Only one more room to go.
Armed with what must be fifty or so cleaning products (if not more), Joly advanced along the corridor, reminding himself constantly to breathe through the paper mask he had plastered onto his face.
Shuffling the products around in his arms, Joly managed to get the air freshener to the front, positioned at the helm; ready to fire.
As the sky blue corridor sucked him further and further towards the worst of the mess, the teen reflected on his impressive work so far: the bathroom was impeccable; his parents' room was neater than it had been in years; clutter had disappeared from all over the house, and was now sat in a black bag patiently waiting for the muggle bin-men to take it to a happier place. Despite all this torture - and the fact that it was almost two in the morning - Joly couldn't sleep. There was still one room left that he hadn't yet tackled, and he simply couldn't relax whilst it wasn't clean.
One last deep breath and-
Joly reached for the door handle, and let the door open.
Bright light hit his eyes, causing his finger to press down on the air freshener's trigger instantly, releasing a soothing hiss of cleansing chemicals. Even as his eyes adjusted to the conditions, Joly had to take a few deep breaths to remind himself that he was protected and heavily armed, and that he could fix this.
As quietly as he could, the young male placed his bucket of supplies on the ground next to him, switching almost instantly into the efficient, prepared version of himself that was needed for the situation at hand.
It was a few hours later, at half past four in the morning, that he stood back to admire his masterpiece. Gleaming surfaces beamed at him in delight as he sank gratefully into a breakfast bar stool, sighing happily at the result.
The kitchen had always been his worst nightmare. Even as a child, he'd disliked to spend any prolonged amount of time in there, just in case. It was the breeding ground of germs and bacteria and goodness knows what else - the poor hypochondriac didn't even want to think about it.
Exhausted, Joly barely noticed the kitchen door slowly open, the person behind it probably unsure whether or not they'd been burgled. However, he spun around - almost falling off his stool - upon hearing the exclamative that echoed through the room.
"Holy mother-fucking-" The adolescent cut himself off before he could let the worst of the words tumble from his mouth. "Joly, what the hell are you doing up so late- early, even?"
The teen's slouched stance clearly showed that he'd just rolled out of bed, his hair sticking up at all angles and pyjamas - if you could call them that - so wrinkled they could be made out of dried prunes, and it made Joly cringe to even look at him.
"Just cleaning." Was his response, hoping that his brother would drop the subject, as it had recently become quite a touchy one. Ever since James Potter had cranked up the level on verbal abuse, Joly had become a lot more conscious of his cleaning rites, and was trying hard to help them occur less. It hadn't been working. If anything, the stress had been getting to him more, and his cleaning got more vigorous and more regular. Bloody James Potter.
"At four in the morning?" Allan - Joly's thirteen year old brother - managed to get out in between yawns, "You're nuts."
Heat twisted in Joly's stomach, and he took a deep breath before sliding off the white stool, giving his brother a sad smile before he made to leave. Then, a small spluttering stopped him, and he felt a hand on his arm.
"No, I- I didn't mean like that, I-"
He realised his mistake, and quickly removed his hand from Joly's arm, watching silently as his brother struggled to keep a straight face.
"Joly, I didn't mean for it to sound like that, I'm sorry."
Slowly, a small smile broke on Joly's face; apology accepted. Mirroring his brother, a crooked smile appeared on the others face, before they both took seats at the breakfast bar, too tired to talk but too awake to sleep.
After a few moments of pleasant quiet, Allan broke the delicate silence with a question.
"Joly, why do you hate germs and dirt and stuff so much?"
The other male's sagging shoulders managed a shrug.
"Dunno," His legs swung childishly as he twisted the stool from left to right, "I mean, I know I'm crazy, and I know it's supposed to be in my head, but it's real, I'm sure of it."
"But," The innocence was evident on Allan's face, his usual bravo stripped away along with the light outside. "That summer you thought you had Ecoli-?"
"Well, I know now that I didn't," He managed, with difficulty. A small part of him was still certain that he had had Ecoli that summer, because most of the symptoms were all correct, although he knew that if he did then he would probably be dead by now. Combeferre had helped him with that one. "But it feels so completely and utterly real, honestly, it really does feel like I've got these illnesses."
Joly left the words to hang in the air for a moment, so he could let them sink in.
"What illness do you have now?"
Curiosity weaved itself throughout the question, the sleepy eyes transformed into bright orbs of light, his entire body transformed.
But the tiredness was starting to take its toll on the elder of the two, and his eyes began to droop.
"Can we discuss this in the morning?" He mumbled out, sliding off the stool. Because of his movement, Joly missed the look of disappointment on his brother's face.
"Sure." Admittedly, his brother hid it well, but it was still traceable, if you were expecting it.
"Night."
"Night."
