When Arthur woke, his first thought was confusion.

Presumably, he qualified for heaven - he hadn't fucked up too much in his eighteen years, and surely dying to save the lives of a bunch of freakin' unicorns got him a pass through the pearly gates? But there seemed to be rather too much pain for that - and then the white world around him resolved into the Hogwarts hospital wing, and with a shock Arthur Kirkland realised that he was in fact very much alive.

Pain meds were scrambling his brain.

"Fuck and buggering shit," he said.

There was a crash and a yelp as Gil jerked awake and toppled out of his chair. His head popped up over the edge of the mattress, red eyes wide as he stared at Arthur. "Artie! You're up!"

"Yeah - how long have I been - ouch!" Arthur rubbed his jaw, smarting from Gil's punch. "What in the name of arse was that for?"

Gil crushed him in a hug. "Sorry mate, but really it's my duty to deck you for being such a twat. Nearly got yourself killed! You'd be dead if not for some sick unicorn mojo."

Arthur frowned. "Huh?"

"I wish I could claim credit, but you're only alive thanks to the incredible healing powers of the unicorn," Madame Pomfrey said. She pressed a vial into his hand. "However, you're still not shipshape, so drink up! And Gilbert Beilschmidt, if I ever see you behave in such a manner towards one of my patients again you will be banned from this hospital wing."

Gil grinned. "Sorry, Poppy. Have to admit though, he deserved it."

Arthur choked down the potion, grimacing at the flavour. As soon as he'd finished Pomfrey bustled off to her next patient. He turned to Gil. "Is Francis around?"

"Poppy kicked him out three days ago - the smell was getting too bad. He was here all the time - it was sickening, really."

Arthur bit back a smile. He frowned. "Wait, three days ago? So how long have I been out?"

"A week - it's Saturday right now." He cast a tempus charm. "Seven o'clock, PM."

"A week?"

"Yeah mate. You've missed over thirty meals!"

"Twenty one, Gil - really, if your maths is worse than someone who's just been brought back from the brink you should definitely start to worry."

Gil looked shocked. "Jeez Artie, you're only counting three meals a day. Now who should be worried?"

Arthur laughed. "You animal. So, not that I'm not loving your company, but - Francis?"

"Oh, course! He's probably moping around outside - two secs."

Gil leapt up and sprinted off. When he returned, Francis wasn't the only person in tow - Elizabeta, Kiku, Antonio, Lovino, and Al rushed in too. And on second glance Arthur caught sight of Mattie grinning, hand held tightly in Gil's.

Francis was there first and Arthur took his hand, skimming his thumb across Francis' skin to memorise again its softness. "Hey, Francis."

Francis' gaze was focussed on Arthur's hand, eyes wide and wondering as if he couldn't believe Arthur was awake. "Comme je suis heureux de te voir, mon cher."*

Lovino's greeting to Arthur came in the form of a book flung at his head (Francis caught it before it broke Arthur's nose) and a stream of what Arthur presumed were curses in rapid-fire italian. "Fucker!" He said, rounding off in English. "You don't get to decide to die, capisci? I need someone sane round here."

Arthur read the title of the book, grinning. It was a copy of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, a book he'd had his eye on a while now. "Cheers! Nice wrapping, by the way."

Lovino scowled, jerking his thumb at Gil. "That shit you call a friend opened all your presents."

"You got some good stuff! Really tasty."

"Désolé, mon cher - I've failed in my duty to protect your gifts."

Al brandished an empty box of sugar quills mournfully. "He ate them. He ate them all."

"Don't worry about it, Al. Happens every year - by this point I've given up on ever receiving my presents when Gil's on scene."

Al frowned at Gil, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'll avenge you on the Quidditch pitch, Arthur - I'll beat Slytherin for sure!"

"It's the price of a friendship with pure awesome. Oh, and most of your Get Well Soon chocolate's gone."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at Gil. "I assume you're using 'most' as a synonym for 'all'. Far be it from you to exercise self-restraint on the presents of your coma-bound best friend."

