A/N: Well, here it is - the last chapter within T rating boundaries. I'm so glad I got this up sooner than some of the others have been, although it does seem a bit filler-ish. Trust me, next chapter will be a ton more... well, interesting, as Papa would say.

Anyway, if you're looking this up, it will be rated M next chapter. So, just beware.

Chapter Fifteen: The Kitten

Arthur sat in study hall, smiling slightly as he worked on a Potions essay supposed to have been due yesterday. He'd had... other things to worry about for the past five weeks. At the top of that list had been avoiding the frog, since the fateful bathroom incident before Astronomy, but Francis had tracked him down just after dinner yesterday after over a month of awkwardness, and that had been the end of that. It was becoming increasingly impossible for Arthur to stay angry with the Frenchman; lately he'd even started forgetting to call him 'frog' sometimes. It would've been disturbing, but then again, at the moment Arthur was warm and comfortable.

He didn't know when it had become a habit of his to cuddle up to Francis, but ever since the Transfiguration lecture just before Christmas and their reinstated friendship, it seemed to have become routine for the two of them to need that closeness. Their ankles would end up looped together when they sat next to each other, or sometimes Arthur would catch himself holding the frog's hand in the corridors. It was a kind of reassurance; despite his frequent headaches and the memory blanks growing longer and darker, Arthur always felt safer when Francis's warmth was next to him.

Now, the two of them sat with their legs entwined under the table, exchanging little smiles as though they knew a secret no one else did. Arthur's heart was beating unusually fast, stomach jolting a little whenever he looked up to see Francis's blue eyes lock with his. He hadn't gotten much done on the essay, but he didn't mind; the warmth of their legs was pleasantly distracting.

Francis smiled, pushing a small scrap of parchment across the table and into Arthur's palm. The Brit looked at it quizzically for a moment, then turned it over to reveal a note on the other side.

Want to leave early? McGonagall said we could.

Arthur smirked and nodded, pressing the note back into Francis's hand. He rose from the table, gathered his books, and together the two of them escaped out into the corridor.

"Thanks," Arthur muttered as the door shut behind them. "It was just too quiet in there."

Francis nodded. "I thought we should get away from the girls, too," he smirked. "They were liking us a little too much, if you know what I mean, amour."

Arthur laughed. "That I do, Francis." He fell into step beside the Frenchman, taking his hand and glancing out one of the windows at the February gale ripping through the thick snowdrifts outside. He smiled. "Looks like you finally got your snow," he said.

It had been nearly a month since any attacks had happened, and also nearly a month since his last disappearance. Even though he was having nasty headaches and more frequent memory loss, Arthur was beginning to feel safe again. Francis gave his hand a squeeze.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he murmured. It was also Valentine's Day—but of course, he wasn't about to remind Arthur of that if this was to go as planned. He had to hope that the Brit hadn't bothered to glance at the calendar this morning. Arthur looked at him, one eyebrow quirked and demanding an explanation. Francis took a breath and continued. "It's also a Hogsmeade weekend. Do you have any other plans?"

Arthur froze. Oh God, oh God, oh holy fucking God... this better not have been a date. On Valentine's Day, nonetheless. He didn't know why the notion of a date was the first thought that came to mind, but it did—and it put him in panic mode. Feeling sure he was dooming himself to certain death, he slowly shook his head. "No, I guess I'm free... why?"

Francis just shrugged nonchalantly, though his heart was racing fast as he carefully let go of Arthur's hand. "Well, I know that Tonio's spending the day with his boyfriend, so he obviously won't want me around, and... I don't know what Gil's doing, but I think we can both assume it's nothing we'd want to see."

Arthur's heart lifted, and he laughed at this. Good—so it wasn't a date, or anything even mildly romantic. Maybe the frog had just forgotten about February the 14th altogether. Francis laughed too, before finally getting to the point.

"So, I don't really have anyone to go with at the moment, and I don't want to turn up alone. Will you come with me?"