It felt like forever until Joly reached his bedroom, the stairs being the worst of the journey. Every single bone in his body was now noticing the lack of sleep, and were aching to relax themselves in the cool sheets of the freshly made bed.
However, just as the hypochondriac lowered himself onto the bed, he heard a faint sound of- flapping wings?
Out of bed in a shot - tiredness forgotten - Joly lunged towards the open window, closing it within milliseconds of the owl hitting the window with a painful smack.
A moment of silence hung in the air as Joly watched the confused bird recover itself in faint horror, before he recognised it as Jehan's grumpy lump of possessed poultry. To be fair, Joly could see why it was so permanently angry, having to fly all over the country all the time, but it was not coming in his freshly cleaned room. Nope. Not happening. Zip. Nilch. Nada.
It took almost five minutes of coaxing to get the bird to peck off the letter on his leg, leaving it on the windowsill for Joly to pick up later. Minutes passed as the bird regained its energy and flew off again, leaving the letter for the teen to pick up.
"Bloody owls." He managed, before dragging the window open and snatching the letter, practically throwing it onto his nice clean desk before clambering into bed, finally able to relax.
It was just as he was falling asleep that his ears picked up something else - something light and merry.
The birds were singing.
Joly's eyes flew open, and, in that moment, the poor, sleep-deprived boy honestly considered committing brutal murder.
When Jehan woke his bedroom was dark.
"My, my you've grown quite a bit," the familiar drawl made Jehan whip around, standing up so fast that he almost knocked over his chair in the process.
Standing there, right there in the cafe was Jehan's father.
The poet stood speechless; it wasn't, couldn't, be possible!
The older man's head was tilted to one side slightly. Then, as though he was speaking to a small child, or someone very stupid he said "I mean since when you were a pathetic little boy hiding under the bed, I can remember that Jehan very well; he was a useless little coward who was too weak to stand up for himself, I can see that that hasn't changed!"
His father moved closer, Jehan took a step back, feeling sick as he felt the wall behind him. But despite his hopeless situation hate rose in the boys chest like a wave "I'm not afraid of you, I never was! Now get out of here you worthless-"
A fist slammed into Jehan's face "What did I tell you about speaking to me like that?" Through the white stars popping in front of him, Jehan could make out a fist ready to strike him again.
Jehans eyes flew open, he sat bolt upright. His room was still dark.
The poet's heart rate was still thundering out of control.
Forcing himself to breath slowly, Jehan stood up and began to pace around his box sized room.
He should have known that coming back would start up his old dreams again.
He could still remember it fairly clearly, though he'd been young. His mother had already been contemplating divorcing her husband when she'd found out what was happening to her son. Jehan knew that even now she felt incredibly guilty about not knowing what was going on, but he never blamed her; it wasn't as though his father had been obvious and Jehan had been scared enough to hide the marks very well. But on the very same night his secret was found his mother had packed up their things gotten into her car and left.
Jehan hadn't seen his father since. His mother had made sure there was no contact between the two of them during the lengthy divorce process, which he was very pleased about.
There is no beast as ferocious or protective as a mother. Once she had discovered what happened she had made sure that absolutely no one hurt her child again.
Jehan rolled off the chair, giving himself a second to get balanced, before he carefully opened his bedroom door. His house, though cosy, was small; the slightest sound would wake the rest of his family. But after years of sneaking downstairs Jehan had become gifted at passing unnoticed when he wanted to.
Yawning Jehan popped open the microwave, flinching at the sound it made, before hastily making a cup of hot chocolate. It might seem like a stupid guilty pleasure, but there was no one here to judge him. So, mug of cocoa in hand, he ascended the narrow staircase back into his room.
There was no way that he'd be getting back to sleep any time soon, so Jehan slumped back at the desk, sipping his drink thoughtfully, enjoying the taste of the warm liquid as it heated him up from the inside out.
The piece of blank parchment stared back at Jehan.
He wanted to write. Not poetry - it was too early, even for him. He wanted to write a letter, but who to?
Jehan poised his pen over the parchment hesitating for a second before letting his wrist move fluidly and words appeared across the page.
Dear Grantaire,
Hope you're having a lovely holiday! How is the weather where you are? I was going to send you a homemade get well soon card, but I thought that that would be a bit childish. Either way, I hope you're feeling better, so please do write back and tell me how you are coping, as I am very anxious to hear from you.
I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.
From Jehan x
The poet took a second to decide whether or not a kiss at the end of the letter was acceptable or not, but Grantaire had known him for almost two years, if he hadn't realised by now that Jehan was nothing if not over the top, then there was something wrong with him. Therefore Jehan decided it was acceptable.
After quickly sealing the letter, the blond rose and crossed the room to where his owl slept.
