Cheery shouts could be heard throughout the Great Hall, echoing off the magnificent walls and vast, enchanted ceiling. Embraces were given and tears were exchanged, and finally- finally, people started to leave, preparing to get on the train home from Hogsmeade.
Éponine had come down to say goodbye, but - when it got to the point where it would have been appropriate - neither knew quite what to say.
"Have fun with Blondie," Grantaire eventually muttered, referring to Cosette, the daughter of the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, who was - in Éponine's opinion - one of the most annoying people on the planet. Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that she was dating Marius Pontmercy, Éponine's one and only love, but even Grantaire had to admit that the blonde's general cheeriness and constant happy tone was irritating after a while. Sort of like Jehan, but worse.
Éponine snorted, mumbling something about talking to her brother the entire holiday. Then, as if she'd been preparing for it for a while, Éponine licked her lips and started to talk, her eyes fixed on a point a little to the left of Grantaire's ear.
"Grantaire, I just wanted to- er, say that your- well, situation. It's, yeah, it's really shitty and I see that and- just wanted to, um, say that you could, y'know, come and stay. If you wanted to. Just in case. Of your stuff."
Grantaire just stared at her, slightly unsure what he was supposed to take from the rushed garble.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, Éponine forced herself to look Grantaire in the eye.
"If you want to get away from the shit this Christmas, I- I was just saying you could come stay with us." Then, as if a wave of panic had crested inside of her, she started to rush again, tumbling over the words coming out of her mouth in a jumbled necklace of beaded sentences. "You don't have to! No, no, no - I mean it's not going to be great because we don't have much money and my parents can be complete twats, but if your parents are just being really shitty with you then please don't be afraid to come because sometimes I really worry about you and-"
Her hands were waving around, trying to demonstrate her point, until Grantaire caught each wrist in his own hands, his arms now free of the restraining bandages. Even then, she kept going, unaware of the fact that Grantaire was trying to calm her down and stop her talking.
"-and sometimes I think that your parents wouldn't care if you stopped taking your potion or you really did try and top yourself properly and I just want you to know that I care and I would really-"
"Éponine." Grantaire managed to get out, slightly strangled, his emotions almost getting the better of him. She recognised this and instantly shut her mouth, startled at the reaction to her proposal.
"Sorry," She muttered, tugging her wrists gently from their constraints, rubbing them a little, letting her own cold hands soothe the strange feeling the capture had given them. "Just wanted you to know that."
"Thank you." Grantaire managed to get out, and encircled her with his arms, resting his chin on her head. By taking deep breaths, he finally managed to calm himself down enough to bid goodbye to the brunette, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and apologising for the fact that he wouldn't be able to write.
At this point, he usually sought out Scorpius so they could get a carriage together, but he seemed to have disappeared (along with certain redheaded Weasley), so Grantaire made the trip to Hogsmeade alone, selfishly taking up an entire carriage, and not caring at all.
By the time he got to the train station, he had a heavy weight in his stomach that he didn't seem to be able to shake, and knew he wouldn't for another few weeks; he was going home.
Enjolras had always thought that patrolling was something to be admired, and yet he found the act of it rather dull after almost three months of it: not to mention it being constant, repetitive and draining. Of course, he would never admit this to anyone for fear of being suspended from the job, but he still mulled over the thought as he counted down the last few minutes of his shift.
However, just as he reached the end of the next train carriage, he noticed a brunette male eyeing him from out the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he recognised him as the boy who'd sat next to him at the first Quidditch match, and one of the people who went to his meetings, a regular one at that. A few weeks ago, he'd made himself known by suggesting writing to the Minister of Health, enquiring about the states of the hospitals and politely suggesting that he change the arrangement so that blood status no longer mattered in the order of treatment. This had been a new idea for most of them, so had caused surprise and excitement at the notion.
His name was... Grantaire LaBelle?
Politely nodding towards him, Enjolras said a quiet "LaBelle," and was prepared to move on, preferably towards the end of the train with his friends, but the brunette had other ideas.
"Grantaire," He corrected, giving Enjolras a nervous smile, "Call me Grantaire."
