A/N: I don't own any of the characters, please, don't sue me. Also, if you like the story, please review. I'm not sure why I began writing this, but if enough people want me to, I may continue it. Enjoy!

Buried under a teetering stack of textbooks, the young student made his way through the

crowds of people congregating in front of the university. "'Scuse me, monsieur. Do you happen

to know the way to the classroom of Professor Blondeau?"

"Yes, it's- say, you're new, aren't you?"

"I am, monsieur."

"First time in Paris?" The young man, little more than a lost, frightened boy, nodded his

head, and a wisp of thin blond hair fell in his eyes. "Well, come along. Blondeau will have your

name erased if you don't hurry along. He's been known to do that, y'know. It's happened to

friends of mine before. I am called Bossuet. And you are, little one?"

"Enjolras."

"No first name?"

"Pardieu, but I did not hear yours." He shot back. Enjolras followed the one called

Bossuet through the crowds of people, careful not to upset the monumental tower of books before

him.

"Fair enough. Where're you from, Enjolras?"

"South of here. You?"

"Paris. If you like, I can show you around, introduce you to some of my friends. What

do you say?"

"I say, that sounds fine, monsieur. The more people I know, the better. Merci."