"Psst," Jehan muttered, gently prodding his owl awake. As he blinked slowly awake, Jehan could have sworn that it was glaring at him, if that was even possible. To be fair to the bird, it had only just returned from delivering the rest of his friends letters, but Jehan was sure that Grantaire would want the letter as soon as possible "You need to take this to Grantaire," Jehan could practically hear the birds irritable sigh, as he grasped the letter in his beak, deliberately nipping his owners knuckles as he did so. Smiling to himself, Jehan carried the bird to the open window, and allowed the bird's soft wing to cuff him around the head as it flew away into the night.
Sinister darkness embraced Grantaire as he entered the Malfoy Manor, not for the first time in his life. Stiff dress robes rubbed uncomfortably against his blazing arms, but he didn't dare say anything. His parents would only punish him for it later, and it just wasn't worth it.
"May Gilly take your robe, Sir?"
With a curt nod, Grantaire shrugged off his robe and handed it - non too carefully - to the small elf to his left, before wandering across the entrance hall towards the dining room, allowing his parents to practise smalltalk whilst Gilly took their outer-robes.
"Grantaire," A deep voice echoed through the entrance hall, just as the brunette reached the correct door to reach the Dining Room, "Wait for the hosts. Manners, now."
If anyone else had said it, Grantaire would have ignored them completely, but this was different: his father had every power over him possible. Slowly, Grantaire retracted his hand from the doorknob and turned to face his father.
"As you desire." He said, formally, and strode back over to where his parents were stood, trying to angle his arms so that the shirt didn't rub the tender skin without it being too obvious. Despite the potions and charms that Madam Pomfrey had thrown at him, the scars still felt alive; hot and uncomfortable and buzzing with electricity, yet there was nothing Grantaire could say or do without giving everything away, so he stayed quiet.
"Fascinating ceiling, isn't it?" Mrs LaBelle managed to break the icy silence with, and yet somehow it only made the situation more uncomfortable.
"Delightful." Grantaire managed to say, pretending to examine the high, airy darkness that was considered a ceiling, with oak beams that were peeking out from behind the dusty cobwebs, revealing more intricate designs the longer one inspected them.
"Ah, Grantaire!" Draco Malfoy stepped out from a nearby corridor, slipping free of the shadowy darkness the held, "Why, it's been almost four months since I saw you last, how have you been?"
He stepped forwards and exchanged a handshake with the brunette, and asked politely of his school work. It soon ended after Grantaire spoke of Scorpius, and Draco decided that he'd held the two friends apart for long enough.
"Do follow me - Scorpius should be in the dining room with his mother."
For a few seconds, they walked in silence, before Grantaire's father struck up a conversation about the ministry - a conversation that Grantaire was not supposed to join in with. This meant that Grantaire had a chance to look around the strange hallways that adjoined to their path, trying to make out what the shadows in the corners were hinting. Strange, screaming whispers came from certain rooms and - despite practically growing up here - Grantaire felt on edge. Even as they approached the dining room, which he spent almost all of his time in, he couldn't feel at home like he used to. It unnerved him.
Scorpius' presence did help a little, but Grantaire couldn't help thinking that there was something he'd forgotten. Something bad, and that something was going to come back kick him in the backside for his stupidity.
A sharp nod was exchanged between the two friends, nothing more needing to be said. All thoughts of Éponine, Rose, the equality club- they were all gone. They had to be.
Just as they settled down for their first course (a watery soup that looked surprisingly uninviting), the small talk started for real, and Astoria spent the entire time telling them all about her and Draco's holiday to Southern Portugal, where they had stayed with some of Draco's work friends in their mansion for two weeks.
"And were you close to the sea?" Grantaire's mother politely enquired, sipping her watery soup with an expression that showed she was obviously trying to enjoy it and failing miserably.
"Oh we were right next door," Astoria said, happily, completely oblivious to everyone else's boredom, "Weren't we honey?"
She placed her hand on her husband's arm, trying to get him to join in, but only ended up startling him out of his daze, causing him to drop his spoon in alarm and effectively knock his bowl over with a clatter that could have awoken the dead.
Grantaire's parents managed to hide their sniggers fairly well, but Scorpius just couldn't keep quiet for long, and ended up causing everyone else to laugh at him instead, unable to let the dull tales of Portugal be the soundtrack to the dinner any longer.
From there, the dinner picked up considerably, and everyone was able to joke with each other a little, even though it was still quite quiet. Conversation turned to the boys' school work, and Grantaire had to lie through his backside to keep them satisfied. Despite the last couple of weeks of school, he'd missed almost a month of learning, and was having to take extra catch-up sessions with every teacher, which was tiring him out considerably. Still, this meant that he hadn't taken many of the tests he was supposed to, so had no idea whether he was on track for progress or not. Considering this, Grantaire managed to get through the entire conversation without major any slip-ups, which he thought to be an achievement of sorts, and - judging by Scorpius' relieved expression - so did Scorpius.
