Chapter Text
Enjolras would like to say that the first people he meets on the train to Hogwarts become his best friends; he doesn’t, because the first people he meets on the train are a pair of stoic, stiff-limbed, upperclassmen who refuse to look up from their books. Enjolras is only sitting with them because theirs was the first compartment he found with empty seats, and by the time he realized they weren’t going to acknowledge his presence, the train had already started and it was too late to leave.
“Um,” he says awkwardly into the silence.
Neither of the students looks up from their books. They’re both dressed in robes, like Enjolras, but there’s no way to tell if they had to awkwardly climb onto the train wearing them like he did.
Both of them turn a page in terrifying unison.
“Right,” says Enjolras. He steels himself for what will no doubt be the most awkward train ride of his life; possibly he should sleep.
“Hey, there you are,” says a voice, and Enjolras’ head snaps up instantly. The voice belongs to a boy, about Enjolras’ age, with dark, curly hair and too-blue eyes. He’s wearing plain clothes—a pair of jeans and high-top converse covered in marker—but Enjolras tries his best to focus on his face instead. He gets distracted, though, because the boy has near-translucent lines of scar tissue crawling across the skin of his neck. He’s also smiling, despite the purple circles under his eyes, and he’s sticking his head into the compartment.
“I’m sorry?” says Enjolras a few seconds too late. His voice sounds broken and uncomfortable in the silence.
“We saved you a seat if you want,” says the boy. By contrast, his voice is warm, inviting, and sounds entirely too comfortable in the quiet around them. It makes Enjolras’ whole body feel warm.
He ends up staring somewhat blankly back at the boy, uncertain.
“Unless you want to stay here—” begins the boy.
“No, I—thanks!” says Enjolras quickly. He darts to his feet and grabs his trunk. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you.”
“No problem,” says his savior, helping Enjolras lift his trunk out into the aisle.
Enjolras follows him, grateful. Inside, neither of his newfound friends seem to notice.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” continues the boy, as they make their way past the compartments. He smiles again. It’s an easy smile, and it lights up his whole face. Enjolras can’t remember the last time he saw a smile like that, and the knot of tension in the pit of his stomach loosens a little. Maybe it won’t be so bad here.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I mean, thank you.” He pauses, awkward. “Again.”
The boy leans over to nudge Enjolras with one shoulder, the move a bright spot of physical contact on an otherwise isolated day, and reaches out to tug open a compartment on their right. “You’re very welcome,” he says. “I’m Grantaire, by the way, and this is—”
“The Girl Who Lived,” says Enjolras stupidly, and instantly regrets it.
“—Cosette,” finishes Grantaire from behind him.
“Hello,” says Cosette. Her eyes are very, very blue, and entirely too piercing. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh god,” says Enjolras on some sort of terrible automatic pilot, and sticks out a hand. “I mean, sorry. I mean—” He breaks off, lips twitching slightly, and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m not usually this much of an idiot.”
Cosette laughs and takes his hand. Her grip is firmer than Enjolras is expecting, but no less warm. “It’s okay,” she says. “I get that a lot.” That last bit sounds like a line, but the slope of her mouth suggests that she means it as nicely as possible.
“Still,” Enjolras says. “I’m not usually this flustered.”
“It’s fine,” says Cosette mildly. She brings a hand up to brush at some of the strands of hair falling across her forehead, and Enjolras’ eyes catch on the fingerless gloves she has on.
“No, it’s not—I’m—” says Enjolras, stumbling.
“Sorry,” tries Grantaire.
“Enjolras,” finishes Enjolras. “You caught me on a bad day.”
Grantaire smiles at him. “It’s alright, really. You should have seen the people he was sitting with,” he adds, winking at Cosette. He pulls the door shut behind them and rests and arm across Enjolras’ shoulders like he belongs. “They wouldn’t even put their books down.”
“Oh?” says Cosette.
Now that his heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest, Enjolras notices that she has a book in her left hand, and he can see the faint edge of the circle of scar tissue that marks her as The Girl Who Lived.
