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‘Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties. However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.’

‘And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be “wizards first”?’

‘I’d say that it’s one short step from “wizards first” to “purebloods first”, and then to “Death Eaters”. We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.’

‘Well said!’ Enjolras called into the radio’s speakers.

‘Makes you wish you were back on Potterwatch, doesn’t it?’ said the old man who went by the code name Tree.

‘Oh, I’ll be back, as soon as I find them. It’s a slight problem, with all of us in hiding, isn’t it?’

‘I hope you’re back soon,’ said Felix, the Ravenclaw fourth-year. ‘Not all the guest speakers are as inspiring as Royal.’

They stopped suddenly as Tree held out a hand.

‘Do you hear that?’

‘It’s just bells ringing,’ said Felix. ‘Probably from-’

‘-a church,’ said Tree. ‘In a village. It’s just that I’m… really hungry. Can we, please? We’ve had nothing but mushrooms and berries for days!’

Felix and Enjolras exchanged glances. It was risky, but they were hungry too, and fed up. They agreed and went to look down at the village in the valley. There was a mist over it, and they felt a chill in the air.

Felix spotted something and nudged the others.

‘Look, there!’

A group of Dementors were circling below.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Tree hastily. ‘I don’t want to go there with Dementors.’

‘Me neither, if I can help it,’ said Felix nervously. ‘I would go, but I can’t produce a Patronus.’

‘You two go on,’ said Enjolras. ‘I’ll go; it’s all right, I’ve faced Dementors before.’

‘If you’re sure…’

‘You know where to meet me.’

‘Good luck.’

Enjolras waited until the other two were out of sight. He looked back at what had caught his eye – the Dementors weren’t all focused in one place coincidentally. They were following a human, who looked a lot more composed than he would have been, had he been able to see the creatures.

Poor Muggle, thought Enjolras. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

He went down the hill and found some frost on the ground. As he watched, it disappeared, creating a sort of trail after the Dementors. All pursuits of getting food put aside, he followed it. It stopped as the grass turned into a pavement, but he did not need the trail anymore: he had found the Dementors and their victim. The man he had seen before was slumped on the ground against a building, on the brink of unconsciousness. The Dementors were about to administer the Kiss.

Enjolras was left with no choice. Throwing all caution to the wind, he took out his wand.

‘Expecto Patronum!’ he shouted.

The Dementors were shot back by a powerful force, and soon all trace of them was gone, and the air felt a lot more spring-like than it had before.

Enjolras ran to the man on the ground and tried to help him up.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked urgently.

‘Yeah…’ the man tried to sit up straight. ‘Yeah, I feel great.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Much better than-’

‘Good.’ Enjolras got up and swiftly turned away.

‘Hey! But-’ Enjolras was already gone.

He was about to Disapparate when he remembered the reason he was meant to be there. Hiding behind a parked car, he summoned several tins of food from a small shop and left some Muggle coins on the windowsill, hoping the owner would find them.

The next day, he found the Muggle sitting against a tree by the river. There were two Dementors circling behind him. Enjolras took out his wand and focused on the incantation and his happy thought. His non-verbal Patronus charm was nowhere near as powerful as usual, but it was enough to chase away the Dementors.

He started to walk away.

‘Wait!’ The man had seen him. He ignored him and walked faster.

He turned a corner and immediately knew he had made a mistake. He was on a street with at least a dozen people. Just as he was turning into a side street where it was possible he might be able to Disapparate, the Muggle caught up with him and grabbed his wrist. If he Disapparated now, he would have to take him.

‘Let go of me,’ he said calmly.

‘No.’ The man’s voice was timid but assertive.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I can’t, you’ll just disappear again. And I need answers. I want to know who you are and how-’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Grantaire.’

‘Fine, Grantaire. I’ll tell you.’ By the time he realised what he had said it was too late. He had still been considering snatching his arm away and Disapparating right there, leaving Grantaire thinking he had gone mad. ‘I’ll tell you, but not here.’

‘I know just the place.’

He led Enjolras partway up the hill, towards a small forest. There was a flat rock there, on which he sat down and stared at Enjolras.

‘Well? Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Enjolras dodged the first question.

‘I’m travelling with a group of people. I just came here to get food.’

‘Why would you come here twice? And run into me both times?’

‘You were in danger. I just wanted to help you.’

‘Danger? What danger?’

Enjolras had forgotten that Muggles could not see Dementors.

‘Well… I thought you were hurt. You were lying on the ground.’

‘Oh, that. I just felt… drained. It’s not the first time that’s happened.’

Enjolras frowned.

‘Have you done anything about it?’ He did not know what he would do if he was in Grantaire’s place, with no means of defending himself; even being unaware he had anything to defend himself from.