"I- alright." The blond thought this a little odd, but he didn't have a chance to say so, since a tall, thin male with a pointed face and platinum hair interrupted, tugging on Grantaire's arm, only realising a split second later that Enjolras had paused to exchange words with his friend.
"Oh, sorry," The teenager grinned easily, "Didn't see you there."
After a moment of awkward silence, Scorpius stuck his hand out for Enjolras to shake.
"Er, Scorpius Malfoy."
"Enjolras Descoteaux."
The two shook hands as a flicker of recognition drifted over Scorpius' face.
"Ah, you run the club Grantaire goes to?"
The brunette looked visibly distressed, but Enjolras couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Through gritted teeth, the dirty blonde managed to get out his usual response to whenever someone called the group a "club".
"It's actually an organisation."
"Oh," Scorpius looked a little confused, but his polite manners had been beaten into him well, and so he merely nodded and gave Enjolras a small smile. "Well, looks like you're on patrol, so we'll leave you to it."
The platinum blond slid into the compartment, dragging the drinker with him, but not before the brunette shot Enjolras an apologetic smile that seemed to be excusing Scorpius' awkward manners, but the blond barely noticed as he suddenly took note of the shockingly blue eyes that were connected with his.
In all the time that he'd known Grantaire, Enjolras had never noticed his eyes. His own had always been looking at some other paperwork or board, never meeting anyone's eye but Combeferre's - looking for the approval on the idea proposed, which was all the eye contact he needed.
But these were a shocking blue - the deep blue of chipped glass, throwing glints and shadows through the iris, the colour mesmerising-
Enjolras blinked, and Grantaire was gone from the hallway, a few screaming Second Years having materialised some way down the corridor in his place. Suddenly, Enjolras felt an ache, a longing to look at those eyes again, much as he tried to shake it off.
Whilst he managed to get the worst of the ache out of his chest, the lingering still stuck, try as he might to get rid of it.
This feeling remained with him for longer than he'd like to admit.
"Ah, Marius!"
Taking a deep breath, Marius turned to look his short grandfather in the eye, preparing himself for an extremely boring Christmas holiday.
"Grandfather," He greeted his elderly relative mildly, trying to hide the distaste in his voice, "How have you been?"
"Very well, thank you Marius. And yourself?"
"Well enough." Marius swallowed a snarky comment and followed his Grandfather out of the platform and through the wall of Platform 9 3/4. When they reached the other side, his Grandfather extended a bent arm, offering it to Marius so that they could apparate together.
A horrible, sick twist in his stomach - crushing his windpipe and cracking his bones - caused his head to spin, and then- they were there; outside the Pontmercy Manor.
"Do come in," The elderly gentleman offered, as if Marius was a stranger in this house. "May I offer you a beverage?"
Marius was already feeling on edge and constricted: he'd only been inside the house for seven seconds, if that.
"Thank you, but no." Marius tried to keep breathing. He hated this house so much, "I think I'll go and unpack now, Grandfather, if that suits you?"
The other nodded, and then reminded his grandson that dinner would be served at half past eight. This left the teenager to drag his trunk up the stairs, waving off the help of the House Elf, despite his struggles; he felt it was so unnecessary to put on airs and graces, especially around his own family.
Even as he reached his room, he noted the lack of personal items; it was like staying in a hotel room, or a guest room at someone else's house: no paintings on the walls, no clothes scattered around, no photographs anywhere: Marius knew that this wasn't where he belonged.
His true home was Hogwarts.
Ever since he'd stepped through the grand doors on his first day, he knew that his Grandfather's house would never be home again: Hogwarts was where he felt safe and loved. Here; he felt neither.
Before he unpacked, Marius decided to send a letter to Cosette, knowing that she'd be bored, stuck at the castle all by herself.
The letter started with "Dearest Cosette" and rambled on for almost two feet of parchment before Marius decided to break it off; as bored as she would be, he didn't want to bore her any more than necessary. For a few moments, before he called his owl over to send the letter all the way up to Scotland, he sat and thought about his girlfriend: the way she laughed when Marius messed something up - oh so delicate, so as not to offend him, but still causing her eyes to crinkle at the edges; the way she played with her hair when she was bored, plaiting tiny strands until her whole head was full of them; the way she stared deep into his eyes and caressed his face before she kissed him-
His whole body ached with sorrow, missing her presence already.
