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Kiku stared at the phone, then put it back to his ear.
“Alfred, I am not arranging for a Portkey halfway across the world just for a Christmas party. It’s not really my thing.”
“Aww, c’mon, dude—”
The winter holidays had come at long last. Sixth-year Kiku Honda had returned from Hogwarts just a few days before, looking forward to sitting in a nice hot spring and having a warm bowl of miso after several months of English food. He had one more semester left at Hogwarts before he would return at last to Mahoutokoro, and the three weeks of winter break was just what he needed before the final stretch.
Alfred fucking Jones had other plans.
“Arthur’s family will arrange everything,” Alfred said through the receiver. There was a light crackling noise as Alfred spoke, though Kiku wasn’t entirely sure if it was Alfred pacing around or if it was just magic trying to mess with the carefully-enchanted telephone line. “We’re getting everyone! Francis, the Beilschmidts, Luca, Tino and his group, the Vargas bros, we even got Basch to agree. You’re the only one on the fence right now.”
“...Parties aren’t my thing,” Kiku protested again.
“What, your family doesn’t have a party for the holidays?” Alfred asked. “Surely you guys do something!”
“We eat KFC,” Kiku told him. “And we have Christmas cake. My family’s pretty quiet. I like it.”
Alfred sighed. “Please, Kiku? For me? Your best friend from the country of ridiculous anime dubs and French fries?”
He was using that voice. Kiku internally groaned. Alfred was annoyingly good at the guilt trip card.
“...What do you even do at your parties?” Kiku asked carefully.
“Oh!” Alfred exclaimed. He was probably bouncing up and down like the floor was made of trampolines, if Kiku had to guess. “A lot of cool stuff, dude! We mostly hang out with everyone and give each other gifts in a Secret Santa exchange! Last year we got a bunch of guys in Santa costumes to show up, and Francis and I got this huuuuge cake! It was so good!”
“What kind of cake?”
“Big and blue! Like, really big and really blue! But this year it’ll be even better—we’re getting a pink one, and it’s gonna be even bigger! And guess what?”
“What?” Kiku dreaded the answer, already feeling sick at the mere idea.
Alfred seemed to have zero reservations about the horrifying treat he was describing, as he announced, “It’s gonna have glow-in-the-dark icing!”
Kiku glanced at the trash can, just to be sure it was within puking distance. “...I’ll pass. No way, man.”
He could hear Aflred deflating again from disappointment through the phone. “It won’t be the same without you, man.”
“I’m sure you’ll have fun anyways. Parties just aren’t my thing.” Kiku replied, repeating his new favorite phrase.
“I know…” Alfred sighed. “It’s just that, this time, the party kind of depends on you being there or not.”
“Feliciano will be fine without me. He and Ludwig can finally kiss under the mistletoe instead of trying to focus their efforts on me,” Kiku said.
“Uh…not that, exactly,” Alfred chuckled. “More like…”
“More like what?”
“...Like, it really depends on you being there. Like, really, really depends. If you get what I’m saying?”
Kiku’s stomach turned. “You didn’t tell everyone I was actually coming, did you?”
“...Well, sort of. I think that’s why some of them are coming. Besides the fact that it’s free.”
“Alfred.”
“I know! I know! I’m sorry! I just thought…well, I thought you’d say yes. Because we’re friends. You’re like, my bestest bud. And you’ve been getting out more lately. I mean, I still probably shouldn’t have assumed, but—”
“Alfred.” Kiku cut off Alfred’s rambling. “It’s fine. I forgive you.”
“Thanks, dude.” A pause. “Soooooo does that mean you’ll come?”
Kiku sighed with resignation. He’d lost the battle, yet again. He wasn’t very good at saying no. Especially to Alfred, who didn’t like to take no for an answer.
“I guess I could come, just for a little while. But I have to be home to eat KFC with my family. Don’t forget the time zones.”
A gasp. “Really?” Alfred’s voice came through the line. “Are you for real? I don’t want to like, actually pressure you—”
“I said it is fine. Where will the portkey be and who is my Secret Santa?” Kiku asked, and Alfred immediately began rattling off information, given to him by Arthur, who was standing not too far from Alfred’s phone line.
—
The Portkey plopped him in the middle of a field, the Kirkland manor visible just over the hill. Alfred was there already, bouncing all over the place, while Arthur stood to the side looking extremely tired. The blond was nursing a very large cup of tea in his gloved hands, and Kiku wondered if Arthur had more of that somewhere—it was rather cold in England. There were several used Portkeys lying around in a pile, and Kiku guessed it had been a mass summoning.