"Well, I do believe it is time for our farewells," Mrs LaBelle said after a few more hours of painful smalltalk, "Ashley should be in bed by now, but you never can be too sure with these new House Elves."
"Ah well, we must do this again sometime-" Astoria started to reel off, but Grantaire switched off at those words and let the two mothers arrange another time (admittedly taking far too long).
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Grantaire looked around the hall with a bored gaze, but stopped suddenly as he felt a fold of parchment crinkle beneath his touch.
Where the hell is this from? He wondered, trying to edge it out of his pocket without it being noticed. This however, was a poorly executed plan, and his father noticed his shifty movements almost immediately.
Snatching it from behind, Mr LaBelle started to cackle and held the letter up in the air.
"Grantaire's got a girlfriend!"
The entire party turned to look at him in shock, and Grantaire's stomach filled with dread as he recognised Jehan's beautiful curly writing on the crumpled envelope, and suddenly remembered stuffing it in his pocket all those hours ago so that the House Elves didn't find it and turn him in.
"No, Dad-"
"Dear Grantaire-" The grinning man began, ignoring his son's panicked look, "Ooh, shall we see who it's from?"
Fear tossed and turned in Grantaire's stomach, riding the wave of horror that was cresting in his gut; he knew his father would recognise the name - he basically had a log of every single student in Hogwarts embedded into his brain. Why? Probably all leading up to this exact moment.
Grantaire watched the realisation dawn on his father's face and tried to hold himself back from throwing up. It looked as though he was in for a rough couple of weeks.
"I think we'll take this issue home, if you don't mind." It wasn't phrased as a question, but the cold steel in the brunette's father's tone was enough to make everyone in the room wince. As Grantaire passed his platinum-haired friend, they shared a look. A look that conveyed many conversations but without the drawback of saying the words. Friendships are funny like that, sometimes.
A few minutes later, the LaBelle family were back at their own mansion, and were barely through the front door before Grantaire's father had him pushed up against a wall, the letter shoved in his face, a vein popping out of his smooth forehead.
"What. Is. This?" He demanded, eyes searching his son's for any clue he could salvage. "Who the hell is this boy? You haven't decided to skip out of the airy-fairy closet, have you?"
"N-no-" Grantaire struggled to breathe through his father's tight grip on his robes.
"Grantaire," His low voice echoed through the grand entrance hall, "If I hear that you've even looked at this disgusting piece of mudblood scum, I will disown you and leave you for dead. Do you hear me?"
Slowly, Grantaire nodded, seeing no other way out of this other than to agree.
"Good." He stepped back, brushing his robes off and giving Grantaire a cold stare, "Now, let's just solidify that into something permanent, shall we?"
His wand was slowly drawn from his pocket, and Grantaire felt a burning inside him.
No- not now.
"Crucio."
Red light filled Grantaire's vision; agony spread through his bones, gnawing on his nerves.
Somehow, this torture hurt more than anything he'd ever done to himself: his father hated him enough that he felt this was necessary.
And Éponine always wondered why he was fucked up.
Cosette woke up late on Christmas, yawning she pushed herself up into a sitting position, and for a while she simply stayed there in quite reflection. Her first thought was that she wished Marius was here, or any of her friends actually, but then again, it would be nice to spend some time with her father. Since he was a teacher at Hogwarts, you'd have thought that Cosette would have seen a lot of him, but it wasn't the case: her father was always busy with work, and Cosette was always busy with classes and meetings (and Marius).
Blushing slightly at the thought, the girl pulled herself out of bed and begun to get dressed, speeding up considerably when she spotted her clock with its tiny hands showing that it was already half past eleven.
Just over forty minutes later Cosette was dressed and ready, and had even had time to open a few of her presents, including the one from Marius, a beautiful silver locket, which she now wore proudly around her neck.
When she reached the spectacularly decorated main hall she realised just how few people had remained at Hogwarts for the holidays, in fact there was such a small number of people that the usual long tables had been pushed back against the walls, and a single round table was situated in the middle of the room.
There was a Slytherin seventh year boy, who looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, a pair of rowdy Ravenclaw fourth years, a scruffy looking Gryffindor first year, and a Slytherin girl from Cosette's own year.
There was hardly any teachers either; only Cosette's father, the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, Professor Longbottom the Herbology teacher, and Professor Javert, the strict transfiguration teacher.
Cosette recognised the Slytherin girl from her charms and her astronomy class, so she knew that the girl was called Éponine, but had never actually spoken to her.
But she was sure that she had more in common with this girl than the other members of the table, so the only remaining Hufflepuff moved to take the empty seat next to the dark haired girl.
