A/N: Well, um, this one didn't turn out as good as I wanted it to. I've set a six-page limit on my word processor, because God knows how we all hate a huge chapters that can't be read in one sitting, and this... well, I just don't like it. It broke too many promises that I put down in last chapter. I'm sorry!

But at least it's fluffy... Will the fluff fix things for you?

Chapter Eight: Big Boys Do Cry

The Great Hall was bursting with the noise of four houses' worth of students, all arguing and laughing and shouting about the first Quidditch match of the year, happening this morning; not only was the excitement because of the match, however. It was also because today happened to be Halloween, and the prospect of a major sugar high at the feast tonight was imminent.

Arthur and Patrick were sitting at the Ravenclaw table, watching all the others make bets and exchange money on who was going to win. Practically everyone thought Gryffindor would emerge victorious, but the two friends wasn't so sure. The Gryffindors most definitely wouldn't be winning if Francis was as good as the Slytherin house all thought he was.

Quite frankly, Arthur didn't care who won. As long as there was a party with plenty of alcohol afterward, he was satisfied.

"HEY, GUYS!"

Arthur and Patrick both jumped, twisting around to see Alfred shoving his head into their conversation. His dark blue eyes sparked with excitement, just like those of the group following him around, some wearing Quidditch robes and some in just normal school clothes. All were extremely hyper. Matthew stood a little behind them, looking a bit uncomfortable, and Arthur shot him a smile that very clearly stated 'I feel your pain'. Unfortunately, Alfred was too busy being obnoxious to notice. Mattie smiled.

"Y'ALL READY FOR THE MATCH?" Alfred called to the whole Ravenclaw table, getting a roar of approval in response. Arthur just sighed irritably and turned to the fourth year.

"Yes, Alfred, I'm coming to the game. I know that's what you came over to ask me about. Rest assured," he said dryly.

Alfred shrugged, not having even really heard a word he just said. "Sure! Hey, RAVENCLAW!"

He went back to rallying the already-overexcited students, and Arthur slammed his face into the table. Patrick just watched in amusement, choking down a laugh, which, unfortunately, Arthur heard anyway.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, not even taking his face out of the table to smack his friend upside the head. Now Patrick really laughed, dodging another swat from the Brit and grabbing the arm mid-swing, just for the hell of it. Arthur growled as he finally took his face out of the table, only to be yanked to his feet by a rather obnoxious Gil. Arthur wondered briefly if his friend was high.

"ARTIE!" screeched Gil, picking him up bridal-style and swinging him around in a dangerous circle. "I SHALL RULE THIS PITCH! I SHALL SINGLEHANDEDLY DEFEAT THE EVIL RED OF GRYFFINDOR!"

"Uh— Gil, that's great and all, but could you please put me—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before another set of arms slid under him and pulled him gently from Gilbert's clutches. And seeing as Gilbert was one of the strongest kids in the entire school, that was saying something.

Whoever had just rescued him seemed sane enough, so Arthur put one arm around their neck, sitting up a little in their hold as he watched his crazed friend stumble away back toward his Slytherin teammates. But he was comfortable, so he settled back into their embrace a bit, looping both his arms around the rescuer's neck.

A wolf whistle and two screeches of utter ecstasy came from somewhere behind Arthur, but he paid no attention to it. Some couple must have decided to put on a snogging display. Gil was the more important matter at hand.

"He seems drunk," Arthur said simply.

"He is," answered a French accent from slightly above him. "Apparently he always flies drunk."

That was when Arthur actually bothered to look at his savior.

Francis was staring after Gilbert with a pensive look on his face, blond waves tied back in a loose ponytail to keep them out of his face during the game. His blue eyes were shimmering. Was that gold Arthur saw in them, or was it gray? Or maybe green? He could even swear he saw a flash of purple, like Matthew's, lurking among the blue.