"Oh darling, you know me so well. Almost as well as I know you - prepare yourself for the best present ever." Reaching under the bed, Gil produced a huge vat of Dragon Barrel Brandy. On the crate the word 'FLY' was scribbled in Gil's spider-scrawl beside the word 'Dragon'. He tapped it. Libby. "We'll talk about that later, Artie."

Arthur glanced at Francis, who shrugged. "Needed an accomplice, and he suspected."

Elizabeta's saucepan made an appearance. "Out of the way, Gil - stop monopolising Arthur!" Shoving him out the way, she offered Arthur an envelope and a charming smile. "These are from me and Lilli. I think you'll enjoy them," she winked.

Inside the envelope was a stack of photos. The top one was an image of Francis. Judging from the rivulets of water running down his torso and into the towel round his hips, he'd just stepped out the shower.

When he saw it, Francis yelped. "That - that's from before the Yule Ball! When Lilli said, 'Like I'd waste my film on that!' Where did she hide the camera?"

Elizabeta smiled. "A lady never shares her secrets."

Pomfrey materialised, piercing voice cutting over their chatter. "Why are there eight of you crowding around my patient? Arthur needs rest at the moment! Shoo! Two visitors maximum."

Gil pouted. "But Poppy -"

"No whining, or I'll cut it down to one!"

"That's hardly fair on me, is it?" Arthur spluttered.

"I can't treat you if I have a headache from all this racket. Out!"

Before he left, Kiku pressed a gift into Arthur's hands, beautifully wrapped in tissue paper. "For tomorrow," he smiled. "If you're well enough."

"Thank you!"

"What's tomorrow?" Francis asked.

"Sunday - afternoon tea at four o'clock," Gil replied. "Why d'you think I didn't open that one? It's gotta be tea."

Gil was right - it was a first flush Darjeeling, one of Arthur's favourite teas. Gil wrinkled his nose at it. "Of all your hobbies, drinking tea has got to be the weirdest."

"Thank you, Gil. After all, your approval is what I look for in everything."

"Speaking of approval - just in case you didn't get the memo, I am totally cool with this." He waved his hand at Arthur and Francis. "And now that Christmas is over, feel free to get down to this." He made a rude gesture, leering at them.

"Oh my god," Arthur groaned. "On that note, you're banished from my bedside."

"I see where your mind's going," Gil winked. "And because I am a fantastic friend, I will let you two have some privacy."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Christ, it's not like we're gonna get it on right here!"

Gil laughed and sprang off the bed. "No need to hide it from me, we all know about your exhibitionist streak!" He cackled, racing out the hospital wing before Arthur could respond.

"Don't know why we keep him…" Arthur muttered. He turned to Francis. "Sorry. There's something I have to explain to you -"

But before Arthur could get any further Pomfrey reappeared. "I'm afraid you can't stay, Francis. Arthur has visitors."

Arthur frowned. "Could you possibly ask them to come back later?"

She shook her head. "They're from the Ministry. They're aurors - they want to talk to you about the dementor."

The two aurors stood at the foot of his bed. One was bulky as a tree trunk and stood at military ease, violet eyes fixed on Arthur. The other was more slight. He wore his dark hair in a ponytail, and his smile was broad.

"Nice to meet you, aru. My name is Yao, and this is my partner -"

"Braginsky." The tall man shifted. "We have some questions."

Arthur sighed. "What do you want to know?"

An hour later, the aurors were out of questions and Arthur's voice was hoarse from talking. Once or twice he'd almost let slip about Libby; luckily the aurors were too focussed on the dementor to notice.

Yao snapped his fingers and his quill stopped jotting and leapt into his pocket. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr Kirkland."

"We'll be in touch if there's anything else," Braginsky said.

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes and pasted on his very best smile. "May I ask how it happened? The dementor, I mean. How did it escape, what with the Ministry's heightened security?"

Braginsky smiled sweetly. "None of your concern, da?"

Yao sighed. "I'm afraid it's sensitive information."

"Do you really think you can keep this out the papers for long? The Prophet's gonna be all over it. If you give me the details, maybe I'll sign a confidentiality agreement, refuse to give them an interview. If not - well, I'm sure they'd love to hear about my near-death experience and speculate about the escape."

By this point a palpable aura of violence enveloped Braginsky. Arthur sensed another near-death experience was imminent.

