Chapter Text
Courfeyrac had talked to Enjolras about the Room of Requirement. They knew that young wizards had always used it to meet secretly and practice Defence Against the Dark Arts, yet they didn’t need to meet secretly anymore. Student organizations were allowed, under circumstances of course, after the second war, and the A.B.Ai.S.S.E.s meetings were not secret. At least not much. However Courfeyrac had seeked for a place where he could get more intimate with the various young witches and wizards he had been involved with in the past, and now that he was head-over-heels with Jehan, he had led the metamorphmagus several times in it and they had both come out of it with tousled hair, flushed cheeks and meaningful smiles, making Enjolras feel supremely uncomfortable and the rest of their friends to bet whether the room turned into a green meadow full of daisies (Cosette) or a place full of leather accessories, liquid chocolate and magical fluffy handcuffs (Bahorel).
Absurd as might have seemed, it had all started with a ridiculous line. “If you were a basilisk, I wouldn’t mind dying just to look into your eyes,” had whispered Grantaire seductively in his ear, sending warm breath to brush against his skin and raise the short hair on the nape of his neck. Enjolras wished he could have laughed in amusement or frown in disdain, but neither happened. He just found his pulse suddenly growing quicker and his tie tighter around his neck. He needed to kiss Grantaire breathless, to touch him and love him and show him what he meant for him, how important it was that they were together, if they could call it that way.
They quickly climbed the stairs to the seventh floor, without them changing once. They were walking close to each other but they weren’t holding hands. Their knuckles were faintly touching and they were both flushed with anticipation, looking around sneakily as they walked in the left corridor and finally saw the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet.
“We must think fiercely of what we need,” muttered Enjolras, and Grantaire stirred a little at his side, leaning closer and murmuring mischievously in his ear: “Do you need any help thinking?”
Enjolras’ lips parted slightly in need and he nodded. “Hurry!” His voice was familiarly dominant and Grantaire simply loved the effect he had on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.
“Well then,” he hissed in his ear, using a finger to play with a stray golden lock behind his lobe, “I don't have an invisibility cloak but do you think tonight I can visit your restricted section?”
Enjolras’ eyes slid shut in a pained grimace that bore a hint of shame. He absolutely despised the fact that he was actually falling for something so stupid. “I hate you,” he huffed, burying his fingernails in Grantaire’s wrist. “I think we must walk past it three times now, right?”
Grantaire nodded with an innocent look. “I say we should try.”
And they did. Enjolras was feeling absolutely ridiculous doing that, but the corridor was empty and no one could see them. He desperately needed some time alone with Grantaire, he had for long and now that was his chance, even though he wouldn’t yet admit that aloud.
He opened his eyes and felt terribly relieved and overwhelmingly nervous at the same time when he saw the secret door appearing in front of them.
Now Enjolras had heard stories of the Room taking the form of a mere broom cupboard, but that wasn’t exactly what he was expecting when he turned the handle of the door with his hand. He had thought of what he needed, but not of in what form it should appear, to be honest, and that was probably why he was unpleasantly shocked when all he found was a tiny hole of a closet, full with broomsticks, mops and buckets. “We must have done something wrong,” he muttered, but was surprised to feel Grantaire’s grip tightening around his wrist and pulling him inside.
“On the contrary, my fearless leader. I believe we couldn't have done anything more right if we tried. The room has probably decided that what we need is a broom closet, and that is what it gave us. Are you willing to oppose to such powerful magic? Unless you had something else in mind. Something which included, I don’t know, fluffy handcuffs and red heart confettis.”
Enjolras winced in horror as they squeezed into the cupboard and shut the door, making everything go dark around them. They curled their bodies uncomfortably between the buckets and mops and to the general uneasiness came to be added the complete darkness which drove both of them blind.
“Lovely,” tuted Enjolras.
“Ouch!” Grantaire’s muffled cry managed to echo through the close walls around them before Enjolras pressed his palm against his boyfriend’s mouth. “By bose!” he protested nasaly.
“Shut up!” hissed Enjolras.
It was Grantaire’s turn to tut disapprovingly. “What language is that, Apollo? I’d rather you speak troll. You can learn it fast, you know.” He threw his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, pulling softly as he pressed his lips on his pulse point. “Because I can get you grunting in no time!”
