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Combeferre had thought to have a nice, pleasant evening.
Combeferre should have known better.
Initially, he's not all that concerned when Enjolras wanders into the Common Room sometime around eleven - the younger boy dislikes trying to work in the dormitory, and he and Combeferre have spent many a night in front of the Ravenclaw fire discussing everything from the ridiculous notion of Sorting people into different Houses ("It promotes disunity - look at Slytherin, look at how they're treated.") to the still-lingering tension caused by blood status ("Until everyone agrees that not only does magical blood have no bearing on a person's worth, but that Muggles are our equals - I just don't understand it, Combeferre, how can people be so blind?").
But Enjolras has never had that look on his face before, and Combeferre knows the many variations of Enjolras' face well. This one is new, it's unsettling, and it's...it's...
Dreamy.
Combeferre appraises him over his book.
"Enjolras?"
"Do you think he notices me?" Enjolras wonders aloud, and Combeferre blinks very slowly before setting aside the book, now officially concerned.
"Who?" he asks with no small amount of trepidation.
"Grantaire," Enjolras sighs plaintively, and he flops facedown over the back of the couch so that his nose pokes into the space between Combeferre's neck and shoulder.
"I wasn't aware you had feelings for Grantaire," Combeferre attempts. Enjolras sniffles. Sniffles.
"I love him," he mumbles, and it takes all of Combeferre's composure not to slide off the couch to floor and never get up again, because he must have been a truly awful person in a past life to deserve this.
"This is. Erm. This is new," he manages. "What brought this on?" Enjolras shrugs miserably, then pops up without warning, a more familiar expression on his face that does nothing to alleviate Combeferre's growing alarm.
"I should kiss him," he says with the kind of fierce determination he usually reserves for passionately defending werewolf rights. "Then he'll know how I feel." Apparently decided, he pushes himself off the couch to head for the entrance, Combeferre scrambling to follow him.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he calls after him, a bit panicked, but Enjolras marches on, chin in the air.
"Nonsense, Combeferre," he replies before declaring, "Love, thine is the future!" and this is very, very bad.
Combeferre makes a swipe for the back of his robes but misses, and thus finds himself jogging down the stairs after Enjolras, glasses slipping and sliding on his nose in his haste to keep up.
"This is a bad idea," he repeats, but he might as well be talking to the giant squid for all the good it's doing; come to think of it, the giant squid would have listened. "Enjolras, no, let's just talk about this for a minute - "
"What is there to talk about?" The staircase he's on starts to move, and Combeferre is forced to leap across the gap to keep up. "Except his eyes, of course. And his hair." He actually giggles and oh no, oh no, this is so very, very bad.
"Enjolras, please, I'm a prefect," Combeferre persists, near tears. "You're not thinking clearly, you're - you're - " He stumbles, a horrible thought occurring to him. "Enjolras have you had anything to drink recently? Or eaten anything with a liquid filling?"
"Éponine gave me some Chocolate Cauldrons earlier - the butterbeer kind. Why?" He comes to a dead halt so suddenly that Combeferre almost knocks him over. "You don't think I should go back and get them, do you?" he asks anxiously. "As a present for Grantaire? I only ate one." He looks so desperate that Combeferre could laugh - laugh and laugh and probably go into hysterics, because there is only one logical explanation for this, and it's that Combeferre is Voldemort reincarnated and this is his karmic comeuppance.
Actually, it's that Éponine slipped a love potion into Enjolras' Chocolate Cauldrons.
But same difference.
"Er, come with me," Combeferre orders, circling a hand around Enjolras' wrist and tugging him back up the stairs. Hopefully, if they come across anyone, Combeferre will only have to flash his badge in lieu of actually explaining why they're out of bed after dark (never mind that it's not his night for patrolling duty). He's well-behaved enough to get away with this sort of thing, but Enjolras is never more than one toe of line from being killed - or worse, expelled.
"The Hufflepuff Common Room is that way," Enjolras argues, tugging, but Combeferre continues to drag him back up the stairs.
"Yes, but you need a gift, remember?" Combeferre improvises wildly. "You can't give him an opened box of Chocolate Cauldrons, you need - you need to talk to Courfeyrac!"
"Because he knows what Grantaire likes," Enjolras says with the air of a man about twenty seconds from breaking into song. Combeferre nods, feeling slightly hysterical. "You're brilliant, Combeferre!"
Let's hope so, Combeferre thinks, and heads for the seventh floor.
~
"How long has he been like this?" Cosette asks as she eyes Enjolras, who is sitting cross-legged in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fire and occasionally hugging himself and falling over. Courfeyrac is in charge of babysitting duty; he looks disgustingly gleeful given the circumstances.
"A half hour?" Combeferre guesses. "I brought him straight to you. Éponine can't have another run-in with Javert, not after what happened third year. Sorry," he adds sheepishly as Cosette's face darkens. Éponine and Cosette have sorted things out, but the period of time during which their crushes on Marius Pontmercy had synced up had not been fun for anyone, particularly after Éponine had decided to give herself a magical edge by slipping the Hufflepuff boy a love potion. Luckily, Cosette has always been able to match her foster-sister's proclivity for potion-making, but to this day, Marius refuses to touch pumpkin juice. The resulting detentions were - and are - something of school legend.
