Archive of Our Own

When most eleven year olds get the letter of thick parchment, a red seal, and a scarily accurate address right down to the bedroom in a green scrawl, they are ecstatic. A place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an offer highly sought after and held in the highest regard. To get such a letter would normally result in a child who cannot wait until the school term begins and very proud parents.

Normally.

For Grantaire it was his last straw. To have not only an unwanted son that his ex-wife left him with, but a son who could do magic. A freak. No. It would not do. When that letter arrived, Grantaire’s father had packed his bags and pushed Grantaire out of the front door and told him he could make his own way in the world. He was done.

Grantaire felt numb as he trudged his way through wind and rain to Courfeyrac’s house. He had always known his father hated him, blamed him for his wife walking out on them when she couldn’t handle being a mother, but to force him out of the house when he wasn’t even a teenager yet overshadowed any joy Grantaire could have felt when he discovered he was a wizard.

Courfeyrac’s family took him in immediately when they saw him standing on their doorstep, soaked through and pale. They didn’t ask questions as they made up the spare room, they had suspected for a long time that he was being neglected and they often told him he was welcome to stay with them for as long as he liked. Grantaire liked it there, they treated him like a second son.

“So what happened?” Courfeyrac asked once his parents had gone downstairs to make the dinner. Grantaire couldn’t quite meet his best friend in the eye.

“If I tell you, you have to believe me, and you can’t tell anyone else, I think it’s supposed to be a secret.” Courfeyrac nodded eagerly. Grantaire took a deep breath. “I’m a wizard. I’ve got into this magic school and everything.” He showed Courfeyrac the letter, he was still clutching onto it when his father forced him out. Courfeyrac’s jaw dropped as he fingered the parchment.

"I knew it," he whispered. "I KNEW IT!" he said again, this time loud enough to be heard all over the house. "Mum," he cried, "muuuuuuum!"

His mother, Regina, came bounding up the stairs in a panic.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Grantaire got into Hogwarts!” He showed her the letter. She immediately swooped Grantaire up into her arms and gave him a bone crushing hug.

“My two boys,” she beamed, “off to Hogwarts, I am so proud.”

Grantaire, who had eventually been put back down and returned to his spot on the bed, drew back in surprise.

“You… You’ve heard of Hogwarts?”

Courfeyrac had the decency to look sheepish.

“Yes. Mum is a witch so I’ve been brought up knowing about the magical world. My dad is a muggle though - a non-magical person. I’m what’s called a half blood. But that doesn’t matter, what’s important is that we are going to Hogwarts!”

Grantaire punched Courfeyrac on the arm, lightly though, given Regina was still standing in the room with them.

“How could you not tell me you had magic? That’s like the number one rule of best friend-isms.”

Courfeyrac turned to Regina for help.

“It’s not Courfeyrac’s fault dear,” she said sympathetically. “We have to protect our kind. Neither of your parents had magic, muggle born wizards aren’t as common and not easy to spot.”

“I’ve often wondered though,” Courfeyrac grinned. “Remember when you were upset that your dad didn’t give you the money for that trip and then a load of money just appeared in the street and it was exactly the amount you needed? And what about the time you had a really big fight with your dad and he woke up the next day covered in boils and itchy rashes?”

“You think I did that?” Grantaire asked, amazed.

“Magic happens in the young when they are at their most emotional,” Regina shrugged, “it’s entirely possible.”

Courfeyrac let out a belated cheer.

“I can’t believe you got into Hogwarts!” He threw an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “We are going to have so much fun. I cannot wait to teach you all about Quidditch and the legend that is Albus Dumbledore and all the leg locking and boil producing curses-“

“Courfeyrac!”

“Kidding mum.” He winked at Grantaire.

“So you are telling me,” Grantaire said slowly, trying to wrap his head around it all, “that the boarding school you said you were going to, and I wouldn’t be able to see you between the holidays, was Hogwarts?”

Courfeyrac nodded. For the first time Grantaire smiled. Courfeyrac, his arm still draped over Grantaire, drew him closer.