A sharp crack snapped Marius out of his thoughts, and he hastily tied the letter onto his owl's outstretched leg whilst simultaneously reassuring the house elf that had been sent to fetch him that he would be coming downstairs momentarily.
With that news, the house elf bobbed away, leaving Marius to wallow in his self pity alone, tied to the promise of dinner.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
"Joly - don't forget to write!" Jehan cheerfully reminded him as he threw his arms around his friend's shoulders. Over the top of the hug, Joly spotted Combeferre, who merely gave Joly a nod and a smile, knowing that the lack of physical contact in their farewell would be greatly appreciated. Whilst Joly appreciated Jehan's sentiment, the thought of the number of germs that passed between them during that hug made him feel nauseous, although he still promised Jehan that he would write and gave him - what he hoped - was a reassuring smile.
Almost as soon as he was released from the clutches of the germs hive, (that jumper had to have to have been full of germs and dust and diseases and- Joly had to stop and reminded himself that Jehan was his friend, no matter his clothing choices) he struggled over the barrier and checked the digital train timetables at the head of the platform.
"Oi, freak!"
The familiarity of the voice hit Joly deep in the gut, striking a chord that didn't settle well with him at all.
Turning slowly, Joly took in the arrogant swagger and cocky smile of James Potter the Second. Even after school was over, in the holidays, there was no escape. Blood pounded in Joly's ears and all oxygen cut off from his lungs, panic setting into the young boy's heart.
Enjolras wasn't here to save him now.
"Where are all your little friends?" The taller of the two sneered, finally reaching Joly, an unreadable expression on his face, "Ditched you for someone less uptight?"
Over his shoulder, Joly could see James' best friend, Fred Weasley, sniggering at his misfortune. But then James was suddenly closer than he had been before, the smaller of the two able to catch the glint in his eye and count the two day stubble, despite his quivering state.
It was the closest they'd ever been in public, and it was unnerving for them both.
Just as James raised a hand, probably to give Joly a shimmering black eye, he paused - hesitated for barely a second - and flicked his eye over Joly's shoulder, to where the hypochondriac presumed was the Potter family, waiting for James to come off the platform and not realising that he already had.
An unspoken sentence passed between the two, before the elder let a flash of surprise appear in his eyes.
The entire exchange was only a few seconds long, but the brunette couldn't help feeling that it was significant, somehow. The rest of the train station suddenly felt silent as James turned to leave, and all Joly could think about was the pained expression on the other's face as he went, dragging Fred Weasley (the Second, as he so often reminded people) along with him. A small frown was sent Joly's way, but the brunette barely registered it as he himself turned to leave.
"Hey!"
By now, Joly had definitely had enough of people, so kept his head firmly down and rummaged around his shoulder bag for his cleansing wipes as he walked towards platform eleven, where his train would be leaving in just a few minutes.
"Hey, Joly!"
Emerald green eyes suddenly bobbed into view as Joly turned, blinking wide as he took in Albus Potter calling his name. It was a surreal moment.
"Er," He reached the other after a skidded halt, pink spots dancing on his cheeks, "I, er, just wanted to apologise for my brother."
"Wh-what?"
"I mean," Albus took a deep breath, "He's an arse, and I saw him about to punch you back there and I just wanted to apologise on his behalf because-"
"It's fine, honestly," The shy boy muttered back, subtly trying to spray a new Febreeze can (handy pocket-sized, for every on-the-go cleaning mission) into the foul air between them without being caught, "Happens more often than you'd think."
Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, as the Potter's eyes burned with the brightness of an Avada curse at the mention of a multiple offence.
"It does, huh?" The dark hair on his head was so similar to his father's that Joly wasn't sure that he was talking to the son of Harry Potter, and not the man himself, "Well, I really am truly sorry about that. Erm, I'll say something to him about it - it has to stop at some point, so..."
