A/N:

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables, only my original characters.

Chapter 3

Because New Year's Eve fell on a Saturday that year, the shop on Rue Hermel was open its usual hours from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon. At a quarter of an hour to two, Foulon let the young women in his employment leave early, along with their paychecks and a small end of the year bonus.

"Foulon has been awfully sprightly lately, do you suppose he has a new mistress?" Henriette giggled as they left. A beautiful girl of barely twenty with hair the colour of autumn leaves, she was sweet but immature and a terrible flirt.

"Can you imagine sharing a bed with him?" Sophie visibly shuddered.

"I'd rather not." Musichetta looped her arm through Sophie's. "Have you decided which dress to wear tonight?"

"Perhaps the light green one, with the lace details. It's the best one I have, and Courfeyrac threatened to never speak to me again if I don't look my best." She rolled her eyes, remembering the dandy's words. "Le Perchoir is, after all, the place to be tonight."

Henriette's eyes lit up. "You're going to Le Perchoir?"

"Yes, with Musichetta's sweetheart and a few of our friends," Sophie answered, silently hoping the younger woman wasn't about to invite herself to join them. While she enjoyed Henriette's company, her behaviour was sometimes grating.

"His student friends? Oh, I'm so jealous! To spend an evening with so many fine young men," Henriette said, a dreamy smile adorning her face.

Sophie had to bite her lip to refrain from laughing at the look on Musichetta's face. Soon they reached the Place Saint-Sulpice, which was where the three women parted ways with wishes of a happy new year. Turning up on Rue Meunier, her concierge was on the stoop of her tenement, whipping the dust from an old rug.

Madame Rossi looked up when Sophie approached, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a greying handkerchief. "Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Guilhon. I trust you are well?"

"Hello, Madame. I'm well, thank you. I have this month's rent for you, if you're not busy?"

She put down the broom. "Ah, good. Come with me and we'll get you sorted."

Sophie followed her into the tenement and down the hallway to the concierge's flat. Handing the older women the five francs she owed for the month, she waited while Madame Rossi wrote the details of the payment in the leather-bound book she kept for such affairs.

"Right then, all done. You have a good New Year, Mademoiselle."

Sophie smiled. "You too, Madame."

Once in her flat, she went into the bedroom to put away the rest of her wages in the dresser. Hidden in the back of the bottom drawer was a wooden box in which she stored her most valuable possessions; the letters her brother had written her during his medical training, her meagre savings, and the few pieces of jewellery she owned. Putting away the money, she took out a necklace with a thin silver chain and a round, filigree pendant. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but a surge of longing came over her as her looked at it. The necklace had belonged to her mother, given to Sophie on her sixteenth birthday and only a few months before her mother's death.

Sophie washed off quickly in the small washing area, shivering when the cold water touched her skin. She applied a slight dusting of rogue to her cheeks and pinned her hair up in an elegant knot but allowed a few curls to be loose and frame her face. Elaborate hair containing both combs, hair rats and decorations was the height of fashion but she had neither the patience nor the skill for such styles. Once dressed she took a quick look at herself in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable. The cut of her dress was flattering, and the light green colour brought out the warm tones in her dark hair and the green in her eyes. It wasn't the latest fashion, but not horribly out of style. Her mother's necklace gleamed at the base of her throat, the only jewellery she wore. Perhaps Courfeyrac wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with her after all.

When she stepped into the hallway, the sound of footsteps made her look up. "Hello, Doctor Meyer. Are you on your way to the Necker?" She greeted her neighbour with a smile.

The older gentleman tipped his hat. "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Guilhon. Yes, I'm on for the night shift. You are off to a celebration I assume?"

"How considerate of you. Yes, I'm meeting friends to celebrate."

The doctor opened the front door and let Sophie go through first. It was snowing lightly, promising to cover the city in a soft blanket of white. "I wish you a lovely evening, Mademoiselle," he said, closing the door behind them.

"And you too, Doctor."

The walk to Musichetta and Joly's flat wasn't particularly long and Sophie was in no hurry; the light drizzle of snow was calming, washing away the grey and drab of the city in favour of a white blank slate. When she reached Rue Poupée, which was usually a quiet street, it seemed the promise of the New Year was bringing out the festive spirit in people, and the street was alive with activity. She found her friends already in the street, talking with a young man she didn't recognise. Musichetta noticed her first and tugged on Joly's sleeve to alert him before stepping away to meet her. The older woman was dressed in a fashionable puce gown that set off her olive skin and dark eyes perfectly.