“Shut up,” said Enjolras again, leaving a deep sigh and tugging on the collar of Grantaire’s robes, “and kiss me!”
Grantaire was more than willing to obey, so he pressed his lips on Enjolras’ mouth, cupping his face and capturing him to a fierce kiss. They moved together fervently and he traced his tongue across his lower lip before nibbling there with his teeth and eliciting a throaty moan. Enjolras tasted the inside of the Slytherin’s mouth lazily, pressing their bodies together and feeling his erratic heartbeat beneath his robes.
“Oh, Enjolras,” groaned Grantaire quietly against his mouth, “I can be your house elf, I'll do whatever you want and I don't need any clothes!”
“That’s not very nice… for the house elves,” murmured Enjolras, “I detect a form… of social discrimination… in your offer…” he was short of breath. “And…” he panted, “if you step on my new robes…” his fingers reached for Grantaire’s green tie, trying to unknot it, “I swear to Merlin…”
Grantaire chuckled softly before shutting him up with a second kiss, his hands stroking his chest and arms over the robes and, remembering faintly of all the times he had seeked for the Room of Requirement’s service every time he had needed some liquor in the past, he came to the decision that that day should be written down on history books as the Room’s greatest achievement.
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Days passed and became months before they could even say Quidditch. Their NEWTs were just around the corner and all the seventh year had started growing almost hysteric, for which they were not really to blame, considering the fact that their future was depending on it. The frenzy of rumours, tricks and remedies was holding well, in the exact same manner as during the OWLs, and fake charms and potions were sold only to be confiscated by Professor Javert. Many seventh years, mostly Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, were fainting or vomiting in the toilets every day. It wasn’t that Slytherins and Gryffindors weren’t equally anxious, they simply managed to disguise their insecurities better.
Some of the students seemed already doomed to fail, like Claquesous and Babet, but others were studying really hard, even those who had never done so in the past. Grantaire, Bossuet, Bahorel too, were catching up with everything they had missed with excessive help from their teachers and friends, while Joly, Marius and even Enjolras were experiencing a few nervous breakdowns. As for Feuilly and Combeferre, their job was to struggle with their own studying while calming and supporting their friends –the latter managed to help sixth year Eponine with her work as well, and they had started spending suspiciously much time together-, and for Courfeyrac to cheer them all up and try to concentrate on his work without Combeferre actually having to tie him on his chair with an Incarcerous spell. The members of the A.B.Ai.S.S.E.s inevitably stopped meeting until the end of the year, but it seemed to be quietly agreed between them that they would take this out of school and continue into making it something bigger. However no change in the Wizarding World –or overthrowing the Ministry- could be achieved without all of them managing to finish their studies.
Grantaire had never seen Enjolras so vulnerable and anxious. He was already incredibly smart, but he still spent hours both during the day and the night, slumped over tons of books in the library, and when it shut in the evening –Enjolras had managed to be the only student, alongside Combeferre that old Madame Pince actually liked, Grantaire even thought that she had a crush on him- he took his work to the common room and remained awake all night, nursing a cup of his favorite mercoffee. He had crossed all house boundaries and given Grantaire the password of the Gryffindor common room portrait, so that his boyfriend could join him most of the nights and they would study together. Grantaire was determined to study potions after school and Enjolras really did believe in his talent, as for Enjolras, he needed to study Magical History and Philosophy before majoring in Wizards’ rights.
Most of the time Grantaire would get distracted and fail to focus on his textbooks because Enjolras, even tired and irritated, was so beautiful to be true and to be his. He spent hours watching him from his favorite place on a red couch, curled on the floor with his blond hair messy and dozens of books on his crossed legs. He played with his hair and struggled to stop him when the Gryffindor seemed absolutely exhausted, dark circles creeping underneath his eyes and his skin getting a pale, greyish shade that made Grantaire’s inside clench uncomfortably. He brought him more coffee and food from the house elves, which he forced him to eat with a little help from Combeferre, who stayed with them and studied until the middle of the night, as well as their other Gryffindor friends. There were a few nights when weariness took over Enjolras and he fell asleep on his notes, long after Joly had left and taken his warnings with him. Grantaire then would accio a blanket and tenderly cover him, after raising him in his arms and placing him on the couch –because who needed levitating charms when he could actually touch Enjolras in such a way? Some other nights, Grantaire passed out as well, and they slept till morning on the fluffy, scarlett carpet, arms wrapped around each other with their limbs tangled together, Enjolras’ peaceful breath stroking his cheek. They would wake up to some shrieking or giggling first year old, but they did not care anymore. They would soon leave that castle forever, besides there was nothing bad about being in love.