The conversation fizzled out, and Joly awkwardly pointed to the train he was supposed to be on that was now gaining passengers at an alarming rate.
"I, er, better go."
They exchanged a nod, both feeling a little foolish, and went their separate ways.
Slightly shaken, Joly walked along to where the Newcastle train would leave in 3.2 minutes from the platform a few metres over, trying to attract the least attention possible whilst carrying his heavy trunk, and probably not succeeding.
Quickly pushing the whole affair to the back of his mind, and making a note to ask Combeferre about it later, Joly focussed on the thing that would occupy him and his thoughts for the next few hours: the train.
It wasn't that Joly didn't like trains per-ce, it was more the cleanliness of them. Unlike the Hogwarts train, the regulars were only cleaned maybe every eight hours or so, and it was like he could feel the diseases being sucked into his lungs, tucked away in corrupted air and fuzzy seats, waiting to spring into action.
The mini hand-sanitiser from the outer section of his bag quickly made an appearance, cleansing as many of the inanimate objects that he could reach that wouldn't be ruined by it. Usually, this was just part of the routine, but it was also a way of calming his nerves; if anything could wipe the memory of James Potter from Joly's memory, it would be cleaning.
His sharp eyes assessed the train as he dragged his trunk into the luggage area, careful as to not let it touch any other suitcases. What with the hold up, Joly hadn't managed to get to the train quick enough to get a window seat next to a table, and severely regretted it.
He assessed the few remaining seats and felt a darkness settle in his heart.
The mini cleansing kit in his shoulder bag was at the ready - four and a half hours lay ahead of him, and he planned on using the time wisely.
The old car bounced over the uneven road making Jehan spring backwards in his seat. After the endless train journey, and long car ride he was longing to get out and stretch his legs. But on the other hand he was enjoying seeing his mother again, he felt as though it had been years since he'd seen her and the rest of his family. And it would probably do him some good for him to get some space from certain friends of his for a while.
Finally the car turned into the small village where the family lived, which was situated in the middle of the Yorkshire dales, basically in the middle of nowhere, but Jehan loved that about his house; the beautiful countryside surrounding it. Their house was the last on the road, right on the edge of the Moor.
Jehan opened the door, it was raining, as usual. But it was England, so what did he expect?
"Jehan! Jehan!" Alison, Jehan's half-sister came sprinting out of the little house as fast as her little legs would allow, before actually jumping into his arms. Jehan had always been amazed that a four year old could move so swiftly.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by a whack on the head by the little girl "You've been gone too long." She whined with an angry, yet adorable, scowl.
"I'm sorry, but I have to go to school." Jehan replied half angry, half amused as he placed the little blonde back onto the ground, already feeling a small bruise forming onto of his head.
"She's just missed you," Jehan's father chuckled as he gave him a hug. Well, technically he was Jehan's step father, but the man had always treated Jehan like his own son, and as far as Jehan was concerned, he was his father, so when his mother had remarried when Jehan was five, he had changed his last name to Prouvaire so that they were a proper family.
After being released from the hug, Jehan bounced to the car, and with a slight groan hoisted his trunk and owl cage out of the car.
"Need help?" His mother asked, planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Nope I got it," Jehan muttered, focusing on not breaking his toe.
After some careful manoeuvring, and a lot of inward swearing, Jehan had managed to drag his things up the unhelpfully narrow stair case and into his box-sized room.
With a final tug, the poet collapsed panting onto the seat at his desk.
"Dinner's in half an hour!" His mother shouted up the stairs.
"Okay," he hollered back.
For a second he hesitated, was it too keen to write to his friends the moment he'd got home? Probably, but that had never stopped him before, and it didn't stop him now.
Pulling several pieces of blank parchment the poet started to write and in no time at all six letters lay neatly sealed on his desk, one for each of his friends. Though he wrote the letters at top speed, it had taken Jehan almost five minutes to muster up the courage to write 'love from Jehan XXX' on Courfeyrac's letter, rather than the 'from Jehan X' which was on the bottom of everyone else's letters.
