A/N: Bonjour, readers! This is a new story I'm starting (one that I definitely have a lot of time for), and it should run along "The Bloody Flag of Freedom", but it will be much shorter than I've planned "Bloody Flag" to be. Anyway this is a semi one-shot about Éponine, and what are possibly the three worst days of her life (which, if you know anything at all about Éponine, is saying a lot). Side characters, aside from Azelma and Thenardier, are mostly O/Cs, most prominently Adrienne Pompidou, who will be familiar to those who've read "No God Above".

I'd also like to thank AzureOtter, who once upon a time suggested to me writing a story about the colorful Mam'selle Pompidou, here it is. You would not have this story without her.

September 15, 1830

Chapter 1: A Thousand Eighteen

Monsieur Thenardier desperately counted the coins again, then threw them on the floor in disgust. "Damn it all!" He yelled madly.

If Éponine Thenardier had grown up in any other environment, she would have been scared witless by her father's rage. As it was, she was only vaguely curious, and got up drowsily from the flattened, uneven mattress she shared as a bed with her sister, Azelma. Her younger sister had awoken with her movement, and she blinked her eyes open. For a single moment, she didn't look older than she was; only thirteen. But than the wearisome sickness of poverty came back into her face, and she went back to looking older, too old, for her years.

"What is it?" Éponine asked Thenardier.

He got up from his chair and began to pace about the room. "Do you remember that job on the Pont-Royal, back in August?" He asked her.

She nodded. She had a very good memory for when her father dragged her along to play the role of watchdog for his schemes, and the Pont-Royal operation was an incident she wouldn't forget in a hurry.

"What about it?"

"It was only four men who did the job; me, Montparnasse, Claquesous, and young Tomas Montfort. You know him."

Éponine flinched at the sound of that last name, but she merely nodded.

"Claquesous gave me his share for safekeeping: almost two and a half thousand francs. Said he expected it back within a month, or else. The thing is...I gave that money to Isaac Wolfstein."

She groaned outwardly. "The opium dealer? Why would you do that, Papa?"

Thenardier gave a dog-like growl and glared at her fiercely. "Do you know what I owe that Jew for the drugs he supplies us with? If I paid my full debt to him, he could sail back to Jerusalem and build a goddamn temple."

'The drugs he supplies you with.' Éponine thought bitterly, but she kept her mouth shut. Isaac Wolfstein was a kingpin in the Parisian underworld, notorious for his business dealings and the coveted laudanum he sold. Her father was easily seduced by temptation, and what Wolfstein might have over him, Éponine didn't want to know.

Azelma, who was now wide awake and listening, asked "So what happened?"

"Wolfstein's off my back, for now. But Claquesous is still a fly in the ointment. If the Jew of Pantin is someone you don't want to piss off, Claquesous is even worse. How I've managed it, I don't know, but here I've scraped together a thousand eighteen hundred francs."

Éponine jumped off the bed in alarm. "But that's our money for food! For clothing! For living, for Christ's sake!"

Thenardier sighed pathetically. "I can assure you, fille, if Claquesous is not satisfied, food will become a very minor issue for you, and your sister as well. Now for God's sake, help me think of something to do!"

She furiously tried to make her brain become more dark-minded, but it wouldn't work. The reason her father had been such a good businessman was that he saw the opportunity for gain in everything. Éponine, however, had no such skills.

"What if Maman's idea works?" Azelma suggested. Their mother was off in another part of Paris doing one of her favorite pastimes; job-hunting. Every few months or so, Madame Thenardier would declare dramatically that she was sick to death of the Gorbeau tenement and their foul little room, and she'd storm off into the city to find herself work. Whether she ever found anything or not, Éponine didn't know, but these outbursts usually lasted for almost a week.

Papa scoffed. "She hasn't succeeded before, and I won't count on her to succeed now. No, I'm going to have to turn other resources..." His voice trailed off, and he stood up to look at his daughters. Then, his look of desperation changed in an instant to almost diabolical cleverness.

"You're grinning like a Cheshire, Papa." Éponine said, slightly annoyed and afraid with his quick change of countenance. "What's gotten into your head?"

"I think I may have just solved the problem." He said enigmatically. "Of all the rats to turn to in Paris, only one of them can help me now. Madame Ferrant."

The moment he said that dreaded name, Éponine's legs felt weak. She remembered Madame Ferrant, a decrepit old woman who was more like an evil step-mother from a fairy tale than a real human. She was a frequent business partner of Thenardier, and her father praised her at being the best in the business, which was true. Madame Ferrant was indeed the best at what she did, but what she did wasn't very nice.

Éponine tried to act unfazed, but she couldn't resist asking "Why her?" to discover if her father was planning what she thought he was.

"You know why." Said Thenardier coolly.

He was.

And Azelma. Poor 'Zelma. It was no coincidence that Thenardier had looked at both of them than just Éponine. That he was use Éponine in this scheme, she found predictable. But his thirteen-year old daughter? It was time for lines to be drawn.

"Azelma, get out." Éponine commanded. "I need to speak with Papa, by myself."

Her sister blinked, unsure what was happening. "But-"

"Now!"

Azelma rose from the bed, trembling at Éponine's raised voice, and exited the garret in a hurry, leaving Éponine and Thenardier alone.