Yao intervened. He took a form and a quill out of his pocket and handed them to Arthur. "Do you always keep these things in your pockets?"

"Most of the time, aru." Yao glanced over the signed confidentiality agreement and explained. "It was an experiment. The Unspeakables were given free reign. The one who committed the crime has been dealt with and the study shut down."

It wasn't as much detail as he would have liked, but it was enough. Arthur had more important things to do than to satisfy his curiosity.

The auror's departure left Arthur to stew in his thoughts. He thought of the fight, forcing the dementor back. He thought of the cold press of the dementor as it fed on his happiness.

And other things, too - flashes of memory that made him wince. Shackling Francis to the ground. Snapping his wand. Lying to him, and the hurt in Francis' expression.

A few minutes after they left, Francis came in. This time, he was alone. There was a tightness round his eyes there hadn't been before - or had Arthur just not noticed?

When Francis smiled, it didn't meet his eyes. "You wanted to explain?"

"Yeah." Arthur swallowed. "And, um. I wanted to apologise."

The curve of Francis' lips was a concrete smile, fixed and lifeless. "What for?"

"Well, I broke your wand, for one thing. Plus I tied you up."

"And not in the fun way," Francis joked. He beamed. "So is that it, then?"

"No. There's something I need to explain."

Francis' eyes dimmed.

"You know I didn't mean it, right?" Arthur babbled. "What I said? It's just, at the time I kinda thought I was going to die, and I thought if you thought I was a dick to you, you'd get over it more quickly. So I wasn't actually telling the truth - you get that, right?"

Francis let out an immense sigh and buried his head in his hands. Arthur twisted his hands in the hospital blankets, waiting.

When Francis raised his head, he was grinning. "Mon dieu, Arthur, you scared me! Don't sound so serious - I worked out that was what you meant. At the time, I was, how shall I say, a bit down about it -"

"I'll say. Your face was awful!"

"- but Gil and Tonio made me think about it, and I guessed it would be something like that."

"Oh." Arthur frowned. "That's not good. I mean, it doesn't bode well for you moving on if this happens again."

Francis leaned very close and gave Arthur his most charming grin. His eyes were daggers. "Then I suppose we shall have to make sure it does not, oui?"

"I wasn't planning on making a habit out of it!" Arthur protested.

"You have a lot of grovelling to do, mon cher," Francis growled. "I hate to sound possessive, but it can't be helped - you're mine, and that means you can't die."

Arthur slipped his arms round Francis' neck, tugging him onto the bed beside him and closing his eyes. "Good thing I didn't, right?"

"I think you're missing the point."

"Mmm." Arthur yawned. "You can explain it again in the morning."

He drifted off to the warmth of Francis' arms and the whisper of Francis' breath against the nape of his neck.

It was three days before he was allowed out of the hospital wing, and Arthur could've cried at the sight of his own bed.

Once Arthur had dropped his things back to his dorm, he, Gil, and Francis made their way to the Room of Requirement to visit Libby.

In the time since he'd last seen her, Libby had extensively exploited the wish-fulfilment potential of the Room of Requirement; it was a sybarite's paradise. Jewels lay in scattered heaps and pieces of eight spilled from iron-bound chests. Libby herself sprawled snoozing on a pile of finely-woven silks, their colours bright against her glossy scales. A tiara dangled from one ear, and rings and bangles stacked her limbs.

"Going for the cliché of the dragon's hoard, I see."

At his voice Libby's head jerked up, tiara clattering to the floor as she flung herself at him and crashed into his arms. "Arthur! You're here! I've missed you!"

"Missed you too! You've grown so much since last time I saw you. What have you been up to?"

"Francis is teaching me how to cook and Gil is teaching me about pirates - I mean, broadening my perspectives on sociocultural interpretations of the law."

Arthur turned to glare at Gil, who quickly stopped giving her the thumbs-up. "Are you corrupting my ward? And Francis, if you dare say anything about how even a dragon can cook better than me I swear -"

"What do you mean, even a dragon?" Francis said. "That phrasing implies dragons are somehow inferior in the culinary arts."

