Little twelve year old Grantaire already so worn down and tired and sad about life that when an owl drops him a letter telling him he’s a wizard he thinks he must be dreaming.
Little twelve year old Grantaire who wears his father’s horrible ratty hand-me-downs and spends all his savings on buying his own wand.
Little twelve year old Grantaire brimming over with nervous excitement all the way through the summer because he’s finally going somewhere with his life (take that).
Little twelve year old Grantaire climbing onto the Hogwarts Express alone, and climbing out again hours later with an excitable, bouncy and equally little new best friend called Jehan and a crown of flowers woven into his hair.
Little twelve year old Grantaire shaking with anticipation as he clambers onto the stool and gets the Sorting Hat placed carefully on top of his floral headwear (Jehan nods with approval from the sidelines and gives him a grin and a thumbs-up when he looks over).
Little twelve year old Grantaire barely holding back tears because not only does the Hat not proclaim that there had been a mistake, why was there a squib being sorted, take him away now (he had been so sure it would; his father’s shouts had had such conviction); but because it also calls him “honest, brave, forgiving, overflowing with potential, with a heart of gold" and sorts him into Gryffindor without a second thought, and nobody has ever said anything like that of him before, but the Hat doesn’t lie.
Little twelve year old Grantaire who stops holding back when an equally tearful, joyful Jehan joins him at their table and throws his arms around him and cries “We’re home!" because he realises it’s the truth. He’s finally home.