"I'm going to kill her," Cosette mutters. "This looks like an awfully strong dosage for just one Chocolate Cauldron."
As if to emphasize her point, Enjolras abruptly bursts into tears. Courfeyrac shoots them both a wide-eyed look from the couch.
"Well, he's always been passionate," Combeferre says at last. He looks at Cosette pleadingly. "Can you fix him?"
Cosette nods.
"Let me run up to my trunk." Her cheeks go a little pink. "I actually keep a spare antidote on me. Just, erm. Just in case."
"After all this time?" Combeferre asks, surprised. "Cosette, it's been three years."
"Always," Cosette replies grimly, and patters up the girls' dorm stairs on tiptoe. Combeferre glances back over to the fireplace. Enjolras has now buried his head in Courfeyrac's chest, who has moved to sit with his friend on the floor and coo at him, all the while stroking his perpetually ruffled golden hair.
"I know," he soothes Enjolras. "Don't you worry, mate, Cosette's just gone to get you a little liquid courage, and you won't need any gifts to woo R." Enjolras pulls out of Courfeyrac's chest, painfully solemn. "He loves you just as you are," Courfeyrac informs him, and boops Enjolras' nose.
Combeferre glares at him.
"What?" Courfeyrac demands. "He does." Combeferre opens his mouth to shush him, but Enjolras chooses that moment tip over again with a dramatic groan. "This is mental," Courfeyrac mutters, and Combeferre agrees. But it's almost over, he thinks. And without any real damage -
Predictably, the portrait hole swings open.
Even more predictably: it's Grantaire.
"R," Courfeyrac squeaks. Enjolras' head snaps up. "You're early."
"I brought the snacks," Grantaire announces, showing off an armful of food no doubt nicked from the kitchens. He starts when he notices Combeferre, but relaxes as he recognizes him. "You aren't going to report me, are you?" he grins. "Though I guess you're out of bed, too. Shame, shame - and a prefect, too." He clucks his tongue. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchange a quick, terrified glance before Courfeyrac rockets over the couch to steer Grantaire toward the boy's dorm and Combeferre lunges to clap a hand over Enjolras' opening mouth.
"Gran - " Enjolras manages to get out nevertheless, and Combeferre briefly flirts with the idea of just leaving and letting someone else handle this mess.
"Out of bed as well, Veela Boy?" Grantaire says in surprise. Courfeyrac groans and tries to shove him toward the stairs, but Grantaire digs in his heels. "What is it tonight? Freeing the house elves?"
Enjolras' response is muffled by Combeferre's hand, but it still sounds an awful lot like "love."
"To blave," Courfeyrac blurts stupidly. Combeferre shoots daggers at him. Grantaire's eyes flick between the three of them, confused and slightly suspicious.
"Right," he says. "Well. This has been fun. But I didn't nearly get caught by Peeves to dump all this food to do..." He stares at Enjolras, who is now attempting to jab Combeferre in the stomach in his efforts to free himself. "...whatever it is we're doing. So we should probably get started on that thing - Courfeyrac?"
"Yes, yes, good idea!" Courfeyrac says with strained cheerfulness, and for a moment, they're almost in the clear before Enjolras' head connects with Combeferre's nose with a sickening crack. Courfeyrac yelps. Combeferre goes down, clutching at his nose. And Enjolras very purposefully climbs over the couch, grabs Grantaire's face, and sticks his tongue down the other boy's throat.
The food spills out of Grantaire's arms just as Cosette skids down the girls' dorm stairs, antidote held aloft.
"Sorry, it was hiding in a sock - Merlin's pants."
Her eyes go huge, but much to her credit, she only hesitates for a second.
"Sorry about this," she says firmly, yanking Enjolras back the robes, and, pinching his nose, she pours the draft down his throat. For a moment, Enjolras splutters and gags, but as the potion takes effect, his expression goes from infuriated to flabbergasted to horrified in about three seconds flat.
"We tried," Combeferre says thickly from where he still has one hand clamped to his nose. Enjolras stares at Grantaire, who looks as though he's been hit in the head by a Bludger, his face turning steadily red. Enjolras, in contrast, is as white as a ghost.
"I - that was not - "
"You can tell me later," Grantaire eeks out in a voice several octaves higher than it normally is. "I think - I just - I've got to go - "
"But what about the fireworks?" Courfeyrac mumbles. Grantaire doesn't even bother picking up the food, but he does snag a bottle of Firewhisky as he flees, shaking his head frantically.
"Later - I've got - stuff - "
The portrait hole slams shut behind him. Everyone winces except Enjolras, who looks as if he's going to pass out or be sick or possibly both.
"Did I just - ?"
"Yep," Courfeyrac confirms.
"And I've been - ?"
"Yes," Combeferre answers.
"Was it the - ?"
"Chocolate Cauldrons," Cosette finishes for him glumly. "I'll have a chat with Éponine tomorrow. Let's have a look at your nose, Combeferre."
"Oh, my God," Enjolras says, and Courfeyrac bursts out laughing.