A/N: I love this chapter. Very much so. It's so fluffy I nearly drowned.
Chapter Twelve: The Princess and the Frog
Poppy Pomfrey looked up as a young blond boy came sprinting into the hospital wing, standing up from her desk and opening the office door just in time for him to skid to a halt.
"Francis Bonnefoy wanted me to get you," he panted, apprehensively meeting her accusing gaze. Even though he shouldn't have been running in the hospital wing (or the hallways, for that matter) in the first place, it softened a bit when she saw the timid look in his violet eyes. He didn't mean to cause trouble.
"Is someone sick?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, and Matthew shook his head.
"Well—I think, but I'm not sure. You might want to come."
"I will." Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the office, joining Matthew as she shut the door behind her. "Lead the way."
"Bloody frog," Arthur muttered under his breath as soon as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. He'd be stuck here in the hospital wing overnight; this would mean missing Astronomy again, and the end-of-term party that the Gryffindors always threw on the last night before Christmas break. He sighed, biting his lip. He'd been in here all day, and school had ended two hours ago.
Now he was just lying there, wondering what had happened earlier. Just like all other times, now that he thought back to the blood on the wall, his reaction seemed pathetic. Why did these things bother him so badly? Arthur rolled over to bury his face in the pillow and forced his eyes to shut, thinking restlessly that if he was going to be stuck here until tomorrow morning, he might as well get some sleep.
The hours dragged by like years, delighted at how thoroughly they were torturing him. Slowly darkness fell over the school, leaving an extremely antsy Arthur to wonder what kind of fun Francis was having at this very moment. What was he missing out on? Even though, as a Ravenclaw, Arthur was used to being left out, he couldn't help the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought for sure that he and Francis would be going to the Gryffindors' party together, even though they'd only found out about it from Alfred in the library after curfew yesterday night. Hell, they hadn't had any other plans.
Madam Pomfrey hadn't emerged from her office for some time now, and Arthur assumed it must be nine o' clock already, or even past. He rolled over restlessly, letting his eyes open to the fabric of the pillow and chewing at his lip again. Why did he feel this bad? Could he possibly be missing Francis?
At that moment, the sound of a door closing echoed through the room, and Arthur quickly looked up to see someone silhouetted in the shadows.
"Francis?" Arthur hissed skeptically.
The person turned around, smirking over his shoulder. His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, blond waves falling effortlessly around his face. Francis looked... better than normal, Arthur realized with a jolt as the Frenchman spoke in that low, smooth accent. "You didn't think I'd abandon you—did you, cher?"
"Maybe for a little bit," he admitted sheepishly, before lightly slipping out from under the covers and throwing his arms around Francis's neck. Francis laughed quietly at this pleasant surprise, gladly returning it and patting Arthur's back.
"The party is just starting now," Francis breathed in his ear, rubbing his back in warm circles. Arthur's stomach flipped giddily, and he gave Francis a little squeeze.
"Thank you for rescuing me," he whispered back, letting his cheek rest on the taller boy's shoulder. "I was worried you wouldn't come back."
"I couldn't just leave you, mon petit lapin." Francis's warm breath ghosted over his ear, making him shiver and break away. They looked at each other for a moment; Arthur's hair was messier than ever, his green eyes sparkling beautifully under the silver glow of the moon. It had only just struck Francis how slim he was, but still as strong as ever. Full pink lips curled into the ever-present smirk as Arthur met the frog's gaze.
"So. Let's get going, shall we?" Arthur prompted, noting with discomfort how the frog was looking at him, gaze darting between his eyes and his lips. He pointedly chose to ignore it.
"Gladly," Francis muttered, and together the two boys slipped from the hospital wing into the shadowy corridor beyond.
"Alfred told me the password was Venomous Tentacula," Arthur breathed as they rounded a corner and started silently up a stairway. Francis nodded.
"Oui, it should not have changed..."
Together they moved from shadow to shadow, before finally they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that Arthur knew marked the entrance to Gryffindor common room—six long years of sneaking around and nosing into places better left alone had served him well.
"Venomous Tentacuala," he muttered. The Fat Lady sighed resignedly.
"If that git Alfred doesn't stop giving out the password to other houses, Dumbledore will have to think up a new way to secure this common room," she huffed dramatically, before swinging open to admit them. Arthur smirked in thanks.
The first thing that hit him was a huge burst of color and noise. The common room was a cozy sort of place, but for the moment it was decked out in huge scarlet-and-green banners and loud music blaring from magically magnified stereo speakers. Arthur grinned, but just as he was about to move, a very excited Alfred leapt out of nowhere to crush him and Francis into a strangling hug. Why did they always get hugged together? Why not separately?