"That colour looks lovely on you," Sophie said after a brief greeting.

"Thank you, Sophie. You look lovely as well," Musichetta smiled. "You'll not be wanting for dance partners tonight, I can guarantee that."

They found an omnibus that would take them close to Le Perchoir, and as soon as they reached the establishment it was clear it was, as Courfeyrac had put it, the place to be. One side of the large hall housed the bar and dining section, while the other side was dedicated to dancing. A string quintet was currently playing a waltz and a fair amount of couples were already dancing. Despite the open windows it was practically stifling inside, and several ladies were fanning themselves furiously.

Sophie removed her bonnet and looked around for a familiar face. "How are we supposed to find the others in this crowd?"

Joly, being the tallest of the three, scanned the crowd. "I see Courfeyrac, he's at a table." Hand clasped firmly in Musichetta's, he paved a way towards the table where Courfeyrac were sitting.

He stood up when they approached. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming. You would not believe what I had to do to keep this table, you should be grateful."

"Thank you Courf," Sophie smiled. "Are the others not here yet?"

"I haven't seen them." He gave her a once over. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. You're looking more dapper than usual, is there a special lady you're hoping to impress tonight?"

"Only you, dear. It's good to see you, my friends," Courfeyrac said as a way of greeting when Combeferre and Enjolras joined them. "And especially you, Enjolras! Now that we're all gathered, how about ordering dinner?"

"I met Doctor Meyer on my way here, he is working tonight," Sophie said after they'd ordered food and a sufficient amount of wine and taken their place at the table. Both Combeferre and Joly knew her neighbour from the Necker, where they both worked extra shifts alongside their medical studies.

"I'm not at all surprised by that. He usually takes shifts around holidays or other celebrations," Joly said, lighting his pipe.

"Doesn't he have any family?" Musichetta asked.

"He doesn't." Sophie smiled in gratitude as Combeferre poured her some wine. "From what he's told me, his only living family is a sister in Germany."

"That seems like a lonely life."

"Perhaps in theory," Combeferre shrugged, "though many physicians find satisfaction and a meaning in helping others. He takes those shifts so the doctors with families won't have to."

Sophie nodded. "Have you read Comte's texts on positive philosophy? I think his views on altruism would interest you, especially when applied to the medical profession."

"I've not read it in its entirety, but I find what I've read so far fascinating. Especially his theories about theology."

"I find Comte boring," Courfeyrac injected, and Sophie laughed.

"You find all philosophers boring."

"I do not!" he protested, and turned to Enjolras. "Surely she is lying?"

"I'm afraid she is correct, or have you forgotten you fell asleep at Dubus' philosophy lecture last year?"

The dandy laughed. "I had forgotten about that. So philosophy is not my forte, you can hardly blame me for it."

"I certainly do not," Musichetta said.

"Of course not. You have many other amiable qualities that more than compensate for your lack of love for philosophy," Sophie quipped, taking a sip of her wine.

"Like what?" Courfeyrac sat up straighter, never wasting an opportunity to get his ego boosted.

She shared a look with Musichetta and shrugged. "You have really good taste in hats?"

–

As the evening wore on their laughter became louder and their conversations more intense. Sometime after dinner, Joly and Musichetta abandoned their friends for the dance floor where their joyful dispositions and affection for each other didn't go unnoticed by anyone. A classmate of Enjolras', a young man by the name of Perrot, joined the table and it wasn't long until a heated discussion arose.

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all!" Combeferre cried. "What I'm trying to say is, how can people change their fortunes if the structures of our society are constantly holding them back?" Combeferre's cheeks were red with frustration, and Sophie didn't blame him. Perrot had turned out to be an unpleasant man; haughty, argumentative and with a conviction of always being right.

"Why should people change their fortunes?" he countered, lips curled into a twisted grin. "There will always be class differences, and they exist for a reason. The poor lack the mental capability to strive for a better life, which is why they become thieves, beggars or prostitutes."

Sophie's cheeks flushed with anger but before she could answer him, Courfeyrac interrupted by standing and offering his hand.

"May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

Glancing briefly at Perrot, Sophie took Courfeyrac's hand. "You may."