Arthur suddenly realized he was staring and cleared his throat awkwardly. Francis's arms were still warm around him, but he snapped himself out of it, withdrawing his arms from around the other's neck.

"Frog. Can you...?" he stammered awkwardly.

Francis blinked, then seemed to realize that he was still holding the other boy and nodded.

"Oui, of course," he murmured, before gracefully setting Arthur back on his feet. More ecstatic squealing from over Arthur's shoulder finally made him turn around to see what the devil was going on, only to find that practically every girl sitting at the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables behind them was either giggling hysterically, completely red in the face to the point of fainting, or screeching at the top of their lungs. One of them was lowering a camera. Shit.

Some of the guys were even wolf-whistling, and Patrick was simply beaming at his two friends as though they'd just announced their marriage. Arthur blushed a deep scarlet, stepping as far away from Francis as he dared, lest Gil come back to molest him again. His face was burning from embarrassment, and he hid it in his hands.

"Um, I need to get back to the team," Francis finally broke the awkward silence. He had a sudden and rather disturbing urge to place a kiss on Arthur's forehead, but he restrained himself and finally turned away from the other boy to walk back to the Slytherin table.

Arthur stood for a moment, before his senses came back and he quickly took his seat next to Patrick, still blushing furiously.

What the bloody hell had just happened?

"ANOTHER TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! THEY LEAD SLYTHERIN 130 TO 50!"

Arthur didn't know why, but today he was cheering for Slytherin. So, naturally, the score was not good news to his ears.

He was on his feet, intense emerald gaze locked onto the Slytherin players. Gil's drunken flying was actually seeming to work in the team's favor; he was streaking down the field like a green bolt of lightning, ready to erupt into a burst of thundering fury and put the Quaffle through one of those goal hoops if it killed him. Meanwhile, the Beaters were playing hard, and the Keeper was trying his best, but somehow Gryffindor had managed to pull ahead. No doubt it was thanks to Alfred's infectious excitement.

"Damn hero," Arthur muttered under his breath.

He scanned the field, suddenly spotting Francis hovering above the action, head twitching back and forth as he searched for the Snitch with blue hawk's eyes. He was poised on the broom to go shooting off at any minute. Arthur tensed with him, wanting to scream at him to get the damned thing, but he stayed silent.

It was a heart-pounding moment later before Francis suddenly went streaking off toward the ground, diving straight for the wet grass. He was nothing more than a green blur, but Arthur knew he'd spotted the Snitch. Biting his tongue now, he stayed quiet but was bouncing feverishly on the balls of his feet. Come on, he had to get the thing—

Suddenly Alfred was hot on his tail.

Arthur swore aloud, watching the two battle for speed. "Go, Francis, go, go go!" he hissed under his breath, fists clenched around the railing. "Come on, you arse! Play!"

Behind him, Matthew and Patrick were smiling slyly and making bets on something he didn't really want to know about at this point.

"COME ON, YOU FROG!" Arthur finally yelled at Francis, who was slowly falling back, but it definitely wasn't for lack of effort. "CATCH THE BLOODY BALL!"

In a split second, Francis whipped his head around to look at him, and their eyes met. That seemed to be the only encouragement he needed. As soon as the contact broke, Francis slammed Alfred from the side, making the Gryffindor Seeker swerve just enough to reach out and—

MISS! ALFRED HAD MISSED THE SNITCH!

Arthur's lip was bleeding from him biting it with the tension, but he leapt up and cheered when Francis's fingers finally closed around the tiny golden ball, trapping it in his fist. Slytherin had won the game.

Arthur rushed down onto the field with the rest of the crowd, immediately searching for Francis, only to find him surrounded by a swarm of the other students with the Snitch held high over his head. He butted through their ranks, and before he could stop himself, he'd thrown his arms around the other boy's neck. Francis was laughing.

"You did it!" Arthur laughed with him, not even protesting as Francis hugged him so hard his feet lifted off the ground. "You did it, you damned frog!"