Blushing to himself Jehan scooped up the letters and approached the dosing barn owl in the corner of his room, and gently tapped the bird awake, needless to say it didn't look happy when it opened it's eyes. The mood grew once it clocked the six letters in is owners hand.
Cosette had stayed in Hogwarts, which Jehan was sure was somewhere in Scotland. Jehan knew that Joly lived in the very north of England (possibly Newcastle, but he wasn't sure) and Courfeyrac lived in the Midlands. To top things off Marius and Enjolras lived in the South, and Combeferre's house was somewhere near Dartmoor.
Jehan's owl knew this as well.
Fying through a rainy winters night carrying six letter was bad, what made it worse was that each letter was aimed at a completely different part of the country. Jehan hadn't known it was possible for an owl to be cynical, but if it was, then his owl certainly was.
With what was definitely a roll of the eyes the bird grasped, with difficultly, the six letters and took off gracefully through the open window.
Smiling to himself Jehan wondered back over to his desk, already excited about the replies.
All the letters he'd received from his friends were scattered around his room, hidden among countless pages of poetry and school notes, all except those from one person.
Hidden under his desk in an empty shoebox was every letter that Courfeyrac had ever sent him.
In fact not all of them were letters, some were just the silly notes that Courf would pass to him in class when he was bored, one was Courfeyrac's failed attempt at writing a poem for Jehan's 15th birthday present, there was even a scrunched up piece of paper he'd thrown at Jehan to get his attention at one of Enjolras' meetings.
Jehan was well aware that this collection went beyond sad. But he'd didn't care, he simply couldn't get rid of them.
"Jehan, dinner's ready," His mother shouted from the floor below. Roused from his daydream the poet practically jumped out of his chair and out of the door.
Courfeyrac dragged his truck up the stairs, cursing user his breath the entire time. His birthday was in less than a month, it was so unfair! Why couldn't he just use a damn levitation charm? He'd already had to drag his stuff from platform nine and three quarters to another train which stopped off in his town and then from that train station to his apartment block, which though situated almost in the middle of town, was in a pretty rough area, all because his Dad was too fucking lazy to come and pick him up.
And then the lift had broken.
Okay, so he didn't live on the top floor, but four flights of stairs was still a lot to carry all your stuff up.
"Son of a-" Courfeyrac cut off his shout as he dropped his trunk on his foot again.
Gritting his teeth the dark haired boy stomped down the hallway, all the way to the door at the end, before flinging it open.
"Dad, I'm home!" He yelled into the tiny apartment, before dumping his stuff in the hallway. The boy was about to collapse on the tiny sofa when a shout echoed from the next room.
"SHIT, COURFEYRAC, THERE'S A BLOODY OWL IN THE KITCHEN!"
Groaning the boy pulled himself to his feet.
"Dad there's been owls coming here since forever,"
"Well get it the hell out of the kitchen! I don't want it fucking up the food!"
Sighing the brunette walked the short distance to the kitchen, took a firm grasp of the small owl dithering about in the small space, and all but threw it into the living room.
"There, happy now?"
"You've no idea," His Dad replied smirking, the age gap between the two was striking, as Courfeyrac's father was only just 32. Sometimes Courfeyrac actually forgot that he was his father, as the two treated each other almost like friends, meaning that Courfeyrac was very at ease in the muggle world because of his dad. In addition to this the two looked identical, some people even said it was a little eerie how similar they were, especially as they had the same personality. The only difference between the two was that Courfeyrac was smart enough not to get anyone pregnant when he was sixteen.
An indignant squawk brought Courfeyrac's attention back to the bird in the living room. Turning, he recognised the minute barn owl as Jehan's and was unable to stifle a hysteric laugh.
Being any owl looked like a boring existence, being Jehan's owl made being a tapeworm look attractive, as the poet would manage to write about six yard long letters each day, all of which were headed for different parts of the country. But either way, the sight of the glaring barn owl clutching about five oversized letters in its beck was nothing less than hilarious.
Still chuckling to himself, the dark haired boy opened the letter addressed to him as the owl waddled up and down the coffee table in an agitated manor.
