A/N: I apologize profusely. I've developed an amazing talent at procrastination, and if this chapter seems a little rushed, just know that a huge warm front hit where I live. It's ninety degrees outside right now, and as of last chapter's ending, it was still below freezing. Fuck my life.

I'm so sorry this took so long to get up, guys! Don't hurt me? Me and Mr. Kumajiro love you all!

Also: I don't know how many other people accept this theory, but I've decided to go along with the conclusion that England's equivalent of Italy's curl is a spot at the very bottom of his back. So... yeah, hopefully that'll clear up some confusion when you get to that place in the chapter. You'll know it when you read it.

Chapter Thirteen: Let it Snow

The first day of Christmas break dawned in a rare haze of gloriously blinding sunshine. The sky outside was deep, crystal-clear indigo blue, adding a burst of color to the grass and trees that had long since wilted brown. Arthur yawned lazily and rolled over, wondering sleepily when Madam Pomfrey would let him go and also what had happened after the dance last night. The fact that he was alone in bed had to be a good thing, but still... he'd have to ask the frog about it. You couldn't be too careful with Francis Bonnefoy around.

About mid-morning, Madam Pomfrey finally granted Arthur escape of her clutches, leaving him to slip away to his dormitory to change, send off Gil and Patrick's Christmas presents from the owlery, and then dash down the Great Hall for a very late breakfast.

The Hall had been completely transformed—Arthur had no idea how anyone, house elf, teacher, or no, could do this all in a single night, but apparently it was possible. He stood in the doorway for a minute, taking it all in. A small, contented smile worked its way onto his face.

Enchanted icicles glittered on the ceiling, and four enormous Christmas trees stood in all their glory in each corner of the Hall; one was decorated with scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, one with shades of blue for Ravenclaw, one with yellow and black tinsel for Hufflepuff, and one with elegant silver and green for Slytherin.

Arthur grinned as he scanned the tables to see a familiar face smirking at him.

"Hey, Francis!" he laughed, walking over and flopping down across from the French boy. "So you're still stalking me, are you?"

He couldn't help but notice how Francis's plain Muggle dress shirt set off the sparkling blue in his eyes.

"Oui," Francis said mildly, shoving a plate of food across to Arthur. "Eat," he smiled. "You're grumpy when you're hungry, and God only knows what you'll do while I'm gone."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Arthur asked, suddenly confused. Francis nodded, standing up and pulling on his coat.

"I have a special errand to run," he said mysteriously, blue eyes sparkling. Again, he felt that same odd urge to lean down and kiss Arthur's forehead, but caught himself just in time. Instead, Francis gave the Brit a brief, friendly hug.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he murmured, an odd giddiness twisting his stomach as he felt Arthur's arms come up to rest around his neck for a short moment. He pulled back, eyes brighter than ever. "Hey, maybe it'll even snow while I'm gone—that would make my Christmas! But just don't burn the school down."

The Brit smirked up at him. "Not without you in it, frog," he half-teased, watching Francis turn his back on the Great Hall and wondering what this 'special errand' could be.

Francis, meanwhile, just hoped Arthur would like it.

Arthur sighed contentedly, settling back into the couch and looking out at the deserted common room around him. It was nice to have a day to himself, curled up cozily in the common room with rare winter sunshine streaming in the windows. He pulled out his sketchbook, absentmindedly flipping through it and stopping at one of the last blank pages that were left, noting that he'd need a new one soon. Not only was his old one falling apart, but it was also nearly full; after all, he'd only had it since he'd started third year. It was about time for those pages to be showing a little wear!

Arthur pulled a plain Muggle pencil stub out of his pocket, rolling over onto his stomach and stretching out luxuriously over the soft couch cushions; he had all this space, might as well enjoy it. He smiled slightly, carefully touching the pencil tip to the parchment and beginning to draw.

What would Francis be doing now? Arthur wondered absentmindedly. And what could the 'special errand' be, that he'd left the castle on the first day of Christmas break to carry it out? Since Francis had always struck him as one to sleep in on any day possible, it must've been urgent or the bloody frog most likely wouldn't've been out of bed in the first place. Arthur smirked at the thought.

He started adding shading to the rough sketch, being sure to get down between all the petals. Soon his rose was springing out of the paper like a Muggle photograph, but as Arthur finished it carefully, he held it up and couldn't help but feel that something was missing.

