#héloïse perrault

[usernoneexistent]

8th March 1897. The bi-weekly newsletter bringing you the latest news and gossip at Hogwarts for witchcraft and wizardry written by Winona Rosewood - this is the entry for this month's @hp-12monthsofmagic challenge

CELEBRATING WITCH MONTH

This month of March we want to unofficially celebrate the wonderful and wickedly talented witches found within our own school of witchcraft and wizardry, so wizards take a step back while today I will dedicate this week's newsletter to several ladies that I believe deserve the utmost attention. Unfortunately, the small amount I can write is only a small part as they are complex and people should take the time to get to know them.

AN ENTREPRENEUR IN HER OWN RIGHT

This may be my bias as Victoria Summer @whatwouldvalerydo, my dearest and darling friend to place her first but it would be outrageous if I didn't. This sweet and fair Gryffindor has a business mind screw on top. Her perfumes are to die for and I have never smelled so heavenly. I could dedicate a while page to her but I must share it with others.

BRINGING THE FIRE TO HOWARTS

Ema McGiliguddy @kc-and-co entered Hogwarts with fire and style. Literally. This adventerous Slytherin has all eyes on her and certainly the Newspapers have been lying as she is far from the frail girl they make her out to be. I do watch her in anticipation for what may be next on her path of adventure.

A WITCH OF HER OWN MAKING

What goes on behind this inquisitive Ravenclaw's mind is anyone's best guess but Persephone Gould @cursebreakerfarrier is certainly multi talented. A prefect I would love to have and daring in her choice of past time endevours like fencing to name but one.

MORE THAN JUST A STYLE ICON

Despite my past article about her, Carolyn Nyberg @lifeofkaze I do find she certain qualities to be admired. While her beauty is so great that she makes the beautification potion envy there, she is so much more with mind enviable too.

THE ALCHEMIST'S GOLD

Though brief our interaction may be through Delilah Sweets, Violette Durand @cursed-herbalist it was made clear to me that she is going to go far. In spite of her agreeable nature, there is an ambition to create more paths for women in alchemy.

A NEW AND GORGEOUS LIONESS

Io Gordon @drinkyoursoupbitch, Head Girl and the latest addition to our wild Gryffindor brood. She is certainly welcomed with open arms, at the very least from me.

AN ASTRONOMICAL MIND

Now while I don’t have much to do with Héloïse Perrault @the-al-chemist, I heard much about her. This French witch is proving herself of wit and intellect certianly befitting of a Ravenclaw. Her starry mind will certainly bedazzle everyone at Hogwarts.

A SOPHISTICATED POTIONEER

Lastly, I present Adelia Selwyn @thatravenpuffwitch whom I have to admit that I deeply admire her skillful hands as all I can watch with awe and wonder how she can brew potions so perfectly.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 34

A/N: after an embarrassing encounter, Jim decides to face his fears at last…

Warnings: mild angst, pining.

OCs featured/mentioned: Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co, Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Selene Fraser, Alan the ferret, Henry Lovecraft and Carolyn Nyberg @lifeofkaze

April 1897

It was lunchtime, but Jim wasn’t hungry. It was also time for his Art Society meting, but he was not feeling particularly creative, either. He only felt nervous, but he knew that he could not let his nerves get the better of him. So, he took a deep breath and swallowed the hard to get the knot out of his tongue.

“Very well… I’ll just say what I wish to say, then,” he said. He cleared his throat. “And, er, what I wish to say is… Well, it’s this. I’d very much like to accompany you to the ball. To the Celestial Ball. As your friend. Actually, no. Not as your friend. I mean, yes, we are friends, but I’d like for us to be more than that. And perhaps, if you’d grant me the honour of… of your company next weekend, we might make our first, um, steps in that direction. How does that suit you?”

Jim’s offer was met with silence. He sighed.

“That was no good at all, was it?” he asked. “Well, if at first you don’t… Try and try again. Right. It’s the Celestial Ball next weekend, and I know lots of people are partnering up for it, and I wondered whether you might like to partner up. With me, that is, not... So,what say you, Héloïse?”

Héloïse said nothing, because Héloïse was not there to say anything at all. Jim was merely practising asking her, and her stand-in was the only person Jim could think of who would neither judge him for his stutter, nor interrupt him whilst he was speaking. However, he could have used some constructive feedback. Perhaps he should have practised on a person rather than a ferret.

“Okay, Alan,” said Jim. “Third time lucky, yes? Well, I really do enjoy your company, and I consider you to be a very dear friend. I also think that you are… incredibly beautiful and… I’d rather like to escort you to the ball on Saturday. Only if you’d like me to, of course.” Jim sighed. “I wonder if I perhaps should not mention the beautiful thing. It’s rather… forward, don’t you think?”

In response to Jim’s question, Alan the ferret twisted around on the desk to nibble at the base of his tail. He made no noise, but somewhere nearby a snickering noise could be heard. Jim frowned. The noise was coming from behind a cupboard.

He pulled out his wand and walked towards it, and the snickering grew louder, and louder, until he came around it to find…

Ethel and Selene, sitting with their backs against the cupboard, their knees tucked up by their chests and their hands pressed to their mouths, in a poor attempt at stifling their giggles.

At the sight of his sister and her friend, Jim lowered his wand, and at the sight of him, they dropped their hands from their mouths and gave into their laughter.

“For the love of Godric,” Jim said crossly. “This isn’t… It isn’t funny!”

“Oh, but it is!”

“It really, truly is!”

The two girls laughed even harder, their eyes watery and cheeks pink.

“Stop laughing, Ethel!”

“I cannot,” Ethel wheezed. “I cannot stop. Oh, Jimmy. I did not realise you held such strong feelings for Alan.”

“I can see for why you would,” said Selene. “He is a very fine ferret.”

“A beautiful ferret, or so I’ve heard it said.”

“Indeed, I believe I have heard that said, too.”

“Unfortunately, Jim, Alan shan’t be accompanying you to the ball. He prefers to form attachments with his own species. I’d strongly suggest that you do the same,” Ethel told him. “I know that Mamma and Pappa are rather liberal in their views, but this might be too much for them to take. And I dread to think what Héloïse would think of you having such an unnatural-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Jim snapped at his sister, far louder than he had intended. Ethel blinked, but otherwise appeared nonplussed.

“Suit yourself, Jimmy. We have far more interesting people to spend time with. Ferret-fancier or not, you still bore us terribly.”

She and Selene stood up and crossed the empty room. As they did, Selene scooped Alan the ferret up into her arms and threw a dirty look at Jim over her shoulder.

“Don’t you fret, Alan. We shall take you far away from this nasty depraved boy.”

Jim sighed loudly as he watched them disappear from sight, before picking up his things and making his way through the castle to the empty classroom where Brady and Lysander were having their meeting.

“Jim, old chap,” said Brady. “You’re late. What kept you?”

“My sister.”

“Ah.”

Lysander frowned. “What’s the matter with frog-face this time?” he asked. “Bitter that no one’s asked her to the ball?”

“I’m not sure,” Jim replied. “Someone might have asked her.”

“Really? Who?”

“I don’t… What does it matter to you? You despise Effy.”

“It doesn’t,” said Lysander quickly. “And I do. I was simply wondering whether or not we might have a lunatic in our midst, that is all.”

“I see,” Jim nodded slowly. “Have either of you two asked anyone?”

“Indeed I have, old bean. I’ll be escorting Carolyn Nyberg.”

At Brady’s announcement, Lysander’s eyebrows shot up.

“Perhaps we do have a lunatic in our midst,” he muttered. “There is a fine line between lunacy and bravery, or so they say. Carolyn Nyberg… You’re a far braver wizard than I am.”