"YOU CAME!" Alfred greeted, still choking them. He seemed to thrive off the noise and chaos. Arthur coughed, as if that was his cue to let go, and he did, but that didn't make him stop talking. "We were scared you wouldn't for a few minutes, there. Hey, come on! Gil and Mattie and Antonio and a ton of the girls are already here."
Francis and Arthur exchanged glances at the mention of the girls. Did they want to knock more of them out tonight, or just leave them be? Francis shrugged and took Arthur's hand.
Well, they were apparently knocking them out.
The two boys followed Alfred through the somewhat crowded room, over to the drinks table where Gil, Antonio and Matthew stood, awkwardly attempting to keep up a decent conversation. Seeing as it was Matthew, that was pretty much impossible in normal circumstances, but now his cheeks were dusted pink and his mouth seemed to have sealed itself shut. Gilbert, of course, was oblivious and as talkative as ever, and forget Tonio. Arthur felt a pang of sympathy for Matthew.
"Hey, guys! They came!" Alfred yelled once they were halfway across the room, and Mattie looked up quickly from where he'd been currently staring at the floor to avoid looking at either of the taller boys who were persistently harassing him. His eyes locked with Arthur's and he almost breathed a visible sigh of relief—someone he could hang out with who wouldn't make him blush every two seconds.
"Um, hi..." Matthew greeted uncomfortably, awkwardly avoiding Gilbert's ruby eyes. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as Tonio poked his shoulder with another question, and Arthur felt a bit bad for him; no doubt Alfred had forced him to come. It was clear the poor kid felt out of place.
Out of nowhere, Francis's thumb began rubbing gentle, warm circles into the back of Arthur's hand, and when he realized that with a jolt, the world muted for a second before spinning back into motion as his stomach got over the shock. It was like his nerves had suddenly gone into tingly overload.
"You can't get drunk tonight," Francis murmured, lips uncomfortably close to his ear. Arthur refrained from flinching away, and instead met the blue eyes over his shoulder. "We have to get you back to the hospital wing tomorrow morning, before Madam Pomfrey notices you've been gone."
"Alright, no drunkness," Arthur sighed grudgingly, making the Frenchman hold back a chuckle. Francis moved forward against Arthur's back as he spoke. "But that doesn't mean I'm completely avoiding the alcohol, okay?"
"Whatever you say, mon lapin," Francis smirked. It was at that moment that Arthur realized three things. Well, no—actually, four.
Thing #1: Every person in the common room was staring at them raptly, like someone waiting for the climax of a suspenseful movie.
Thing #2: The few fangirls still left standing were clicking away madly with cameras and collapsing in fits of hysterical giggles one after another.
Thing #3: He and Francis were not even an inch from kissing.
Thing #4: He didn't want to push Francis away.
Just after this fourth realization, Francis's confident gaze wavered and he pulled back, actually looking a bit unsure of himself for once. Arthur wanted to reclaim the fingers that slipped from his own steel grip, but he was too stunned at the moment. He hadn't even realized how his nervous emerald eyes had been darting between the frog's crystalline blue gaze and those lips, or how tightly he'd been holding Francis's hand. A split second later, the familiar self-confident smirk returned to the frog's face as he broke away, and Arthur's heart sank when Gil and Tonio grabbed both his hands protectively.
Despite his friends trying to haul him away, Francis hesitated. "You don't mind if I—"
"No, it's fine," Arthur said too quickly, his throat constricting for some strange reason. He stepped away, toward the now-deserted Matthew. "Go have fun."
There was a loud collective groan from every fangirl in the room. Alfred shrugged and walked off to go hit on some of the girls—which, to his disappointment, wasn't working as well as it normally did, given that Francis and Arthur were here—leaving Matthew and Arthur alone at the very tempting drinks table.
"Well..." Arthur considered, biting his lip. "One can't hurt." His hand darted out and snatched a bottle of firewhisky so quickly you'd think the table was going to suddenly grow arms and steal it back. The frigid glass had drops of icy water rolling down its surface, and Arthur smiled at the odd contradiction; ice-cold firewhisky. But still, it was a lovely combination. He popped open the bottle and took a swig, smirking as he felt the ice sear its way down his throat. Arthur turned to Mattie.
"I'm guessing you'd like to find a quiet corner, huh?" he asked understandingly, his smile sympathetic. Matthew nodded gratefully, and together the two wove in between people to find refuge from the noise and lights in the hollow of one of the large moonlit windows.
Arthur settled back against the cold glass pane, taking another swig of firewhisky. He smiled as Matthew came to sit next to him, humming lightly to the tune of the music.
"You know this song?" he asked, attempting to start a conversation. Matthew nodded and smiled a little sheepishly.
"Eh... yeah, I do. Alfred's fault."
Arthur laughed; when in doubt, blame your evil twin. Sounded like a good plan.