That, and several other Hogwarts students were standing at various points between him and the Kirkland manor. Arthur and Alfred had quite the international friendgroup. Well, it wasn’t too surprising, considering most of Europe’s wizarding families had taken to sending their children to Hogwarts lately, but it was certainly interesting to see just how many people had arrived by Portkey alone. And they were still coming, if the sound of someone falling over as their Portkey landed behind him was any indication. Clearly, Alfred and his lot had gone all out.
Kiku picked up the pastel pink umbrella that had been his Portkey and deposited it on top of a rubber duck, a semi truck tire, and a dingy water flask that had seen better days. He could see Alfred laughing and trying to give Ludwig a hug, to the latter’s great dismay.
Then Alfred turned his head, and he gasped in excitement.
“Kiku!” he yelled, and abandoned his attempts to coerce Ludwig in favor of running towards Kiku. Ludwig stared after him in surprise before shaking himself out of his stupor and following behind. “Kiku! You actually came!”
Kiku grunted as Alfred crushed him into a hug.
“Hello, Alfred. It is good to see you too.”
Alfred laughed and slung an arm over Kikku’s shoulder. “Dude, you made it! This is amazing!”
“Sure.”
“Hello, Kiku,” Ludwig greeted as he caught up. “It’s been a while.”
“It has. Where is Feliciano, if I might ask?” Kiku asked. Ludwig pointed at the manor with a sigh, and Kiku had a feeling he would find the missing Italian trying to hit up Matthew’s Beauxbatons friends. That had been a point of contention, according to Alfred’s description of the last Christmas party, as told over the phone the week before.
“Party’s that-a-way, just head right through the big doors in the front! Folks are still coming in, but we’ll gonna get everything swingin’ in a few,” Alfred said cheerfully. “You and Luddy should go over—I’ll join you in a bit, once Tino comes in. Dunno why he’s taking so long, it can’t be that far from Norwich to here by broom…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kiku saw Arthur take an especially long sip of his tea. He guessed that Norwich was, in fact, not as close to the middle of a forest in Hampshire as Alfred believed.
“Oh! Tolys is here! I gotta go say hi, see ya inside!” Alfredy suddenly exclaimed, and both Kiku and Ludwig watched Alfred bounce over to the still-dizzy Tolys Laurenaitis. Poor Tolys looked both relieved and nervous at the ball of energy that was Alfred Jones, and Raivis Galante, as well as Eduard von Bock, who’d come with him, took a step back as Alfred’s mouth ran a mile a minute.
“We should go inside,” Ludwig said, and Kiku agreed.
As they left, Kiku watched Arthur magic some more tea into his cup.
—
Half an hour later, Kiku was munching on a soft dinner roll while watching Matthew Williams and Mathias Densen try for the third time in five minutes to spike the punch, which was closely guarded by Francis Bonnefoy, of all people.
“We have children here! No Firewhisky! Or any other type of alcohol!” Francis scolded. “You should know this, Matthieu—”
“C’mon, Francis,” Matthew protested. “This is the Kirkland house! Their wine cellar is chock full of beer, they won’t give a damn anyways!”
“Not gonna lie, I kind of hope they succeed,” a voice said, and Kiku jumped in surprise. He turned to see Alfred in a Santa suit and chewing on a chocolate chip cookie. “Like the fit?”
He was grinning.
Kiku tugged on Alfred’s beard.
“Ow—”
“A pity. The youth of today age so poorly,”
“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed with a laugh. “Old man-”
“It’s a very detailed costume. Quite impressive,” Kiku said, because he did have manners and also because he was only sixteen and very much young, thank you very much. Alfred took the bait, being the egotistical person he was.
“Thanks, dude! Welp, time to get this party started! Yo, Artie!” Alfred called, and strode through the ballroom to where Arthur and Eduard had a megaphone ready for Alfred. Kiku watched from afar as the blond took the stage, practically bouncing his way up.
“HEY EVERYBODY!” Alfred yelled out. “Thanks for coming to the party, y’all! Hope y’all are having a great time!”
The crowd cheered. Kiku finished his roll, before making his way over to join Feliciano and Ludwig. Feliciano, who had one arm thrown over Ludwig’s shoulder, threw the other one over Kiku’s.
“Awesome! Anyways, you all know the rules—no destroying the furniture, don’t puke on the carpet and vanish it if you do, and don’t uncover that portrait in the hall near the bathroom that’s Artie’s great-great-grandmama, because she won’t shut up about my music choices. Buzzkill.”
“Have some respect for your elders—” Arthur started to call, but Alfred interrupted him with a “Didn’t you call her an old hag yesterday?”, and that shut Arthur right up.
“Where was I? Oh, right!” Alfred said as he turned back to the megaphone. “We’ll serve the cake in a bit—special thanks to Francis, as usual!—and for now, let’s have some fun!”
