A/N: FINALLY! I've had this chapter done for an entire sixteen hours now, but when I tried to upload it last night, the login server was down. Sorry it took so much longer to update; most of this except for the first three paragraphs was typed in the 45 free minutes I had yesterday morning...

Chapter Seven: The Color Red

There was nothing better than sitting under your favorite tree on a sunny afternoon, quill in hand, and spirits soaring with the mild autumn breeze, Arthur decided as he smoothly trailed the tip of his quill across the paper resting against his knees. He had actually been able to sleep last night, and no more of the odd time-skips had seemed to happen since last Saturday, for which he was immensely grateful. He was actually caught up on homework for once—something that never happened—and things were going well.

Arthur didn't really even regret missing the Quidditch tryouts; he'd mostly said yes because of Francis, not because he actually wanted to get onto the team. He was perfectly content to sit in the stands and cheer for Patrick, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, and Gil, who played Beater for Slytherin, or even Alfred, who was the Gryffindor Seeker. He was perfectly happy where he was, thank you very much.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the grass made him look up just in time to see the frog sit down next to him, setting his bag on the ground beside them both.

"Astronomy tonight," Francis reminded him, settling against the rough tree trunk. Arthur let out an annoyed hiss of air through his nose, though secretly he was grateful, and settled for sketching another intricate, feathery detail on his unicorn drawing.

"I know," he grumbled, not looking up. Arthur was uncomfortably aware of the Frenchman looking over his shoulder, watching as he added another flowing hair to the tail. This unicorn wasn't the kind you saw in picture books for young children, though—it was far from fairytale perfection.

In the foreground stood the unicorn, fierce and tall, silvery mane and tail flowing under the moon. But the empty sockets where its eyes should have been were voids of shadow, and there was blood of battle flung over its snowy white coat. Arthur felt Francis's warm breath ghost over his ear and flinched away.

"Why do you not ever color your drawings?" the frog asked thoughtfully. "It would make them look much better, mon cher."

Arthur shot him a scathing glare, but it dissolved into a smile after a second of stony anger. His eyes shimmered so nicely when he smiled, Francis thought absentmindedly.

"Well, if you color it wrong, then it just ruins the whole thing,"Arthur explained, turning back to his paper and regarding it carefully. "It's more of a risk than a reward, honestly. Although..." he trailed off, biting his lip like he always did when deep in thought and then sighing and shaking his head. "If I had some colored pencils, I would color the blood spots red and leave the rest as just ink. You can never go wrong with the color red."

"Why?" Francis asked simply, interested.

"Well," Arthur began, with uncharacteristic patience for someone like him. "It accents things. Makes them stand out from the rest. And I also just like red."

"As much as royal blue?" Francis inquired innocently.

It took a minute for Arthur to realize that Francis had just named his favorite color and he'd never told the frog anything of the sort.

"Well, not as much as... w-wait, how do you know that?"

Francis smirked. "Observation," he replied vaguely, before leaning back against the tree. "I can learn a lot from you when you're angry."

Arthur looked at him oddly for a moment, then stood up. "Alright, that's just... strange. I have a stalker," he added, only half joking. "I'll just... be going now."

And with that, he grabbed his books and headed up to the castle.

Francis smirked at his retreating back. Now he had the tree all to himself.

It was a few minutes before he realized that Arthur had accidentally left his drawing behind. Francis was curious, picking it up and looking it over for a minute. It was so detailed, so perfect that it could've been a Muggle photograph. How did Arthur do that?

Finally he sighed and climbed to his feet, knowing he should take the drawing back to him. And plus, the girl he'd been using for a good snog last week was coming directly this way. He grabbed his books and departed at the most un-hurried run he could muster.

The lawn was gently sloping, the breeze now turned cool, and Francis pulled his robes a little closer around him. He wasn't really one to dislike any particular season, but then again, spring was the only one he really, truly loved. Because it was warm. Not too hot, not too cold, just warm.