Arthur smiled, nodding. "Sure thing. Nine tomorrow morning, then?"

Francis nodded too, trying to keep his cool when on the inside he was secretly throwing a party. "Nine-thirty," he smirked. "I'll come get you at breakfast, mon amour."

"Nine-thirty it is," Arthur agreed, before turning to watch Francis sprint away the corridor with a new and mysterious spring in his step.

Gil's mouth hung open in amazement.

"You managed to get Artie fucking Kirkland to go on a date with you. On Valentine's Day. Somebody smack me."

Francis had just finished telling his friend the news, a huge smile refusing to leave his face and his stomach fluttering a little at the thought of his sly little plan. He nodded.

"But he doesn't know it's a date," he explained excitedly. "He just thinks it's because I don't have anyone else to go with."

Gil still looked at him incredulously, shaking his head. "I still don't believe this. He must like you a little bit, at least, or otherwise that selective brain of his would've picked it out from a mile away. The Awesome Me hasn't even been able to pull one over on him in all six years I've known him!" Gil flopped back on the couch in a mild huff. Then he grinned, leaning forward. "So, what're you gonna do tomorrow?"

Francis shrugged mildly, then bit his lip to keep from laughing and took a long, steadying breath. He let it out slowly, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. So he was going on a date with Arthur Kirkland. Alone, in Hogsmeade. On Valentine's Day. No big deal. No big deal...

WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE TELLING HIMSELF? Francis's grin returned, and he tasted metallic blood as he clamped his teeth down on his tongue to keep from giggling like a fangirl. IT WAS A BIG DEAL!

The next day, Francis was awake and pacing at four in the morning.

He strode recklessly back and forth across the dormitory, thinking anxiously about the day ahead. Now that he was faced with the actual date, it was beginning to scare him. What if he did something wrong and gave away the plan, and that made Arthur mad? Where was the line drawn between 'friendly outing' and 'date', anyway? What if there was no line?

Gah—he couldn't sleep for the life of him.

Francis pulled on some Muggle clothes, making sure to spend a little more time than usual. Even if this wasn't a date, he wanted to look nice for Arthur.

He somehow managed to occupy two long, worrisome hours until breakfast opened at six, and the second as his watch got past 5:59 AM, he was off and striding up the stairs toward the Great Hall, even though he felt too nervous to eat anything. He didn't know why he'd already grabbed his coat this early, but it just seemed like a good idea. Francis just needed something to do, or he thought he might explode from excitement and worry and anticipation and uneasiness and second-guessing himself more in these few short hours that he had in the rest of his life combined. Francis was buried in thought as he started down the next corridor, so it most certainly wasn't something he was expecting when he rounded a corner and was full-on tackled by a very startled Arthur.

"Oh, good God, I'm sorry," Arthur stuttered, trying to untangle himself from Francis enough to crawl free of the heap of limbs they'd become, lying together in the middle of the floor.

Francis smirked. "Don't be, ma cherie," he replied, finally managing to untangle himself from the mess. Arthur sighed, lying flopped next to him on the cool stone. Francis looked at the Brit out of the corner of his eye, and sure enough, the first thing he saw was the familiar sparkle of those green eyes. "What were you doing, anyway?"

Arthur fidgeted sheepishly. "Running," he mumbled.

"Really?" Francis deadpanned knowingly.

Arthur sighed. "Fine. I was getting away from the blond fangirl who's been stalking me with a camera all morning."

"That makes much more sense," Francis agreed. "Merci."

But then something seemed to occur to him. "Maybe we should... leave? Before she gets here?"

Arthur looked at him gratefully. "My thoughts exactly, frog," he replied, before leaping up from the floor and helping Francis to his feet. Arthur motioned for Francis to follow him, the familiar smirk back in place. Together the two of them dashed off down the corridor, eager to get out of this castle and into the snowy village just beyond the grounds.

Arthur grabbed Francis's wrist and dragged him up a staircase. "This way," he smirked. "I know a shortcut."