Courfeyrac quickly scanned the letter, before snatching up a blank piece of parchment and scrawling a reply, before folding it in-half and offering it to the owl.
If the creature had eyebrows, then they would be raised.
With a squawk the enraged owl snatched up the letter and took off through the open window, before it was given anything else to carry.
Sniggering to himself, Courfeyrac rooted in the drawers to find the mobile phone he used when living in the muggle world, he quickly switched it, and scrolled though his contacts before hitting the dial button.
"Hello," came a female voice from the other end of the line.
"Hello, is that Mrs Provaire?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Oh sorry, I haven't introduced myself," The brunette said as smoothly as possible "I'm Courfeyrac, one of Jehan's friends. Is there any chance that I could talk to him?"
"Em, of course," the woman said, sounding a little confused "just hold on for a second,"
Couferyac listened to the sound of someone ascending the stairs and then a muffled conversation.
"Coufeyrac?"
"Why hello my fine friend," the boy said as over the top as he could.
"Erm, why are you calling my house?" The other asked sounding pleased, if a little confused.
"Well it's the only number I have for you, if you give me your mobile number, then you will be adorned with my fabulous texts as well!"
"I don't have a phone,"
Courfeyrac choked slightly "Why not?"
"Why would I? All my friends are wizards. I wrote to you instead, didn't you get my letter?"
"Of course I did, that's why I'm ringing,"
"You mean you're not writing back?" Jehan enquired sounding upset.
"Of course I am, I know what you're like," Courfeyrac replied rolling his eyes "Anyway, I just rung to say hi,"
"Hi"
"Well, thanks for your scintillating conversation,"
Courfeyrac just heard the begining of a sarcastic reply, when a shout came from the kitchen.
"Courf, the food's ready."
"Be there in a minute," he shouted back.
"You mean you don't want the meal that you're father has lovingly prepared for you?" His dad replied in mock hurt.
"You stuck it in the microwave for five minutes and then put it on a plate," The younger replied rolling his eyes "Look Jehan, I'm gonna have to go, I'll call you later, okay?"
"Sure," Jehan replied in his overly optimistic voice "I'll be waiting," he said as the line went dead.
Three days to Christmas.
Éponine hates Christmas; perhaps it had something to do with all the Christmases that she'd spent in the muggle world, having to do errands for her father in the freezing cold, wearing clothes that were barely enough in summer, yet alone mid winter. But, for whatever reason, she hated it, with a passion.
And so the girl found herself alone in the Slytherin common room, feeling even more wretched than usual. And so she started to think about him, she just couldn't help it. It was like he was always there in the back of his mind and all it took for her to relapse into thinking about him was a lapse in the conversation. Which wasn't good because at that moment the common room was that not-quite-silent quiet, and she just couldn't help herself.
It's been ages. Seriously, ages since he chose Cosette over her, but Éponine still couldn't quite comprehend it, like the truth has only just hit her.
It's like in those stupid muggle cartoons she used to watch when she had no idea that any of this world even existed, and one of the characters would always run off the edge of a cliff and there's a moment of 'Have I really just run off a cliff?' And then you fall. Right now she was fucking falling. And it was horrible.
She just wanted to run away, not with Marius, God no, not anymore. But she did want to run away; she didn't want to go back to school, or life for that matter. No, she wanted to run away because she'd lost everything. In a really pathetic way she wished Grantaire was here, him and his bloody cynicism would jokingly tell her that if she really had lost everything then she's lost bad things as well. But then he wouldn't really believe it, so she wouldn't believe it, the two of then just didn't believe in anything.
But Éponine still missed her best friend, and the worst part was she wasn't able to write to him over the holidays; if Grantaire's parents discovered that their only son was best friends with a 'mudblood' then the punishment would go beyond pain. But she did get updates about how he was doing from Scorpius who was deemed as a worthy companion by Mr and Mrs LaBelle, well he was a Malfoy so it was no big surprise.
"Oi,"
Éponine raises her head, roused from her thoughts. Her younger brother was stood near the entrance to the Slyhterin common room looking immensely out of place.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" The girl asked moodily. It wasn't because she disliked her brother, it was more the fact that there was another human being within a ten metre radius and she might have to converse with it.