“And me,” Jim sighed. Brady’s eyebrows furrowed, and so he explained. “I cannot even pluck up the courage to ask Héloïse.”

“Really?” Brady shook his head. “But, Jim, this is your perfect opportunity to get closer to her.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“So why on earth have you not taken that opportunity in both hands? Carpe diem!”

“Precisely for that reason,” said Jim. “It is too… I feel a lot of pressure, and that makes me too nervous. I try to ask her, and then when I do, my mouth goes dry and my words get stuck and I can’t say anything at all.”

“Not even a word?”

“No. Well, yes. In a way. The other day I managed to tell her that she has lovely handwriting.”

“Ah,” Brady said. Lysander looked up from his sketch.

“Does she?” he asked.

“Does she what?”

“Have nice handwriting.”

“Oh, yes. Very nice handwriting. Small and neat and pretty and French… Like you’d expect, I suppose,” Jim told Lysander, who exchanged glances with Brady. “Um… What?”

Brady rolled his eyes and placed his head in his hands. “I simply cannot cope with this,” he said. “You must ask her.”

“But… Excuse me!”

Jim’s mouth fell open as Lysander pointed his wand at his hand, the one holding his favourite sketchbook. The sketchbook shot up into the air and hovered above Jim’s head, tantalisingly out of reach of his fingertips.

“Here’s a bargain for you, Jimbo,” Lysander said with a smirk. “You can have the sketchbook back when - and only when - you ask Héloïse to attend the Celestial Ball with you.”

“But that’s… Brady, make him see sense.”

But Brady chuckled and shook his head.

“Jim, old chap, I think Lysander is making perfect sense. You require a - pardon my French - jolly good kick up the derrière.”

“That’s…”

“The library is two corridors away. If you hurry, you’ll have a companion for the Celestial Ball and your sketchbook back by the time we start afternoon lessons.”

Both Lysander and Brady’s faces were earnest, and Jim knew that there was no persuading either of them to give him back his sketchbook, not until he had done what he had so far failed to do. He sighed angrily, as frustrated with himself as he was with his friends.

“Go on, old chap. Be bold.”

“Carpet demon,” said Lysander, and Brady put his head in his hands again.

Jim left them alone and walked through the two corridors to the library, his heart beating faster and his feet growing heavier with each step. He was not ready for this, he would never be ready for this. What if he was unable to get his words out again? What if he did, and she laughed at him? What if she said no? Oh, Godric… What if she said yes?

He found Héloïse in a quiet corner of the library, far from the noise that was coming from the librarian’s desk, where his sister was pestering Madam Khanna about something, he did not care what. At this moment, he cared bout nothing but managing to be bold, to ask Héloïse to attend the ball with him, and getting his sketchboook back from Lysander.

“Héloïse,” he said as he approached her. Slowly, she raised her brown eyes from her astrology textbook and regarded him with a look of curiosity.

“Jim. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Héloïse.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Jim swallowed hard three times and cleared his throat.

“Héloïse, I was wondering…”

“To what… Sorry. I am… intruding your speaking.”

“No, I’m sorry,” said Jim. “You continue.”

“I was to ask why you are here, but I think you are now to tell me,” Héloïse said with a wry little smile. “What have you wondered?”

This was it. Jim’s chance. He had to take it. He had to be bold.

“I wondered whether anyone had already asked to accompany you to the Celestial Ball, and if no, then whether you might allow me to accompany you.”

Jim spoke faster than he had intended. It potentially was too fast, for Héloïse frowned as if she had not understood his meaning.

“You are wanting to… escort me to the ball?” she asked, and Jim nodded.

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I… It would be my privilege. Only if you wish to do me that honour, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Jim was half-hope, half-achingly deep despair and longing.

“I… Jim, this would be nice.”

His heart skipped a beat. “It would?”

“Yes,” Héloïse smiled sadly. “But… Unfortunately, I cannot to go with you. I am sorry. I have promised to my friend Henry that I will to go with him. I did not think… I am sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” said Jim. He forced himself to return Héloïse’s smile, in spite of the fact that he felt more like crying. “A promise is a promise, and… I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“For… asking, I suppose. I hope that this shall not ruin our… our friendship.”

“Friendship, yes,” Héloïse nodded. She swallowed and looked down at her book. “I must to study.”

“I must to go… I must be going. I shall see you soon. At the ball, maybe.”

Héloïse said nothing in response, just stared at her book, already clearly engrossed in it. Jim walked away from her, focusing on the sound of his footsteps echoing on the floor of the library, for her knew that if he did not focus on something, his thoughts would fly to Héloïse, and then he would look back. And if he looked back, then the tears that pricked his eyes would start to run away from him, and he would start to cry in front of everyone.

And if that happened, he might never be able to be bold again.

[lifeofkaze]

Henry Lovecraft - Written Works

SHORTS

Boy and the Ghost

Blind Date (feat. Cledwyn Ironwood)

Ghosts (feat. Héloïse Perrault)

Post-Hogwarts

The Song of Heart's Desire

Where All Stories End

[the-al-chemist]

☕️ & ✈️ for the OC of your choosing

��Chocolate. If it pleases you.”

“You are going to travel, and meet lots of people, and learn, and love, and experience everything the world has to offer you, and one day you’re going to come back to visit me and tell me all about the adventures you’ve had.”

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 35

A/N: Ethel offers some sisterly advice.

Warnings: plotting and mentions of canon-typical social injustice.

OCs featured/mentioned: Selene Fraser and Alan the ferret @lifeofkaze, Eliot Gerard @kc-and-co, Cledwyn Ironwood @that-scouse-wizard

April 1897

Having helped Alan escape from Jim’s clutches, Selene had the grand idea of taking the ferret to the Hospital Wing to check for signs of trauma.

“That’s not a terrible notion. It was rather an ordeal for him, after all,” Ethel reasoned. “Nurse Blainey did say last time that she would not treat ferrets, though.”

“We don’t need Nurse Blainey. Eliot Gerard is helping in the Hospital Wing at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Because he wishes to be a Healer when he leaves school. He has plans to travel all over the world healing people,” said Selene. “I’m certain that he would be more than happy to help Alan.”

Ethel had no interest in spending time with Eliot Gerard, even if he did wish to travel all over the world healing people. The very notion of his doing so seemed nonsensical - surely there were other Healers across the world who could save him the journey. She left Selene and Alan to find Eliot Gerard and set off for the library.

“Good afternoon, Madam Khanna,” she greeted the librarian, who smiled warmly at her. “Did you manage to find the book of Wizengamot trial proceedings you told me about?”

“Certainly, Miss Hexley. I have it in one of the stacks here. I’ll fetch it for you now.”

Madam Khanna turned to the five large stacks of books behind her desk, and Ethel tapped one foot as she waited for the librarian to find her book, which detailed the most notoriously controversial court trials of British wizarding history. She had been looking forward to reading this one since before the start of the Easter holidays.

As Madam Khanna looked through the third stack, Ethel looked around at the rest of the library, which was relatively empty, it being lunchtime and a rather pleasant day outside. Still, there were a few students dotted around, including - she did a double take as she noticed - her brother and Héloïse Perrault. Ethel craned her neck to watch the two of them. Jim was standing by the table at which Héloïse was sitting, his face rapidly growing pink as he spoke to her.

He was asking her to the dance - he was actually asking her. Ethel’s jaw dropped, now so engrossed in the scene that she barely noticed Madam Khanna placing her long-awaited book on the desk in front of her until the librarian cleared her throat. Ethel took the book, thanked Madam Khanna hurriedly, and immediately turned her attention back to her brother, who was now striding back across the library in the direction of the corridor outside.

