis let her up, sending her on her way as he kept his deep ocean eyes locked on Arthur's green ones. Arthur shivered involuntarily, quickly continuing on his way down the corridor when Francis fell into step beside him easily.

"It's just a kiss, non?" Francis asked airily. Arthur gritted his teeth, choosing to ignore that mention.

"So you've got Potions after lunch too?" he hissed, glaring straight ahead.

"Oui, mon ami!" the taller boy answered. That poisonous charm was back as Francis flipped his blond waves casually out of his face and opened the door to the Potions dungeon, holding it for Arthur.

Arthur took one glance at him and growled deep in the back of his throat.

"Fuck my life," he announced.

Francis gave the ghost of a chuckle as he watched the Brit stalk to one of the desks near the front and flop down, fuming. Although he wasn't trying to provoke Arthur, Francis had to admit it was funny when he got mad. He took a seat in the back row, sitting back and observing the boy as he set his bag on the ground. They were early to class, so there was plenty of time to spare and very few seats filled, allowing Francis a clear view. If Arthur ever stopped getting mad at Francis upon nothing more than hearing his voice, Francis might have to actually thank him for the extra few minutes.

Arthur leaned down, rummaging in his bag for a moment before pulling out the Potions book and setting it on his desk along with his quill and ink. He was slim, Francis observed, but not lanky. There was muscle under those Ravenclaw robes.

Even though on anyone else he would've thought it terrible, Francis even had to admit that Arthur's unruly blond hair looked, surprisingly enough, actually good enough to meet approval. And those eyes... they had a deep glow to them, nearly cat's-eye gold near his pupil and fading to a deep, jadey forest color, then to green-gray at the edges. All together, Artie was a pretty good-looking kid. His eyes were a definite plus. Francis wondered briefly why he didn't have a girlfriend, but didn't get to dwell on it because Gil and Antonio flopped down on either side of him just in time for the lesson to begin.

Gilbert looked at him incredulously, then quickly scribbled a note.

How'd you get here so fast?

Francis smirked. Arthur's fault. I just tagged along.

Gil shrugged. True enough.

They exchanged grins, before Francis decided grudgingly that it would probably be a good idea to actually pay attention to what was going on, given that he was completely new here. Dumbledore had warned him ahead of time that the British system of potionmaking was probably very different from the French, and Merlin, was he right. By the time the teacher stopped talking, the diagram on the board was covered in markings that looked like complete nonsense to Francis, and he was hiding the beginnings of panic with his usual 'suave' mask. The only thing comprehensible were the ingredients listed on the side of the board, and those weren't much use without directions on how to use them.

He raised his hand as the teacher began to pair them off.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" the professor called irritably.

"Professor, the British potions system is different from what I used back in France. I might need a... good partner."

Apparently the professor got the drift. "Not to worry," he said dryly, then turned to the one person Francis was absolutely sure he couldn't work with.

"Kirkland! With the French boy."

Arthur looked incredulously between Francis and the professor, wondering how rigged this class could possibly be.

"But-" he began to protest, only to be cut off by their professor.

"No buts, Kirkland, now move."

Francis gave Arthur a sympathetic look, but he just rolled his brilliant green eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh as he flopped down at the desk Gil had just vacated in favor of partnering with Antonio. The potions book fell on the floor and he swore, diving beneath the desk to retrieve it. Francis decided it would be best if he just kept his distance, and watched as the boy leaned down to get his book.

Arthur looked up to see the frog staring at him, suddenly feeling a bit on edge. Why was he looking at him like that? "What?" Arthur demanded.

Francis smirked, turning away. "Nothing, ma cherie."

Arthur growled but let it drop, turning to the assigned page and looking it over. "Here," he finally said, shoving the book, a knife, and the ingredient kit across the desk. "Chop the roots."

As it turned out, they were the first ones done, and even with the proper texture for their potion. The color was a smidge awry, but it would still earn them good marks. Arthur looked around in surprise, then back to Francis, who was lounging with his feet lazily propped up on the desk. He was about to give the frog a grudging nod of approval when Francis turned to one of the girls in the back of the room, shooting her a sexy wink. The girl giggled and blushed, looking away, and Arthur let out a resigned sigh and reached down to rifle through his bag in search of something—anything—to distract him from that bloody frog's antics.

He finally pulled out the weathered sketchbook he always carried with him, dipping his quill in ink and pausing, deep in thought. The tip hovered just an inch above the surface of the parchment as he contemplated the age old question:

What to draw?

Biting his lower lip, Arthur stared at the wall, not really seeing it at all. What to draw...? He sighed, glancing around the room for inspiration. What to bloody draw?

Francis noticed Arthur scan the Potions classroom, as though searching for something he'd lost. He leaned forward in his seat, mildly interested, just as the tip of his quill touched the parchment.

Soon it was sketching intricate shapes, darting its way through rough lines, making things come alive in a way Francis had only ever seen with a wand. He sat forward, fascinated, and couldn't help but smile as Arthur leaned down so close to the paper his nose was nearly brushing the surface to start sketching out some intricate little detail. Yep, why didn't this guy have a girlfriend...? Arthur certainly had the traits quite a few girls in this school would go head-over-heels for if he would just come out of his shell.

Francis sat thinking about this for quite some time, and was suddenly jolted out of his pensive silence by their professor's voice.

"Well, well, Mr. Bonnefoy. You and Mr. Kirkland seem to have brewed the most accurate potion I've seen all day. The color's a bit off, but it should do. Full marks for the both of you," he told them with a note of approval, before swishing off to grade another group's concoction. Francis smirked slightly.

Arthur watched the professor go for a moment, before turning back to his paper and glaring at it intently. Something was off, he decided. But what?

Francis discreetly leaned over the boy's shoulder, trying to see the drawing better. He had to admit, it was better than anything he could've done, enchantment or no.

A lone tree stood in the middle of a dark, grassy field, silhouetted under the moon. The tree was twisted and gnarled, and in some places the bark was stripped off to expose the shiny inner wood of the trunk. There were long, raking claw marks and age-old scars in the peeling bark that remained. It looked dead, except for one tiny glimmer of hope.

Right in the middle of the moon, on the very tip of a slender twig, grew a leaf.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, snapping Francis out of his trance. He blinked, trying to pull himself out of the drawing and back to reality.

"Nothing, ma cherie," Francis immediately replied with his usual silky-smooth smirk. Arthur looked at him for a moment, then just sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to the sketchbook and flipping to a clean page. Even though Francis still watched with supreme interest, it was carefully disguised and he kept his distance this time. As he watched Arthur draw, he finally turned to the one subject that was still bugging him.

Francis had been brought up in a pureblood family, and although they had no issue with Muggle-borns or half-bloods, he knew how to read people like an open book. His parents had taught him to search their eyes, search their face, search the slight aura that every person seemed to have, and through this he always knew what they were going to do next, and most of what had happened to make them like this. Also, he seemed to have an involuntary talent at Legilimency, which only added the curse of knowing whatever their intentions were through the smoke of lies they always tried to weave. It was frustrating and depressing; people lost all depth. He'd finally gotten so tired of it that he had agreed to move here to England, where he met Arthur.

Arthur, who he couldn't read at all. Arthur, who seemed to know exactly what Francis thought he'd do next, and then deliberately went and did the opposite. It was nice, for a change.

The bell rang, jolting Francis out of his thoughts for the third time that class, and he gathered up his books before starting on his way to Transfiguration.

Yaaaaay! Second chapter down! Now I need to feed Mr. Kumijaro and start on the third one, so if you'll excuse me...