Finally reaching the wide-open castle doors, and having no more of the girl on his tail, he slowed his pace and strode through the high arch into the castle. Even the air in here smelled of fresh, crisp rain; they must have either charmed in somehow or had all of the windows wide open last night. He kept walking.

Now, where would Arthur have gone...?

Merde. Hadn't thought of that.

Francis licked his lips involuntarily, pausing to follow his imaginary Brit through the halls of the castle, tailing after him to where he might have gone.

Library, he decided as he watched Mental Arthur take a seat by the wide-open window and smirk as he looked down onto the lawn to see that Francis was no longer under the tree.

He started off for Arthur's beloved book sanctuary, the drawing clutched in his hand.

It was a much less confident Francis that dashed up to a fivesome consisting of Alfred, Matthew, Gilbert, Patrick and Tonio two hours later.

"Gil!" he panted, a note of relief in his voice as he stood there, the drawing long forgotten in his common room. There were more important issues at hand. "I can't find Arthur anywhere!"

Gilbert looked up, crimson eyes suddenly turned dark with an intensity that only happened when something either struck a nerve or scared him. "What?" he demanded. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I even checked the Ravenclaw common room," Francis said, breathing more evenly now. "He's gone."

"He might've gone to Hogsmeade," Matthew suggested, though even he didn't sound thoroughly convinced.

Gil's face darkened. "Somehow I doubt it," he muttered ominously, before leaping up to join Francis. He turned to the group. "Stay here," he ordered. "We don't need anyone else vanishing off the face of the Earth while we're gone."

Normally it would have been funny, but no one laughed.

Gil and Francis turned to run off in the direction Francis had come.

Water.

Cold, silky water.

The glowing, dancing spots finally cleared, and Arthur was staring down at his reflection in the water on the floor, trickling down the stairs beneath his feet. His body ached as though he had been running for miles, and he could feel bruises pounded into his left hip and shoulder. They throbbed dully.

Where was he?

He had no memory of coming here, and no memory of how much time had passed. The last thing he could bring to mind was getting up to leave from under the tree, and as soon as he strode through the castle doors... nothing. No blackout, no injury, no nothing. It was scarier than knowing he'd been brutally murdered and was actually one of the ghosts now.

He was shaking now, the beginnings of panic threatening to engulf him as he stood there on the staircase with water trickling down its steps, in the complete darkness of the empty, echoey school. Where had he been? He frantically tried to remember, knuckles turning white as he clutched the railing beside him for balance. Where had he been, where had he been where had he been—

BANG.

The sound of a door slamming brought a horrifying flash of something to his mind; something he didn't want to remember, that made him feel sick and nauseated. It made no sense, but now he wanted to throw up. There was something horrible behind all this, he just knew it.

Suddenly he was terrified.

Arthur had no idea where he was in the school, but now faces were gaping at him from the shadows, invisible hands tugging at his hair and face and robes.

Come to us, they murmured in singsong voices like nails on a chalkboard. Come to us, little one...

Arthur bit his lip to keep from screaming and bolted. He bolted like a rabbit; down, down, down the staircase, turn the corner and take another one...

He didn't know where his legs were taking him, but all he knew was that a few minutes later he was huddled under the sheets in his dormitory, glassy tears of complete terror sliding down his pale cheeks. Arthur curled up tighter, a quiet sob escaping him, and he did something he'd never done before.

He prayed.

The hours dragged by, Arthur quivering like a small child afraid of the dark, and he was thankful that the next day was Saturday when he saw rays of clear autumn sunlight streaming through the window to warm his covers. He didn't move, didn't even uncurl, just let the exhaustion flow over him like a cloak and drag him down to sleep.

When his green eyes finally opened Arthur didn't know what time it was, and he didn't want to check his watch to find out. All he knew was that it was probably sometime around ten. He crawled out of bed and trudged down to the Great Hall to get something to eat.