It was only when the younger boy started singing softly with the lyrics that he actually stopped and listened to the words.
"You walk into the room and I
I want to tell you, tell you but I just can't speak
This shouldn't be so difficult
Why-ah-y, why can't I get it right?
Tell me why I see you and I just can't breathe..."
Arthur wasn't even sure Matthew realized he was listening, or he would've stopped singing by now; but his voice was soft and pretty, for a boy's. Not as nice as Francis's, gently humming him to sleep, but pretty.
"I can never be myself
How can I when I'm stuck in hell?
Stutteri- Stutteri- Stuttering
Want to tell you what I feel inside
But every time I go and try
Mutteri- Mutteri- Muttering..."
Arthur watched as the younger boy broke off into sheepish hums after this, but he kept listening with interest until the song finished. Suddenly a realization dawned on him. No, it didn't dawn on him, it was more like someone had slammed him over the head with a mental bowling ball. He set down his firewhisky and met the other's violet eyes with all the seriousness of a protective older brother.
"Matthew, is there someone...?"
Mattie nodded, blushing pink and looking away. "P-promise you won't tell?"
"Bloody hell, no!" Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms. "Do you really think that little of me?"
Matthew blushed more, smiling embarrassedly. "Well, no, but..." He took a deep breath and tried to spit it out without stumbling over the name for once. "G-Gilbert."
Arthur hoped his jaw hadn't fallen onto the ground.
Not only was this sweet, innocent, lovable fourth year boy hopelessly crushing on a complete idiot—who was one of Arthur's best friends, but a unanimously acknowledged idiot all the same—he was gay. Not that Arthur had a problem with homosexuality, it was just... alien, coming from Matthew...
"I-I don't even know if he's gay," Mattie muttered sheepishly, a brilliant red flush flooding his cheeks. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes.
"Trust me, Matthew. It's Gil. If he isn't now, he will be."
"Go ask him to dance. Now."
Gilbert gave Francis a none-too-gentle shove from behind, shunting him in the direction of Arthur and Mattie's corner. They appeared to be engaged in an intense conversation, and every once in a while, Matthew would cast a discreet glance toward them. Francis wondered what they could be talking about.
It had to be some time in the early hours of the morning by now, and about a fourth of the people had already left, while another fourth were sacked out on the couches and chairs. The music had slowed, and much more romantic songs were now floating about the room. The few couples left standing danced to it, laughing and giggling tipsily. Alfred and whatever new girl the self-proclaimed hero had picked up for the evening were one of them.
Antonio was so drunk he couldn't see straight, much less walk. Being the wonderfully devoted friends they were, Gil and Francis had just left him in a corner telling him not to die. They doubted he'd heard them anyway.
Francis swallowed nervously, watching as Arthur leaned back against the glass of the window, taking another swig of firewhisky. Was this his... third bottle? Fourth? Francis couldn't tell. For a minute he wondered if the Brit had broken his word and gotten sloshed, but then again, he wouldn't be functioning this well if he was drunk—or at least, from word of Gil's past experiences, he wouldn't. Maybe Arthur had just been taking it slow.
Francis fidgeted a bit where he stood. Why was he feeling like this? He had never gotten squeamish at the prospect of asking someone to dance before, but now his heart was racing. Francis sighed, figuring it was just the wine he'd had earlier, and stuck his tongue out at an all-too-smug Gilbert before starting across the room to the corner where Arthur and Mattie sat.
As soon as Arthur looked up, Francis knew the Brit wasn't drunk. Quite the contrary, actually; maybe Francis was the one who'd had a little too much alcohol.
Arthur's eyes sparkled brilliantly green, the gold in the center lighting up and swimming throughout everything in between. His blond hair was still a mess, but it was a good mess, falling into his eyes just enough for him to brush it away again. Something was changed; he was no longer the scowling boy that Francis hung out with in the school corridors, he looked like a fallen angel.
"You're staring, frog," Arthur smirked.
Francis snapped out of it, blinking to clear his head. "Je suis désole," he muttered. But honestly, who wouldn't be?
He remembered what he'd come over here for, and his hands began to sweat. "Er, Arthur..."
"Yes, frog?"
Francis steeled his nerves for a beating and returned with some effort to his usual suave self, accenting the words with an elegant bow that was only half-joking. "Would you like to dance, ma cherie?" He looked hopefully up at Arthur's eyes, to find the emerald gaze laughing.
"I suppose every princess needs a frog," Arthur replied loftily, reaching out like a haughty queen to grasp Francis's outstretched hand with those long, graceful fingers. Francis couldn't help himself; he just had to play along. With a childish grin tugging at his lips, he escorted his newfound 'princess' to the dance floor.