“We are going to take this school by storm.”

*

Grantaire worked every day of his summer to pay for his school supplies. He refused point blank to accept charity from Regina, instead offering to do all the housework and cook twice a week in exchange for some pocket money. Regina paid him in wizard money, something he knew he had to get used to if he was going to exist in a world where something called knuts, sickles, and galleons were the norm.

However, when it came to buying his supplies, Grantaire was still short. He had no choice but to cut corners, buying necessities like uniform and books first (second hand of course), and then going down the list until he ran out of money. The man in the wand shop did not look happy when Grantaire asked for the cheapest one he had. He kept uttering something about how the wand should choose the wizard and not the other way around. Fortunately, Regina got Grantaire the glass phials for his birthday (“a complete coincidence that it was on your Hogwarts list”) and Courfeyrac had got him a telescope (“I thought you’d be interested in stargazing, god Grantaire what do you take me for?”). By the end of the day at Diagon Alley Grantaire was only missing a few things off his list.

So Grantaire trundled off to Hogwarts with his trolley of bags, the rat that Courfeyrac had helped him catch in an alley behind a fast food restaurant, and his uniform ready to change into when they were on the train.

Grantaire had always been poor, being neglected by your father all your life meant you didn’t tend to get much in the way of pocket money. So he knew how it felt to stand out amongst other students. Being the only first year (or only Hogwarts student really) to bring a pack of ball point pens instead of a quill and ink pot, books with their covers falling off, and a cooking pot instead of a cauldron (which melted the first time Grantaire used it, luckily Regina had sent Courfeyrac one the next day “believing” Courfeyrac had forgotten his, so Courfeyrac gave him that one) Grantaire was understandably embarrassed and ashamed of the life he had come from. Courfeyrac tried to persuade him that being a muggle born didn’t matter, that he was a half blood and Bahorel, a Hufflepuff they had met on the Hogwarts Express, had a squib for a father, but that just reminded him of how little he knew about the wizarding world and didn’t make him feel any better.

Halfway through the first term of their first year, a sweet young Ravenclaw with plaited blonde hair and a daintily little mouth had approached Grantaire and introduced himself as Jehan.

“I was curious about that magic quill you are using, I have never seen one of that design. I have never seen you use an inkwell either.”

There was no malice in his voice, just intrigue, but Grantaire still adjusted his Gryffindor tie self-consciously.

“It’s just a pen,” he said, keeping his gaze and voice low, “it’s not magic.”

“You mean it’s a muggle creation?” Jehan asked in awe, taking the biro and turning it over in his hand like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. “Ingenious. Do you have any other muggle things? I was brought up with two wizard parents you see so all this stuff is lost on me.”

Jehan drew up a chair as Grantaire showed him his wristwatch. It was very old with a cracked glass cover. He showed Jehan how to wind it up and the mechanisms inside.

“Fascinating,” Jehan whispered, “wizard clocks are so much more complicated than this. I wish I had one of these, it’s so beautiful.”

Jehan was not the last person to ask Grantaire questions about the muggle world. Students who had been brought up knowing about magic started asking Grantaire about his life and how he had managed without magic for so long. Of course there were other muggle borns in Hogwarts, but none who incorporated as much of the muggle world into their everyday life like Grantaire. Some muggle borns even came to him to talk about their old life to cure homesickness. Grantaire was particularly fond of a boy called Feuilly, who still got The Daily Mail every morning in the post to keep up with the outside world.

In second year, students had started borrowing Grantaire’s things. Run out of ink? Ask Grantaire for that pen thing that doesn’t need a separate ink pot. Want to write up a lot of notes but can’t find a piece of parchment long enough? Borrow his ‘stapler’ and attach two bits of parchment together with a small metal bar. See Grantaire get a package in the post? Ask what muggle sweets he has got from Courfeyrac’s mum this time and hope he lets you try one.