"Is that so, cher?" Francis asked, sprinting along beside him. Arthur just grinned evilly.

"Just because I'm a Ravenclaw doesn't mean I don't know my share of tricks," he said, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. Francis immediately decided he loved that cheeky look.

The two boys made it up to the statue of the one-eyed witch in record time, but Arthur swore loudly just as they climbed down into the passage below, which Francis had been amazed to find in the first place.

"Where does this go?" he'd asked.

Arthur had smirked. "Honeydukes' cellar," he'd replied with a grin.

Now the Brit had stopped dead, looking as though he was torn between going back and heading onward.

"Quoi?" Francis asked blankly.

"Forgot the damn invisibility cloak," Arthur replied under his breath. He looked at the frog for a second opinion. "Think we'll be okay without it?"

Francis shrugged, though now he looked a little edgy. "That fangirl will be along at any second, so I'd say we'll survive without it."

Arthur hesitated a moment longer, then turned to follow Francis into the depths of the earthen tunnel.

"We'll be fine without it," he concluded.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the coolness of wet stone and soil and stale air pressing in on them, but it wasn't a bad smell. Francis had always liked the chill, earthen scent of the inside of a cave; it was pure and natural and hollow, but not fresh. There had to be some way to describe it, he knew, but he just hadn't figured out the words for it yet.

To put it simply, it smelled like a cave.

"How did you know about this, cher?" Francis asked offhandedly. "There's no information about any secret passages, anywhere in the school."

Arthur just kept walking with a shrug. "I needed to hide one time in second year, so I went behind that statue, and ended up bumping it just right so I could get in. I don't know—but I've been coming here ever since."

He looked at Francis, green eyes shimmering brightly in the fuzzy darkness of the passage, and smiled. Francis found his breath catching in his throat at the intense beauty.

Arthur was indeed a fallen angel.

"Quit staring, frog," Arthur stabbed, but it was gentler than usual. He grabbed Francis's wrist again, already bruised from his previous steel grip, and this time slid his hand down to those long fingers when he noticed the Frenchman wince. Arthur smirked and dragged Francis ahead.

Meanwhile, he had no idea how much Francis wanted to pull him back and kiss him, hard. Francis wondered what he would taste like...

With a shiver, he snapped himself out of it and satisfied himself with giving Arthur's hand a squeeze. His stomach leapt when Arthur squeezed back with a smile over his shoulder. His green eyes still glowed.

The passage curved, and soon they had made their way out of a hole in Honeydukes' cellar floor and snuck through the crowded candy shop into the snowy street beyond.

This was a very heavy snow for early February, but if anything, it just lifted Arthur's spirits further; he laughed as Francis pulled him toward the Three Broomsticks, where they went inside to warm up and have a drink. It wasn't until the first girl fainted that they realized they were sitting with their legs entwined.

Next stop for Arthur was the book shop—of course. Francis tagged along, teasing him lightly the entire way. After that, a very happy frog and a grumbling Arthur headed over the Quidditch supply store. Any place that looked appealing was explored, including the Apothecary, post office, and a U-turn to get back to Honeydukes'. It was toward dusk that Arthur insisted on taking Francis to see the Shrieking Shack, since that was the only place in the little village that the Frenchman apparently hadn't explored yet.

It was there, that for some reason neither really remembered afterward, the two of them ended up laughing and wrestling in the cold, thick snow.

Arthur shoved Francis's shoulder, successfully managing to tackle the other boy down so he was sitting on top for a change. He spluttered as a frigid, wet wad of half-melted slush was shoved in his face, but didn't give up until he'd done the same to Francis. Arthur fell, laughing next to him in the snowdrift that was ruined from their fighting. Arthur was grinning in spite of himself, shaking his head. The frog sat up, spitting some excess snow out his mouth and laughing as he shook it out of his soaking blond hair, hanging drenched to frame his cheekbones.

Blue eyes sparkled with pure joy.