Somehow Francis managed to turn the song into a waltz. Princess Arthur didn't really know how, but all he knew was that now he was dancing better than he ever had in his life, and for once wasn't tripping over his own feet. All the same, as he listened to the song, he couldn't help but comment.
"What in God's name made Alfred pick Kelly Clarkson for the music?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste as Francis swung him out for a spin. "I mean, honestly. Is there nothing else out there?"
"You have to admit, the song is good," Francis said mildly, pulling them back together and placing his hand back at Arthur's slim waist. He started humming with the tune, looking into Arthur's eyes with a softly penetrating glow that made him shiver and have to glance away. He found himself staring at his own hand that rested lightly on Francis's chest to feel the vibrations.
"Don't tell me you know the words," he said incredulously. Francis smirked and started singing, but never took his gaze from Arthur's green eyes.
"If no one will listen
When you decide to speak
If no one is left standing after the bombs explode
If no one wants to look at you for what you truly are
I'll be here, still."
Again, Arthur shivered and looked away from the blue eyes staring into his, trying not to concentrate on how soft and sincere the voice above him sounded. No, no, no no no. Absolutely not.
Meanwhile, the fangirls had miraculously awakened and were madly snapping photos.
Arthur was tired, and before he knew it, the song had ended and he was flopped next to Francis on the couch. It couldn't hurt to rest for a few minutes, could it? He settled back and let his eyelids slip closed.
Little did he know that he was breathing deeply in time with the frog's heart.
Francis realized that his princess was asleep when Arthur's head fell onto his chest, resting there as though they'd been made for this. He felt some powerful emotion swell inside him as he tentatively slid his arm around the sleeping Brit's shoulders, and when Arthur didn't stir, pulled him closer to warm him up. But just as Francis was about to see if that messy blond hair was as soft as it looked, suddenly Gilbert came bounding out of nowhere.
He wolf-whistled loudly, grinning in triumph. "I knew it! I knew you two were—"
Francis shushed him angrily, shooting a pointed glance at Arthur, who was currently in a peaceful sleep on his chest. He didn't want to ruin the spell.
Gil rolled his eyes, but quieted down anyway. "Francis, if you're going to shag him, the time is now. Otherwise, it's four-thirty in the fucking morning so you'd better get him back to the hospital wing before Pomfrey notices he's gone and he gets imprisoned there for the whole Christmas break. 'Kay?"
Francis sighed and nodded, looking down at the beautiful boy on his chest. Arthur was so soft and innocent-looking when he slept, and now he was smiling faintly with his dreams. Francis hated to move him, but he knew Gilbert was right.
"What about Tonio?" he asked quietly, stroking Arthur's messy blond hair. Gil smirked evilly but didn't comment.
"I'll get him," he replied. "Just take Artie back to the hospital wing without getting either of you killed."
"Thanks for the confidence," Francis muttered dryly at his friend's retreating back. He sighed, looking down at Arthur's peaceful face one more time and then carefully removing the Brit from his chest so he could stand up. Francis bent down again and scooped Arthur's light body from the couch, smiling at the leap his stomach gave when Arthur's arms sleepily found their way around his neck.
He carried Arthur back up to the hospital wing, holding him close the entire way. Francis didn't know how someone could be so inhumanly light and warm and beautiful all at the same time, but somehow Arthur was.
Francis gently placed him in the bed he'd been assigned for the night, smiling as he tucked the covers around him. God, he felt like a mother hen. But then again, Arthur was worth it. Francis stood watching his princess sleep for a minute, taking in the gentle rise and fall of the slim chest and long golden eyelashes he'd never noticed before. He smiled.
Francis gently leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Arthur's forehead, running his fingers through that messy blond hair one last time. The moonlight made it shine silver.
"Bonne nuit," Francis whispered.
As he left the hospital wing with his heart racing and another childish smile tugging at his lips, Francis was left to conclude one thing.
He, Francis Bonnefoy, was in love with Arthur Kirkland.
Second conclusion:
Merde.
A/N: SEEEE? It be fluffy! Anyway, I thought I'd put the names of the songs in here, just because I love any pairing-related songs I can get my hands on.
PruCan song - Stuttering by the Friday Night Boys (Mattie's POV)
FrUK song - If No One Will Listen by, obviously, Kelly Clarkson. It fits this fic more than the actual pairing, and if you don't really see it now then you will at the end. Other FrUK songs I have that fit the pairing more are:
Paparazzi by Greyson Chance
Unbroken by Demi Lovato (hints of UsUK, Francy-Pants makes it better!)
ALL-TIME GREATEST: Bang Bang by 3Oh!3. I swear to God, it's not even funny how well this one fits. Even if you don't look up any of the other ones, I beg you, search this on Youtube. You will die squealing.