In third year, Courfeyrac saw an opportunity. He and Grantaire started selling various muggle items in the Gryffindor common room. Pens, books, games, muggle sweets, music and much more. By the end of the year Grantaire had made enough to buy brand new textbooks for the next year and a wand that really did choose him.

In fourth year, their business expanded due to the complaints from other houses that they couldn’t buy their products if they were only on sale in the Gryffindor common room. There was some opposition from a few teachers but Headmaster Longbottom overruled them, saying there was no harm in what they were doing and any entrepreneurial instincts in the students should be nurtured and nourished. So, with the consent of Professor Binns, the History of Magic classroom was converted once a week to a shop where any and all things muggle could be bought by any Hogwarts student. Even a few Professors had visited the shop and bought a few things.

On one such day, Grantaire was demonstrating how a pencil mark could be erased with something called a ‘rubber’ as Courfeyrac flamboyantly described its properties. The first years were amazed as the grey line on the parchment disappeared without the use of magic.

As Courfeyrac took the money from the freckled girl, Grantaire’s gaze drifted to the doorway. His heart leapt into his mouth and dropped to the pit of his stomach. Instinctively, he kicked Courfeyrac on the shin to get his attention, which it did.

“Oh shit. Grantaire is that the guy that you-”

“Yes, shut up,” Grantaire hissed as the new potential customer came within earshot. He watched in equal amounts of pleasure and horror as his crush of two years approached.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was based in a huge castle full of hundreds of classrooms and secret passageways, dungeons that ran deep underground and towers that reached up to the sky. Yet comparatively there weren’t a lot of students in each year as you’d imagine. And with every student in the Great Hall for breakfast and dinner every day, Grantaire was going to notice the boy with the golden locks eventually.

13th of January it was. The day the Slytherin student had returned from the Christmas holidays and puberty had hit. Grantaire had often mistaken him for a girl, but after that Christmas there was no questioning that angular jawline and toned arms. Grantaire didn’t mean to fall for him, but those piercing blue eyes and deep red lips had something otherworldly about them. Grantaire fed off his beauty like a lifeline. He had never attempted to make contact with him though. Slytherin’s were notorious for not liking muggle borns, and Grantaire would rather go on pretending than know the angel would despise him. But now he was approaching and all Grantaire could think was shitshitshit!

He browsed the products in the makeshift shop and Grantaire couldn’t help but noticed how much more beautiful this guy was up close. He had never seen such perfect skin!

The Slytherin picked up a book (The Rules and Tactics of Football) and flipped it over to read the blurb.

“How much?”

His voice was deeper than most his age, crisp and clear. Well educated, Grantaire thought.

“One galleon, two sickles,” Courfeyrac replied. The Slytherin boy’s eyebrows shot up. He turned to look at the Ravenclaw student behind him. Grantaire hadn’t noticed him before. He was tall and gangly, with sandy hair and square blue glasses perched on the end of his nose. The look he gave the Slytherin was one of warning.

“Is something wrong?” Courfeyrac asked in his most polite manner.

“It’s exploitation,” the Slytherin murmured.

“I beg your pardon,” Grantaire said warily, his whole body going rigid.

“You’re exploiting muggles by selling these trinkets,” the Slytherin gestured to the whole shop.

Grantaire hesitated. “Trinkets?”

“Yes. You are mocking muggles by selling their things as gimmicks!”

“Gimmicks?” Grantaire balled his hands up into fists. “Just because these items do not possess magic, does not mean they aren’t useful or enjoyable. People have asked for these things so we have provided them.”

“These products are seen as novelties, you are taking advantage of muggles and how their lives are different from ours.” Grantaire could have sworn he chipped his tooth with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “How do you think muggles would feel if they knew you were selling things they considered normal as gimmicks for cash?”

Grantaire snapped.