Naturally, Ethel had to follow him, so she tucked her book under her arm and sped away after him, managing to wait until she had passed through the library doors before she called out:

“Jimmy!”

Jim was already descending the stairs outside, but at the sound of his name, he stopped his tracks and looked back at her. He frowned so deeply he almost looked angry.

“What do you want now?” he asked her.

“Now, don’t be like that, Jim. I am only paying a close interest in my brother’s personal life, which as a caring and devoted sister, is my duty, is it not?” Ethel grinned at Jim, who shook his head and continued to walk away from her. She took the stairs two at a time to catch up. “Oh, I cannot wait to write to Mamma about this!”

“You will do no such thing.”

“But I shall. She is bound to want to know, though I do wonder if she will believe it. Our dear, sweet Jimmy a lothario, whoever would have thought it?”

“Effy, do be quiet.”

“Selene will be glad to hear that Alan helped you find the courage to ask Héloïse to attend the dance with you after all. Say, did Héloïse know that you practised asking her using a ferret? Are you planning on practising dancing with Alan, too? Or holding hands? Will Alan be the best man at your wedding? Will Selly and I be bridesmaids?”

“Ethel, please,” Jim said, no longer sounding irritated, but weary. “Please stop.”

“But…” Ethel’s voice tailed off as she looked at her brother. “Why, Jimmy, you’re upset.” Jim did not look her in the eye; his own were filled with tears. “Why?”

“Because she said no,” Jim told her. “Because she’s already going to the ball with someone else.”

“Oh,” Ethel patted him on the shoulder. “Well, don’t be upset about that. It’s only one silly little school dance. It’s not that important.”

“It’s important to me. Or it was, anyway.”

“It shouldn’t be,” said Ethel. “There are far more important things in this world to be worried about, after all. Think about all the poor Muggle women who cannot vote, or the goblins who have their lives’ work taken away from them, or the house elves who do not even get days off work. Compared to them, your problems are nothing, really. None of ours are. So maybe instead of being upset about a stupid ball, you should be upset about that and focus your energies on helping somehow. If you spend your life doing that rather than moping around, just think about how much more good you might do in the world.”

Jim scoffed, and Ethel raised one eyebrow at him imperiously.

“What, Jimmy?”

“Well, it’s only that you… That those are fine words from someone who wishes to spend their own life throwing a Quaffle through a hoop.”

Ethel opened her mouth to argue with him, but even she had to concede that he had a point. Becoming a professional Quidditch player had been her dream from the first moment she had sat a broom, but Jim was right, Quidditch players never made any differences in the world, not ones that mattered. They simply… played. Just like Ethel, really. She had never made any meaningful differences, nor had she done any good in the world around her, let alone the world at large. Perhaps she never would, but she was not ready to concede that just yet.

So, she decided there and then that she would do some good, even if it was only on a small scale. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around Jim’s torso. He stiffened.

“Um… What… Ethel, what are you doing?”

“I’m embracing you, you ape.”

“But… why?”

“Because” - Ethel did not let go of Jim - “you’re my baby brother-”

“We were born on the same day.”

“- and you’re sad. And, as your older and far wiser sister-”

“There is less than an hour between us!”

“- I am going to make it all better for you.”

Ethel released Jim from her her hold, and he regarded her with a sceptical look in his eyes, so similar as they were to her own.

“How?” he asked her.

“Firstly,” Ethel said, raising her hand to push Jim’s hair back from his face, “we need you to look handsome. Well, dapper. At the very least, well-dressed. And you’ll need to get better at dancing, so we can practise that. And you need a date.”

“But Héloïse is going with-”

“I don’t mean Héloïse. You can go with Selene.”

“Effy, I don’t like Selene,” said Jim. “That is… I like her very well, but I do not feel deeply for her.”

“You’re missing my point, Jim. You don’t need to feel for her to take her to the ball. I don’t feel for Cledwyn, and he does not for me, but we are still accompanying one another.”

“You are?”

“Oh, yes. That reminds me, I need to let him know about that, actually.”

“Right.” Jim frowned. “I am sorry, Ethel, but I still do not quite. understand your point.”

“My point is that we’re going to show Héloïse what she’s missing. Believe me, she will regret not having you as her escort.”

“I don’t see what taking Selene has to do with Héloïse regretting that I am not taking her.”

Ethel laughed out loud. How oblivious he was to the ways of women!

“Oh, my sweet little brother. You clearly underestimate the immense power of a little jealousy…”

[the-al-chemist]

Héloïse Perrault - The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

Je sais parler six langues

Cada idioma es simple

Jerr-o oh yo no recipeo yesashides

Ja gavaru shetz yatzukim

V'ani yodat shalom

Im noch mindestens sieben mehr.

- I Speak Six Languages -

Part 3 of @magicallymalted’s Musical Theatre AU. Spelling Bee is a lesser known Tony Award winning musical with an ensemble cast. Marcy Parks is an overachieving polyglot, and I knew her song would be perfect for Héloïse (though the original lyrics contain grammatically incorrect French, which displeases my pedant soul. So I’ve changed them).

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 17

Summary: Jim is once again suffering the consequences of Ethel’s antics, but it’s not all doom and gloom…

OCs featured/mentioned: Siobhan Llewelyn and Lavinia MacMillan @kc-and-co

Warnings: conspiracy to commit dragon-based mass treason, almost offensively bad French.

April 1896

Jim’s mind was made up. Never again would he let himself be roped into one of his sister’s ploys. Really, he didn’t understand why he had ever permitted himself to be roped into this particular ploy; by now he should have learned that nothing good ever came from any of Ethel’s escapades.

Effy’s latest scheme had been the formation of a society to help Muggle women obtain the right to vote. It was a noble enough endeavour, Jim supposed, however, the means that Ethel and her friends had proposed in order to achieve this end were definitely lacking in propriety. Not to mention that it transpired towards the end of the meeting, when Professor Macmillan returned to the schoolgrounds, that the Herbology teacher had not, in fact, authorised the society’s use of her favourite greenhouse for the meeting, contrary to Ethel’s claims two and a half hours previously.

Perhaps they would have gotten away without punishment for that, were it not for the professor having also discovered the meeting’s minutes, which detailed the society’s proposed plans to support the Muggle suffrage movement. As punishment for plotting no fewer than eleven infarctions of the International Statute for Secrecy in her classroom, Professor Macmillan had given all the members of the Society for Witches in Support of Women’s Suffrage detention, and bade them all write lines.

I shall not endeavour to attack the Houses of Parliament with a Common Welsh Green Dragon, Jim wrote out, yet again. He paused to take count of how many times he had done so. Ninety-seven. Only fifty-three more times remaining. He had thought that he had made rather good time so far, but beside him, Siobhan Llewelyn was already packing away her quill and ink.

“Are you finished already?” he asked her, and she nodded her head.

“Aye, Hexley,” she sighed, and held her parchment up for him to see. “One hundred and fifty times, done and dusted.”

Jim frowned and cleared his throat. “Siobhan, you… er, I think you might have… There’s a slight error here.”

“Is there?”

“Yes, you appear to have, uh… See, you’ve written that you ‘shall endeavour not to’ rather than ‘shall not endeavour to’.”

“Oh no, Hexley,” said Siobhan, rising from her desk with a bright smile. “That was not an error.”

Jim’s mouth opened slightly as he watched Siobhan leave the greenhouse. On the other side of her now empty seat, someone else was watching her leave. Héloïse Perrault. Jim swallowed and made a conscious effort to keep his gaze firmly on his parchment. It was rude to stare, after all.