"Hi, Christmas cracker?" Éponine looked at Cosette as though she'd just sprouted a second head as the girl offered her a brightly patterned cracker. Before the brunette could recover, the small Gryffindor boy leant forward.
"I'll do it," he answered with a strong London accent as he grasped the other end of the cracker. Without waiting for Cosette to reply the boy gave an almighty tug and a bang like a gunshot emitted from the small cracked along with a shower of sparks and what looked like an admirals hat.
"I think you won that one," Cosette smiled graciously, passing the hat over to the young boy, who shot her a toothy grin.
"'m Gavroche, 'n this is my sister, 'Ponine,"
"Nice to meet you," Cosette said as nicely as she could to the siblings.
"Pleasure," Éponine replied, looking as though she'd just smelt something disgusting.
Before Cosette could continue with some petty small talk about the weather, Professor McGonagall announced that dinner was ready, and as she spoke the plates in front of them filled themselves with food.
"So, have you had a good Christmas so far?" Cosette asked not knowing what else to say to break the awkward silence.
"I guess," the girl said after some prompting from her brother.
"Did you get anything nice?" The blonde continued forcing herself not to stare at her plate.
"Firewhiskey," Éponine replied sounding very happy at the revelation.
"Oh," Cosette said in a small voice, not really knowing how to respond as she didn't really drink.
"You get anything nice?" Éponine asked, though she didn't sound particularly interested in the answer it was still better than silence, so Cosette smiled and replied.
"This locket, it's from my boyfriend, Marius Pontmercy, do you know him?"
Éponine choked slightly on the bit of roast potato she was eating, and Gavroche gave a loud cough, which could quite easily be covering up a snigger.
"Vaguely," the brunette answered once she'd stopped coughing.
"Well, Éponine," Cosette said trying desperately to think of something to say. Éponine might be a little unusual, but Cosette had next to no female friends, preferring to spend time with either Marius, and his friends, or her father. Most of the girls teased her a little for being a nerd, not that they were mean, but they never really hung around with her, and though she wouldn't say it, it did bother her slightly. So here was a girl who seemed nice, and didn't shun her for being a goodie goodie, if anything she just seemed confused about Cosette wanting to talk to her. In addition to this, whenever Cosette had seen the brunette hanging around in corridors, or at meetings, she'd only ever seemed to be friends with Grantaire LaBelle, or Scorpius Malfoy; so perhaps she would appreciate it if she had a female friend.
Cosette found it very stupid that she was so embarrassed about trying to make a friend, but she'd always been shy, so she blushed slightly as she asked "I was wondering, you know, just because we're the only people left from our year, if you wanted to walk into Hogsmeade together before term starts?"
Shadows clung to Marius as he followed the dark maze of corridors through the Pontmercy mansion, desperately trying not to zone out and instead concentrate on getting to the dining room on time. Usually, he wouldn't have a problem, but he was particularly tired after having spent the previous night writing letters to Cosette instead of sleeping, as it was the only time that his grandfather wouldn't notice the airborne birds. Consequently, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, which could result in a nasty surprise if he turned off the corridor too early or miss his turning entirely.
Admittedly, Marius thought, the House Elves had attempted to brighten up the place. There was tinsel scattered around in loose loops on every other wall, but it was sagging in places and occasionally appeared to have been attacked by something, which caused the coloured strips to pile up on the ground next to a suspicious looking substance.
Repressing a shudder, Marius quickly located the correct turning and practically stumbled down the corridor to the Dining Room, trying to forget what he knew was hidden in some of these rooms.
"Ah, Marius!"
His grandfather called him from across the room, greeting him unusually warmly.
"I- uh, good evening, Grandfather."
Marius quickly sped up so as to greet him, wondering why his relative was not already in the dining room, waiting to be served.
"Marius, my dear boy," He clapped a hand on the young adult's shoulder as he approached, surprisingly strong for a man so feeble. "There are some people I'd like you to meet."
This sent a small shock through Marius as he realised what he was wearing. Whilst his grandfather usually asked that he wore some form of dress robes to evening meal, he could only find his eldest and most tattered this afternoon, and they were in a shocking condition.
"Grandfather, mightn't I get changed firs-"
"Nonsense, you look fine." His grandfather practically sang, and Marius suddenly started to worry about what was behind that door.
"Actually Grandfather I-"
"Come, now."
Marius quickly ran a hand through his hair, certain by this point that these people were here on business. Whilst his Grandfather was technically retired, he still had a few things knocking around the house that were useful when used properly, so he ran a slightly illegal inside-business that allowed people to use them for extortionate amounts of money. These people often relayed details of their plans for using the instruments which his Grandfather occasionally found interesting and asked for an involvement. Never a large part, considering his size and stature, but his position in government was quite high, so he could be helpful in ways that most people would never imagine.