It needed color, he finally decided, sighing a little wistfully as he glared down at his bag like it had all the answers. Francis had been right about the colors, after all. Bloody frog. After Christmas was over, he'd have to be sure to get himself some colored pencils.

Arthur turned toward the window to look out at the blue crystal sky, setting the sketchbook on the floor and settling down with his chin propped on one of the cushy pillows as his thoughts meandered off in the direction of Christmas, looming before him in all its glory. The holiday was only four days away, and with his newly-developed—and superb—talent at procrastination, Arthur had been putting off getting Francis a gift for some time now. The issue wasn't that he didn't want to; it was just that he didn't know what to get. And for some strange reason, he really wanted the frog to like it.

Francis seemed to have everything he wanted already—Arthur had never even heard him so much as mention anything that could be turned into a gift idea. He groaned in frustration, flopping over onto his back and glaring out the window at the blinding sunshine. Why did that stupid Frenchman have to be so damn complicated?

Wait. Sunshine.

Holy shit.

Sunshine!

Arthur sat bolt-upright, hit with a sudden and violent burst of inspiration. He checked his watch; good, it had only been an hour since Francis had left. Arthur probably had until about noon to get this done without the frog knowing. He leapt off the couch, grabbing his wand and dashing out of the room. He needed to see Flitwick, now; a private Charms lesson just might be in order.

Francis's eyes fluttered open.

The gray light of dawn was just beginning to show on the clear-skied horizon outside his window, and he sighed in disappointment. One of the few upsides his mother had told him about moving to England was that they might actually get more than a meek dusting of snow for Christmas. As it was looking, he'd be having no such luck, and although he knew it was childish, Francis had caught himself dreaming of snow more than one time last night.

But more often than even the snow, he had been dreaming of Arthur. He was much more excited than he wanted to admit about giving the Brit his present—he was almost completely sure that Arthur would love it. It was going to be a great surprise.

With another sigh, Francis rolled out of bed, giving up on sleep, and—

His feet hit something soft.

Something inside him leapt as he felt the snow that dusted the dormitory floor, hardly daring to believe it. He smacked himself, just for good measure. But this snow wasn't cold and wet; rather, it was pleasantly light and only slightly cool. It had to be Charmed, and in turn, someone had to have done this for him. Francis laughed, quickly throwing on some Muggle jeans and a shirt before opening the dormitory door and peering cautiously around it. Sure enough, there was a thick and fluffy carpet of snow forming a wide path in the floor, clearly marking where he was supposed to walk. Francis was unable to stop grinning, ducking back into his dormitory only to grab Arthur's present and then laughing again as he set off to follow the snowy road, eager to see where it went.

"I never knew he would do this," Professor McGonagall scowled, glaring down at the charmed snow path that cut directly through the middle of the corridor. She prodded it with her foot in disapproval, but the old wizard next to her merely smiled.

"Let them have their fun, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "Arthur could do with some, you know."

"Oh, alright." McGonagall nodded grudgingly. "I'm making them clean it up, though," she concluded, sounding slightly sulky. Dumbledore laughed.

"I have no doubt you will," he assured her, just as a very happy Francis Bonnefoy came rounding the corner. He had a package tucked under his arm, and the smile on his face was priceless; it even brought a little one to McGonagall's stern face. Francis nodded to the two teachers in greeting, before dashing up the next staircase toward the Ravenclaw tower.

"How long do you think it'll be before they get together?" Dumbledore wondered aloud.

McGonagall blushed. "Headmaster, I hardly think that's necessary!"

Dumbledore just shrugged, smiling at the retreating figure of Francis as he started up another staircase.

Francis made it up to the spiral stairs in record time, and seeing the eagle knocker still asleep and snoring softly, took a moment to compose himself so that he was no longer on the verge of fangirl-worthy giggles every five seconds. With a long, relaxing sigh, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, much calmer, and poking the eagle knocker awake.

It yawned and glared at him indignantly. "What the hell do you want? It's four in the fucking morni-"

Francis smirked. "I want to see Arthur Kirkland," he replied to the question. The knocker glared at him, then sighed and let the door swing open.

"I'll let you through this time," it muttered.

But Francis wasn't listening.

The entire Ravenclaw common room was glistening with a thick blanket of soft, puffy snow, cascading down the branches of a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner and covering everything just as if it had fallen from the sky. Arthur must have gotten up so early to do this, Francis thought in awe.