Still, keeping his eyes downwards took far more concentration than he realised. By the time he had finished writing his fifty-three remaining lines, only he and Héloïse remained in the greenhouse, and even then, she put down her quill and rolled up her parchment while he still had seven more lines remaining. He ventured a smile at her as she rose up from her seat, and he returned his attention to his parchment.

Almost a minute passed before he dared look up again, realising that although Héloïse had finished writing and left her seat, she had not yet left the greenhouse. He frowned, and turned his face upwards to see the French girl standing so close beside him that he jumped; she was so silent that he had not known that she stood so very near. He gave a second jolt as he realised what she was doing, or rather, what she was looking at.

His sketchbook.

She had opened the cover, and was slowly and gently turning the pages with a single forefinger, her head tilting slightly as she gazed at the open pages with a passive expression in her dark brown eyes.

But she did not look for long. Before Jim had even fully registered the fact that the girl was making herself privy to his most precious and most private possession, he had reached across the table and slammed the cover shut.

Héloïse snatched her hand back from the book, and her eyes widened, making Jim immediately regret the haste with which he had acted.

“Je suis désolée.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean… It’s just that they’re, well, private. They’re not improper or anything, I assure you… It is simply that, um…”

“Ils sont très bien faits, ces dessins.”

“Well, it’s just that they are not very good. My drawings, that is.”

Héloïse was quiet again, and she looked from Jim’s face to his hand on top of his sketchbook. She nodded, and smiled.

“You are Jimmy?” she said, slowly and deliberately, with a heavily accented voice.

“No. Well, I suppose… But only my family call me Jimmy. Everyone else calls me Jim. I actually prefer Jim,” Jim stopped abruptly, seeing that Héloïse’s eyebrows were knitting together. She didn’t understand, he realised, and he took a deep breath. It was time for him to practise the French Brady had been teaching him. “Je m’appelle Jim.”

Héloïse’s eyes brightened. “I am called Héloïse.”

“Yes, I… Oui. Héloïse. I know your name, it’s a pretty name. Um… Your name. Votre nom. C’est joli.”

“Merci.”

“Tu es… um… welcome.”

There was another pause in which neither Jim nor Héloïse spoke. When they did, they did so in unison.

“Alors, je dois trouver les autres.”

“Anyway, you probably want to go and find your friends.”

“Yes. Friends,” Héloïse smiled. “Je pense qu’elles m’attendent.”

“I expect that they will be waiting for you. You mustn’t dally on my account,” Jim cleared his throat, again realising that the girl must have no idea what he was saying. “Um… Les filles. Shiv and Gwen. Elles… veut… que tu… aller à le… um… Great Hall. Probably.”

“Yes,” said Héloïse, frowning slightly. “C’était un plaisir de te rencontrer.”

“It was nice to meet you properly. Au revoir.”

“Goodbye.”

Héloïse stepped away from Jim and his sketchbook, and started to walk out of the greenhouse. Jim called out after her.

“Wait! Héloïse!” he blinked as she looked back at him expectantly, and realised that he had not actually known what it was that he had intended to say. “Um… My friend. Mon ami, Brady. I think you might know him, actually… Anyway, he is… Well, I am trying to learn to speak French. Er, moi… Je parler le français. Trying to parler, anyway… and I just thought that perhaps that you might be able to help, as well. Uh, tu… aider… je parler français.”

Héloïse’s lips pursed and she tilted her head at him.

“Tu veut savoir parler français?” she asked, and Jim nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she had just said. “And… you want… me to be Professeur?”

“Yes, please. Uh, oui. S’il vous plaît,” when Héloïse said nothing, Jim continued to speak. “I like hearing you speak. I would like to hear you speak more… Je veux parler avec tu… en votre… language. If you like. If tu voulez.”

It felt like an age before Héloïse uttered one single word:

“D’accord.”

“Um, yes?”

Héloïse shrugged. “Oui.”

Jim’s heart seemed to lift in his chest, and he felt his lips being pulled into a smile.

“Um…” he searched his head for any day he could remember the name of in French. “Uh… Lundi?”

“Oui, lundi. Torre d’Astronomie?”

“Astronomy tower? Yes. Yes, thank you. Merci beaucoup.”

“De rien. You are welcome. Goodbye, Jim.”

“Au revoir, Héloïse.”

“C’est Professeur Héloïse pour toi,” muttered Héloïse, with a small but pointed smirk that made Jim laugh out loud as he returned to his parchment, ready to finish his final few lines.

It was scarcely believable, but for the first time in his life, something good had come from one of Ethel’s escapades.

[the-al-chemist]

It’s Day 1 of @kathrynalicemc’s OC heritage week, so here we have the Hexley family coat of arms!

Arms: azure a chevron vert and argent between three urcheons passant and proper. Crest: rere-mouse displayed proper, with mantling sable and argent.

The colours of the coat of arms - azure (blue), vert (green), sable (black), and argent (white) - symbolise loyalty, truth, wisdom, peace, hope, and constancy. The chevron (inverted V) denotes protection. Urcheons (hedgehogs) are also used to symbolise protection, as well as providing, and a rere-mouse (bat) is supposed to strike fear in the heart of an enemy.

As this is the coat of arms of a wizarding family, the bat is able to move its wings, and the hedgehogs to roll into balls.

The Hexley family motto, Cur Non, translates to English as “why not?”

Thanks to the marriage of Jeremiah Hexley to Héloïse Perrault and via Héloïse’s maternal grandmother, the modern day Hexley family also has a direct link to the ancient French wizarding family, the House of Fortinbras.

Arms: salamander passant gules and or charged on argent a bend sinister purpure and bordure sable and or. Crest: coronet purpure and or with pen and feather sable. Knot sable and argent at base.

The colours of the coat of arms are symbolic of nobility, truth, wisdom, fortitude, and death. The crown symbolises royalty, the knot faith, and the pen and feather symbolise learning and justice, and the salamander is an emblem of sacrifice. Again, as a wizarding crest, the salamander is able to move in many depictions.

The Fortinbras motto is En Cherchant, La Verité, which translates as “through seeking, the truth.”

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 15

Summary: the Art Club has a new member, and Jim asks for Brady’s help.

OCs featured: Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Bradford Pendleton IV @kc-and-co

Warnings: one lovesick teenage boy.

March 1896

The still relatively young Hogwarts Art Society was about to start its tenth meeting. It was a somewhat momentous occasion; not only did this meeting mark the fourth month of the society’s existence, but they were also welcoming their first female member.

“I was not aware that you had an interest in art, Ophelia,” said Lysander, frowning at the newcomer.

“I have many interests,” was Ophelia’s response.

“Ah. Do you prefer sketching or painting?”

“Yes.”

Lysander shared a look with Jim, and both boys quickly averted their eyes from Ophelia.

“Where is Brady, I wonder?” Jim thought out loud. “We are… That is to say, we were supposed to be practising with colour today.”

As if on cue, Bradford Pendleton the Fourth sauntered into the classroom that the society had commandeered for their meetings, a large leather sketchbook tucked under one arm.

“Dreadfully sorry, old chaps,” he said, before doing a quick double take at Ophelia and adding, “and lady.” He bowed his head to her as a greeting, and Ophelia immediately smiled and sat up poker straight in her seat. Brady took his own, still talking as did so, “I got caught up in a conversation, you know? That poor new girl, the French one-”

“Héloïse,” said Jim, without even meaning to say anything at all. The name echoed in his ears, like it had done for a few weeks previously, ever since he had learned of Matilda’s true identity.