‘I mean- I’ve seen psychologists. Loads of them. They say I’m depressed and they’ve tried to help me. Nothing has helped.’

‘Muggles!’ muttered Enjolras under his breath.

‘What? What’s “muggles”?

‘I have to go.’ Enjolras tried to disappear between some trees.

‘Wait! Please don't go! I feel better with you than I have for months.’

Grantaire fell silent, looking embarrassed.

Again, against his better judgement, Enjolras gave in.

‘Meet me here, tomorrow evening at six.’

*     *     *

Grantaire looked down the hillside, waiting. At five to six, he was certain the mysterious man would not come. It took at least five minutes to get up to their meeting spot, and there was no sign of him.

However, just as the church bells rang out, there was a loud crack behind him. He jumped, spun round so quickly he hurt his neck, and saw Enjolras standing behind him, looking perfectly composed. He was bleeding profusely from his left temple.

‘What’s happened?’ Grantaire heard his voice become much higher pitched than usual.

Enjolras genuinely looked as if he had no idea what Grantaire was talking about.

‘Your head!’

Enjolras put his fingers up to his face and looked mildly surprised when he saw they were covered in blood.

‘It’s just a scratch.’ He turned away and a moment later there was no sign of the blood. A small plaster covered the wound completely, as if it really had been just a scratch.

They talked for a few minutes, but Grantaire was still dazed. He could feel his heart beating and was unsure of how much he could trust the man. He had scared him by appearing so suddenly and being completely unconcerned by a serious wound.

Enjolras got up. Even though Grantaire had felt uneasy ever since his appearance, he did not want him to leave.

‘Wait! Why are you always in such a hurry? Is there anything I can do to help?’

Enjolras reflected for a moment and then his face lit up as if he had had a good idea.

‘Actually, yes. I need to get food for my group but I can’t be seen. Could you get it for me?’ He placed a few notes in Grantaire’s hand.

Grantaire was, needless to say, confused. However, Enjolras was looking at him expectantly, so he just nodded and ran to the shop as fast as he could.

When he got back, Enjolras was in exactly the same position as before. When Grantaire cleared his throat, Enjolras looked round in surprise. Apparently Grantaire had found him deep in his thoughts.

‘Why can’t you be seen? You on the run from the police?’ Grantaire asked jokingly.

‘Something like that,’ Enjolras replied reluctantly.

A stone had dropped to the pit of Grantaire’s stomach.

‘Don’t worry,’ Enjolras said quickly. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing you would find wrong, anyway. Look, I have to get going. But… you don’t need me. You’ll feel better just coming here. This is where you go to feel better, isn’t it?’ Unbeknownst to Grantaire, Enjolras had set up anti-Dementor enchantments around their meeting place.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘See you same time tomorrow.’

He disappeared as quickly as he always did. Grantaire went home, feeling confused and scared. He contemplated going to bed, but he knew he would not get to sleep for a long time. He was not at all sure if he should return the next day. If he was to be honest with himself, his new acquaintance terrified him. He was definitely hiding something: he had not revealed his name, was on the run from someone, appeared and disappeared suddenly and was used to sustaining injuries. But still – he could not help it. There was a charm to him, a break in monotony, which Grantaire could not resist. He had to go.

He caught sight of his laptop on the table and knew what he had to do. He sat down, ready for a long night of research.

*     *     *

The following evening was much warmer than the rest of the day. When Grantaire left his house he was feeling cold, but half an hour later his coat and jumper hung from the branch of a tree. Enjolras refused to take his hoodie off at first, but in the end he gave in and Grantaire threw it up into the air, where it got caught on a branch and hung just out of reach.

‘Oops,’ he giggled, and tried to jump up and get it, to no avail. Enjolras sighed and started to climb the tree. He grabbed the hoodie, but when he jumped down, his shirt got caught on a twig and the left sleeve was torn off.

‘Nice tattoo,’ said Grantaire, catching sight of the shape on his forearm. Enjolras pulled his arm back as if it had been burnt and pressed it against his chest.

‘I hate it,’ he said, his cold voice shaking with suppressed fury.

‘It’s really not that bad.’

Enjolras clutched his arm tightly and refused to look at Grantaire.

‘You don’t understand. It’s despicable.’

‘Get it removed then, if you hate it so much.’

Grantaire saw something glistening in Enjolras’ eyes which might have been tears. He looked up, his eyes, definitely red, glaring straight into Grantaire’s. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and resentful.

‘If only it were that simple.’

Enjolras left without another word, and Grantaire did not try to stop him. It was all his fault… He should not have said anything – making someone hate him after barely meeting four times was a record, even for him. He always ruined everything.