No whispers followed him, no accusing stares, but even so he ate as quickly as he could to get away from the other late-risers. Suddenly they made him uncomfortable. And besides, he wasn't really hungry anyway.

He hurried back up to the empty common room, glad for his solitude. Everyone else was out on the lawn, enjoying the last couple weeks of fall before the November rains came, but he didn't feel like it. Normally he would have been out and about too, but not today. He sat down on one of the couches and took out his homework.

"There you are, mon ami."

A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, the smooth French accent seeming warmer and more gentle than it normally would have. Francis's blue eyes locked with his green ones, and immediately he knew something was wrong with Arthur. He had the look of someone who has been scared near the point of trauma, very recently. Was that what could've been happening yesterday?

"What happened?" Francis asked, moving to sit down next to him. He almost wanted to place a hand on the Brit's smooth back, but knew Arthur would only jump away.

"H-How did you get into our common room, frog?" Arthur spat.

Francis smirked. "Ravenclaws aren't the only smart people in the world, Arthur."

He sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the homework with a new resolve to ignore the frog for as long as was necessary, but unfortunately the frog didn't want to be ignored.

"I want to know why you're skipping classes," Francis said seriously.

That shocked Arthur back out of his steadfast concentration on the Potions book in front of him. "You- wait, what? I'm not skipping classes!"

Good, he'd gotten a reaction at least, albeit a confusing one. Francis sighed. "Arthur. You're disappearing for whole chunks of the day. Last week you vanished for nine hours, and yesterday you were gone for five. You missed tryouts, and now you're skipping Astronomy, too."

"I-I'm not skipping classes," Arthur replied confusedly, now putting aside his homework.

Francis shook his head. "Why won't you tell me?" he whispered.

"Because there's nothing to tell!" Arthur huffed angrily, before pointedly going back to his homework and not looking at Francis at all. For a few minutes they sat like that, the Frenchman watching him work, and Arthur completely ignoring the boy next to him until Francis brought out the unicorn drawing from his pocket, unfolding the neat square of parchment.

"You left this with me yesterday," he said quietly. He slipped it over Arthur's Potions book and the Brit paused, sighing shakily and looking up.

"Thanks," he replied in a small voice completely unlike the Arthur that Francis knew. It reflected the scared-rabbit look in those green eyes. Francis looked at him with concern, but then Arthur quickly turned back to the Potions book, as though to avoid saying anything he didn't want to tell. Francis's hands longed to reach out and touch Arthur's knee, his cheek, anything, but he held them back.

"Well, even if you won't tell me, I'm going to try and help," he murmured, more to himself than to Arthur, before getting up off the couch. Arthur inwardly sighed in relief. Maybe, with any luck, the frog was g—

He felt something ghost over his shoulders and quickly flinched away. "What are you doing, frog?" he demanded harshly.

"Just relax, mon cher," was the only reply that Francis would give.

"...Frog?"

Warm hands came to rest near his neck, and Arthur cringed under the skilled touch that was gently rubbing out all the knots in his shoulders.

"Calme," Francis's voice murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you, Arthur..."

Slowly he began to calm down, cautiously leaning back on the couch and setting his homework aside. Francis moved farther out on his shoulders, gently working the muscles until they relaxed, and finally Arthur sighed, shutting his eyes.

"You never cease to confuse me," he muttered under his breath. Francis just smiled.

As Francis massaged his shoulders into submission, Arthur's mind drifted. Before he could stop it or turn it in a different direction, it had strayed to the happenings of last night. Suddenly he didn't feel so terrified anymore; only a little fear remained, mostly replaced with confusion. Wasn't there anything else? He wracked his brains to remember something, anything, any tiny clue that could have scared him into bolting as he had. But there was none. He finally had to settle on the fact that there was only one thing he could bring to mind, and there was a lot of it.

All he remembered was the color red.

A/N: Well, do you like? I love writing for these two, they're just adorable. And if all goes as planned, the next chapter should include Quidditch, Gilbird, and possibly drunk America. Stay tuned! ;)