Libby's head swivelled round and she narrowed her eyes at Arthur in a way that signified he should choose his words carefully.

"Not having opposable thumbs could be seen as a disadvantage but I'm sure a dragon's flame-breathing capacity would be excellent for chargrilling, amongst other things. Numerous other things," he added, and Libby nodded, satisfied.

"Where is friend Gilbird?" She asked. "I have been informed that a pirate - I mean, an alternative seaman - requires a feathered companion. He is my second in command."

Hearing his name, Gilbird cheeped and leapt into the air, racing off with Libby.

Gilbert sprung into action, snatching up a tin sword and brandishing it in the air. "En garde, alternative seamen! I shall conquer you and purloin your treasure. Also, the word is quartermaster, not second in command."

For a few minutes Arthur and Francis watched them fight. Gil was feigning weakness so as not to hurt Libby; the dragon, however, seemed to have no such qualms. Francis winced as flame blossomed, singeing Gil's hair.

"I -" Arthur started, biting his tongue when he realised what he'd been about to say. I wonder if this is how domesticity feels. Despite Arthur's own feelings for Francis, the 'd' word was probably too strong for Francis. He wasn't a relationship person - neither of them were - and making things too serious too quick couldn't end well.

"I…?" Francis said, squeezing his hand.

"Got you a Christmas present," he said instead, heading to the cupboard where he'd stored it. When he turned back round Francis was in front of him, a parcel in his outstretched hands.

Francis laughed. "You didn't think I forgot, did you?"

When he unwrapped the first edition copy of L'écume des jours, Arthur's present to Francis suddenly felt insignificant.

"Mon dieu, Arthur!" Francis ran his hands over the fabric. His eyes met Arthur's. "Did you knit this?"

"Yeah - but how on earth did you find this?" Arthur caught his breath as he ran his fingers over pages soft and thick as cream.

"I have my sources." Francis looped the scarf round his neck, smiling. "Blue and green - Ravenclaw and Slytherin, right?"

An almighty crash as Gil tripped on a cushion and hurtled to the floor snapped their conversation. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Better make sure he's okay."

"Just like having a toddler," Francis said as they picked their way over to their friend.

"A toddler wouldn't be this bad."

Eventually Libby's energy reserves were drained, and even Gil was flagging. Leaving Libby snoring on her silken throne they left the Room of Requirement.

Gil rushed off to find Mattie so Arthur and Francis wandered to the kitchen in search of tea, chatting to the house-elves until they were all yawning.

Eventually they headed back to the Ravenclaw dorm. Side by side they flopped onto Arthur's bed.

"Can't believe everything that's happened."

"I know. I haven't even been a year in England, but it feels like a lifetime."

"You're staying here, right? You're not going back to France?"

"Are you worried, mon cher?"

Arthur scowled and thumped him. "Dick. You know I am."

Francis turned to face him, gaze burning. Arthur's eyes stayed fixed on the drapes above. "What you staring at, Frog?"

"Can't I stare?" Francis' voice fell to a murmur. He pressed his nose to Arthur's neck. "I nearly lost you. I still can't believe how lucky I am to have you with me, let alone to hear you admit you'd miss me."

"Don't be corny without warning," Arthur mumbled. His heart raced a rhythm, thrilling in spite of himself. "That sort of thing - you're not supposed to say it out loud."

"But I like saying it. Besides," Francis poked his cheek, grinning. "You look very cute when you blush."

Arthur groaned. "Why does it feel like I've made a mistake?"

"Too late!" Francis sang, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "No take-backs. You're stuck with me."

He twisted round to look at Francis, studying his face; the blue of his eyes, and the soft curve of his mouth, curling into a smile that tugged up the corners of Arthur's own mouth. "I think there are worse places to be."

Notes:

"Comme je suis heureux de te voir." - How happy I am to see you.

The Prophet, or The Daily Prophet, is an extremely popular and somewhat unscrupulous wizarding newspaper.

At this point we have reached the end! I want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, or enjoyed the fic, and please accept my apologies for the awfully slow updates!

There may be an epilogue, because this feels slightly unfinished. So if you have this on alert you may not want to take it off just yet.

Concrit is as ever appreciated!