Over the next few days, he did not return to the hillside. The man – whose name, he realised with a jolt, he still did not know – had not said to meet him there again, so Grantaire was certain he did not want to see him. He felt worse every day – perhaps it was the fact that he was staying away from the meeting spot, where he always went to feel better, but he had a suspicion it was more to do with a person than a place.

At the end of the week, Enjolras returned to the village to get some food. He was going to get it, then go straight back to Felix and Tree, but his feet were leading him towards the centre of the village without his permission.

He heard a scream and ran towards its source. It was a woman’s voice, not Grantaire’s, which gave him an inexplicable sense of relief – for which he hated himself afterwards – but he still felt he needed to help.

He almost collided with the old woman who had screamed. She stood still, petrified, her shopping scattered on the ground. He saw what had made her scream.

Grantaire was lying on the ground, shivering uncontrollably, almost entirely submerged under the Dementor’s cloaks.

Enjolras drew his wand, but then stopped. This time, it was different: Grantaire was conscious, and there was another witness. Looking between Grantaire, his wand, and the old lady, Enjolras made his choice.

‘EXPECTO PATRONUM!’ he yelled, and the stag galloped at Grantaire. It ran round the square a few times, making sure all the Dementors were gone, and nodded at Enjolras before it disappeared.

Grantaire was getting up, leaning on a railing for support, his eyes wide. Enjolras backed away slowly, before remembering the woman staring at him in shock.

‘Reparo,’ he said quietly, pointing at the shopping bag. The plastic merged together again and the items flew back into it. He gave the bag back to the woman, who was still paralysed. He turned his wand to her.

‘Obliviate.’ Her eyes became unfocused and dreamy, and a moment later she walked away, unaware that anything unusual had happened. He turned to face Grantaire.

Grantaire, who was surrounded by walls from three sides, realised his mistake with horror. It had not crossed his mind that Enjolras might try to hurt him, and now he was in a dead end. He was still weakened, but tried to stay up.

Enjolras lifted his wand half-heartedly, then hesitated for a moment, lowering it. Grantaire saw this as his last chance and lunged forwards, wrenching the wand from Enjolras’ grasp. Not knowing what to do, he pointed it at him.

‘Grantaire, no! Give it to me.’ Enjolras’ voice was very serious.

‘Why, what is it?’

Enjolras shook his head ruefully.

‘I can’t tell you that.’

Grantaire felt, if possible, even more betrayed.

‘Then you can’t have it back.’ He paused, struggled to contain his anger, and lost. ‘I thought you finally trusted me!’ The wand emitted a few sparks at his emotional outburst.

‘Grantaire, you’ll hurt yourself!’

‘Myself? What about you?’ – This was not a threat. Despite everything, Grantaire was touched that Enjolras had thought about him first.

‘Give it to me. Please?’

‘What are you going to do?’ Grantaire asked suspiciously.

‘I'm not going to hurt you.’ Enjolras had blatantly avoided answering, which scared Grantaire even more.

‘What?’

‘I promise it won't hurt.’

The enigmatic answers unnerved Grantaire. He replied, his voice shaking.

‘What won't hurt?! What are you going to do to me, Enjolras? What you did to her? I don't know how you did it, hypnotism or something, but she doesn't remember what happened. You're going to steal my memories?’

‘No, Grantaire,’ Enjolras replied, trying to reassure him. ‘Just this one. I promise you'll remember everything else and we can keep meeting.’

In what he said, there was a strong implication that if Grantaire didn’t let him do whatever he was planning to do, he’d never see Enjolras again. He was obviously tempted at the prospect, but he knew it would not be the right thing to do.

‘No,’ he said, with every ounce of assertiveness he could muster.

‘You would have been a Gryffindor,’ muttered Enjolras. Grantaire, who was used to Enjolras saying things he did not understand, ignored this.

‘So I assume this is important?’ he took Enjolras’ wand in both hands and threatened to break it.

‘No, don't!’ Enjolras called out desperately. ‘Please, without it I'm dead.’

Grantaire stopped putting pressure on the wand immediately. He held it out slightly.

‘Then promise you won't do anything.’

‘I promise.’

‘Will you explain everything to me?’ There was a silence. ‘Will you?’

‘Yes.’

Grantaire gave back the wand. Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief; Grantaire had no idea of how important the wand was and how much damage he could do. He looked at the back of Grantaire’s head, heading back up to the hill. He could have Obliviated him right there and then.

Then he thought back to his sixth year at Hogwarts: when Mad-Eye Moody (or, at least, they had thought him to be) turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret. It was one of the most hilarious things he had ever witnessed, but what “Moody” said had also stuck in his memory: “I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned. Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…”

Of course, he had been a Death Eater, so Enjolras did not have to heed his words, but he was right: he had hated Malfoy more on few occasions, and that was saying something. Besides, he gave Grantaire his word, and he had believed him immediately. Even though it would be better for the safety of them both, he resolved not to do it.

