Advent Calendar (Enjolras, 1812)

"Renè, your Oma is here!"

"Maman!" He rushes into her open arms, and she pulls him close, swinging him into the air and laughing along with him.

"You are getting far too heavy for that, my sweet," she says, setting him down and brushing a lock of fair hair out of his face.

"And getting taller every time I see you," the heavily accented voice of his Oma chimes out from behind him, clear as a bell even though she's older than Renè could ever comprehend at the tender age of six years. "And blonder! It looks like we will make a German of you yet."

His nanny is hovering behind him, and at a kind word from his mother, she bobs a little curtsey and disappears down the servant stairs - Renè has a habit of following her. Even though his father doesn't like it, the servants are very warm and welcoming and always let him sit with a cup of milk and talk to him in-between their duties. He watches the footmen polish silver and the lady's maid sew his mother's dresses, the scullery maids with their rough, chapped hands and the butler with his quiet, authoritative air, and wonders why he doesn't have to learn to cook and clean and sew.

(When he says this to them, they just laugh and ruffle his hair. He's too little to understand, they say., too small to realise that this-is-the-way-the-world-works.)

"Look," Oma has settled herself in the rocking chair and beckoned for him to climb up onto her lap. He can feel the silk of her day-dress slippery under his fingers. "I brought you this." She tips a pile of brightly decorated boxes out of her bag, each with a numble boldly engraved on it.

"What is it, Oma?"

"It is an advent calendar, liebling. They are all the rage in Hamburg at the moment. You know all about advent?"

"It is the time where we wait for our Lord Jesus to be born," Renè recites dutifully. "He's born on Christmas, isn't he Maman?"

"Yes, he is."

"So for every day of Advent, you open the box with the right number on it, and there will be something inside waiting for you."

"Can I open it now?"

"No, liebling, you must wait until the start of Advent."

"How many days?"

"Three."

"Three days?"

"Yes."

When his nanny has returned and he's run off to play, his mother starts to set the boxes up in neat little stacks above the fire. "Such a spirited boy. You've raised him well, Frieda."

"Thank you, Mumie. I just..." she glances over her shoulder at her son, who is happily sitting and listening to his nanny read to him.

"You just..."

"I just worry that sometimes he gets himself into too much trouble. And that someday he won't be able to charm his way out of it with a smile and a few pretty words."

"Well," her mother says complacently, rocking the chair back and forth gently. "That day is a long way away yet, if it ever does come. And perhaps the appearance of a sibling will help make him more responsible."

"How did you know?" Frieda gapes at her mother in astonishment.

"Mother's instincts, my darling, mother's instincts. Congratulations."

A/N I got the idea that Enjolras is part German from another author, who had Courfeyrac mistake him for being German! Please review - I'd love to hear from you.