"Marius," The elderly man gently nudged the solid doors with his foot, "I'd like you to meet Charlotte Zabini."
A tall, dark figure span around to face them, but when Marius saw her face he realised that she could be no older than 16, holding a trinket in her hands that she hastily put back down on the side cupboard, dressed in a casual skirt and patterned polo shirt.
Muggle clothes. Marius thought, trying to let this be the only thought that entered his head, surely not?
"And this is her father, Mr Zabini."
"Sir." Marius nodded to him automatically, knowing the procedure for this sort of meeting.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marius saw Charlotte shift around, staring at her feet like they were the most important thing in the room. Come to think of it, she was actually quite attractive; her long limbs were just the right amount of muscle; eyes an enchanting shade of brown; her skin was practically flawless; even her originally awkward height was kind of endearing, much like a baby deer that hadn't grown into its limbs yet.
Whilst he was with Cosette, he had to suppress those feelings, unless he wanted a slap up the back of the head. It was strange to not feel that sharp snap as he observed Charlotte's face whilst she wasn't watching.
"Glad to finally meet you, Marius." The senior Zabini beamed, "It's nice to know that I picked a strong candidate for my daughter."
It was only at this point, as Mr Zabini put his arm around his daughter and smiled brightly at Marius' bewildered expression, that the young male realised there was another motive for this meeting - one that was not to do with business.
"Pardon?" Realisation dawned on Marius's innocent features, "Oh, I- oh."
Awkward silence fell over the "youngsters" as the two elderly gentlemen proceeded to seat themselves at the dining table and chatter about general business and the current political state of affairs. Marius awkwardly motioned to ask if she wanted to sit at the table, to which she nodded yes. Internally cringing, the young male drew her chair out for her, before moving to sit opposite her, next to his Grandfather, trying to tune out the incessant chatter.
Even after the first course arrived - a miserable looking soup - their conversation hadn't relented. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled a face at Charlotte, nodding towards the two males. By now, both had abandoned their soup and were getting extremely invested in their conversation, arms flailing everywhere and talking excitedly over the top of each other on every second sentence. Trying to hide a snort, Charlotte coughed into her soup, which immediately attracted the attention of her father.
What the hell are you playing at? Marius scolded himself, If you get too friendly with this girl, she's going to end up as your bloody wife. Quit it.
Silence followed her father's queries, which followed through into the main course, dragged out by the endless clinks of silverware on plates. Charlotte's fixed eyes flickered up to meet his once or twice, but they barely stayed connected as the awkwardness bounced back and forth between them.
After a while, just as dessert was being rolled in, the older Zabini asked Marius a few scholastic questions, but the young man barely registered them before he answered, putting himself on autopilot until the interrogation was over. What was the point getting into this family? He couldn't marry the girl - there was no chance of that happening.
Of course, his Grandfather was completely oblivious to all of this; Marius was still too nervous to tell him about his secret girlfriend who - shock horror! - was not from a wealthy pureblood family. What was the point of telling him now? By the time he hit 17 (2 months and 8 days away), he will have taken out as much gold as humanly possible from his Gringotts account and legged it in the other direction. Then he'd be free to do as he liked: no laws stopping him.
It was only two hours later - after a few strange anecdotes, painful jokes and a torturous farewell - that Marius realised what the date was.
December the 25th. They were so sure that this was going to work that they visited on Christmas Day.
Maybe this was a little more serious than he thought.
Courfeyrac was splayed across the old sofa, trying, unsuccessfully, to prevent one of the springs from impaling his spine. His attention completely on the television screen, the Christmas specials were one of his favourite parts of Christmas Day, yeah family time and all that shit was good, but they couldn't really compare with the wonders of television.
Letting out an enormous yawn, Courfeyrac started to dig around in his pocket, hearing the familiar, yet annoying, ringtone of his phone.
He flipped the device in a somersault once before answering, unable to keep himself from feeling slightly pleased with himself for catching it, "Hello, the Savoy Grill, may I take your order?"
"Courf?"
"Es tut Mir lied, aber ich sprache keine Englisch,"
"Courfeyrac I know it's you," Recognising Jehan's voice, the brunette rolled his eyes.
"Must you spoil all my fun?"
The little 'harrumph' which came from the other end of the phone was positively adorable.
"Well, I just wanted to call and wish you a very merry Christmas," the poet practically sang down the line.
"And the exact same to you," Courfeyrac assured his friend. Jehan begun babbling on about something or other, but Courfeyrac wasn't paying full attention.
His eyes refocused on the screen, which displayed the Christmas special of Doctor Who. He didn't even care that is was supposedly a children's show, it was fucking fantastic! Plus Enjolras and Combeferre had no idea what he was on about, so he had to take his pleasures where he could.