Once they were up the hill, Grantaire sat down on the flat rock and indicated the place next to him. Enjolras took it and waited in silence for Grantaire to start questioning him. When the latter said nothing, Enjolras decided on what to tell him first.

‘Before I say anything else, I have to tell you this; you won’t believe me anyway…’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m a wizard.’

Grantaire did not flinch.

‘Is that your wand then?’

‘Did you not hear me?’

‘I heard you. Did you hear me?’

‘Yes. Yes, this is my wand.’ He took it out and handed it to Grantaire. ‘I got it just before my first year at Hogwarts – that is, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Cypress wood with a Phoenix feather core, 14 ½ inches and slightly springy.’

‘It’s amazing,’ said Grantaire in awe.

‘Yes, it is. But not all magic is used for good. Some wizards practice the Dark Arts. Right now, we are in the middle of a war. It’s affecting Muggles too – non-magic people. You just don’t know what’s causing it: the mist, the mysterious disappearances, killings, “gas leaks” – everything seems to be blamed on gas leaks.’

‘What’s the war about?’

‘Some wizards,’ – he stressed the word “some” – ‘believe in pureblood superiority. You’re a pureblood if both your parents are wizards; if both your parents are Muggles then you’re Muggle-born, and if one of your parents is a wizard and one is a Muggle, or Muggle-born, you’re a half-blood. They believe magic should be kept within all pureblood families. Muggle-borns are having a really hard time now – they have to be registered and prove that they are descended from wizards. If they can’t, they’re imprisoned.’

Grantaire looked at him in horror.

‘It’s not always been like that!’ he said quickly. ‘It’s been like this for less than a year, ever since the Ministry of Magic – our government – got taken over by followers of- of… the reason all this is happening is because a Dark Wizard, possibly the most powerful Dark Wizard that has ever been, has returned to power.’

‘Who is he?’

‘I- I can’t say the name.’

‘Well- actually, while we’re on the topic: what’s your name?’

Enjolras had forgotten that he still had not revealed that.

‘Oh – Enjolras.’

‘Enjolras… Well, I wouldn't take you as someone who would be scared of a name.’

‘I'm not! Most people are: they call him You-Know-Who or He Who Must Not Be Named… or, in the case of the Death Eaters – his followers… The Dark Lord. I've always called him by his name, but recently it's been Tabooed: he can track you if you say it. I think it's ok to write it down, but make sure you don’t say it or he’ll find us and kill us.’

He wrote Voldemort on a piece of paper and passed it to Grantaire.

‘“Flight from death?”’ said Grantaire.

‘Huh?’

‘Honestly, don't they teach you languages at Hogwarts? That's what it means in French.’

‘Oh. I never knew that. I don’t know if he did either. He rearranged the letters of his original name: Tom Marvolo Riddle, to spell out I am Lord- thingy.’

‘That’s the most unlikely coincidence I’ve ever hear of.’

‘Well, what else do you want to know?’

Grantaire hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him.

‘Give me your arm.’

Enjolras knew this was coming and reluctantly held his arm out. He flinched as Grantaire pulled up his sleeve.

‘You know, after the third time we met I looked up all the wanted people in the country and I couldn't find you. I thought you might have been in a gang and this was its symbol.’

‘You were right, in a way.’

‘Explain it to me. Please,’ he said tenderly, seeing the tears that were once more forming in Enjolras’ eyes.

‘I've never told anyone about it. No one knows. No one. Except… Him.’

‘What is it?’

‘It's the Dark Mark, Grantaire. His mark. He uses it to summon his followers.’

‘But then- are you-?’

‘No!’ said Enjolras, a little too aggressively. ‘Never. He did this to me. He captured me and he was going to kill me, but then he decided I might be useful. He put me under the Imperius Curse – it controls you. It's one of the three Unforgivable Curses: the Imperius Curse, Crucio – the Torture Curse and,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘Avada Kedavra – the Killing Curse. But his Imperius Curse didn't work on me. I only pretended it did. I still don't know how I managed it. He is a powerful Legilimens – basically a mind reader. He must have wanted me to spy for him, or sabotage the resistance efforts. By the time he realised I wasn’t under his control I had gone into hiding. But he gave me this; I don't know why. It's the highest honour for Death Eaters – only a select few have it.’