“Yes, Héloïse Perrault, that is the one. She has been attempting to teach herself English. I did offer to give her lessons, but she was not too keen on that idea. Seems like she’s doing a far better job on her own than I’d have expected, generally speaking, but she had a few questions about some specifics. Didn’t think that she’d want to approach Nyberg, for obvious reasons, so I thought that I’d help her out,” Brady continued, levitating his open sketchbook onto an easel as he spoke. “Jolly nice girl, though perhaps a little too French, if you understand my meaning.”

Jim did not understand Brady’s meaning in the slightest, but then he did not speak any French, nor any other language besides his native English, for that matter. His mother had attempted to teach both him and Ethel Latin as children, but it had been a somewhat fruitless endeavour. Ethel may have been good at the subject if she had put any effort into her learning whatsoever, but Jim was nearly hopeless, in spite of his labours. He had been relieved when his mother had given up on the idea of teaching the twins Latin entirely, less than a year after first commencing the lessons. Now though, he was beginning to regret not having persevered with his second language. After all, it might have been useful. Brady’s ability to speak French was certainly proving useful to him, at least.

“It must be rather… well, lonely,” Jim mused, realising that no one had spoken for several moments. “For one to be unable to understand or communicate with those around them, that is.”

“Oh, yes. Jolly lonely, I’d wager,” agreed Brady. “But I’m certain that she will pick it all up soon enough. She seems like an intelligent sort of person.”

“But until then…”

“Now, don’t you fret, old chap. There’s plenty of us here that have had French tutoring during our youth, after all.”

“Would you be able to tutor me?” Jim asked, before he could stop himself. When Brady gave him a quizzical look, he cleared his throat. “That is… What I mean to say, rather, is that if more of us were to speak her language, it might be, uh… Well, there would be a more welcoming environment, would there not? And, well, they do… they do say that French is a, uh… a wonderful language to learn, and, um…”

“I would also like to learn to speak French,” said Ophelia, and Jim nearly passed out from the sheer relief he felt not to have the others’ eyes solely on him anymore. “Naturally, I also had many private tutors growing up, but sadly, my education was somewhat lacking where foreign languages are concerned.”

Brady appeared to consider the proposal for a moment, before once more pointing his wand at his barely touched art materials, and with a single flick of his wrist, packing them all away.

“Very well, chaps,” he said, placing his wand back into his pocket and making his way over to a blackboard at the front of the classroom. “Let’s all learn some French.”

[the-al-chemist]

Lineage Challenge Day 6 - Ask Game!

Thank you @kathrynalicemc for creating this challenge, it’s been so interesting and great for development! Long answers and pretty pictures ahead, so I’ve put in a cut.

1) Canon or Fiction? What drew you to that specific family? Did you make any changes to Canon, and if so, why?

This isn’t a canon family, I created the name Hexley for Artemis after writing a list of surnames and giving them a magical twist. The lore has gone back from Artemis through to my HPHL OCs. I have strict rules about not altering established canon in my writing (which is why Sara Kowalski was born after the events of the Fantastic Beasts films finish) but working around it to create stories that can exist in the magical world adjacent to canon.

I have, however, changed my own canon. Mavis Morland was originally supposed to be a Muggle, not a Squib with a secret history, and the Hexley family were not going to be distantly related to some of the other families I mention below. I also intended the line to end with Artemis, however I have grown to cherish this family lineage to the point that I couldn’t do that. So, Cleo came into being, and now the Hexleys have a future as well as a history.

2) Family Ties - What other families are related/connected to this one? Are they Canon families or creator-made families? (Tag them!)

The Hexleys are connected through marriage to several other wizarding families.

To the Anders and Cleary families, due to the marriage of Theodore Hexley to Florence Mudge. Florence’s nieces gave the Hexley family a distant connection to the McNully and Hopper families. @kc-and-co @thatravenpuffwitch

To the french Fortinbras dynasty, thanks to the marriage of Jim Hexley and Héloïse Perrault.

To the Mercury family, after Ethel’s marriage to Lysander Mercury and the birth of their three daughters: Beatrice, Flora, and Ottilie. Eventually, this branch of the family leads to Flora’s granddaughter Iris and her son Zephyr, and to Ottilie’s grandson Orlando Taylor, and his daughters, Phoebe and Zadie Taylor-Allen. @slytherindisaster

To the Nott and Burke families through Marius Hexley’s marriage to Mavis Morland, who was born Marguerite Nott. This connects them through the marriage of Marguerite’s sister Dahlia to the Pendleton lineage, however this is not a fact that is known by anyone but Mavis Marius themselves and Mavis’ mother Eliza, who was born Ophelia Burke. @kc-and-co @lifeofkaze

To the Goldstein/Kowalski family, through Leander’s marriage to Sara Kowalski. Sally’s maternal aunt Tina Goldstein married Magizoologist Newt Scamander, thus linking another family to the tree.

To the Cole family, thanks to the birth of Jacob Hexley and Angelica Cole’s daughter Cleo. However, as the couple never married and were separated whilst Cleo was still young, the connection between the two lineages is not strong.

3) Foundations: What year and which OC was the founder of the family line?

I have traced the Hexley lineage back as far as Humphrey, Jim and Ethel’s paternal grandfather, however the name Hexley has existed in Wizarding records since the late medieval era. The name sprung up as if from nowhere, and it is unknown whether this is because the family originally was an offshoot of the Yaxley family who cut ties with their less liberal-minded clansmen, or was descended from Muggle stock. Either way, the Hexley family is old enough to have garnered some respect for itself over the years, but not fanatic enough about maintaining the purity of its bloodline to have kept its prestige high.

4) Fun Facts: Do you have any misc lore that you haven’t had a chance to post about? Talk about anything you like!

I’m going to talk about property and homes. There are several old properties that have been owned by the Hexley family over the generations, some of which are still in the possession of their descendents.

Cathedral Close, Exeter, Devon

Muggles are not able to see the door with the hedgehog-shaped knocker among the buildings of the ancient part of Exeter which marks the entrance to the ancestral home of the Hexley family. Humphrey Hexley and his wife Jemima took over this home from Humphrey’s parents in the 19th century, and this is where they raised their son Theodore. Next door, there is a house whose door bears an uncanny resemblance to that of Hogwarts castle’s Room of Requirement. It is unknown if this is a coincidence or not. The property was inherited by Ethel Hexley-Mercury and her family.

Dunsworthy-in-the-Moor, Devon

Florence Mudge’s Muggle parents were not extremely wealthy, but they had enough money to purchase a set of three terraced cottages in Dartmoor, one to be given to each of their three daughters upon marriage. Theodore and Florence raised their children Jim and Ethel in the cottage, with the property later passing to Jim. Both Jim’s children were also raised here, as was his grandson Leander, but the property was sold after the death of Marius Hexley during the first Wizarding War.

Château de Miel, Sarlac, Dordogne

Jim Hexley’s marriage to Héloïse Perrault greatly raised the family’s status financially. Héloïse grew up in the Château de Sarlac, the property bestowed upon her parents after their marriage by her maternal grandparents, but only returned to live there as an adult after her own children had grown. The château was then renamed and went on to have an interesting life of its own, housing both cryptanalysts during the Global Wizarding War and refugees during the Second British Wizarding War, and running a working honey farm throughout the latter two thirds of the 20th Century. Currently it is in the possession of Lucienne Hexley.