“And maybe, just maybe, seeing some familiar items might help muggle born students with homesickness,” he growled. The Slytherin stepped back in surprise at the anger in his voice. “How would you feel if your life had been turned upside down, thrown into a whole new way of life, taken away from everything and everyone you know and love, and then be expected to just accept it and be okay. No extra help to adjust. Just a letter in the post and a ‘see you in September’. Maybe you purebloods could do with learning about other cultures.” There was no doubt this boy was a pureblood, no one else could be so naïve and uptight.

All the colour had drained from his face, aside from his pink cheeks and his flaming eyes. He looked as if he could bring down the wrath of god. But Grantaire didn’t give him the chance. He stormed out of the room, elbowing past the Ravenclaw who clearly wasn’t smart enough to shut up his friend.

“Yeah you just told a muggle born, who incidentally was disowned by his family when he found out he was a wizard and whose only connection to his old life was this stool, that he was a money grabbing muggle exploiting A-hole. Good going there.” The Slytherin boy blushed furiously. “I would storm out and find my best friend right now but I can't leave this stool unattended so I’d appreciate it if you left now.” Courfeyrac folded his arms over his chest and waited expectantly.

The Slytherin picked up something off the table, probably the first thing he saw, and quietly placed two galleons in its place. Courfeyrac didn’t move during this transaction and the Slytherin did not wait around for his change.

*

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire looked up from his marmalade on toast and saw the Slytherin boy standing there.

“I should have realised someone selling muggle products would have grown up in that world. I shouldn’t have tried to accuse you of anything else. I actually find it very admirable that you don’t want to lose touch with your heritage.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the punchline, but the boy looked genuinely ashamed and apologetic.

“Apology accepted,” he said slowly. He took another bite of his toast but the Slytherin continued to hover at the Gryffindor table. Grantaire gave him a weak smile as if to say ‘anything else?’. The Slytherin boy took a step forward and held out a small box.

“I bought this at your stall yesterday but I don’t fully understand what you do with it.”

Grantaire took pity on him. He was clearly still trying to make amends, so he took the paper box and offered the seat beside him.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said first.

“Enjolras.”

“Well Enjolras, this box contains a pack of cards. They are used to play various games, sometimes for money, and to perform magic.”

“Muggles can't do magic,” Enjolras said, confused.

Grantaire laughed.

“No, um, I mean,” he waved his hands in the air as he searched for the right word, “tricks. It’s for the kids really, but with training you can end up doing big stage shows. Here let me show you.”

He took out the cards and showed Enjolras the few tricks Courfeyrac had taught him when they were little. He found Enjolras’s card and made one card turn into another, he also showed him a couple of shuffling techniques. After he had found Enjolras’s card for the third time, Enjolras said, “I refuse to believe you aren’t using magic.”

Grantaire held up his hands defensively.

“On my honour, the only magic I am using is the muggle kind.”

Enjolras grinned. Grantaire loved the way his whole face lit up.

They remained friends after that. Enjolras introduced Grantaire to Combeferre, the Ravenclaw he had seen with him previously, as well as his friends Éponine and Musichetta, both also in the Slytherin house, and Joly, another Ravenclaw. Grantaire, in turn, introduced Enjolras to his friends. Courfeyrac was suspicious of Enjolras at first, but with Grantaire’s encouragement, he welcomed him warmly. Joly hit it off immediately with Bossuet, a clumsy Hufflepuff that Grantaire had Defence Against the Dark Arts with. He certainly made the lessons interesting.

But as well as hanging out as one big group, Enjolras and Grantaire often met up between classes where they would just sit and talk. Grantaire would talk about muggle life and Enjolras would tell Grantaire about how he was a pureblood and how he was brought up in a family that did not approve of muggle born wizards and how he hated them for that. He firmly believed in equality, magic was a gift that should be nurtured no matter where the witch or wizard came from. He wanted to work in the Ministry of Magic, ensuring all creatures, magical or not, were treated with respect and consideration. Grantaire admired him for it, even if he had lost faith in politics and governments after being brought up a muggle. He promised himself he would keep Enjolras grounded so he didn’t get disappointed when all his dreams weren’t realised. He never wanted to see this child of the gods crumble and lose hope.