“Yep,” says Grantaire. “Right, Enjolras?”
“Why aren’t you wearing two gloves?” says Enjolras stupidly. Again. He can feel the flush creeping its way up his neck.
Grantaire makes a choking noise from somewhere behind him. “Your foot is in your mouth, Apollo,” he says.
“Apollo,” says Enjolras, refusing to look away from Cosette’s eyes.
“Foot in your mouth?” says Cosette. She’s still smiling, and actually looks to be genuinely amused. Enjolras isn’t sure if he should be happy about that or not. He’s thinking the latter.
“Muggle saying,” says Grantaire. He comes around to take up residence in the seat across from Cosette, leaving Enjolras to awkwardly set his trunk above them. “And don’t pretend you didn’t think it when you saw him.” He nudges Cosette with a toe. “Blond hair, pale skin, the cheekbones.”
Enjolras is suddenly incredibly self-conscious, but he pretends otherwise. “I do not know what you’re talking about,” he says with dignity, and heads over to take the seat next to Cosette.
She scoots over slightly, and grins at him. “I don’t know,” she says. “I can see it.”
Enjolras scowls at her, and Grantaire laughs.
“See,” says the other boy. “He even frowns pretty.”
“I do not,” says Enjolras, crossing his arms. “Shut up.”
Grantaire mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. He gives his wand a swish for good measure as well, and Cosette laughs.
“You don’t know a spell to take someone’s voice,” she says.
“No,” says Grantaire. “But I bet there is one.”
Cosette leans back in her seat. “Well, yeah,” she says. “But there’re spells for most of everything.”
“True,” says Grantaire. “Has your father shown you any awesome ones?”
Cosette’s lips curve into even more of a smile. “Maybe,” she says.
“Have you known each other long, then?” interjects Enjolras, still feeling awkward.
“Nope,” says Cosette. “I just met him today.”
“She accosted me,” clarifies Grantaire. “One minute I was walking by this lovely compartment in search of a seat and the next she had somehow lured me into her clutches with the promise of chocolate frogs.”
Cosette laughs at him, throwing her head back and lifting a hand to brush hair out of her eyes. The move lets the light catch on the ring shaped scar on the back of her hand, and Enjolras can’t help but stare. Not for long, though, because Grantaire meets his eyes and nudges him with a shoe. When Enjolras looks at him inquiringly, he shakes his head.
“You brought up chocolate frogs first,” Cosette is saying when Enjolras tunes back in. “And that was only because of Papa.”
“Headmaster Valjean,” clarifies Grantaire, as if Enjolras doesn’t know, and Enjolras narrows his eyes at him. Grantaire puts up both of his hands. “What?” he says.
“I’m not an idiot, Grantaire,” says Enjolras.
Cosette grins. “That’s not what you said a few minutes ago,” she says.
Enjolras shakes his head at her, but smiles.
“But anyway, chocolate frogs,” says Grantaire. He lifts both of his hands above his head and folds them up so that he can use them as something of a pillow, dragging the fabric of his t-shirt up over his hipbones and revealing skin. “I have five of him.”
Cosette wrinkles her nose. “Really?” she says. “Papa doesn’t let me keep any of the cards with him on it. He finds them to be somewhat tasteless.”
“I’ll trade you,” says Grantaire. “Although, I should warn you, you’re on the card.”
“Really?” Cosette sounds gleeful. “What does it say?”
Enjolras continues to stare at them, somewhat at a loss, as they unwrap a chocolate frog and let it hop about the compartment. It lands on Enjolras’ left knee, and stays there, seemingly unconcerned.
“See,” says Grantaire. “I only ever get Valjean—”
The door swings open, and the frog on Enjolras’ lap makes a beeline for it.
“Do you guys have empty seats—” says one of the two boys in the doorway, before he catches sight of the frog. “Hey, Marius, catch it!”
The other boy, smaller with more freckles than Enjolras can count and a bright crop of red-brown hair, makes a startled noise and manages to catch the frog mid-air. It lands on his nose, where he stares at it somewhat cross-eyedly until Cosette gets up to pick it up.
