Chapter Text
Black and blue
Beats thy heart
Mend broken pieces
Through Wiccan art
Enjolras whined in frustration and ripped the piece of papyrus in half. It was a waste, he knew it, because papyrus was in such short supply, and Jehan had traded an entire jar of lavender seeds for a single scroll.
This was his fifth attempt at a mending spell, and he was starting to lose hope.
The scrap of papyrus was marred with half-erased spells, all of which hadn’t worked.
This one had to work, it just had to.
Courfeyrac noticed his frustration and rolled off the couch, abandoning his fortress of blankets, pillows and empty snack bags. He shook his head and took the papyrus from Enjolras’ hands, gently setting them down on the coffee table.
“You don’t have to do this, I’ll be fine.”
Enjolras shook his head, “No, you won’t. You really liked Bella, and she…she cheated on you. I have to fix this, Courf. It hurts too much, seeing you moping around.”
Courfeyrac’s smile was sad, and it tugged at Enjolras’ heart. How he hated seeing his friend like this.
“There’s a difference between ‘really liked’ and ‘loved’. It’s fine, really, this broken heart can mend itself. You probably have more important things to be doing, anyways.”
Enjolras shrugged, “Not really, no. I asked Jehan to get papyrus just to write the spell for you. I’m not giving up.”
Courfeyrac didn’t say anything, just looked at the papyrus scraps beside him.
“Maybe it isn’t working because the previously attempted spells aren’t completely erased?” He suggested.
Enjolras shook his head, “No spell is ever completely erased, that shouldn’t be a factor.”
Courfeyrac shrugged and went back to the couch, opening a tub of ice cream and silently scooping it out.
Enjolras sighed at the papyrus and, with a little flick of his hand, mended the two halves back into a whole. He stared at it for some time before tucking it in his collection of failed spells. Courfeyrac was still moping, still heart broken. He had just wanted to help his friend, but, well, if Courfeyrac wanted to deal with this alone, he could deal with it alone.
~
Coven des Amis gathered every Friday night in an old spell bookshop that had once belonged to a local enchantress. The Coven consisted of thirteen witches, all old or new friends, close-knit like their own strange family. Sometimes, their messenger, Gavroche, joined them. They were led by Enjolras, who had memorized entire spell books and textbooks and Wiccan rituals for the sake of the Coven.
This was one of those nights when Gavroche decided to turn up at the gathering. He even remembered to wear the Coven’s symbol: the tricoloured rosette, pinned to the front of his worn jacket. They hadn’t started the rituals yet, so Enjolras was setting up the altar on the platform while Combeferre selected incantations when he came in.
“Gavroche, it’s nice of you to join us,” Enjolras said.
Gavroche shrugged, “Yeah, I decided it might be time to grace the lot of you with my presence. Actually, I need ‘Ponine.”
Combeferre looked up from the spell book he was reading and pointed towards the spiral staircase that led to the loft, “She’s up there. Why?”
“Old friend wants to see her.”
“Which old friend?” Enjolras asked.
“That’s for her to know,” Gavroche said, and disappeared upstairs.
~
Gavroche found Eponine sorting a pile of old spell books and rearranging the pillow set of the nearby bay window. The curtains were drawn back, and Gavroche could tell she had manipulated the view to resemble the Seine. He sat down on the window seat and watched her sort books for a while.
“’Ponine?”
Eponine turned around, “Yeah?”
“He’s back.”
~
The Corinth was basically witch-central and, according to rumours she had heard, Eponine expected to find him there.
It had been twelve years since she had last seen him, and yet he looked the exact same. Glowing blue eyes, wild raven curls, bracelets adorning his wrists, rings on his fingers and immaculate combat boots. Eponine could still sense that weird aura of magic of his, the one aura she hadn’t ever been able to decipher. There was an untouched glass on the table, filled with a sparkling red liquid.
Eponine sat down opposite him, hands clasped together underneath the table.
“I heard you were in town,” She said.
He smiled, “So Gavroche did get you. How have you been doing, Eponine?”
“Good, I guess. Joined a coven- Coven des Amis, maybe you’ve heard of them.”
“Possibly.”
“And what about you? Still going solitary, like you were planning on doing twelve years ago?”
“Still going solitary, yes. Covens aren’t for me.”
Eponine didn’t bother asking about the story, for she knew there was one behind that. Instead, she switched subjects to a much more pressing matter.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in town?”
His eyes glowed a more vibrant blue, “Paris will always be my home, Eponine. Besides, Toulouse was getting a little…dangerous.”
Eponine nodded, “I see.”
The untouched glass suddenly appeared in Eponine’s hand, where it was resting on the table. She cautiously raised it to her lips, peering at her old friend over the rim of the glass.
“What is this, exactly?”
“Wine.”
“It’s radiating magic.”
“With a protection spell, of course. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you, would I?”
Eponine downed the glass and set it down on the table. He passed her a fabric pouch, tied at the top with a single red ribbon. It had the same strange aura of magic.
“What’s this?” She asked, weighing the pouch in her hands.
“A collection of protective charms and spells. For your coven.”
Eponine smiled to herself and looked up, warm brown meeting vibrant blue.
“Thank you, Grantaire.”
He leaned back in the booth, smiling.
“No problem.”
And with that, he disappeared.