Gavroche just shrugged, which was odd; out of the pair of them he'd always been the more sociable, but he must have sensed his sisters mood.
Without a word the young boy crossed the deserted Slytherin common room and all but flung himself on top of his sister.
Éponine gave a feeble poke, she was far too tired for one of her aggressive retorts, so she just hugged him closer. The two of them just snuggled together on the sofa, the way they used to do when they were younger and things at home got really bad.
Éponine let out a sigh.
"It's just not fair,"
"I know," the reply sounded as hopeless as the statement, so Éponine held her little sibling closer and rested her chin on his shoulder, her dark eyes fluttering closed.
It was early evening, Combeferre still felt positively stuffed from the huge Christmas dinner his mother had made for the occasion. It wasn't that she was a bad cook, on the contrary; she was possibly the best at cooking he knew, even compared to the house elves of Hogwarts. But she did have a habit of making too much food, and as there was only Combeferre and his parents, it meant that eating Christmas dinner was a truly difficult task. But on the upside it meant that Courfeyrac preferred to visit Combeferre's house rather than Enjolras', if that was considered to be an upside.
The teen was settled by the roaring fire reading while his parents cleared away the reminders of the meal, obviously he'd offered to help them, but they'd insisted that he hadn't needed to. So there he was enjoying his Christmas gifts; almost all of them were books - not that he minded! He loved books.
A book on rare and extinct magical creatures and plants from Jehan, a guide to magical injuries special 8th edition from Joly, 'A magical injustice: the truth about the ministry' from Enjolras, and finally 'one hundred fail-free ways to charm witches' with 'Dude you really need this!' Scrawled in Courfeyrac's messy handwriting inside the front cover. All of which he was sure he'd use at some point... Well, most of them anyway.
He'd just reached chapter 4 of Enjolras' book, when the warm fire where the boy had been warming himself seconds before flared, it's sparks turning emerald and the blond boy stepped out of the fireplace. As this took place Combeferre hardly looked up- it had become almost a routine occurrence that Enjolras would get so bored and annoyed with his family that he'd end up coming to sleep at Combeferre's house. He was practically part of the family, as was Coufeyrac, after all they'd known each other since they were five.
"Have a good time?" Combeferre enquired, already knowing the reply.
"I suppose," the other boy sniffed,spending time with his family always put Enjolras in a foul mood. He'd just sat down heavily into the armchair next to Combeferre's when suddenly his face broke into a radiant smile "Thank you for the present, I'm sure that I'll find it very useful."
"Same to you," Combeferre replied pointing towards the book he'd been reading before, causing his friend to smile almost smugly 'I'm Combeferre's best friend and I got him a proper birthday present!' Causing Combeferre to grin even more at the expression plastered across Enjolras' face.
"Did you get anything else?" The blond asked still looking a little too happy with himself.
"Just the usual," Combeferre replied, waving his hand vaguely towards the monstrous pile of books "and you?"
"Similar story really. Although," Enjolras said, a small crease forming on his brow "I did get this," reaching his hand into the bag he'd brought with him, he withdrew a medium sized box, and delicately handed it to his best friend.
Curious, Combeferre to it. Whatever was inside was very light, he noted as he momentarily fiddled with the catch.
"There was no note to it; I've no idea who it's from," Enjolras confessed as the other boy drew back the lid.
Inside the plain box, sat on a plush dark velvet, was a quill. The feather was sleek and jet black. A faint gleam to it's soft texture. The metal part of the quill, Combeferre was sure, was silver. But inspire of the box's grand appearance, the metal of the quill was plain, no patterns or embellishments on it.
Practical but beautiful; just like Enjolras.
"I mean, it seems ridiculous to spend so much money on such an everyday item. I would have thought that..." And Enjolras was off on his rant about how to help the less fortunate magical creatures, and that people should be focusing on helping others. Combeferre merely nodded along, smiling slightly to himself, wondering wether or not he should tell his best friend the person who'd sent him the gift, or if he should just let Enjolras figure it out by himself. Which Combeferre was sure he would do... Sooner or later, at least.