That morning, Grantaire had not slept on the carpet of the Gryffindor common room, as the full moon had just been over and he was still at the infirmary. Jehan and Eponine had just left, after being chased away by the nurse with a broomstick, but Enjolras had still managed to sneak his way into the hospital wing.
He sat at his bedside and held his hand, rubbing it with his thumb in slow, circular motions. Grantaire was smiling bitterly, his tired, blue eyes red-rimmed and his dark hair dishevelled against the white pillow, his skin pale and yellowish, with a fresh scar marking his collarbone.
“You don’t have to be here,” he mumbled dazedly. “You have studying to do.”
“I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than here with you,” Enjolras replied sternly. “I know how hard this is for you and I’m not leaving you alone.”
Grantaire chuckled sarcastically. “Come on now, Apollo. It’s fine, really. You’re exaggerating, you haven’t ever witnessed a transformation.”
Enjolras felt his heart skipping a beat. “There’s something I have to tell you,” he said with a lump on his throat, “I can’t see any reason for hiding this anymore.”
Grantaire froze underneath the covers, as if he already knew what he was about to hear. He listened patiently as Enjolras shared parts of the story of that night in the Forbidden Forest with him, his expression remaining blank until the end. “I’m sorry,” was all that he could croak when the confession finished. “I’m terribly sorry, for everything.”
“Don’t you dare feel sorry, or ashamed, or guilty,” Grantaire opened his mouth to speak but Enjolras held his hand up. “No, don’t you even dare! That was the night I realized how brave and important you were, that was the night I saw you exposed and fell in love with you. I’ve never been more honest in my life.”
Grantaire didn’t make another attempt to speak. “I need to stay alone,” he whispered after a while. It was what Enjolras dreaded and feared, but he obeyed and got up. “I’m in love with you, Grantaire, more now than ever,” he said before walking away. “Nothing will change that.”
He spent the next few hours in agony, trying to focus on his studying and failing miserably. He knew he had done a massive mistake by telling Grantaire, everything indicated it, his shocked expression, his blank, blue eyes, his cold hands that were pulled unconsciously away from his own…
Yet Grantaire was released a few hours later, and found Enjolras at the owlery. He student looked worn and tired, as if he’d prematurely grown a few years, but a small, ghostly smile was lighting his face. Enjolras had abandoned the letter he was about to send and walked towards him, taking his hands in his own. “I love you,” he said fiercely, “you are bright and intelligent and kind and beautiful and I love you for who you are. Never forget that.”
Grantaire couldn't hold back a smile, and they walked to the window, standing hand in hand. Owls were flying and hooting around them but they didn’t seem to notice. They stared outside, watching the whole, massive castle in all its glory, the lake and the mountains behind, hidden in mist. “I’m going to miss this so much,” whispered Grantaire. “This castle has been home to me the past seven years.”
Enjolras nodded. “I know. I’ll miss everything. Our meetings every Friday with you mocking our cause, the essays and teachers, the infirmary after every full moon, the forest, the lake, the giant squid and the drunken armor suits, I’ll miss the ghosts, even Peeves and the Bloody Baron, even Professor Javert…” He turned to face Grantaire who was staring out of the window absent-mindedly. “Hey,” he nudged him gently on the ribs, “are you alright?”
Grantaire turned to face him with a forced smile. “Yeah, I’m great.”
“You’re not alright,” frowned Enjolras, wrapping an arm protectively around his shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m alright, really,” his gaze traveled faraway again. “It’s just…” he turned to face Enjolras again, looking pale and miserable. “You didn’t mention me. I’d thought… I’d thought you’d miss me too when we leave.”
Enjolras raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Really, R? Honestly?”
Grantaire looked positively offended at his tone. “Well yeah, absurd as it may sound, I was hoping that I meant something for you after all those pompous love confessions…”
Enjolras shut him up with a passionate kiss. “The reason I didn’t say I’ll miss you,” he said seriously, wrapping his fingers around Grantaire’s arms tightly, “is because I won’t. I won’t need to miss you, because I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’re okay with that.”