“Sorry about that,” she says gently. She picks up the frog, which settles easily into her palm, and plops it in her mouth.
He stares back at her, still cross-eyed, as she chews.
“No problem,” says the other boy brightly. “I’m Courfeyrac, and this is Marius.”
“Grantaire,” says Grantaire.
“Enjolras,” says Enjolras.
“Cosette,” says Cosette.
“Awesome,” says Courfeyrac. “Now if you don’t mind, please pretend you didn’t see us.”
“What?” Enjolras tries to say, before Courfeyrac unfolds the bit of fabric he has under his left arm and disappears underneath it with Marius.
A few moments later, the compartment door comes open again to reveal a girl. She has dark hair, dimples, and looks exhausted. “Any chance the three of you have seen a boy, about this high”—she makes a gesture in the air bout at her chin height, and there is a muffled sound of protest from the corner of the compartment where Enjolras knows Courfeyrac and Marius are—“with dark, curly hair, and an air of mischief about him?”
“Nope,” says Grantaire, when it becomes clear Enjolras and Cosette aren’t going to say anything. “Sorry—”
“Okay, hold on,” says Courfeyrac, fighting his way free of the invisibility cloak to leave poor Marius twisted up in it awkwardly.
Grantaire takes pity on the boy, and reaches out to help him untangle and sit down in one of the empty seats next to him.
“What about me says mischief?” finishes Courfeyrac.
Cosette comes back over to sit next to Enjolras, who very subtly starts shifting closer and closer to the window; Grantaire notices, but doesn’t do anything beyond grin at him.
The girl, stares at Courfeyrac blankly. “You stole Marius,” she says.
“You tried to make Marius sit with your creepy friends,” retorts Courfeyrac. “And you’re changing the subject.”
“Jehan is not creepy,” says the girl.
“I wasn’t talking about Jehan,” sulks Courfeyrac.
The girl rolls her eyes. “And I don’t know—the fact that you have an invisibility cloak, maybe?” she continues.
“That is pretty mischievous,” puts in Grantaire.
“Thank you,” says the girl. “I’m Eponine.” She gives Courfeyrac another long look, before heading over to shake hands with Grantaire.
“Grantaire,” says Grantaire. “Nice to meet you.” He reaches out a hand to point at Enjolras. “This is Enjolras.”
Enjolras manages something of an awkward wave.
“And this is Cosette.”
Cosette smiles back brightly; across the seat from them, Marius sucks in a breath, and goes faintly pink underneath all of the freckles.
“Hi,” says Cosette.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Courfeyrac. “Now we all know each other, hooray, can we get back to the point of this conversation?”
“I don’t know,” says Enjolras, finding his voice finally. “I’m pretty sure Grantaire answered your question when he brought up your invisibility cloak.”
Courfeyrac’s jaw snaps shut, and Grantaire looks terribly pleased. “I like you,” he tells Enjolras. “You can stay.”
Enjolras tries out a smile at him, and the other boy blinks, before grinning back, wildly, and opening his mouth.
Enjolras never gets to hear what he says, however, because they’re interrupted by the compartment door pulling open once again.
“Sorry,” says the boy in the doorway. “But, um, Eponine, ‘Parnasse wants to know if you’re coming back?”
“Jehan,” wails Courfeyrac, taking hold of the newest addition and dragging him inside.
Jehan has reddish hair and freckles also, and Enjolras ends up looking between him and Marius with amusement.
Across from him, Eponine catches his eye and mouths, Don’t. She’s taken up residence underneath Grantaire’s other arm, but unlike Marius, she looks more than pleased to be there.
“Oh, um, hello, Courfeyrac?” says Jehan, sounding mostly unfazed by how he’s been abducted and is currently being trapped in something of an awkward hug.
“Tell them I’m not mischievous!” Courfeyrac says to the other boy’s collar bones.
Jehan opens and closes his mouth a few times, before reaching up to pat Courfeyrac on the head. “You’re not mischievous?” he says, but it comes out more of a question.
