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Grantaire bit back a gasp as Enjolras’s lips slid down his throat, his knees bracketing Grantaire’s hips as he pressed him into the bed. “Is that your wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Grantaire hissed, grabbing Enjolras’s tie to pull his lips back up to meet his.
As Enjolras laughed, they both heard someone clear his throat, and Grantaire looked over Enjolras’s shoulder to see Feuilly covering his eyes with one hand as he edged into the room. “I’m just grabbing my transfiguration book,” he said, his voice strangely high-pitched. “Carry on with…whatever you’re doing.”
Enjolras sighed and pressed another kiss to Grantaire’s lips before rolling off of him. “It’s fine, Feuilly, we’re not doing anything bad. Besides, this is your dormitory.”
“Just as long as that is in fact only your wand in your pocket,” Feuilly muttered darkly, though he lowered his hand, raising an eyebrow at Enjolras and Grantaire and their disheveled clothes and hair, and he couldn’t help but grin slightly. “Besides, I’m just happy to see you both so happy. It’s been a long seven years.”
Grantaire laughed and kissed Enjolras again. “You’re telling me. Besides,” he added, his grin turning wicked as he looked back at Feuilly, “Courfeyrac’s told everyone about the time he walked in on you and Bahorel in the Gryffindor common room, sooo…”
Feuilly gave him the finger and grabbed his book before heading out, though he called back over his shoulder, “You two should study for your NEWTs because last time I checked, making out isn’t one of the subjects!”
Laughing, Grantaire turned back to Enjolras, who sighed, running a hand through his curls in an attempt to tame them, and said mournfully, “Feuilly’s right. We should be studying.”
“Why?” Grantaire teased, brushing a curl back from Enjolras’s face. “You don’t need NEWTs to try and overthrow the Ministry of Magic. And that is still your plan, isn’t it?”
“Lord knows you don’t need NEWTs to be a cynical pain in my ass,” Enjolras sniped back, though he softened it with another kiss before he sat up.
Grantaire sat up as well, reluctantly yanking his clothes back into some semblance of order. “Hardy-har,” he said sarcastically before looking at Enjolras out of the corner of his eye. “Do you really need to study right now?”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “We are not having sex right now.”
Punching him none-too-lightly in the shoulder, Grantaire growled, “Not that, idiot. I…I wanted to show you something. Will you come with me?”
He stood, offering Enjolras his hand, and Enjolras took it instantly, though he asked cautiously, “What do you want to show me?”
“The Mirror of Erised.”
Grantaire had stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised his first week at Hogwarts. He had never been one to sleep well as it was, and being in an unfamiliar situation didn’t help. Someone had suggested he go see Madame Patil for a sleeping potion, but he had shrugged him off, not wanting to start that already, and it would be years before he discovered the effects that firewhiskey would have on him.
Instead, he wandered the halls the way that no one was supposed to, small enough and quiet enough that most of the spirits around at that hour left him alone (though the Fat Friar did try and chat with him one night, until he discovered Grantaire wasn’t such pleasant company; even then, he dropped in every now and again to warn Grantaire about a teacher or Peeves).
In the meantime, Grantaire explored probably more of the castle than any other first year, until one night, he stumbled upon a vacant classroom. And in that classroom, he found the Mirror.
It had just been sitting there in the corner, slightly dusty, and Grantaire read the writing inscribed across its edges - “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi” - his eyes widening.
And then he stepped in front of the mirror.
He almost leapt back from his reflection, because he was surrounded by people, people who assuredly were not in the room with him (his hands groped in the air behind him to verify). Taking another step forward, prepared this time, he looked around, eyes even wider than they had been. The people were students, he realized, a little older than him - as it was, he was older in his reflection, and didn’t look at all scared like Grantaire surely must’ve.
The students were laughing and talking with Grantaire, some patting his shoulder, and Grantaire realized what they were.
Friends.
He was seeing himself happy and laughing with friends.
After that night, Grantaire had done research until he had found out what the mirror was - the Mirror of Erised, showing his heart’s desire.
When he realized his heart’s desire was to have friends, he also realized how truly pathetic he was.
At the same time, though, he realized that his time spent in the library had made him sort of naturally inclined to another first-year Hufflepuff, named Feuilly. And he realized, bizarrely, the pursuit of figuring out his heart’s desire had kind of made him his first friend at Hogwarts.
And then he literally ran into Enjolras outside the library, and everything changed.
To say he became obsessed would be incorrect on many levels. To say he fell in love would be more correct, but still not precise. It was as if his soul had met its other half, and yearned for recognition.
Which had begun almost seven years of quiet worship matched with rather vocal disagreements (because only during disagreements did Enjolras seem to pay him any mind, to look at him at all, even if it was with narrowed eyes and a muscle working his jaw as he prepared a new argument with which to eviscerate Grantaire).