‘Maybe he knew I'd hate it and he wanted to humiliate me. Maybe he had plans to have me found as a Death Eater after he was done with me; it would definitely have been a blow to the resistance against him – you see, I work for a radio programme called Potterwatch – I’ll explain who Harry Potter is another time. At least, I used to – before I went into hiding. It was a few months ago and I miss it so much. It’s the only programme that tells the truth about what’s happening and supports Harry. The rest has been taken over and spouts propaganda. I’m travelling with a couple of people now, trying to stay hidden by keeping on the move, but I’m trying to get in contact with River – he’s the other permanent host. The problem is, I’m in hiding, and Potterwatch is in hiding; it moves between each broadcast and I can’t find it now.’

‘What do you do when He summons you?’         

‘I've managed to stop it from working – it no longer burns when He calls, but I don’t think there’s any way to get rid of it… other than amputating my arm.’ Enjolras looked like he was seriously considering the idea.

‘Don’t you dare! Look, if it’s just a tattoo now, surely that’s all right?’

‘I can't let anyone see it. Some would think I was a Death Eater – that’s what He wanted. Those who wouldn't would still look at me like I'm contaminated.’

Grantaire rolled down Enjolras’ sleeve and held it down with his hands.

‘It's not there.’

Enjolras looked at him with a mixture of pity and gratefulness.

‘Just hiding it won't make it go away, Grantaire.’

‘It's here,’ Grantaire kept hold of Enjolras’ arm, ‘but it's not here,’ – he pointed to his heart.

Enjolras smiled, incredibly grateful; then a recurring thought came back to him – he did not deserve Grantaire’s- whatever it was.

‘There’s one more thing you really need to know.’

‘Mm?’

‘Your doctors are wrong, although of course they don't know better. It's not depression.’

‘It isn’t?’ Grantaire sounded hopeful.

‘The mist, the cold, reliving your worst memories, feeling you'll never be happy again – everyone feels like that in the presence of a Dementor. Dementors are foul creatures that feed off suffering. The Dementor’s Kiss is one of the most horrible things that can happen to you. They suck out your soul, leaving just a shell. Muggles can't see Dementors, but they feel their presence. They are everywhere in this village, except this spot – I set up protective enchantments here. I think everyone who lives here feels a bit miserable, but the Dementors seem to be focusing on you.’

‘Why? Why do they focus on me?’

‘It could be because they’re… drawn to people who have a lot of bad memories.’ Enjolras did not want to press him.

Grantaire scoffed.

‘Well, they got that right’. He realised how negative he sounded, and knew he must have placed Enjolras in an awkward position. He hastened to change the subject. ‘Can you show me more magic?’

‘Well… technically I shouldn’t… you’re a Muggle… but… you know anyway, and it’s not like the Ministry have the Trace on me anymore, so… why not?’ He grinned at Grantaire, who grinned back.

‘Let’s start with a classic… Orchideous!’ Enjolras produced a bunch of flowers from his wand. ‘And… Avis!’ Birds appeared from thin air.

‘Whoa…’ Grantaire was staring, open-mouthed. ‘Can you jinx people?’

‘Yes, I can.’ Grantaire looked excited. ‘But you wouldn’t want to run into some hexes, they can be nasty. But maybe,’ he pointed his wand at Grantaire, ‘Rictusempra!’

Grantaire fell off the rock, laughing uncontrollably. Satisfied he was suitably impressed, Enjolras ended the charm, leaving Grantaire breathless and clutching his sides.

‘One more?’ Grantaire smiled sweetly.

‘Ok, then.’ Enjolras grinned evilly. ‘Levicorpus!’

Grantaire yelped as he was hoisted up into the air and hung upside down from an invisible rope.

‘Liberacorpus!’ Grantaire fell to the ground.

‘Wow. This is amazing!’ Grantaire stared at the wand for a moment. ‘Could I…?’

Enjolras shook his head.

‘A wand only channels magical ability. If you tried to use it – well, it would be dangerous. I have no idea what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good and you’d have no control over it. I should go now.’ He started to walk away, then stopped. ‘Oh, you may be wondering how I always appear and disappear so quickly. I Disapparate. The closest thing you can compare that to would be teleportation.’

‘No way!’ Grantaire stood up.

‘Just watch’. He spun round and, with a loud crack, disappeared.

*     *      *

Grantaire lay on the grass, basking in the sunshine. He was not there for his meeting with Enjolras – it was only morning, far too early, but when he woke up he had been feeling cold and miserable. He concluded there were Dementors in the vicinity. Hoping no one could see him, he waved his arms around and jumped up – Enjolras had told him that he could feel the Dementors even if he could not see them. If he felt anything, he was supposed to call him using a magic coin – when he pointed out that this seemed similar to the Dark Marks, Enjolras said the coins were based off of them, but in his seventh year they were used as part of Dumbledore’s Army – a resistance movement of students at school.