Grantaire was speechless, his mouth was gaping and his blue eyes were widely open. “You…” he breathed, “really?”
Enjolras didn’t need to reply, another kiss was pressed against Grantaire’s lips, and that time he felt the dark-haired man smile and tremble in his arms. “With you I feel like I can fly,” he whispered when the kiss broke.
They looked outside the window again, at the flying owls in the blue sky, and reserved enthusiasm flashed in Grantaire's darkened blue eyes. “Do you have some time to give from your studying?” he asked.
Enjolras bit his lip, considering the possibilities. “I guess…”
“Good. Because there is something I want to do before we leave Hogwarts.”
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There were eleven Hippogriffs in the Hogwarts Hippogriff herd. The weather was good that day as sun was shyly peeking between the clouds. Enjolras was looking uncertain, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to another. “It’s not that I don’t want to do this… It’s just… do you feel well enough, right after the full moon?”
Grantaire smiled disbelievingly, widening his step and making Enjolras walk quickly behind him in order to reach him. “Don’t worry, Apollo. They won’t eat you!”
It was easy for the Slytherin student to unlock the door of the fence and walk inside carefully. The animals were proudly gorgeous, their front legs, wings and head were that of an enormous eagle, as for the body, hind legs and tail, they belonged to a horse. Their steel-coloured beaks rattled quickly with their croaks, and their orange eyes were gleaming brightly in the sun. Enjolras’ heart was pounding violently as he watched Grantaire make his way between the animals, they weren’t tied and they were already looking horribly hostile. He was terribly afraid that something terrible would happen to his poor boyfriend, who dared to disturb them like that, but Grantaire knew very well what he was doing. His steps were impeccably careful and he did his best to not blink his eyes.
Surprisingly enough, the Hippogriffs did not approach him, seeming to keep a respectable distance in the way he did. He steadily walked to a brilliant, proud creature with a rich maroon shade on its feathers, and slowly bent his body in front of him, taking a bow. They waited for the most agonizing minutes that felt like ages, before the Hippogriff bent its legs and lowered its big head, finally allowing Enjolras to exhale in relief. They maintained the eye contact and finally, the proud creature made a step closer to Grantaire, who stepped back and out of the fence, looking the door with his wand.
“How…” breathed Enjolras, “how did you do that?”
Grantaire shrugged his shoulders, tenderly stroking the creature’s beak with his fingers. “Dear old Thunderwine and I are old acquaintances!” he replied simply, stepping aside. “Gryffindors first,” he grinned mischievously.
It was true, Enjolras was a Gryffindor and he was particularly popular for his bravery. He couldn’t step back to an animal they were taught how to communicate with in their third year.
He nobly took a bow and it didn’t take long for Thunderwine to bow back, and offer its beak for Enjolras to touch. “You’re beautiful,” he muttered in a steady voice.
“Of you go, now,” cried Grantaire, pushing Enjolras so that he could climb the Hippogriff. Enjolras let a startled scream, but Grantaire was quick enough to climb behind him and wrap his arms around his waist, and before the scream was ended, the Hippogriff took off with a neigh and their stomachs emptied as they accelerated.
They were flying, hundreds of meters above the ground. It was a completely different sensation from flying on a broomstick. It was not something they could control, Enjolras just continued screaming, in pulsating excitement this time, as he tugged on the animal’s feathers. They could between the white, puffy clouds, their hair damp and swishing in the wind that throbbed in their heads, their cheeks stroked by the cold air. They could feel the gracious creature against their bodies, they could see Hogwarts in all its glory, the green mountains and the dark lake spreading underneath the huge, maroon wings and they could feel each other’s warmth pressed against their bodies.
Grantaire was laughing in sheer, almost hysterical excitement, and he did not remind anything of the gloomy, dark, sarcastic and cynical Slytherin that Enjolras had learnt to despise. “I love you!” he cried and his voice meddled with the wind as Enjolras tilted his head around and their lips met, forming a united smile as they spread their arms and the Hippogriff dived lower, his claws licking the water of the lake.
Enjolras knew that this moment would end soon and he’d have to return to his studies and to the reality of defending the abased and saving the oppressed. But for now, Grantaire was warm, Grantaire was laughing, Grantaire was his and they were free.