Lovelace Terrace, Camden, London

After graduating from Hogwarts and getting a job at the British Ministry of Magic, Héloïse’s grandmother ‘gifted’ her a London townhouse. Unfortunately, Héloïse despised London wholeheartedly, so the building was instead used by other members of the family until passing onto her grandson Leander, who used the money from the sale of the Dunsworthy cottage to purchase the Camden house from his grandparents and use it as a home in which to raise his own family. After Leander’s death, the property was inherited by his two surviving offspring, Jacob and Artemis. After years of attempts, Artemis managed to successfully sell her share of the property in the early 2000s to a surprising buyer, but that is definitely a story for another day.

5) Free Space: Feel free to ask any creator a question not listed here, and maybe you will get one in return!

Y’all know that I’m always open to asks!

[the-al-chemist]

HPHL Demigod AU

I love HPHL. I love Greek mythology. I love this game and concept. Thank you for this @camillejeaneshphm

Ophelia Burke - Daughter of Hera

Hera - Goddess of Women, Wives, Marriage and Motherhood. Proud, vengeful, envious, dangerous.

Ethel Hexley - Daughter of Hermes

Hermes - Olympian Messenger God, patron of Tricksters and Orators. Fast flier. Even faster wit.

Héloïse Perrault - Daughter of Athena

Athena - Goddess of Wisdom, Wit, Learning and Literature. Logical, intelligent, courageous.

Jim Hexley - Son of Demeter

Demeter - Goddess of the Harvest, Health, Agriculture and the Seasons. Caring, creative, nurturing, diligent.

[the-al-chemist]

Valentine’s Prompts 2022 - Masterlist

Find all my contributions for @lifeofkaze’s Valentine’s Challenge here! Find the challenge itself here.

The Matchmaker

Date: 7th February 2022

Prompt: Blind Date

OC/Pairing: Artemis Hexley (HPHM)

Madonna

Date: 8th February 2022

Prompt: Perfect

OC/Pairing: Ophelia Burke (HPHL)

A Woman’s Problem

Date: 9th February 2022

Prompt: Red

OC/Pairing: Saffron Summers (HPMA)

The Trying Scotsman

Date: 10th February 2022

Prompt: In-Laws

OC/Pairing: Rory McTavish and Dylan Amari @lifeofkaze (HPMA)

Acceptance

Date: 11th February 2022

Prompt: Heartbreak

OC/Pairing: Zadie Taylor-Allen (HPMA)

Eyes Up

Date: 12th February 2022

Prompt: Late

OC/Pairing: Artemis Hexley and Charlie Weasley (HPHM/Golden Era)

Much Ado About Bluffing

Date: 13th February 2022

Prompt: Love Potion

OC/Pairing: Ethel Hexley/Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Ivy Anders @kc-and-co (HPHL)

Pour Aimer et Chérir

Date: 14th February 2022

Prompt: Kiss

OC/Pairing: Jim Hexley/Héloïse Perrault (HPHL)

[lifeofkaze]

Valentine's Challenge 2022 - Day 2

Prompt: Perfect

Find all stories of this challenge in the masterpost here.

A/N: Bradford Pendleton belongs to @kc-and-co, Héloïse Perrault (in mention) belongs to @the-al-chemist

A concerned frown appeared on Carolyn’s brow and she bowed deeper over her cauldron. She gave the bubbling concoction inside a scrutinising look and clicked her tongue in annoyance. Ignoring the familiar fragrant smell of roses and powder, she stirred her potion three times clockwise, and then one and a quarter times counterclockwise. After the potion had changed its colour, she noted something down onto the piece of parchment next to her.

“Half of a Billywig sting and 1.5 additional ounces of Ashwinder egg, twenty-five minutes exposure to winter sunlight,” Caro mumbled under her breath as she wrote. “Better than before, but still not the desired effect.”

She laid down her quill and picked up one of the many bottles with ingredients lined up around her. She weighed it in her hands and thought about what to try next before setting it down again. With a frustrated sigh, she dipped her head into her neck and closed her eyes.

“The new formula for my Pulchritude Potion shall be the end of me,” she complained into the room. “I wished for it to be done by Valentine’s Day, but as it appears, it will have me done, instead of the other way round. What was I even thinking of tinkering with it…”

Her voice trailed off when she noticed that the other person in the vast studio her husband was using for his art wasn’t responding.

Bradford was standing in front of his easel with a frown almost as deep as Caro’s. He was holding a palette with an assortment of colours in one and a brush in the other. A second brush was stuck behind his ear and he had his lips pressed together, looking deeply unhappy with himself and his work.

Brady must have felt Caro’s eyes on him because he gave a start and shook his head. He seemed to come back from a very far away place and his frown made way for a bewildered look.

“What were you saying, my love?”

“What is the matter with you?” Caro asked in response.

“Nothing whatsoever,” Brady replied, already lost in thought again.

“Don’t take me for a fool,” Caro said curtly. She vanished her unsuccessful potion with a flick of her wand, took off her gloves and walked over to him. “Is something the matter with your portrait?”

Brady hummed thoughtfully, his eyes slowly wandering over the canvas. “I have to admit, I’m not as happy with it as I would wish to be.”

Caro tilted her head and gave the picture Brady had spent the last few days working on a critical look.

“It is a remarkable piece of work,” she said. “Whyever don’t you like it?”

“Alas, I do not know.”

“How utterly helpful.”

“What can I say?” Brady shrugged. “I just don’t like it. It looked better in my head.”

Caro took a closer look at the portrait. It showed a dark haired woman with equally dark eyes and very fine features. She stood in front of an inky blue night sky through which differently shaded bands of green light were weaving. The face of the woman looked familiar.

“Is that Héloïse Perrault?” she asked.

Brady nodded. “It’s her birthday next week.”

“On Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?”

“It is. This was supposed to be my gift. I intended to send it to her as a surprise but it looks like I may need to start all over again. I shall never make it on time for it to be posted.”

“Surely it can’t take that long to have a portrait sent across England?”

“She is in Norway as we speak, to study the Northern Lights.” Brady sighed again and looked at his portrait wistfully. “I wanted her gift to be perfect.”

Caro glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes and snorted derisively. “Norway. Whatever does she want in a land full of barbarians?”

When she noticed the smirk appearing on Brady’s face Caro stood straighter and put on a pointedly stern expression.

“You never lacked in talent or skill when it comes to capturing a person’s essence in your artwork, but look here,” she said and pointed at the background, “the shadows are all off. How is Héloïse so light when you are trying to evoke the beauty of a Northern night? Auroras cast a light different to this.”

“You always were my best and harshest critic,” Brady smiled. “Yes, the light might indeed be the root of the problem.”

Caro couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips as she remembered the first time she and Brady had stood beneath the miraculous beauty of the Northern Lights.

“You always had your trouble with the auroras.”

Brady laughed softly and draped his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to his side. “Some things are too perfect to be captured on canvas. Nothing could ever compare to the beauty of reality.”

He bowed his head toward her and Caro chuckled when the brush behind Brady’s ear tickled her skin as he kissed her softly.

“Some things are indeed,” she muttered against his lips. “They’re perfect just the way they are.”

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 10

Summary: Fourteen-year-old former Beauxbatons student Héloïse Perrault arrives at Hogwarts.

OCs featured: Professor Lavinia MacMillan @kc-and-co

Warnings: almost offensively bad French, mentions of death and isolation.

January 1896

The carriage was nearing its destination now. Outside, the sky had changed from a steely grey to soft powder blue, and far below, the endless expanse of sea had given way to a rugged wilderness covered by a blanket of snow. So, this was l’Écosse, thought the girl inside the carriage, her right temple resting against the cold glass window as she looked out at the foreign land that she would now have to call her home.