"Call it a draw, shall we?" Francis asked. Arthur shrugged, falling back and then remembering he was lying in almost-melted snow without a coat and jolting back up when a few frigid drops rolled down the back of his neck.

Francis laughed, and Arthur was just about to punch him again when a tiny sound caught his ear. Apparently the frog had heard it too; both of them froze, halting all bodily functions as they strained their ears to hear the sound again.

Another tiny mew for help floated up from the bushes, and Arthur slowly stood up, looking around for whatever poor creature must have been left out in this freezing cold.

"What is it?" Francis murmured, standing up also and getting down on his hands and knees to look. But Arthur was already a step ahead of him.

He parted the thorny bushes, suddenly feeling his heart wrench when he saw what was making the sad noises. A soft gasp from beside him let him know that Francis saw it too.

Tangled in the thorn bushes was a tiny, bedraggled kitten.

Its fur was mostly black with a white splotch on its chest, and soaking wet. The little kitten was shivering, and so thin Arthur could almost see its ribs through the thick and sopping layer of fur. Its wide, beautiful golden eyes stared innocently out at him, as though completely unaware of its misery.

"Mon Dieu..." Francis whispered.

Arthur reached out to gently pull the kitten from its tangle of thorns, lifting the sad little thing and bringing it close against his chest. The kitten gave another small shiver and a mew of thanks, curling up close to him with its tail quivering as it wrapped it pathetically around its paws in an attempt to keep warm.

"Poor little thing," Francis breathed, curling around the kitten and Arthur to stroke its head with warm, gentle hands. "I wonder how long it's been out here..."

Arthur hugged the soaked little kitten, and despite its shivering and clear hunger, it began to purr.

"Oh, my God..." Arthur murmured, feeling terrible for the kitten and wrapping it inside his cloak. With the icy little lump purring loudly against his chest, he suddenly realized that with how cold he himself was, he really wouldn't be helping the kitten warm up much, either.

Francis seemed to notice this too.

He quickly placed two warm fingers against Arthur's neck, as though feeling for a pulse, but then pulled away, shaking his head like a mother hen. "Arthur, you're cold as ice," he said chidingly, pulling off his coat.

"You don't have to—" Arthur tried to protest, but Francis pressed a gentle finger to his lips.

"But I want to, amour," he finished, wrapping his coat around Arthur's shoulders and smiling with satisfaction when the Brit visibly relaxed a bit from the body heat left inside it. The kitten purred even more loudly and rubbed Arthur's chin as it was engulfed by the warm folds of fabric.

Arthur looked down lovingly at the kitten. Its fuzzy black face was adorably lopsided, with a white moustache as though it had been very sloppy with the milk. The white fur dribbled down its chin, spreading out across its chest, and formed a trail of fluffy white splotches all down its tummy. Bright golden eyes gazed eagerly up at him, even as the pathetically thin kitten's body shook from cold.

Quite frankly, Arthur had never seen anything so adorably heartbreaking in his life.

"Let's get you home," he murmured to it, kissing its forehead.

Francis and Arthur started back for Honeydukes', managing to sneak down through the cellar with no issues, and get back up to the Ravenclaw dormitories without getting spotted by Filch. They spent a while sitting together on Arthur's bed, taking turns hugging the kitten, and Francis snuck out to change into dry robes and grab some food for it from the kitchens long after curfew had already come and gone.

Arthur lay back, smiling as the now warm, dry, and well-fed kitten curled up in the crook of his arm, still purring away.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he realized that it still didn't have a name. He smiled.

"Oh well," he whispered, stroking its soft black head. "We'll deal with that in the morning."

A/N: I think I just becuted myself... But anyway.

WARNING: The beginning of next chapter WILL be a smut scene. Fragmented, but smut all the same. If you don't want to read the smut, I ADVISE YOU TO SKIP THAT PART OF THE CHAPTER. You've been warned!

Also, many thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Your input and encouragement is much appreciated!