He didn’t find anything, so he assumed he was safe for the moment – for which he was glad, but he always felt a slight tinge of disappointment when he realised he didn’t have an excuse to call Enjolras to come and rescue him. The moment he started climbing up the hill he felt a lot better.

The grass beneath him was very green and soft and there were beautiful flowers blossoming everywhere, turning the clearing into a colourful meadow. It was much more pleasant there than ever before – whether this was the contrast to the misty, Dementor-filled village or the fact that Enjolras had worked some magic there, Grantaire did not know. However, he had suspicions for the latter.

All was silent apart from the quiet rustling of the wind and birdsong. He picked an orange flower and held it at arm’s length, so that it obscured the sun. He had nothing else to do, so he wandered about in his thoughts. Inevitably, he found Enjolras. He did not fully understand, or try to explain, how he felt. He did not know what it was: the immediate thing that sprang to his mind was love. But it could be any number of things. Love? Gratefulness? Admiration? Awe? Some type of unhealthy attachment? All he knew was that he needed him. By the side of Enjolras, he became somebody again.

A loud crack disturbed the silence and caused a few birds from nearby trees to take flight in alarm. All of Grantaire’s composure and peace of mind evaporated as he laid eyes on the figure he recognised to be Enjolras. He jumped up and ran towards him.

Enjolras’ nose was broken, his right eyelid was very swollen, and he was covered in bleeding gashes. He held up a hand to stop Grantaire from asking any questions for the moment, and took out his wand calmly.

The first thing he did was point it at his nose and say ‘Episkey.’ His nose seemed to have healed, but the procedure did not look very comfortable. He did the same for his eye and he looked marginally better.

He turned to his gashes next. ‘Vulnera Sanentur,’ he repeated the incantation repeatedly; it sounded like a song. The last spell he used was ‘Tergeo’, which got rid of the blood.

He now looked almost normal, other than being quite pale, his hair messier than usual, and his t-shirt somewhat singed.

‘Grantaire!’ he exclaimed, sounding relieved and surprised.

‘What happened?’ Grantaire was paler than Enjolras. Enjolras scrutinised him for a moment, trying to understand why this was. His eyes widened slightly as he realised.

‘Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. It was an emergency, I needed to Disapparate, I didn’t have time to think properly; you see, in Apparition you need Destination, Determination and Deliberation, and I needed to think of somewhere to go and why I needed to go there, and…’ Enjolras was rambling and he realised it, blushing. ‘Anyway, this is the first place I thought of.’

Perhaps what Enjolras had just said, or the fact that some colour had returned to his face made Grantaire able to breathe again.

‘What happened?’ he repeated.

‘Snatchers. They work for- Tom Riddle. They don’t have the Dark Mark or anything, he doesn’t care about them at all, but they round up Muggle-borns and others on the run for Galleons. But it’s ok, I got away… Only…’

Enjolras had reached a conclusion. Now that he had got over the excitement of recounting the events to Grantaire, he took on a different demeanour. He seemed distant and cold in a way that he hadn’t since he told Grantaire he was a wizard.

‘This has happened before and it could happen again. There’s always that risk. And now they know I’m in the area… I need to alter your memory.’

‘No! Not again, you promised me!’

‘No, Grantaire, this is different. I'm not going to Obliviate you. You'll forget all about me-’ Grantaire protested ‘-don’t, please, it's for your own safety. It isn’t like Obliviate, it is reversible. Then, when the war is won and it is safe, I will find you and restore your memories.’

‘But what if- what if… you never come back?’ Grantaire asked in a small voice. ‘You said people are dying every day and a lot of friends will die before it's over.’

‘Then you can live out the rest of your life being much happier.’

‘I won't be. Not really. It won't be real.’

‘Perhaps not to you now. But I assure you, it will be perfectly real to the Grantaire who never knew me.’

‘What if I don't want that? What if I don't want to go back to being him?’

‘Do you have any idea how I would feel if you died because of me? They'd track you down- you don't know what they do to people!’ His mask cracked and he let himself show his emotion. He couldn’t afford to do that, so he forced himself to resume his stony, rational manner. ‘You'll be happier and safer without me.’

‘Don’t you understand? I’ve never been happy and I never will be without you!’ Grantaire grasped Enjolras’ hand.

Enjolras gasped. Grantaire seemed intent on making what he had to do as hard as possible. He stared at their hands for a moment, then recoiled. He knew what he must say, but it was difficult to do the right thing when he knew it would change the way Grantaire saw him.

‘Grantaire, it is you, I believe, who doesn't understand. I don't know what it is you feel-”

‘Neither do I.’