“Héloïse,” her grandmother said, snapping her attention back to the carriage’s velvet interior. “Ne penche pas comme ça. Redresse-toi.”

Héloïse did as her grandmother instructed, and sat up straight. Her grandmother nodded curtly, she herself sitting as straight as a candle.

“Bien faite. Épaules baissées, menton relevé. Si tu peux me convaincre que tu n’as pas peur, peut-être tu peux aussi te convaincre,” Héloïse’s grandmother offered her the faintest hint of a smile, one which disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, and which Héloïse did not return.

It was not so much fear that she was feeling, although that was a part of it. She also felt mournful, bitter, lonely, and lost. Was she supposed to convince her grandmother that she felt none of those things, either?

She clearly was not doing a good job of being convincing at all, because her grandmother continued, her voice softer than before:

“Souviens-toi, tu as de la chance d’y aller. Tu dois être gracieuse, compris?”

Fortunate to be going there. That was the one thing Héloïse did not feel. She did not really feel fortunate to be going anywhere at all. Still, she nodded her head. She would be gracious. It was not as if she had any choice in the matter. If it were up to her, she would be back at Beauxbatons, mostly likely in Alchemy class, sharing notes with her girlfriends, or reading in the library, or writing a letter to her father, a letter which he would still be here to read…

The threat of tears suddenly stung Héloïse’s eyes, and she blinked, willing them not to well, or worse yet, start to roll down her cheeks. It would not do to cry. It would not do at all. Her grandmother may have been wrong about her being fortunate, but otherwise, she was right. If she could convince others that she was not so very apprehensive, perhaps she would convince herself as well.

Héloïse and her grandmother remained silent for the final stretch of the journey, which saw the scar of a locomotive line, the outline of a village, and the shadow of castle appear in the otherwise untamed landscape below. Héloïse’s focus was completely drawn to the outside world once more as the towers, turrets, bridges and battlements of the castle became clearer.

So, this was it. Poudlard. Hogwarts.

The carriage landed in a snow-covered, cloistered courtyard. Héloïse’s grandmother gave her one final fleeting smile before picking up her cane and leaving the carriage. Héloïse paused and took a deep breath before she followed suit. Épaules baissées, menton relevé, she told herself, and she pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and stepped out of the carriage.

She had seen from the carriage that the castle was not as beautiful as that of Beauxbatons. Beauxbatons was elegant, tall and symmetrical, with rounded turrets and multitudes of balconies, all blue rooftops and gold detailing and stone so white that many mistook it for marble. Hogwarts castle was ramshackle, as if it had adjusted itself over the ages, with architectural quirks and foibles, its walls yellowish in colour, its rooftops a murky grey and jutting out unevenly against the sky behind it.

From the ground, however, it looked different. The archways surrounding the perimeter of the courtyard were carved to look like glassless windows in the limestone walls, which were more sandy in colour now that Héloïse was able to take a closer look at them, the colour of parchment that had yet to be written on, and were decorated with several chipped and faded murals that could have been centuries old. There was a sense of sturdiness, of timelessness, of history having been made and still waiting to be made. It was not beautiful, it was magnificent. But that was no matter. Beautiful or no, it was not home.

“Héloïse,” her grandmother called out to her. “Viens, vite. Dépêche-toi.”

Héloïse pulled her eyes away from the castle, and followed her grandmother into the castle, where she was led to and up a grand staircase with multiple flights of stairs that were moving of their own accord. Héloïse barely had time to wonder how anyone in the castle was able to find their way anywhere on time with such a feature as the main route through the school before she found herself in a long corridor lined with gargoyles.

Her grandmother paused by a golden gargoyle shaped like a Griffin, and uttered a single word to it, a word that sounded as if it might be English, though Héloïse did not know what it was or what it meant. The word clearly meant something significant, however, because the moment it had passed her grandmother’s lips, another staircase revealed itself, spiralling upwards. Mounting the stairs and climbing to the top, Héloïse and a grandmother found a set of wooden doors, propped open by a pair of knarl-shaped stone ornaments. The pair of them walked through the doors, which opened into a three-tiered room set out almost like Héloïse’s father’s study. In the middle of the room, an older wizard in green and gold robes stood smiling at them.

“Professeur Fortinbras,” he said, holding his hand out to Héloïse’s grandmother.

“Madame Chapdelaine,” Héloïse’s grandmother corrected him, raising her eyebrows pointedly as she shook his hand, and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Bien sûr, bien sûr.”

“Ça fait longtemps que personne ne m’a appelé ‘Professeur’, Scrimgeour. Ou Fortinbras, d’ailleurs.”

The wizard, Scrimgeour,  bowed his head and let out a low chuckle. He and Héloïse’s grandmother continued to talk in English, which seemed to come much more naturally to him. Héloïse, not understanding their conversation, wandered across the room to a bookcase, which housed not only books, but various artefacts, devices, and contraptions, and what looked like a baptismal font filled with a swirling and  shimmering silver liquid. Héloïse turned away from an enviably well-made telescope to watch, half-mesmerised, as the contents of the font spiralled and rippled, glittering sporadically as the surface caught the dim glow of the firelight, her near-trance broken by the sound of her name being called from across the room.

“Et voici Mademoiselle Perrault,” Scrimgeour smiled at her. “Bienvenue à Hogwarts. Je suis Professeur Scrimgeour, le directeur.”

“Enchantée, Monsieur le directeur,” said Héloïse, seeing the way her grandmother pursed her lips behind the headmaster’s head.

“Enchanté, Mademoiselle.”

The headmaster, Professeur Scrimgeour, frowned, seeming to consider what his next action should be. His lips parted, then met again, twice. Eventually, he chuckled and cleared his throat, and began to speak fluently in English. Héloïse looked across at her grandmother, who shook her head, and addressed him, also in English.

Professeur Scrimgeour fell quiet, looked between Héloïse and her grandmother, an expression of disconcertion settling across his visage. He uttered something whilst staring at Héloïse, to which her grandmother gave a curt response. As if he did not want Héloïse to hear what he had to say, the headmaster lowered his voice to talk further, though he may as well have not bothered; Héloïse could not understand a word that he was saying.

The unnecessarily hushed conversation continued for almost five minutes, until Professeur Scrimgeour smiled and nodded awkwardly, and Madame Chapdelaine turned to her granddaughter.

“Monsieur le director a dit qu’il espère que tu trouverais ton temps ici à la fois utile et agréable,” she said, a look of mild patronisation in her eyes as she cast a glance at the headmaster. “Et qu’avec le temps, tu t’en viendrais à considérer Poudlard comme une sorte de maison.”

Héloïse raised her eyebrows. How could she ever come to find this place a home, when even the headmaster could not speak to her, or her to him?

“Au sujet des maisons,  il y en a quatre ici. On t’attribuera une sous peu, qui sera à la fois un logement et une famille, en quelque chose.”

A sort of family. Now, that was simply untrue. Héloïse knew about houses; they had them at Beauxbatons, too. A house was not like a family at all. No house would ever replace the father she had lost. Still, she asked:

“Comment vais-je être assignée à une maison?”

“Le Choixpeau.”

“Pardon?”

Héloïse’s grandmother smirked, and pointed to the top of the bookshelf, where an ancient and tattered hat had been placed. With a flick of his wand, Professeur Scrimgeour levitated the hat, which lowered down slowly and came to hover in front of Héloïse. The headmaster looked expectantly from her, to her grandmother, to the hat, and back again.

“Lorsque le Choixpeau est placé sur ta tête, il regardera à l’intérieur et décidera à quelle maison tu appartiens,” Héloïse’s grandmother told her.

