Hello, my friends. This is an idea I've had for a long time, and it is a bit bizarre, so keep your minds open and your brains polished. Combeferre will be a bit OOC, or as OOC as a walk-on character could be, but this will be quickly remedied. I got this idea from an excellent story by cillabub that's on her website, but in that story Enjolras was the fairy. I give her full credit for creating an amazing story that first made me cry heartwrenchingly and then gave me an idea that's been stuck in my head for months since. READ THAT STORY!

Also, I want to request that everyone here who will review to sign their reviews, please. The last time I put a story on this archive, I received two reviews, that, while indisputably helpful, were nonetheless hostile and discouraged me from posting anything here for two straight months. If you have something instructive to say, sign your review so I can thank you later. Flames emphatically will not be tolerated.

Chapter 1

“Combeferre, you are insane. You know these shows are ony shams,” said Marcelin Grantaire, a healthy skeptic, to his student friend Augustin Combeferre. “Seriously, what do you expect to find? This is just a waste of money.”

They were at a touring freak show that had stopped in Paris for a couple of weeks before travelling to London. Combeferre had dragged along his protesting friend to the main tent because he needed someone to go with.

“Even if it is a waste of money, Marcelin mon ami,” said Combeferre as he paid for both of their fares, “it is worth it to prove to you one of my many philosophies- human beings are miserable creatures, and take comfort from other people's misery. That is why such tasteless shows like this are allowed to go on. In a civilized society this tent would be demolished and burned.”

“Says the man who will gladly pay to go in and look at the freaks,” Grantaire snorted.

“I merely make observations and philosophies, Grantaire. That doesn't necessarily forbid me from becoming a bit of a hypocrite,” Combeferre smiled.

“You are the strangest man I have had the honour to meet,” Grantaire shook his head amiably. “I will go with you, ami, seeing as you've already paid my way, but this is the last time. Mark it.”

Combeferre had not been listening to Grantaire. He had been drawn to an exhibit that was not yet opened and had a curtain covering the makeshift stage. What got his attention were the words of the man who was tending to whatever miserable human being was there.

“Ungrateful wretch! Do not bite me, you bastard, or it will be another beating for you. These wings can cause a lot of pain to you, can't they? Enough! No more tears. We're starting the show now. I'll consider feeding you afterwards. That is, if you'll eat.”

“Combeferre,” Grantaire said with a stricken look on his face, “we can't look at this.”

“Whyever not?” Combeferre asked with a grim little smile as the man came out from behind the curtain and started saying some elaborate speech about a true fairy. “He said something about wings causing pain, Grantaire. It may not be a sham.”

Grantaire looked like he wanted to say something, but at that moment the curtain was pulled away to reveal a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen. He was wearing rags, and he was terribly thin and sickly-looking. His head was bowed and dark red haired cascaded over his face, so Combeferre couldn't see his face. He was trembling violently, and his bony arms were folded over his chest in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. On his back were wings like a dragonfly's, translucently blue and fluttering slightly. There was a collective gasp from the crowd that had gathered.

“Ten sous to touch its wings,” the man smiled eerily, and forced the boy to turn around so the audience could get a better view of the wings.

“They're definitely real,” Combeferre said fascinated to a sickened Grantaire. “Look at how they're connected to its back. Too detailed to be fake, too. They would be able to support it. I wonder if it can fly...”

“Stop talking about him as though he were an insect in a jar, Combeferre,” Grantaire burst out suddenly. “He's absolutely miserable.”

“Calm yourself, mon ami,” Combeferre said puzzled. “And please keep in mind this creature cannot be possibly human. No human could have wings. It is not biologically possible.”

“You don't have any compassion, do you, Combeferre? I can't stand the torture of this boy any more,” Grantaire snapped. “I refuse to watch any longer.”

He pushed through the crowd and left before Combeferre could try to justify his coldness. Combeferre sighed, and waited until the exhibit had closed before going to the fairy.

“I'd like to talk to it,” Combeferre said to the man who was tending to the fairy. “How much does that cost?”

“Nothing. Because he doesn't speak,” the man said with a noncaring laugh. Combeferre knelt beside the fairy and said, “Hello.”

The fairy drew his legs closer to his chest and buried his face in his knees. Combeferre realized he was crying with a twinge of guilt.

“Do you have a name?” Combeferre asked a little more gently, hoping the care in his voice would give the boy confidence to speak... if he could speak. “Do they call you something around here?”

“Don't bother trying to talk to that one,” said a bearded lady to Combeferre. “The boy's dumb. He can't speak at all.”

“I see,” Combeferre said and lifted the fairy's face up to face him quietly.

Combeferre was greeted by wide tear-filled silver eyes and an almost feminine face before the fairy looked away, biting his lip desperately to stop another silent sob to leave his lips. Combeferre watched him lose the battle with his overwhelming sadness and tried to tell himself that this was not a person, only an amazing facsimile of one, but this display of emotion was too human to dismiss.

As Combeferre walked down the streets to his shared flats in the Latin Quarter, he soon felt guilty about the miserable boy he had left behind.

“Hello Combeferre,” said Alex Enjolras, a new student in law. He was drinking tea in the kitchen, which was lit only by a few candles.

“Why are you up so late?” Combeferre asked. If he wasn't mistaken, Enjolras had a rather important test tomorrow that he clearly wasn't studying for, if the book by Saint-Just in his hands was any indication.

“Why are you up so late?” Enjolras countered. “I don't sleep, as you well know.”

Combeferre nodded. Ever since Enjolras had moved into the flats, he had been getting up at odd hours to make endless cups of tea and read various political writings in the kitchen. Combeferre estimated that Enjolras slept a total average of fifteen minutes each night. And he didn't look any less immaculate for it, either, Combeferre added with a bit of jealousy. When he stayed up all night studying, it always showed...

“You're dodging the question, Combeferre, so I think you've been going to one of those shows again,” Enjolras deduced after Combeferre tried to change the subject.

“Yes, what of it?” Combeferre said defensively.

“It's just strange for someone like you, who's obsessed with fact and logic, to be going to a freak show. It's not really like you,” Enjolras shrugged, and poured another cup of tea in the ensuing silence. “You'll be going to sleep, then?”

“Yes,” Combeferre nodded, though he doubted he would actually get any sleep tonight.

“Good night then,” Enjolras smiled and started to read his book again.

So what do you think? Bad? Good? Continue? Delete? I LOVE REVIEWS!!