More cheering erupted from the assembled guests.
Alfred grinned. Kiku had a strange feeling, all of a sudden.
“Also, special thanks to Kiku Honda for being this year’s host!”
And there was the other shoe.
“What—FUCK YOU, ALFRED JONES!” Kiku yelled, shrugging Feliciano’s arm off and giving chase as Alfred ran off the stage, laughing, with the microphone. “ALFRED FUCKING JONES, YOU LYING BAKA—”
“The cake is, like, totally awesome, so don’t fill up too much on the deserts from Antonio and Mathias!” Alfred yelled as he ducked past the food tables, Kiku in hot pursuit. “And don’t forget the chocolate marshmallows with the chocolate fountain!”
“ALFRED—”
From the midst of the crowd, Matthew sipped his maple-flavored cocoa as Gilbert watched the chase unfold.
“Should we help him?” Gilbert asked.
Matthew took another sip. “Nah. Serves him right, honestly. Besides, Kiku will probably calm down soon. I don’t think he’s actually mad.”
“At being pranked into playing the host?”
“Oh no, he’s definitely mad about that. But he’s chasing Al for fun,” Matthew said. “He can run so much faster than that. He’s barely trying right now.”
Gilbert squinted. Kiku was within reaching distance of Alfred, who was dodging around the columns at the sides of the room, but he didn’t seem to be that fast on his feet. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I raced him once. He’s actually really strong,” Matthew said as Kiku finally cornered Alfred by the door to the hallway, and shoved the Santa hat on Alfred’s head over the laughing blond’s eyes. “They’ll be besties again in an hour.”
“If you say so,” Gilbert muttered, and went to grab another slice of cake.
.
Just as Matthew predicted, Alfred and Kiku were on relatively good terms by the end of the event, and walked out to the Portkey field as the clock struck midnight.
“Thanks for coming, bro,” Alfred said as Kiku took his position next to the pink umbrella that would take him home. “And for even co-hosting after all of that.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Alfred,” Kiku replied. “Never invite me ever again. Or ask me to talk in front of so many people.”
“Alright, see you at the next one,” Alfred snickered. Kiku sighed. “Joking, joking. So, about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup—”
“I’ll be there. To support my country, of course. You Westerners have terrible lineups,” Kiku said.
Alfred gasped in mock-offense. “Oh, c’mon! Have you seen the recent articles? The Weasleys are killing it out there! And that one brother of Arthur’s, I guess.”
Kiku chuckled. “We will see. Goodbye for tonight, Alfred. Thank you, once again.”
Alfred raised his hand to wave, his mouth opening to say something, but the Portkey in Kiku’s hands chose that moment to activate, and then he was gone.
Alfred laughed quietly. “See ya, Kiku.” he said into the night. “Merry Christmas, dude.”
.
Kiku landed in his neighbor’s garden. He thanked his lucky stars that his neighbor worked during the holiday and had left early. Kiku, on the other hand, was ready for a nap, considering he’d been up basically all night. If the nap he’d taken the day before didn’t count, of course.
He quickly picked his way through the empty rosebeds and winter vegetable patches, glad his neighbor didn’t have cameras in their yard like some people in the neighborhood, and was soon crossing the wards into his house’s yard. He made his way down the stone paths, to the wooden door unlocked with a quick wand wave, and then, finally, he was back in his comfortable home.
His cat meowed as she wandered over to rub up against him. Kiku reached down to pet her.
“You’re home.”
Kiku looked up to see one of his younger brothers watching from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“I am,” he agreed.
“How was it?”
Kiku thought back to all of the neon cake he’d eaten, the soda he’d drank, the gifts shoved into his coat pockets from various friends. He thought about the Secret Santa exchange, and the large teddy bear he’d gotten for Matthew, and the chocolates from Luca. He thought about Alfred in his stupid Santa suit, Feli and Ludwig getting pushed under mistletoe by Lovino and Gilbert, and the attempted spiking of the punch bowl multiple times by select individuals. And the eventual successful dumping of Firewhisky into what had once been a chocolate fountain. He thought about the jokes he and his friends tossed around, and the laughter as they all caught up on each other’s lives.
“It was alright.”
Kiku smiled to himself as he went to go take a good shower and then sleep all day, his brother sputtering indignantly after him. Later that evening, there would be KFC, and someone would find an American Christmas movie to play on the new TV they’d just installed after years of waiting, and Kiku would unwrap his gifts in the privacy of his room.
But for now…
“Good night and merry Christmas, Alfred.”
.
Somewhere in England, Alfred F. Jones wondered why the tea Arthur was pouring him tastes a little less bitter then usual.