*

By fifth year, Enjolras was helping out at the stall and business going strong. Every Wednesday Courfeyrac would get a large package in the post from his dad containing the week’s stock. The number of owls required to deliver the package varied depending on what Courfeyrac’s father could get hold of. The package that arrived in the second week of October took five owls to lower it in front of Courfeyrac’s cooked breakfast.

“Brilliant,” he said with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Grantaire started to unwrap the brown paper when another owl dropped a letter in Courfeyrac’s lap. The envelope was of white paper, sealed with the sticky gum of muggle envelopes, no red wax in sight. The address was written in blue ball point pen and the letter inside was on white note paper, not parchment. This was how Courfeyrac’s father always sent letters. Despite accepting the wizarding world when he, a muggle, married a witch, he still refused to give up all his muggle habits, hence Courfeyrac’s muggle friends and knowledge. He had grown up with the best of both worlds.

“He couldn’t find any more wind up torches,” he said aloud as he skimmed his dad’s letter. “Ooh but we’ve got some more sweets.” He let the letter drop into his lap as he sifted through the various smaller boxes that had been packed into one large package. He searched until he found the one labelled ‘sweets’. “What have we got here?” He opened it up. “Smarties, good. Munchies, yum. Mars bars, huh, they must have been on sale. Curly wurly’s, they will be popular – oh!” His head snapped up as he grinned at Grantaire. “We’ve got your favourites – love hearts!”

“Seriously?” Grantaire dived at the box and snatched a packet of the sweets. “Sorry Courf’, but I have to have some.”

“I see your stock arrived.”

Grantaire heard Enjolras before he saw him, and when he did he grinned stupidly. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes as Grantaire shuffled over so Enjolras could sit down. “Do you want some help going through it all?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, offering Enjolras a love heart, “you have to try one of these.”

“What are they?”

“Muggle sweets. It’s basically different coloured sugar discs. Try one.” He got one out of the packet and placed it into Enjolras’s waiting hand. When he inspected it, colour stained his cheeks.

“All yours?” he read out loud questioningly. Grantaire’s eyes widened. He scowled at Courfeyrac who had just tried to disguise a snort as a cough very poorly.

“They are called love hearts,” Grantaire explained quickly, “they all have something sappy written on them but they taste good.”

“I bet you anything that Marius kid that shares our dorm will get some for his girlfriend,” Courfeyrac said as Grantaire emptied the packet into his hand to show Enjolras. “Oh this one is so for me,” he added as he reached over the table and took a blue one out of Grantaire’s hand. He held it up to show them, it read ‘heart throb’, and then he popped it into his mouth. Enjolras nibbled at the one he had been given to try it, and he must have liked it because he ate the rest of it whole.

“What you got there?” Courfeyrac asked as Enjolras opened up another package from Courfeyrac’s dad.

“CD’s by the looks of it.” Enjolras fingered through the collection and read out the names. “The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Elvis…”

Courfeyrac groaned.

“When is he going to learn that I don’t want dad music?”

“The Beatles aren’t so bad,” Grantaire shrugged, “and Elvis is, well, Elvis.”

“But why not some variety? What about some show tunes or pop music? Even rap would do.”

“How about this – Queen?” Enjolras handed Courfeyrac the last CD in the pile. Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up.

“Now that is more like it!”

“I haven’t heard them in forever,” added Grantaire.

“They were magic in themselves.”

“Freddie Mercury was a legend.”

“Makes you proud to be British.”

“They are that good, huh?” asked Enjolras, clearly bothered he was missing out on some big joke.

“You have no idea.”

Courfeyrac glanced at the teacher’s table – they were all busy chatting amongst themselves – so he took the opportunity to climb upon the Gryffindor table.

“What are you doing?!” Grantaire hissed. Courfeyrac answered with a stomp-stomp-clap. He only had to do it once for Grantaire to catch on. He responded by slamming the table with his hands twice and clapping. Gleeful that Grantaire had cottoned on, Courfeyrac grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up onto the table with him.

