A/N: Credit to my friend, whom I cannot name, for the gist of the whole plot. I don't own Les Miserables.

Summary: In the magnificent city of Paris, magic can be found in every corner if one seeks for it. For Antoine Enjolras and Eponine Thenardier, magic found them. (This is not your wizard-spell-horcruxes-laviosAr type of magic. It's the love-is-the-answer-hope-is-the-dawn-we-are-infinit e kind of magic) After one night in a party, their destinies are intertwined.

Chapter 1

Paris, as some may say, is the city of wonder and dreams. The historical city, shaped like a saucer with the larger buildings enclosing the smaller ones, captures the hearts and minds of every traveler and dreamer all over the world and perhaps even beyond. Wonderers swear they can feel beauty enter and intoxicate their minds and hearts as they waltz across the streets of art and history. It is also said that magic wafts in the daylight and dances on the Seine River with the moon. Twirling around and around with a mischievous smile, love pirouettes and takes trouble as its dance partner. Together, they perform wonderfully as they seek for an audience in the night.

Eponine Thenardier never believed in any form of magic other than the magic of irony. It is ironic that she spent her childhood in lovely clothing and laughter but spends her adolescence searching for an escape from poverty and negativity. It is ironic that the picture of her once smiling family now shatters like glass before her eyes. It was ironic that her dreams and hopes were crushed when their family moved into the city of Paris. In her defense, she had every right to not believe in any sort of magic.

"Girl! Where are you?" a gruff voice calls for her sharply.

Eponine rushes to her father. "What is it?"

Thenardier scowls at his daughter and grabs a thick mass of her grime-coated brown hair and growls into her ear. "Show some respect, girl, or you'll regret it." His voice is rough like sandpaper but poisonous like venom. A con man among the scum of Paris, the poor population of the city fears and avoids him and his gang of misfits. Thenardier never shows any form of happiness; he would leer when he comes back successful with filled pockets but there was never any real joy in his thin face. "I have an errand for you, girl." He shoves her away from his person harshly. "There is a party tonight among the elite of Paris. Go there and bring back whatever you can pickpocket. Maybe you can even be useful and take a man to bed for a price. Don't come back until you can't stuff your pockets no more."

"Papa," Eponine keeps her face stoic and apathetic. It would be a crime to say Eponine was ugly or anything like that. Even if she thought of herself that way, for a girl of the streets, she did a good job of looking more decent than most. "I don't have clothes for a high class party nor do I look high class. How will I-"

Her father interrupts her. "It's been taken care of. Your mama will fix you up." In a coarse, impatient voice, he hollers for Madame Thenardier. The woman in question comes as quickly as she could. A permanent grimace is etched upon her once fine features. Disappointment and bitterness fuels the anger in her eyes but Eponine swears she could see a faint trace of her mother's hopeless romantic nature in those eyes that resembles to her own.

"Come on now, Eponine," Madame Thenardier leads her away. "Your papa is a busy man. We don't want to disturb him." All the world's sadness fills her hoarse voice.

Silently, Eponine follows.

The poor are not the only ones that do not believe in magic. Other times, the rich are too engrossed in their own troubles and worries that they simply have no time for such "childish nonsense" or "crazy talk". Antoine Enjolras is a serious man with a serious mind and a serious goal. Even as a little boy, he had already planned out his entire future for himself. He would grow up, study very well, become a lawyer and wipe out poverty and criminality.

Enjolras' father had rather different plans in mind. Both father and son are boulders that cannot be moved. Once they had their mind set on an idea, they dare not stray from achieving that goal. Often times, they would collide and war would break lose in the Enjolras estate in which everyone must pick a side or be trampled over. One would wonder how Madame Enjolras puts up with these two hardheaded men who competitively raise their chin higher at one another. "A battle of arrogance and will, these two add ten years to my age and it is definitely not healthy for my skin." Madame Enjolras would say tiresomely.

"You must go to that party tonight, Antoine!" Monsieur Enjolras' voice booms in the spacious drawing room. Madame Enjolras sits in one of the velvet sofas as her eyes worriedly follows the arguing pair. The butler, James, stands stiffly next to a cringing, young maid, Aimee, in the corner as they wait for further instructions. With silent eyes, they watch the exchange of the two storm clouds.

"I will not go because I have an exam to study for, father." The word "father" is spoken through gritted teeth.

Monsieur Enjolras' forehead creases. The man is dignified and firm with his shoulders squared and his back straight. Discipline has blessed Monsieur Enjolras with an intimidating aura that could make a grown man fall on his knees and beg for repentance. No man, woman or child with an at least average intelligence dares defy this lion-like businessman; no one except his own flesh and blood, Antoine Enjolras.

Madame Enjolras could foresee the possible outcome of this little quarrel. Immediately, she interferes smoothly. After all, it was part of her job to keep her boys in line. Monsieur Enjolras was about to explode in a firecracker-like manner when the Madame said in a sweet voice, "Sweetheart, do please fetch me a cup of tea."

Monsieur Enjolras looks pointedly at her. "Why not make James or Aimee do that for you?"

Apparently, she overestimated how quickly her husband can catch on. She casts him a knowing look and responds, "Only you know how I like my Jasmine tea."

"I don't see why-"

Her lovely voice is laced with a threatening string. "Please, sweetheart? For me?" She is well aware of the fact that he cannot say no to her when she gives him a pleading look or used that phrase "For me?" With an exasperated sigh, the Monsieur left the room to make tea.

"Thank you, mother." Antoine lets out a breath of his own.

"Don't thank me yet. I am for you going to the party tonight."

Antoine Enjolras sits on the armchair near his mother. "Mother, I have work to do. I have an exam to study for. I don't have time to play games and fool around!"

"Nonsense," she dismisses his excuses. "Since when did young men not have any time to fool around? Don't boys normally just fool around? Isn't that the only thing they ever do?"

"Mother-"

"Darling," her tone softens. Madame Enjolras is known to be very charismatic and convincing. Beauty still lingers in her kind face even as the years come by; a tender smile always touches her plump lips in addition to her velvety voice. Compassion flows in her veins and thus, compels her to sympathize with the plight of the poor. Angelic beauty takes a human form in this woman. "Please listen to your father. He just wants what is best for his only son."

Antoine Enjolras runs his hand through his thick mass of blond hair, an action he rarely does unless he is pressured or hesitant which he almost never is.

Madame Enjolras could see his steel will crack so she presses on. "You can retire after midnight. You have my word. Once the clock strikes midnight, you are free to go where you chose."

"You have a deal," the fire rekindles in his eyes. It is the best deal he could get out of the discussion; better than any deal his father would offer.

It is moving to see fire in the eyes of a young man. The youth these days have no thoughts of liberty or a better government; they prefer to waste away on alcohol or party until the skies turn bright. This is how Enjolras views his peers judging how his friends and classmates normally act. Possessed by the desire of a brighter France, he swore off all distractions a long time ago. Nothing shall ever get in between him and his aspiration. Yes, the man made from marble only believes in the magic of blood, sweat and tears.

A/N: I didn't go deep into physical description... Not yet. I like being dramatic. :3 Reviews are appreciated.