Courfeyrac seems to visibly deflate, before he heads over to the empty space next to Cosette and plops down. He doesn’t seem to even really notice Cosette, who looks absolutely charmed. “You’re all awful,” he tells the group. “You three, especially.” He points around at Enjolras, Cosette, and Grantaire. “Since I don’t really know you.”
There is a slightly awkward silence, before Jehan breaks it. “So, um, Eponine?”
“Tell ‘Parnasse he can suck it,” says Eponine from somewhere around the vicinity of Grantaire’s armpit. “Or actually, come here. Join us, Prouvaire. Sit among the mortals.”
She makes a dramatic gesture with her hands, and Jehan smiles at her. “I don’t think I’ll fit,” he says, but he’s grinning, and comes over to settle into the empty space Courfeyrac and Cosette make for him.
“Nonsense,” crows Courfeyrac. “Get over here.”
Enjolras ends up pressed leg to leg with Cosette, who shoots him something of an apologetic look.
“Sorry,” she says.
“No problem,” says Enjolras, smiling back at her. “It could be worse.”
He regrets saying that twenty minutes later, when the doors burst open again in the middle of a particularly enlightening discussion of classes and houses. It’s another pair of boys, one wearing glasses and the other a grin, sounding out of breath. They’re both already wearing their robes as well.
“I regret ever deciding to sit with you,” says the first one, closing the compartment behind him, before giving the group in front of him a long look. “We are never going to fit.”
“Nonsense, Combeferre,” says the other boy. “Now sit down before they notice we’ve stopped running.”
“Right,” says Combeferre. “I’m Combeferre, and this is Bahorel, and for a reason that is beyond me, he decided to start his Hogwarts career by pranking the most terrifying Slytherin sixth year I have ever laid eyes on.”
Bahorel laughs. “He was huge,” he says. “And shut up, he was asking for it.”
Combeferre’s lips twitch, slightly, before he sighs. “Well, yes,” he says. “But that didn’t warrant using magic—”
“There he is, quick!” shouts Bahorel, shoving Combeferre towards Enjolras’ side of seats and nearly crushing Marius in his quest to look innocent. “Act natural.”
“It’s very hard to act natural when you can’t breathe,” says Marius, finally finding his voice, and the entire group of them bursts out laughing.
It only gets worse a few moments later, when the largest sixteen year-old Enjolras has ever seen walks by their train compartment with a furious expression on his face.
“He’s green,” says Grantaire, sounding gleeful. “You must teach me that.”
“But of course,” says Bahorel, bowing. “Now, is someone going to do something about the lack of seats, or are we just going to get to know each other the hard way.”
“I vote illegal magic,” says Enjolras, getting a hand free and wincing at how that makes his shoulder dig awkwardly into the train window.
“Cool,” says Grantaire, wrestling free of the pile of limbs across from him. “Nobody panic; I’ve never tried this before.”
“So this is fun,” says Courfeyrac finally into the darkness of the Black Lake around them. He’s ended up in a boat with Enjolras, Combeferre, and Jehan, while Eponine and Cosette cuddle with Grantaire to their left. Bahorel had vanished somewhere between them getting off of the express and onto the boats, dragging Marius behind him somewhat helplessly.
“I think it’s peaceful,” says Jehan sweetly. He reaches out a hand to dip into the water to his left, and Enjolras has to fight the urge to reach out and grab a part of him to keep him from falling. They’re on the far end of the group, so when a tentacle comes curling out of the water there’s no one around to hear Courfeyrac’s shriek.
“What?” he says, even as Jehan blinks down at the tentacle, which is curling around his fingers. “It could have killed me.”
“Oh, hello,” says Jehan, shaking his hand once.
“Right,” says Eponine. “I’m shaking all the way over here in my boat.”
“Shut up,” says Courfeyrac.
“I think it’s harmless,” says Jehan, letting go of the tentacle and watching it descend back under the water.
A few boats ahead of them there’s a splash, and then a shout, and then a slightly startled voice saying, “I’m okay, sorry!”
“He’s okay!” calls what sounds like Bahorel. “I caught him, right, Bossuet?”