Francis finally stopped laughing and just hugged him tight with those blue eyes closed peacefully, but by this point, Arthur's joyful delirium was clearing. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Erm, frog, can you let go of me?" he managed, withdrawing his side of the hug.

Francis's eyes shot open, and Arthur could've sworn he saw a light blush dusting the other boy's cheeks. "Oh, sure," he muttered, reluctantly letting Arthur regain his personal space.

Arthur almost felt bad for a moment, seeing the disappointed look on Francis's face. He wondered if all French people were as touchy-feely as Francis happened to be.

But then the blue eyes brightened, and Francis's grin returned. "There's a party in the Room of Requirement, and as of now, you're officially invited!"

Arthur grinned too, not even noticing that the other boy had taken his hand as they headed back up to the castle.

Francis stumbled out into the hall, laughing as the more-than-slightly-tipsy Gil and Gilbird shoved him playfully, but it quickly ceased to be replaced with a look of bemused concern. What was that sound...? It flitted around in the darkness like a bird losing its way, fading into the shadows and then shyly moving again just when he thought it was gone. The doors to the Room of Requirement swung closed behind him, but he was a statue, ears pricking up as they tried to locate where the faint, ghostly echo was coming from. It sounded like a boy. And he was crying.

He looked around for a moment, then finally decided to turn left. Starting down the staircase, Francis moved like a ghost through the dappled moonlight and shadows, the echoes of his quiet footsteps mingling with the faint sobs. He paused on the landing, listening again, and took another turn to the left.

Slowly the sounds grew closer, leading Francis down a long, deserted corridor, and huddled in the shadows was a figure, leaning against the wall with his knees pulled against his chest. Suddenly the sight made him feel a little scared, now that he knew whose crying he'd heard all this time. Wasn't he supposed to have been at the party? They'd even walked in together. He got to his knees next to the boy, wanting to do something but not quite sure of what.

"Arthur?" Francis whispered.

Green eyes met blue, shining with tears. Francis reached out to brush a stray hair away from Arthur's face. His dewy eyelashes were soaked, darkened and glistening with water. It streaked his cheeks as he looked up at Francis.

"What happened, mon ami?" Francis breathed, the concerned whisper ghosting over Arthur's face. He choked down another sob, shaking his head helplessly. More hot tears spilled down his cheeks.

"I-I don't kn-know," Arthur managed to force out, voice cracking as he curled up tighter into his ball. "I-I can't r-remember anyth-thing-"

"Shhhhhh..." Francis breathed soothingly, letting it flow around them like a soft summer breeze. He reached out to slide an arm around the other boy's shoulders, gently rubbing his back as his body shook with sobs. Arthur was quivering like a traumatized rabbit. That same wide look of panic shone in his green eyes.

Slowly the sobs began to lessen, the breathing evening out from harsh gasps to soft steadiness. Arthur was slowly calming down. Finally he roughly brushed the tears from his cheeks and let out a long, shaky sigh. He leaned back on Francis's shoulder, exhausted and aching. His chest hurt like he'd been holding his breath for far too long, and his arm had a cut on it that was hidden by the sleeve of his robes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so stupid," Arthur muttered, not meeting the other boy's gaze. "I shouldn't be crying like this!"

Francis shook his head. "Even big boys cry, Arthur," he murmured. "It's better than bottling it all up inside."

"Well, when was the last time you cried, then?" Arthur demanded, though it lost some its British impact from the shakiness in his voice.

Francis sighed, looking down at his lap. "Last night. But my sister's been dead for two years now. I still miss her."

Arthur looked like he suddenly didn't know what to say, head snapping up, but slowly he lowered it again with another shaky breath. He relaxed into Francis's shoulder, saying softly, "Well, I guess that big boys do cry."

A/N: The ending's still iffy, and well, I... sorry. Yeah. Hopefully the next chapter will be better!

Hugs from Maple