"I don't know who was more likely to do that weasel physical harm, you or me," he said when they were out of earshot.

She gripped his hand tighter. "Let's not find out."

When the music for a quadrille started playing they took their place on the dance floor, Courfeyrac giving Sophie a grin and a wink. Sophie enjoyed dancing, especially with a skilled dancer such as Courfeyrac, and they danced two dances together. She declined his offer for a third one, so Musichetta took her place instead. Going back to their friends with Joly, Sophie drew an audible sigh of relief when she noticed Perrot had left the table, and instead a familiar figure was sitting next to Combeferre.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said, claiming the seat next to Enjolras as Grantaire was occupying hers.

Grantaire raised his glass, swaying slightly in his chair. "Mademoiselle. Do you dare leave your sweetheart in Courfeyrac's hands?" he then directed at Joly. "He may try to sweep her away from you."

The medical student waved his words away. "He would do no such thing. Besides, Chetta isn't the kind of girl who'd let herself be swept, least of all by Courfeyrac."

Grantaire drained his glass and set it down on the table a bit more forcefully than necessary. "I wouldn't leave my woman with that man, he's a philanderer."

"Can't you behave yourself for one evening?" Sophie scolded. "That's no way to speak of a friend." At her words, he simply stood and left. She turned to her companions with a frown. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Do not blame yourself," Combeferre reassured her. "He has been behaving oddly for days."

"Excuse me for a second," she said, standing and following after Grantaire. She found him at the bar ordering absinthe, and waited until he had the drink in his hand before speaking. "What's the matter? I'd like to think we are better friends than what you just displayed."

He gave a dry chuckle. "Do not concern yourself with my affairs, it's a far too dreary subject for such a night." With a small bow, he continued towards wherever he was going; leaving Sophie confused and alone.

As she started walking back to the table, Courfeyrac approached her. His curls were slightly disarrayed, but his eyes were sparkling and his face was alight.

She straightened his cravat with a smile. "Have you had your fill of dancing? Or perhaps you've simply run out of willing partners?"

Courfeyrac laughed. "Neither, but I am feeling rather parched, so I believe more wine is in order." Suddenly the laughter died and his eyes widened. "Oh no."

"What's the matter Courf, did you spot someone wearing last month's fashion?" she giggled.

He shook his head. "Do you see the blonde over there with the pink gloves? And the grisette she's talking to, with the large nose? I know them both. In the biblical sense, I mean."

It took Sophie a moment to decipher his meaning, and when she did she groaned. "Oh, for the love of God. With the number of mistresses you've had, have you honestly never entertained the idea of any of them meeting?"

He was now, unsuccessfully, trying to hide behind a large potted plant. "No, I haven't. Have they seen me?"

She glanced over and found the two women in question had gone their separate ways. "No, they've gone, which is good for you. Who knows what they would have done if they'd spotted you."

He visibly shuddered.

"Are you feeling alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Joly remarked as they approached the table.

As she sat, Sophie's arm accidentally brushed against Enjolras' and her skin tingled. "Our Don Juan here saw two of his past mistresses talking, I think he's in shock. Perhaps you should bring out your smelling salts, Joly, we would not want him to swoon."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "That can't be the first time that's happened."

Courfeyrac emptied his glass in one swing and grimaced. "The first of my knowledge at least." He batted away Joly's attempt to wave smelling salts under his nose. "Stop that." Refilling his glass again, he drank deeply. "Lord knows what they were talking about."

"Perhaps this should be a lesson," Combeferre said, taking the wine bottle away from Courfeyrac before he could take his third glass.

The dandy gave an exasperated sigh. "Can I help my love can't be contained to one girl?"

"You'll find yourself at the receiving end of a riot if you're not careful," Enjolras said.

Sophie let out a short laugh. "I can see you running down Rue Saint-Jacques, chased by twenty grisettes and losing your hat in the midst of it."

"Do not make jokes about such horrible things! Losing a hat is a serious grievance for any man."

She patted his hand. "I'm sorry, dear. If that scenario does come to pass I promise to buy you a new hat."

The boys continued to heckle Courfeyrac, and Sophie looked over at Musichetta, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange. She remarked on this fact, and the seamstress smiled teasingly.

"I'm just enjoying the view of a certain Lieutenant making his way toward our table."