‘-but it is nothing to do with me. Let me see…’ The words were hard to say. ‘You feel a warmth when you see me. Hope. You feel happy again.’

‘That's exactly it,’ said a bewildered Grantaire. ‘I’ve always felt so much better with you, from the first time I saw you-’

Enjolras’ suspicions had been confirmed.

‘Precisely, Grantaire,’ he said a little savagely. ‘What you feel is not because of me, but because of the charm used to fight Dementors. The thing you saw when you first witnessed me doing magic, that’s a Patronus. It acts like a shield between you and the Dementors. That's what made you feel all those things. Like I told you before, you don't need me. You have all that happiness inside of you, you just need to get away from the Dementors.’

‘You really think that’s all? When have I ever given you the impression that your friendship isn’t worth anything?’ Enjolras pretended not to hear the hurt tone of Grantaire’s voice.

‘I know you’re my friend. That’s why I have to do it.’

‘Leave? Make me forget? But then the Dementors will get me, for all you know and care.’

‘I care, Grantaire, that's why I need to do this! Look, I set up anti-Dementor defences here, I can do it outside your house. I should have done it weeks ago, but I was selfish.’

‘Selfish? Enjolras, you are anything but selfish!’

‘Then answer me this: why didn’t I set up defences around your house? What kind of person am I to let you suffer more than you had to?

Grantaire did not answer. He felt that Enjolras would not accept any of his arguments.

‘You don’t know who I am, but I do! I know why I didn’t do it: I wanted you to keep coming here. I thought if you felt safe at your house you wouldn’t need to keep meeting me. There! Now you know.’

‘Enjolras, trust me, I know who you are and I don’t care about any of that. And even if you set the defences up around my house, I won't know about it, will I?”

‘You'll feel better here and at home.’

‘So I’ll be confining myself to my house! I’m sure my psychologist will love to hear that…’

‘If the Dementors can't get to you for some time, they might leave the village. Then it will be all right to leave.’

‘But then… If you never come back…’

‘You won’t know.’

‘Exactly. What if I… What if I find someone else?’

Enjolras looked back at him as indifferently as he could. He closely resembled marble.

‘What do you mean, else?’

The meaning hit Grantaire like a knife in the heart. He felt cold and numb. It was as if a Dementor had found its way to him.

‘Fine then.’ Grantaire’s voice was as cold and devoid of emotion as Enjolras’. He didn’t care anymore. ‘Do it.’

‘Come on, let's get you home.’

They walked down the hill in silence, both feeling miserable and regretting what was about to happen. Then, just as they left the hill, a coldness started to descend on them. Neither of them noticed it at first, but perhaps because of the dark emotions they were both feeling and the terrible thoughts running through their heads, an enormous swarm of Dementors had found them.

Grantaire stopped walking suddenly and looked up in terror. He saw nothing but a dark sky, yet he was sure something cold had just brushed against the top of his head.

Enjolras followed his gaze and flinched, ducking down instinctively. He found Grantaire’s head and pushed him down too.

The Dementors swirled around them like a cross between vultures and black ink.

‘There are so many of them!’

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was drawing his wand, and the realisation hit him. Enjolras closed his eyes; Grantaire knew he was thinking of a happy thought.

‘Expecto Patronum!’ he shouted. Nothing happened.

‘Expecto Patronum!’ Still, nothing happened. He threw his wand on the ground, which produced a few sparks.

‘Enjolras, what's wrong?!’

‘I can't… I can't do it.’ He sounded weak. This was not the man Grantaire knew. He picked up his wand and continued to try casting the spell, with absolutely no results.

‘Of course you can! You've done it loads of times before and I'd say now is rather important!’

Enjolras just shook his head.

‘Tell me what you need! Let me help.’

‘I can't… I can't think of anything happy.’

‘What do you usually think of?’ This was quite a personal question, but Grantaire thought that, at the moment, Enjolras would not mind.

‘I think of… of winning the war, and freedom.’

‘Then think of it now!’

‘I'm trying! It's just not working.’

‘Why?’

‘Because- because I feel terrible, all right!? I don’t want to leave you, but I have to because I need you to be safe, and now you hate me for it.’

‘I don't hate you!’ said Grantaire indignantly. ‘Enjolras, I’m sorry. You’re right, I didn’t understand. I’m the one who was being selfish.’

‘Expecto Patronum!’ he tried again, this time managing to produce a silver vapour that loosely formed an animal shape before falling apart.

‘It's not enough…’

‘Then let me tell you something. I don't know if it will make you happy, it might make it worse, but in our current position it's probably worth a shot. I didn’t want to argue with you earlier, but you’re wrong.’

‘What about?’