Jehan's voice punctuated a dramatic monologue from the doctor "... and so I thought I should send him a letter just to check how he's doing,"
"Shhhhhh,"
"What?"
"Jehan, be quiet! The Doctor is in this really tricky situation, I mean like, I 'dunno what he gonna do! I really feel for him," the brunette explained waving his hands animatedly, trying to convey the emotions the TV induced.
"You're watching Doctor Who?"
"Obviously,"
"..."
"Oh my God, You're watching it too!"
"Well, it's Christmas and it isn't properly Christmas until you've watched all the Christmas specials." The blond replied, almost indignant.
At this the dark haired boy was almost jumping up and down "Yes! yes! You see this is why it would suck to be a Pureblood! Imagine having to live without television, it's bad enough doing without it during term-time." He was about to continue before his rant was rudely interrupted by his fathers shout from the next room.
"Courf, who the hell are you on the phone to? Is it your girlfriend?"
Coughing loudly Courfeyrac managed a halfhearted "Dad, fuck off!"
"Oh, you do have a girlfriend!" His Dad appeared in the doorway, hands still damp from washing up, and before Courfeyrac could prevent it, the phone had been whipped from his hands.
That certainly promoted Courfeyrac to move.
"Dad, give that back!" The boy whined leaping over the back of the sofa. Unfortunately he wasn't nearly fast enough: by the time he'd regained his balance his father had already danced out of his reach and around the other side of the room.
"God, you sound like a whiney toddler," the older teased, Courfeyrac's signature grin spreading across his face, not that that annoyed him. His father had been using 'the grin' sixteen years before him, but Courfeyrac obviously carried the look better.
Vaulting the coffee table, and knocking over one of the empty mugs in the process, Courfeyrac grabbed the other man and tried to wrestle the device, which was still connected, from him.
Unfortunately his father was ever so slightly taller than Courfeyrac, something he used ruthlessly to his advantage; holding Courfeyrac's phone as high above his head as he could, shooting his son a challenging smirk.
"Give me the damn phone!" Courfeyrac practically shouted, trying desperately to yank his arm down to reach his phone.
"What you gonna do? Turn me into a frog?"
Courfeyrac stopped struggling for a second, glaring into his fathers face, considering whether or not it was worth being thrown in Azkaban for.
"Go on, turn me into a frog, I dare you."
Courfeyrac oped his mouth to form some kind of witty reply, when his dad shoved him sideways into the Christmas tree and made a dive towards the back of the sofa.
"Shit," Courfeyrac cursed, trying to detach himself from the branches of the Christmas tree, and at the same time attempting to remove a bauble which had somehow become wedged in his ear. Meanwhile his dad had decided to introduce himself to Courfeyrac's 'girlfriend'.
"Hello, I'm Courfeyrac's father. I must enquire about your intentions regarding my son," He said in a mock posh voice. His expression turned from that of amusement to shock as he got the reply.
At last detaching himself from the damn tree, Courfeyrac strode across the room and at last snatched his phone from his dad.
"Would you please just get the fuck out of my business?" He snapped before turning to his phone "Sorry, Jehan, my Dad's just being a dick, I guess we now know where I get it from. Anyway I'll call text you later, okay?"
"Okay, bye," Jehan answered still far too happily, even for Christmas "Em, love you, bye" he added quickly before hanging up abruptly. Courfeyrac frowned at his phone slightly; it wasn't like Jehan to rush his goodbyes, he was probably just embarrassed about his Dad being a nosy bastard. Sighing Courfeyrac carelessly flung his phone onto the sofa.
"So you have a boyfriend?" This Dad asked the moment his son had hung up, the amused grin on his face was ridiculous.
"Oh yeah, this is my fucking coming out speech," Courfeyrac muttered moodily.
"To be honest, I'd be less surprised by you being gay, and more shocked if you were actually able to have a long term relationship," his Dad teased.
Courfeyrac's only response was throwing a cushion in his direction before collapsing onto the sofa, feeling, for some reason, slightly queasy. It was probably nothing, maybe he'd eaten too much at dinner.
"Enjolras?"
The blond twisted in his desk chair to face the teen in his doorway. Well, the guest room doorway in Combeferre's house, which he had claimed for a week so he didn't have to hang around with his parents during the "sickening season"; a holiday purely made for babying him and trying to make him play 'family games', it seemed. Honestly - Cluedo wasn't educational or entertaining - what on Earth was the point?
"Yes, Combeferre?"
"Mum's wondering what you want for dinner."
The blonde rolled his eyes.
"Honestly, she knows I'll eat anything."
"Yes, but you don't, do you?" Combeferre grinned, wandering through the room and perching on the edge of Enjolras' bed. "You only eat British meals. Anything even slightly foreign and you're out the room!"
"Well," Enjolras huffed, finally putting down the quill and pausing his Christmas Charms essay. "There's nothing wrong with showing a little patriotic pride."