Somewhere in his fifth year he realized this really was love, around the time he produced a Patronus charm and realized it was the lioness to Enjolras’s lion (he remembered Bahorel and Courfeyrac good-naturedly ribbing Enjolras, the sole Slytherin of their friend group, for having a lion patronus, and he was thankful his patronus didn’t materialize until he was alone in his common room late one night, when no one was there to see and draw conclusions - at least, no more conclusions than they had already drawn).
He made every attempt to try and show Enjolras how he felt, but it had only been recently that they had gotten together, thanks to a single night in the Room of Requirement that changed everything.
And every year before they got together, he found himself back in the classroom with the Mirror of Erised, trying to see if anything had changed.
Every year, it was the same. Not the same as his first year, mind, but the same as every other time he had looked.
He saw himself standing tall, unbowed and unbent by his cynicism, by the weight of the world that had always landed squarely on his shoulders. He saw himself handsome, and smiling, and confident. Sometimes he saw himself doing complicated magic; sometimes he saw himself helping people with his magic. Sometimes he just saw himself at the center of Les Amis, Enjolras laughing by his side at something he had said.
He always saw himself as the kind of person he thought Enjolras might fall in love with.
In short, he saw himself as everything he was never going to be.
For awhile, he had despaired, knowing that he could never be what the mirror showed, but now…now he had Enjolras. And he hadn’t needed to be what the mirror showed to get him. And now, he wanted to see just what the mirror would show him - and what it would show Enjolras.
It took a miracle that Enjolras and Grantaire did not get found on their way to the empty classroom, since they stopped to make out at least four times along the way. Well, a miracle, and Grantaire’s surprisingly good disillusionment spell. Once they got to the room, though, Grantaire dropped Enjolras’s hand, rushing over to the mirror. “You have to see,” he told him excitedly. “It shows you your heart’s desire, and since I got mine—” Enjolras made a quiet noise and blushed scarlet, but Grantaire just grinned at him before continuing “—I want to see what it shows me now.”
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and stood in front of the mirror, smiling when he felt Enjolras’s arms encircle his waist and Enjolras’s chin rest on his shoulder. “I was your heart’s desire?” Enjolras asked softly, his breath warm against Grantaire’s ear.
“Mm, not quite,” Grantaire muttered, though his smile did not fade. “Now shush. I’m going to open my eyes now.”
And open his eyes he did, his mouth opening in a soft, “Oh” as he saw what the mirror showed him. Enjolras was right in the position he was in, chin on his shoulder, arms around his waist, but his hair, instead of shining gold in the dim light the way it did now, was more of a burnished silver, and his skin was wrinkled. He was old, as old as Grantaire’s reflection was as well.
Grantaire’s breath seemed to catch in his throat. Of course. That was exactly his heart’s deepest desire - him and Enjolras, together forever, until they were old, and even then, as in love with each other as they were now.
“Are you going to tell me what you see?” Enjolras asked softly, not moving, and Grantaire just shook his head slightly.
“Not now. Not yet.” He stepped back, turning around to face Enjolras, kissing him lightly. “Now it’s your turn.”
Enjolras looked confused and concerned for a second, but he nodded, smiling slightly, and kissed Grantaire’s forehead before stepping around him to take his place in front of the mirror. His eyes widened and after a moment he stepped forward, pressing a hand almost hungrily against the glass. “What do you see?” Grantaire asked eagerly.
“I see…oh God, Grantaire, how do I even described what I see?” Without tearing his eyes from the mirror, Enjolras’s face seemed to shine with righteous light. “I see…I see the world, Grantaire, but I see it different. I see it better. All the corruption in the government, gone; all sentient magical creatures created respectfully and equally under the law. I see things changing, and, God, Taire, I see me leading the charge in changing it. It’s…” He bit off what he was about to say, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, full of awe. “It’s beautiful.”
Grantaire half-smiled, glad that Enjolras’s vision was so in line with what he believed, with his path. “What about me?” he asked, half-teasingly. “Where do I fit into this grand vision?”
Enjolras didn’t seem to hear the question, still staring into the mirror. “What about you?” he repeated, without looking away. “You’ve never wanted to change the world.”
“I just thought…” Grantaire started, feeling something well in his chest, feeling his throat tighten at the tears that threatened in his eyes, because of course. Of course he wasn’t in Enjolras’s vision, of course he wasn’t part of Enjolras’s heart’s desire. It would have been crazy to think that he ever could have been.
Finally looking at Grantaire, Enjolras blinked at him as if remembering for the first time that he was there. “You just thought what?”
Grantaire blinked and looked away, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he started backing away. “Never mind,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “It doesn’t matter now.”
And with that, he was gone, almost running from the room, ignoring Enjolras’s voice calling after him, “Grantaire!”
It was Jehan who found him, which was not surprising; he and Jehan had spent many an early morning on top of the Astronomy tower, sharing cigarettes Feuilly smuggled back for them from the Muggle world, Grantaire normally finishing up a bottle of Firewhiskey. That morning, though, Grantaire did not have a bottle with him, though his eyes were as red as if he had been drinking.