Suddenly, as if right on cue, a very smug British voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Happy Christmas, frog," Arthur murmured. He stepped out from behind the tree, and Francis realized suddenly that he was only wearing his boxers and a baggy shirt. His eyes shimmered like the sun reflecting in water, the dim light from the dawn outside warming the side of his face, and in that one moment he looked so beautiful Francis found himself forgetting to breathe.

"Well? Do you like it?" Arthur asked hesitantly after a minute of silence, going almost straight from confident to unsure of himself, as though he was scared that Francis didn't approve. Francis smiled, going over to him and pulling him into a tight hug.

"Oui," he murmured. "Merci, mon amour..."

Arthur's arms found their way around his neck, and much to Francis's surprise, he hugged back.

"I have no idea what you're saying, but at least I know you like it," Arthur whispered. Francis could hear the smile in his voice, and gave Arthur one last squeeze before forcing himself to let go.

"Thank you so much," Francis said, this time in English, unable to resist the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Arthur grinned too, and on a sudden impulse, gave the frog one last hug.

"You're welcome," he murmured.

For a moment they stood there, just looking at each other next to the Christmas tree, before Francis smiled, taking Arthur's hand, and together the two of them flopped down on the couch.

"I have something for you, too," Francis murmured, handing Arthur the forgotten package that he'd grabbed for the dormitory. Arthur looked at it for a moment, smiling.

"Thanks, frog," he said quietly, carefully tearing off the wrapping paper and gasping when he saw what was inside.

Not only had Francis gotten him a huge set of colored pencils—he'd bought Arthur a beautiful new sketchbook. He pulled off the paper eagerly, running his fingertips gently over the front cover. The paper inside was thick and creamy, the cover sturdy and its empty white pages simply begging to be filled.

Arthur quickly opened the leather-bound sketchbook to see a note in the corner of the first page, written in Francis's loose, curvy hand.

Arthur-

I thought you might like a new sketchbook also, just for good measure. I hope you like it!

Francis

Arthur grinned, setting aside the sketchbook and looking up to see how nervous the frog looked; Francis was actually fidgeting a little, hands in his lap.

"Thank you," Arthur whispered, and right then and there, without even thinking, Arthur threw himself at Francis in a huge hug.

Francis gave a little gasp of surprise as he was tackled down on the couch, the strength of Arthur's embrace pushing him onto his back on the cushions, Arthur's slim, strong arms around his neck and his face buried in Francis's shoulder. Francis looked down at him for a moment, smiling, before sliding his arms around Arthur's waist and hugging him back tight. Oh, how he'd wanted to do this for so long, just to feel their bodies warming each other, and be able to cuddle his princess close without him flinching away.

Arthur mumbled something into Francis's chest, subconsciously snuggling closer. Francis smiled, rolling over just slightly and feeling their ankles entwine. His heart skipped a beat.

"You're nice and warm, frog," Arthur murmured, sounding happy. Francis smiled.

"You are too, mon petit lapin," he replied quietly.

Arthur sighed, relaxing into the embrace that was, to his surprise, actually quite comfortable. But a blush crept up his cheeks when he felt that frog's hand begin rubbing slow, warm circles into the small of his back, dangerously close to that spot...

He'd been hugged by Francis before, but hadn't ever really gotten a chance to stop and feel the Frenchman's arms around his waist or the warmth of his chest. When Francis shifted a little under him, Arthur could even feel the strong muscles ripple a little and blushed more, thinking of how skinny he was in comparison.

Francis smiled softly, closing his eyes, but not before he'd seen Arthur's light blush.

"You're very pretty when you blush, amour," He said quietly, a hint of amusement sneaking into his voice when he remembered that Arthur couldn't speak French—or, at least, not very well. He might've spoken enough to understand the parley he'd given in Astronomy at the beginning of the year, but then again...

Either way, Francis would rest assured; he could call Arthur by any nickname he fancied, and the Brit would never be any the wiser.

He sighed in disappointment when he felt Arthur sit up, rolling off his chest, to pick up his new sketchbook and box of colored pencils and begin to draw.

Neither of them spoke for most of that day; they were just happy for each other's company, sitting together on the couch, Arthur drawing to his heart's content and Francis sitting with his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. Arthur was nearly in his lap, but not quite, so they were pressed just close enough to warm each other but not so close it looked lewd. Francis wondered if Arthur's heart was racing as fast as his was.