Sophie's stomach clenched. "Is he really?"

The Lieutenant seemed like a nice enough man, but having him come over wasn't something she wanted. The business the Friends of the ABC were involved with was considered treason, and the last thing she wanted was to put her friends in jeopardy because the Lieutenant had formed some sort of attachment to her.

"Mademoiselle Guilhon, it's lovely to see you."

All conversation at the table seemed to halt when the Lieutenant spoke. Sophie could feel Courfeyrac's eyes on her and knew he was no doubt grinning. She didn't dare look at Enjolras.

She forced what she hoped was a demure smile on her face. "Lieutenant, you made it after all."

His moustache twitched when he smiled. "Yes, we were given leave to celebrate such an occasion." He glanced from Sophie and around the rest of the table. "I hope I haven't disrupted your party?"

"No, not at all. You remember Mademoiselle Vallee, I'm sure, and these are Messieurs Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Joly."

Bouchard bowed slightly in greeting. "Bonsoir." His eyes rested a beat too long on Enjolras. "I feel as though we have met before, Monsieur Enjolras, but I can't for the life of me remember where."

"I'm sure you have mistaken me for someone else, Lieutenant," Enjolras answered shortly. He was sitting perfectly still, his demeanour reminiscent of the marble statue he was so often likened to.

"Perhaps there is a likeness to someone I know." He turned back to Sophie. "Would you give me the pleasure of the next dance, Mademoiselle?"

She hesitated, not wanting to come off as rude. "Thank you kindly for the offer, Lieutenant, but I'm feeling a bit tired so I must decline."

If he was disappointed he didn't show it. "I understand, Mademoiselle. I wish you a continued pleasant evening."

"And the same to you."

He was barely ten steps away when Joly leant over the table. "So that's the famous Lieutenant? Chetta has barely shut up about him since yesterday."

"Why do you have to make such a fuss?" Sophie sighed, refilling her glass. "This is getting rather tiresome."

Musichetta straightened her gloves. "Because you deserve happiness, to have a nice man in your life who values your opinions."

"Are you implying I can't find happiness if I don't have a nice man who values my opinions?"

"I don't believe it to be so," Enjolras cut in.

"No surprises there," Courfeyrac mumbled into his glass, but Enjolras either didn't hear him or pretended not to.

Joly chuckled. "My friend, it's obvious you have never been struck by love's arrow. If you had, you would see it in another light."

Sophie's cheeks burnt, and she hoped the others didn't notice. "I don't believe you should depend solely on another person to give you happiness." She met Enjolras' gaze with her own unwavering one. Feuilly used to jest no one could hold up against Enjolras in a discussion, and there was no doubt the fanmaker was right. His intense gaze meant that keeping one's train of thought was sometimes a challenge. "It's risky, of course, to put yourself fully in someone else's hands, to give another person that amount of power over you."

He leant forward slightly, head tilted to the side. "But?"

"Knowing there's someone in your life who loves and supports you no matter what is a powerful motivator, and it will make you strive to be a better person. Surely such a gift is worth the risk?"

His eyes softened.

Courfeyrac laughed loudly. "Don't bother trying to change his mind, Sophie. Enjolras' only love is Patria!"

A high bell sounded, marking it was ten minutes until midnight. Fireworks were to be lit from Place Dauphine, and the embankment offered an excellent spot for seeing them. Sophie smiled in gratitude when Enjolras helped her on with her coat and accepted the offered arm as they followed the others outside. It had stopped snowing sometime in the hours they'd been inside, and a thick coating of snow covered the Paris night. Huddled together as a group, it was Musichetta who spoke first, exclaiming a "Look!" as fireworks filled the sky. A warm feeling spread through Sophie's chest when she looked at the colours lighting the night sky. This was a moment which stopped time, that made the troubles of everyday life fade away. There was only there and now.

"Happy new year!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, gripping Combeferre's hand and placing a kiss on Musichetta's cheek at the same time.

Sophie's eyes found Enjolras', and she smiled. "Bonne année, Enjolras."

His mouth turned up into a half-grin. "Bonne année, Citizeness." His scent washed over her as he leant in. His hair tickled against her neck, and his breath was warm on her cheek as he kissed it softly. She pulled back first, hoping the chill in the air would mask her flushed cheeks. Musichetta called her name, and the moment was gone.

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