Enjolras finds himself meeting Grantaire’s eyes in the lamplight, mouth slightly agape, and shaking his head.
“So I found Bahorel,” says Combeferre quietly.
There’s another splash.
“Oh god!” cries a voice that sounds like Marius.
“And Marius.”
“I’m still okay!” shouts the kid named Bossuet.
Combeferre’s smiles a little. “He sounds like he’s having fun.”
Grantaire snorts. “One word for it.”
Enjolras watches the oar-less boats for a while longer, before glancing back up at the looming castle before them. “Wow,” he finds himself saying, and flushing, before checking to make sure no one around him notices.
He doesn’t think they do, except when they get out of the boats on shaking legs to start the trek up to the castle doors, Grantaire nudges him with one shoulder and smiles.
When the last of the First Years’ names have been called and Headmaster Valjean finishes welcoming them and filling the tables with food, Enjolras looks around and finds Cosette. She’s sitting somewhat shell shocked at the Gryffindor table, with a less than pleased looking Grantaire at her side. When he meets her eyes, however, she smiles.
“Come on,” says Enjolras under his breath to Combeferre.
The other boy looks at him from behind his glasses, brow furrowed, but gets to his feet when Enjolras does so.
“Is this seat taken?” Enjolras asks Cosette politely when they’re finished walking across the Great Hall from the Ravenclaw table to the Gryffindor one.
“No,” says Cosette, lips twitching. “But neither is that one.” She points across the room at the empty spots next to Marius and Courfeyrac at the Hufflepuff table, and gets to her feet. “Shall we?” she sticks out a hand for Combeferre, who takes it, and the two of them head off towards the Hufflepuff table.
Grantaire doesn’t move.
“Well?” says Enjolras, looking down at him. “Are you coming?”
Grantaire refuses to meet his eyes. “Everyone is staring at us,” he says finally.
“So?” says Enjolras. Cosette and Combeferre have settled into the seats next to Marius and Courfeyrac.
“Does that not bother you?” says Grantaire.
“Does it bother you?” says Enjolras somewhat sharply, and Grantaire’s eyes go briefly dark.
“Nope,” he says brightly, hopping to his feet and brushing his hands along his robes. “Lead on, Apollo.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes, amused, but sets off towards Cosette and company anyway. “You shouldn’t call me that,” he says.
“I can call you whatever I like,” points out Grantaire. “Apollo.”
“If you wish,” says Enjolras. He spots Jehan and Eponine at the Slytherin table, and waves. Jehan’s hand comes up almost instantly, but Eponine only risks a nod. To their right, a boy with dark hair, red lips, and sharp eyes, reaches out to tug Jehan’s arm down. “I might have to stop you,” Enjolras adds.
“Oh?”
Enjolras raises both of his eyebrows, and mimes flicking his wand.
Grantaire snorts. “I thought there wasn’t a spell to take someone’s voice,” he says.
“That’s what you think,” says Enjolras. They’ve reached the Hufflepuff table in time to hear Courfeyrac introducing the boy to Marius’ left.
“This is Bossuet,” he says. “You may also know him as the kid who fell out of his boat.”
Bossuet lifts one hand in greeting and grins. He doesn’t look all that wet, but there are puddles around his feet, so whomever dried him didn’t get his shoes.
“Are you—” says Enjolras, slowly. “Are you bald?”
There’s a beat. “Oh my god,” says Cosette breathlessly, burying her head in her hands.
Grantaire reaches out and tugs Enjolras into a seat. “Here,” he says, reaching out to put a helping of mashed potatoes onto Enjolras’ plate. “Before you break Cosette.”
Cosette has turned to look at Marius and appears to be having a rapturous conversation with him about the weather in the Great Hall.
“Or yourself,” concedes Grantaire, following Enjolras’ eyes.
Enjolras opens his mouth to respond and Courfeyrac reaches out to shove a spoonful into his mouth. “Eat,” he says, nodding alongside with Grantaire.
“To answer your question, yes,” says Bossuet, as Enjolras chews. He looks and sounds pleased. “I am bald.”