Stomp-stomp-clap.

Stomp-stomp-clap.

“Buddy you’re a boy make a big noise playing in the street gonna be a big man some day,” Courfeyrac sang.

They had caught the attention of the whole school and Grantaire was overjoyed to see other students stomping and clapping.

“You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kicking your can all over the place, singing-”

The unified call of ‘we will, we will rock you!’ from a large proportion of the Great Hall was incredible. Those brought up in the magical world were being taught how to do the stomp-stomp-clap by the muggle borns and half bloods. Grantaire even saw some of the teachers clapping here and there. The only ones not joining in were students Grantaire had never seen browse his stall. Grantaire had never felt so alive.

At the last cry of ‘we will rock you’, the hall erupted into applause. Grantaire, struggling to breathe from laughing so much, climbed down from the table and sat back down next to Enjolras. Enjolras patted him on the shoulder, he too in stitches. His arm remained on Grantaire’s shoulders as Courfeyrac addressed his audience.

“That,” he said, still catching his breath, “and other classics will be available at the muggle stall this Friday.”

That week they sold more than they ever had before.

*

At the end of sixth year, Enjolras and Grantaire were lying on Enjolras’s bed with a rubber duck between them.

“I just don’t understand the purpose of them!” Enjolras cried for the umpteenth time. Grantaire just smiled. He had learnt that the answer ‘to have something fun and cute in the bath with you’ was not a good enough explanation.

“I’ve been reading,” Enjolras said after a brief pause, “about how muggles celebrate Christmas.” Grantaire rolled his eyes. They had been friends for years and Enjolras was still fascinated by his old life. He didn’t mind really, he was happy to indulge him if it made him smile, and it beat talking about politics.

Enjolras pulled out a book entitled ‘Christmas - A Muggle Holiday’, from under his pillow.

“You’ve told me most of it, but one thing caught my eye – mistletoe.” Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up.

“Um, yeah, I don’t know where there tradition came from but basically muggles are supposed to kiss if they are caught underneath it.”

There was a rustle and Grantaire glanced up to see a sprig of mistletoe growing by magic on the roof of Enjolras’s bed. He turned to face Enjolras opened mouthed as Enjolras put his wand on his bedside table sheepishly. He looked at Grantaire through his eyelashes and gave him a shy smile.

“But it’s not even Christmas,” Grantaire blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Oh sorry, should I wait until December to ask you out then?” asked Enjolras, tongue-in-cheek.

“No,” he said far too quickly, “no.”

Enjolras smiled softly. A smile, Grantaire realised, that was only ever for him. He nudged Enjolras’s chin up with his thumb and then he kissed him gently on the lips. Enjolras inhaled deeply as they kissed, as if Grantaire’s breath was a drug that he had been deprived of and it intoxicated him.

“Why did you wait until the end of term to do this?” Grantaire whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment with his normal voice. “We are going home tomorrow, I won’t see you until September.”

“Because I’m a coward.” Enjolras allowed his blonde curls to drop over his ashamed face. “I was afraid that you would reject me so I planned to have the summer to get over you if necessary and it wouldn’t be too awkward next term.”

Grantaire tucked the curl behind Enjolras’s ear so he could see him properly.

“How could you possibly think I would reject you?”

Enjolras didn’t answer.

“But if you think you aren’t seeing me all summer you are sorely mistaken,” Enjolras teased. “Courfeyrac is going to be sick to death of me with the number of times I will come to visit.” Grantaire laughed. “I would invite you to mine but, you now.”

“I know.”

Grantaire kissed Enjolras on the back of his hand to comfort him. Enjolras’s beliefs and opinions about equality in the wizarding community had caused some friction in his family.

“I think,” Grantaire said, trying to change the subject, “this has been the best year at Hogwarts ever.”

“Just you wait until our seventh year.”

“Our seventh year?”

Enjolras gave a wry grin and edged closer.

“Oh yes,” he whispered seductively, “I am going to make sure you never forget it.”