Jehan didn’t say a word, just sitting down next to him and slipping him a piece of toast. “Long night?” he asked quietly, adjusting his robes to sit down next to him, his red and gold tie hanging loosely around his neck.
Grantaire just shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “You know. The usual.”
“I haven’t seen you up here since you and Enjolras got together.” Jehan’s words were soft but unusually blunt for the poet, and Grantaire chuckled dryly.
“That’s because I haven’t needed to be up here since Enjolras and I got together.”
Jehan waited for him to continue, then pressed, “And something has changed, I assumed?”
Grantaire shrugged again. “You could say that.” When Jehan was quiet, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, Grantaire sighed heavily. “It…he…we have different plans for the future. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.”
Jehan wasn’t the one who spoke, and Grantaire whirled around to see Enjolras standing there, as disheveled as he had been the night before, arms crossed in front of his chest. Jehan stood, kissing the top of Grantaire’s head. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said lightly, kissing Enjolras’s cheek on the way out.
Enjolras moved to stand next to Grantaire, frowning down at him. “May I sit?”
Grantaire laughed, almost bitterly. “I’ve never been able to deny you anything and Merlin forbid I start now, Enj. Sit if you want to sit.”
He sat, though he was careful not to touch Grantaire (even if his hand fluttered towards Grantaire’s for a moment before he seemed to think better of it, his hand dropping into his lap). “I wanted to talk about last night. And what happened.”
Shaking his head, Grantaire said quietly, “Nothing happened. Nothing that matters, anyway.”
“So we don’t have a problem, then?” Enjolras asked probingly, frowning at Grantaire, who still refused to meet his eyes.
Grantaire started to shake his head again, but seemed to think better of it. “Well we do have a problem,” he told Enjolras, tonelessly. “I’ve been offered a job with the Ministry - NEWTs pending, of course. For the Magical Artifacts office. They needed someone to do Magical Portrait Restoration.”
“That’s great!” Enjolras said enthusiastically, though he frowned at the look on Grantaire’s face. “Isn’t it?”
Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t know. You tell me. I thought you wanted to overthrow the Ministry.”
Enjolras sighed. “I’ve explained to you multiple times my thoughts on reforming the Ministry and magical law enforcement in general, and I’m not going to re-explain it now. So tell me what this is really about.”
“This is about us,” Grantaire said, his voice tight. “And our future. And the fact that apparently you don’t see me in your future. Or at least not in the future that’s your heart’s desire. And since my heart’s desire was us growing old together, ours apparently don’t match. Not that I know why I ever thought they would.”
Shoulders slumping, Enjolras sighed again. “That’s what this is about? What I saw in the Mirror of Erised? Grantaire—”
“Don’t.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp, harsh, and Enjolras flinched. “Don’t tell me that it’s not what you want because the mirror doesn’t lie, ok? And I know, I understand. I’ve been an idiot for thinking that this…whatever this is…between us was more than what it is. And that’s my fault. Whatever. Just don’t…don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not going to lie.” Enjolras’s voice was soft but firm. “But you also don’t know the full story. So will you at least let me tell you about what I saw in the mirror?”
Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras took it as permission, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t there because I don’t want you there in that vision. I want you in my future, Grantaire, but I don’t want you in the fighting. Change…change is not always easy, and sometimes it gets violent and sometimes people get hurt and I would never want you to get hurt because of me, or on my behalf. I love you too much for that.” When Grantaire was still silent, Enjolras sighed and reached out to take his hand. “I love you. And that’s not something that’s going to go away. What you don’t understand…”
He paused again, trying to gather his thoughts, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, urgent. “I’ve always wanted to change the world for the betterment of all. You know that. I want everyone to have access to the same opportunities, regardless of their circumstances. But it’s…it’s always been an abstract to say that I want to change the world for everyone. But now…Now I want to change the world for you. I want to make the world the kind of place where we can grow old together, where there is no need for fighting, for protesting and we can just be together, with each other.”
He squeezed Grantaire’s hand and told him sincerely, “I love you. And I want to spend the rest of our lives together. And I don’t need a mirror to tell me that.”
Grantaire looked at him, at the determined jut of his jaw, at the fire that always burned in his eyes, at the circles under his eyes that showed he hadn’t slept all night, and he didn’t need veritaserum to know that Enjolras was telling the truth. “I love you, too,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him, just as the first rays of dawn broke over the castle.
They were going to be ok. They were going to be together.
And if Grantaire had looked in the Mirror of Erised at that moment, he would have seen himself, only a few years older, standing hand in hand with Enjolras, both their wands at the ready for whatever came their way.
But he didn’t need to look in the mirror, because Enjolras was here, next to him, hands balled in his robes, lips moving against his, and nothing mattered besides that.