“Thank you for that, Bossuet,” says Courfeyrac. He feeds Enjolras another bite before he can speak. “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”
“I can feed myself, thanks,” says Enjolras sharply, getting a hand free and grabbing the spoon before Courfeyrac can shovel another mouthful into his mouth.
“Oh, good, it talks,” says Combeferre dryly.
Enjolras gets a hand free so that he can flip him off. “What?” he says when Grantaire and Courfeyrac blink at him. “I watch TV.”
The two of them raise both of their hands in defense. “Didn’t say anything,” says Courfeyrac.
“You thought it,” says Enjolras, not meanly, but with a grin twisting around his mouth.
“Mind-reader,” retorts Grantaire. He loads his own plate with mashed potatoes and starts eating.
“Observant,” says Enjolras. He pours himself a glass of pumpkin juice and pointedly ignores the look Grantaire is leveling him.
“Ravenclaw,” says Grantaire finally.
Enjolras glares at him. “What does that have to do with anything?” he says somewhat sharply.
Their group goes a little silent, and even Cosette stops talking with Marius to look at the two of them.
“Nothing,” says Grantaire finally. “Everything.”
Enjolras considers arguing, but is saved from further conversation by Bahorel, followed by a slightly out of breath Jehan, settling down into the seat across from them. “Hello,” says Bahorel brightly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Enjolras blinks at him, taking in the half-assedly tied standard black tie around his neck and the Gryffindor pin sitting proudly against his breastbone, and smiles back. “Hello,” he says.
“Sorry we’re late,” says Jehan brightly from behind Bahorel. He reaches back with a hand, and a slightly green Eponine comes stumbling forward.
“Eponine!” says Marius brightly from his place at Cosette’s side. He looks up at her and smiles.
“Hi,” says Eponine, sounding tired. She settles into the seat across from Cosette and ignores the looks from the surrounding Hufflepuffs. Bahorel takes a seat next to her and that seems to deter any of the onlookers, and when Jehan settles down on her other side, they all look back down at their plates.
“Nice of you to join us,” says Combeferre.
“Yeah,” says Courfeyrac brightly. “I never really cared for House stereotypes.” He slaps a hand to his chest, and then drapes an arm around Marius. He ends up shoving Grantaire into Enjolras, who finds himself only grinning in response. The Ravenclaw pin on his tie digs into his collarbone, but he doesn’t really care. “Right, Marius?” says Courfeyrac.
“I’m just glad the Hat sorted me,” says Grantaire dryly. “I couldn’t make up my mind.”
“If it sorted Enjolras, it could handle you,” says Eponine. She’s started heaving food onto her plate, and already there is more color in her cheeks. “You were up there for ages. What were you doing? Arguing with it?”
Enjolras remembers his lengthy discussion with the Hat about his own various qualities and Housing choices, and wisely decides not to mention it. “None of your business,” he says.
“Which means yes,” says Grantaire. “Did you read it a prepared speech?”
“No,” says Enjolras. Yes, means Enjolras.
Grantaire grins at him.
The Ravenclaw common room is located on the west side of the castle. Enjolras and Combeferre have to run to catch the rest of the table of Ravenclaws, and none of the other first years or upperclassmen look particularly pleased to see them. Enjolras spots his friends from the train, and can’t quite hide the smile on his face. When they reach the group, they ease in between a boy and girl, who meet their eyes and smile.
“Hello,” says the girl. “I’m Musichetta.”
She reaches out and takes Enjolras’ hand, then Combeferre, before smiling again and following the rest of the wave of Ravenclaws.
“Enjolras,” says Enjolras blankly, even though she can’t quite hear him.
“Combeferre,” says Combeferre, laughing. “Come on.”
The follow the Prefects through the maze of hallways, up some terrifying stairs that really ought to come with a warning—
“If the stairs keep moving,” says one of the boys near Enjolras. “How are we supposed to learn our way?”
The Ravenclaw prefect stares back at him for a moment, before continuing like he hadn’t spoken. “Right,” he says. “This way, please!”