Finally Arthur stood up and stretched, yawning widely. "I need to get some real clothes on if we're heading down to the feast tonight," he muttered.

It took a second for Francis to remember that the Brit was still wearing only a baggy shirt and his boxers, but then he smirked.

"Spending all that time cuddling with me, and yet you don't even bother to dress," Francis chided teasingly. Arthur flushed and smacked the frog's cheek.

"Quit smirking! I just forgot, that's all!"

"Very believable, cher—personally, I just consider it more layers between us..."

Another embarrassed smack. Arthur's face was burning scarlet by now, and he glared at Francis indignantly as he headed up to the dormitory.

"Fuck you, frog!" his voice called back.

"Gladly!" Francis replied brightly. A frustrated groan was the only response he got, before all was silent while he assumed Arthur was digging for some trousers in his trunk.

That is, until fifteen minutes had gone by and the Brit didn't reappear.

"Er... Arthur?" Francis finally called, beginning to get a bit worried. What could possibly be taking him this long? It wasn't as though Arthur fussed about what he wore—either not at all, or certainly not to this extent.

He stood from the couch and followed the Brit's footsteps, pushing the door to the boys' dormitory ajar.

He gasped in horror.

In front of him, at the Brit's feet, was the limp and mangled corpse of another Ravenclaw student; Francis recognized him vaguely as the dark-haired seventh year who carried around a panda bear all the time. But now the cute panda bear was no where to be found, and the boy was barely recognizable through the splatters of blood that puddled along the floor. There were raking, gory fang marks ripped into the dead flesh of his chest, punctured so widely that Francis could see straight through to the blood-soaked floor. His eyes were wide-open and staring in dead, rigid shock. His robes were torn and cool, lifeless blood was still dripping from every gaping wound.

Arthur stood next to the body, eyes squeezed shut tight. Even from here, Francis could see him quivering, and a tiny whimper escaped his lips. Francis ran over and gathered Arthur in his arms, holding him tight.

"Come on, amour, let's get out of here," he murmured, gently leading Arthur back toward the door. All Arthur could do was nod weakly, biting his lip so hard to keep from crying that a bead of blood trickled down his chin.

His stomach suddenly felt queasy, his head pounding and dizzy. He sat down next to the frog, letting his face rest in the soft shoulder, trying to calm down.

Francis saw the tears threatening to spill over as Arthur took long, shaky breaths in an attempt to stop them. He pulled the Brit into his warm lap and held his quivering body close.

"You can cry on me, if you want," he murmured. Arthur nodded and smiled weakly, finally allowing the hot tears to overflow and trickle down his pale cheeks. He buried his face in the curve between Francis's neck and shoulder, sobbing quietly and clinging to the frog like a lifeline. The churning, sick feeling in his stomach still hadn't gone away.

"We're alright, we're alright..." Francis whispered, cuddling Arthur even closer to him and feeling damp golden eyelashes close against his neck as more tears welled from underneath. Arthur took a deep, shaky breath and let it out just as slowly, trying to calm another sob.

Why did these things always seem to turn up when he least expected it? The headaches were normally a warning sign, but he hadn't had one all day, and the only memory skip he could bring to mind had happened yesterday; he hadn't woken up afraid, though, and had been in the same place where he'd begun, so he'd thought nothing of it. Everything had seemed alright, until...

Another wave of hot tears welled and slid down Francis's neck, and he hugged Arthur's shaking body close to him. He felt terrible for Arthur and horribly shaken from seeing the torn corpse, he just didn't know what he could do. Francis needed someone to hold on to, just as much as the Brit did.

"I don't think I want to go down to the feast," Arthur whimpered against his neck, and Francis hugged him tightly, shaking his head. He closed his eyes and gently pressed a kiss onto Arthur's messy blond hair.

"Non, mon amour... I don't want to either."

A/N: "How long do you think it'll be before they get together?" Dumbledore wondered aloud.

Because we all know Dumbledore's gay. XD

Well, since they spent practically this entire chapter cuddling my brains out, I hope they loved on you too. I'll try to have fourteen up sooner, so... yep. That's it, eh?

Wait, no! Don't leave! I've got one more thing: Kumajiro has been commandeering my computer, and he's actually stopped asking who I am long enough to request more reviews. I almost feel guilty asking for more when you've all been so great to me already, but... please don't let him kill me?

Many Hugs and Love From Maple