‘I do need you! It’s not just the Patronus. I was all right earlier this morning, but I missed you. I was tempted to use the coin so many times and I felt so much better after you arrived.’

‘What?’

‘Enjolras, we're about to die, or worse, and we're surrounded by the things that have been torturing me for months but I don't feel nearly as bad as usual. I’ve needed you from the start. You are my Patronus.’

Grantaire placed his hand on top of Enjolras’ and guided his wand through the motion.

‘Expecto Patronum!’ they said together, and with that, a magnificent silver stag leapt from Enjolras’ wand.

‘See? I said you could do it.’

They walked back to Grantaire’s house. Enjolras cast all the protective charms he could think of around it. He desperately thought that if he could dedicate his Patronus to be with Grantaire 24/7, he would. Now that Grantaire had agreed to have his memory altered, he could be kinder to him.

Grantaire sat down on his bed.

‘Cheer up, it will be all right.’ Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, who returned the smile feebly. ‘Don’t be scared.’

‘I just… If this is the last time I see you…’

‘It won’t be. I promise. I’ll come back for you.’

‘Ok, then. If you say so.’

‘One last thing. You won’t know what the coin does, but you’ll keep it on you, as a good luck charm or something, and if you’re ever in danger, you’ll know how to use it. So don’t worry. I’ll be there.’

Grantaire nodded.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Always.’

Enjolras drew his wand and cast the spell. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered shut. Enjolras placed his hand on the back of Grantaire’s head and lowered him slowly into a lying-down position. He took off his shoes and pulled the covers over him. He ran his hand through Grantaire’s hair once, then he Disapparated.

*     *     *

‘Here’s the news we’ve got for today,’ someone handed over a sheet of paper to Enjolras.

‘Thanks.’

He looked at the writing and his insides turned to ice.

‘I’m sorry, River, I have to go, I’ll be back in a minute!’ he ran out of the tent and kept running until he was out of the anti-Apparition zone.

Inside the tent, Lee Jordan took the sheet of paper and looked at it in confusion. He saw the very first story:

DEMENTOR ATTACKS IN MUGGLE VILLAGE

AT LEAST NINE ‘KISSED’

*      *     *

Enjolras Apparated into the meeting spot and had to duck down behind a tree immediately. To his immense relief, he saw Grantaire sitting on his rock, sketching the sunset.

He returned to Lee and did not go back to the village again.

*     *     *

2ND MAY, 1998

Felix was alive. Wounded, but alive. Enjolras had warned him against going back to Hogwarts, but he did it anyway, and he could not help but think that Enjolras was proud of him for that.

‘Felix! Felix, can you see?’ Enjolras was shaking him.

He squinted up at him.

‘Out of one eye.’

‘And the other?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh Felix, I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll get an eyepatch and look like a pirate.’

‘Can you stand?’

‘Yes, Enjolras. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find someone to help me if I need to. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it,” remember? Go where you’re needed.

‘Thank you. I’ll be back later!’

He Disapparated as soon as he left Hogwarts’ gates.

It was extremely hot in the village. There was no sign of the mist that had been there for almost a year. Grantaire was not at the meeting spot, but Enjolras had an inkling of where he could be. He walked down to the river and, sure enough, he spotted Grantaire sitting in the shade of a tree.

‘Grantaire!’ he called out, beside himself with happiness. ‘Grantaire, I’m back! It’s over, we’ve won!’

He ran up to Grantaire, who looked confused and concerned.

‘Oh, I forgot.’ He pointed his wand a Grantaire. His eyes went cloudy for a moment, then they returned to their normal green colour, and they sparkled with joy.

‘Enjolras!’ He pounced on Enjolras with such force they both toppled over. ‘You’re alive! You’re back! I’m back!’

Enjolras lay back on the grass and laughed, carefree for the first time in three years.

‘How long has it been?’ Grantaire was trying to remember the time spent without Enjolras. ‘It’s like it was all a dream and now it’s slipping away… You look exactly the same.’

‘It’s the second of May. It’s only been a few weeks.’

‘Thank God! I thought it would be forever and you might have forgotten me and- and-’

‘Shh. I couldn’t forget you if I’d been Obliviated.’

Grantaire flung his arms around Enjolras and buried his face in his shirt.

‘You smell of dirt and blood.’

‘Charming. Next time I fight in the biggest battle of the century, I’ll make sure I shower before I see you.’

‘You came for me straight away?’

‘Voldemort’s body had barely hit the ground.’

‘Voldemort?’

‘It’s ok to say the name now. He’s dead.’

‘Huh. I guess, in the end, he was only human.’

As Enjolras and Grantaire lay on the grass gazing up at the cloudless sky, their hands linked, they had but one thought: what a wonderful thing it is to be human.