"Refusing to eat curry isn't bloody 'patriotic', Enjolras."
"It's being true to our country." The blonde muttered, determined not to let Combeferre win, "Less imports and exports and general foreign affairs."
"You're ridiculous."
"I fear our friends may take you up on that scale you appear to be measuring me against. For example, I'd say Courfreyac was the meaning of ridiculous, and I am certainly not as ridiculous as him, then Joly would be a little higher, for all his make-believe illnesses-"
Combeferre shot Enjolras a stern look, which Enjolras rolled his eyes at.
"What? They aren't real, I've checked them and-"
"Enjolras. That's not the point. If Joly thinks that they're real, then we have to treat them as real."
"But you said-"
"I said that we should help him overcome his fears, not blatantly ignore them."
Not even bothering to disguise his pout, the blond crossed him arms for a few seconds before turning back to his desk, picking up his quill and starting to write again. A small smile spread across Combeferre's face as he realised what Enjolras was doing.
"The Charms homework? Already?"
"Yes." He shot Combeferre a suspicious look, "And?"
"You're using the quill."
Combeferre practically skipped to the door as he said it, obviously not expecting an answer, but more just to let Enjolras know that he'd noticed.
"It's a nice quill." The blond called in indignation as Combeferre practically danced down the hallway. "I don't see any reason why I shouldn't use it."
But the other boy had already gone, and Enjolras had to return to his Charms work with his questions still at bay. Who had sent the package?
For a second, a flash of blue crossed his vision - a memory of what happened on the train - and a whip of heat flew through his stomach before he banished it, forbidding the feeling to enter his system again. It was a strange feeling - one that he could not explain - and so Enjolras denied it entry to his body. If it wasn't known to him then it wasn't going to happen.
But the haunting blue eyes still lingered in the back of the blonde's mind. They had barely known each other 3 months, but maybe-
Concentrate. Enjolras told himself, and ignored the heated, nagging feeling, choosing instead to focus sorely on the fascinating subject of the Fidelius Charm and all it's dangers, which was not his prime choice for his holiday activities.
A few minutes later, Combeferre stuck his head back round the door, still grinning uncontrollably.
"The curry should be here in twenty minutes or so. I ordered you a Vindaloo."
Comebeferre sighed. He just couldn't get to sleep, every now and again there would be a night where the sandy haired boy just couldn't keep his head clear, or his eyes closed, and tonight was one of those nights. With another sigh he rolled over in his bed.
Enjolras was in a sleeping bag on the bedroom floor, as he always did when he stayed with Combeferre, and as usual he was flat out. Combeferre had always found it close to amazing the way in which Enjolras fell asleep, he'd never seen anything like it.
The thought of the present his best friend had received several days ago floated back into Combeferre's head. The Ravenclaw smirked to himself.
It really was unbelievable how utterly blind Enjolras was, and the rest of his friends for that matter.
How Courfeyrac managed to be the biggest flirt in the school, but couldn't see that Jehan had the crush of a lifetime on him was beyond Combeferre. The poet would follow the dark haired boy like a lost puppy. And, whenever Combeferre snatched a glance at the poetry Jehan was writing it was often fairly obvious who the subject was. And when they had had their argument, and Courfeyrac had stormed into the charms classroom and seen Jehan and Comebeferre together, it had been much more than one friend being jealous of another friend being with someone else.
And they weren't the only ones; Éponine, his potions partner, was a different story completely. If Jehan's feelings were a 'crush', then Éponine's were a one-sided-forever-alone-rather-die-unrequited-love . How Marius (or anyone else) hadn't figured it out was a mystery. The poor girl had been in a horrific state for months.
And then there was Grantaire. Combeferre hadn't known the boys name for the first few years, but he had noticed it almost as soon as it started, even when it had been a mere glance through a crowded corridor. At the meetings Grantaire would just sit and watch Enjolras like his was a God, and at the quidditch match when the two had ended up sitting next to each other it looked as though Grantaire was on the verge of passing out. Not that Enjolras noticed; he wouldn't know love if it punched him between the eyes. But that gift, who else would give him something like that? Unfortunately, it all meant nothing to Enjolras, if anything his distain for Grantaire was growing as fast as Grantaire's obsession with Enjolras; it was a really healthy situation.
Combeferre was like the bloody agony aunt of the group! There was no time for him to focus on his own life; his friends problems were too time consuming. Even Joly was acting weird. Or at least weirder than usual.
Sighing he pulled the covers back off his bed, and picked up the book Jehan had given him and flicked to a random page. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for the boy to fall asleep reading and then wake up in the morning with an aching wrist and a knotted back. But Combeferre just shoved this thought to the back of his mind; his mind was far too awake to allow himself to go to sleep now.