Enjolras looks over at the boy, and meets his eyes, smiling. “Enjolras,” he says.
“Feuilly,” says the boy. “I saw you sitting with the Hufflepuffs.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I met them on the train,” he says, falling into step with Feuilly on the stairs. They seems to be staying put, but he’s still on edge. Combeferre is a guiding presence at his side. “It’d be pointless to have to make new new friends.”
Feuilly smiles back at him. “No, I get you,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Enjolras.”
“Combeferre,” says Combeferre again, holding out his own hand. It has the dual purpose of keeping Feuilly from falling when the stairs decide to shift slightly.
“Awesome,” says Feuilly. “Now if you don’t mind . . .”
He trails off, still grinning, and the three of them go quickly up the rest of the stairs onto a safe, solid, not-likely-to-be-moving landing.
They’ve ended up at the tail end of the Ravenclaws, but Enjolras isn’t too concerned. He is, however, when they reach the entrance to the common room and find that their Prefects have sealed it with them all standing outside it.
“What are we doing?” he asks somewhat pointlessly when they reach the crowd.
“We’re supposed to answer the riddle,” says the girl from before, Musichetta.
“What is harder to see the more there is of it?” says the bronze knocker in front of her nose. It’s in the shape of an eagle, and its voice is just a touch amused.
“What?” says Enjolras, again.
“What is harder to see the more there is of it?” repeats the knocker.
“No, not you,” starts Enjolras, mind racing absently. “Darkness,” he says, finally. “But what if we got it wrong?”
“What makes you so certain you’ve gotten it right?” says Musichetta.
Enjolras stares back at her, and then the knocker. “Am I?” he says.
“Oh I like you,” says the knocker. “Your hair is lovely, dearie.”
The door swings open to reveal the Ravenclaw Prefects, looking somewhat surprised and the common room. Enjolras gives the arched windows, domed ceiling, and midnight blue carpet a brief once-over before turning back to Combeferre. “You have to agree it’s a bad system,” he says.
“You certainly had no problem with the question,” Combeferre replies, deadpan. “And I don’t think anyone else would have, either.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes, and passes the white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw with comment.
“I’m just saying,” he says when they’ve reached the door to the dormitories. “What’s to say we’re all going to be treasuring our wit when we’re twelve. Or thirteen. Or even in a week?”
Combeferre follows him shaking his head. “What would you suggest?” he says.
“Something other than a hat,” says Enjolras, pulling the door closed behind him. “You have to admit that having a hat decide your fate is a little much.”
“Maybe,” concedes Combeferre, looking amused. “Are you going to be like this for the entire year?”
Enjolras blinks back him, eyelashes batting. “Why?” he says. “Does it bother you?”
“Oh no,” says Combeferre. “I just wanted to know what I got into when I let Bahorel drag me into your compartment.”
“Cosette’s compartment,” says Enjolras, on reflex.
“Cosette’s compartment.”
“I’m sorry,” says one of the other first years, setting up the bed next to Combeferre’s. “Did you say Cosette?”
“Yes,” says Enjolras hesitantly.
“Cosette Fauchelevent?” says the student, sounding breathless. “Did you see her scar?”
Enjolras opens his mouth to snap back, but is halted by Combeferre’s hand on his back.
“Yes,” he says, to the point. “It’s not like she hides it.”
“Oh, I know, I—” says the student.
“It’s okay,” says Combeferre, not unkindly, but in a way that leaves no room for further debate.
The other boy finishes putting his trunk down at the base of his bed and disappears out of the room in a rush.
“Wow,” says Feuilly, coming into the room with Musichetta in tow. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“How did you even get in here?” says Enjolras, ignoring him, to Musichetta.
The girl raises both her hands and eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I’m relatively certain there are spells to prevent that—” begins Enjolras.
“Not for the girls,” says Combeferre. “Just the boys.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” says Enjolras, watching Musichetta settle onto his bed.
“Life isn’t fair,” she says brightly, pulling out a deck of cards. “Now who here knows how to play exploding snap?”