So, all she had to do was put the hat on her head, and the hat would do the work. That was simple enough. But would the hat be able to understand her well enough? It was seeming increasingly unlikely, Héloïse thought, as the headmaster pointed at himself, the hat, and then at her. Héloïse breathed, and nodded. Yes, he may put the hat on her head.

The hat was so large that the brim fell over Héloïse’s eyes, plunging her into darkness. Now, she was unable to see anything as well as unable to understand anything.

For a moment, at least.

Alors, a small voice said to her. Vous êtes une chose très intelligente, n’est-ce pas?

Héloïse shrugged in response. She was intelligent, or so she had always been told. She did not feel intelligent in this room, unable to form even the most simple sentence in this country’s foreign tongue.

Peut-être pas en anglais, mais vous seriez plus que capable si la langue parlée était l’espagnol ou l’italien, said that strange little voice.

That was true. She would have had no difficulty at all if the language in question had been Spanish or Italian. Or Latin. Or Catalan. She fluent in all of them. She had even taught herself how to speak Catalan.

Et jouer de la harpe, aussi.

And how to play the harp, as well.

Pourquoi? asked the voice.

Why? Because she could, that was why.

Bien sûr, the little voice said. Héloïse could have sworn she heard it chuckle. Je sais exactement ce que je dois faire avec vous…

“RAVENCLAW!”

A weight lifted off Héloïse’s head and light hit her eyes. She was back in the headmaster’s study, with him and her grandmother. Somehow, however, she felt lonelier than she had when she had been alone with just the little voice for company.

Professeur Scrimgeour walked over to a large fireplace in the corner of the room and called into it. A moment later, there was a flash of green flames, and a red-haired, straight-backed lady appeared in the fireplace. She smiled as she caught sight of Héloïse, a smile that was kind and knowing, both at once.

“Professeur Macmillan,” said the headmaster, looking at the newcomer. “Héloïse Perrault.”

The woman, Professeur Macmillan, immediately started to address Héloïse. In English. Naturally.

Professeur Scrimgeour interrupted her, shaking his head, and whispered something to her that made her eyebrows shoot upwards. A quick exchange of words, and Professeur Macmillan spoke to Héloïse once more.

“Je suis désolée,” she said, in a heavily accented and disjointed French. “Je peux parler français, mais pas très bon. Je suis la… la tête de votre maison.”

Héloïse frowned as she made sense of what the lady was saying. The head. The head? Perhaps she was in charge of the house. Yes, that must be it. Why else would the headmaster have waited until she had been assigned her house before calling the lady  here?

“Si vous avoir… les choses…” Professeur Macmillan’s voice tailed off, and she seemed to rethink her words. “Je suis ici pour aider vous. Si vous voulez. Quand vous voulez.”

Héloïse nodded, though how much help the professor would be, she wasn’t sure. At least she was trying, which was more than could be said for the headmaster.

“Si vous… est… prêt, je voudrais… accompagner vous à le chambre.”

The room. Her room. Héloïse’s eyes drifted to her grandmother, who bowed her head at her.

“Vas-y,” said Madame Chapdelaine, quietly. “Ta maison t’attend.”

“Au revoir, Grand-mère.”

“Au revoir, Héloïse. N’oublie pas-”

“D’être gracieuse, je sais.”

“Non,” her grandmother shook her head. “D’avoir confiance.”

Héloïse wasn’t completely sure she had enough confidence to forget it, but she thanked her grandmother, and followed Professeur Macmillan out of the study, through the castle and up to the top of tall tower, every now and then attempting to make stilted conversation in rudimentary French. At the top of the tower, the professor knocked on a door and spoke with the knocker far more freely than she had with Héloïse.

On the other side of the door was a perfectly circular room with a high ceiling and tall arched windows, lined with bookshelves and decorated in different shades of blue.

“Bienvenue à le… Common Room,” said Professeur Macmillan. “Ici, c’est un place pour… socialiser avec les autres. Les autres de ce maison. Ravenclaw.”

From the Common Room led two flights of stairs. Professeur Macmillan took Héloïse up one of them, pausing by a door which she opened to reveal a dormitory with four beds. Only one did not look as if it had recently been slept in, and so Héloïse walked over to it. Surely enough, a trunk she recognised as her own had been placed at the foot of the bed. This one was hers.

Once Professeur Macmillan had left her to unpack her belongings in peace, Héloïse opened the trunk and pulled out the black school robes her grandmother had purchased for her. Parts of them had changed colour to blue and bronze, and over the right breast, a crest had been embroidered, depicting a bronze eagle on a blue background, along with the single word: Ravenclaw.

Ravenclaw, that was what the hat had shouted, and what Professeur Macmillan had said in the Common Room. That was her house.

“Ravenclaw,” she murmured the still unfamiliar word, feeling it in her mouth, hearing it in her ears. It was a strange word. She wasn’t sure yet whether or not she liked it.

The sound of footsteps on the staircase outside alerted her to the presence of others. The footsteps were accompanied by laughter and loud voices, and more strange words that Héloïse did not know. The door of the dormitory opened to reveal three girls, all around Héloïse’s own age. At the sight of her, all three fell completely silent, before one girl made an exclamation. This time, Héloïse at least understood one word.

No, not a word. A name.

“Matilda.”

[the-al-chemist]

FEBRUARY UPDATES!

There’s going to be some changes to my normal publishing schedule over the next month, so here are some updates…

The Hexley Saga

The Hexley Saga is going on hiatus over February - originally this was going to be for 1-2 weeks, but I have a lot on publishing and life-wise this month, so I’m pushing back until the start of March. I will still be publishing Chapter 18 tomorrow, because I had to miss a publishing day earlier this month!

When Stars Ignite

When Stars Ignite will also be going on a hiatus, though this will be much shorter - 11 days! There’s a nice breathing space between chapters 56 and 57, after which we will get to the end of the story in the beginning of March… @lifeofkaze

Learning to Fly

As well as the Rockstar AU, its sister story Learning to Fly will also be concluding! There are two chapters left to come out, one right at the end of the month, and one at the start of March.

Because these chapters go alongside certain events in WSI, the publishing schedule for the end of feb is going to be pretty packed, and there’s a lot of big scenes. That’s the main reason that I’m pushing back the final six chapters of PotV, which also has a lot of big moments. I don’t want anything to lose impact or to completely take up everyone’s feeds!

Valentine’s Challenge

The other reason that I’m going to be busy publishing-wise in February is because of @lifeofkaze’s Valentine’s challenge - one short story daily for the eight days leading up to Valentine’s Day. I’m actually super excited for this, because it means that each of my OCs gets a turn in the spotlight.

So there may not be any Saga for a few weeks, but there will be a week of:

A tiny Artemis trying to find herself a new stepfather

A grown-up, married, and ludicrously rich Ophelia

A glimpse of Saffron’s home life

Rory and Dylan at a ceilidh in their early twenties @lifeofkaze

An important letter arriving for Zadie

A sneak preview of the Hinny Wedding WIP in the form of its unedited first scene

Ethel and Lysander playing the romantic leads in Ivy’s school play @slytherindisaster @kc-and-co

The wedding of Jeremiah Hexley and Héloïse Perrault

[the-al-chemist]

Hogwarts Legacy Appreciation Week - Day 1: My Favourite OC

So, I’m writing for too many projects ATM, but I still wanted to join in the fun. Although I won’t be creating new content for this challenge, I do want to use this as an opportunity to celebrate the amazing creators and characters in this fandom.

I’m now going to sound like a tool, because the first day of the challenge is about our own characters. Oops. This is a difficult task for me, because I don’t have any favourites out of my characters.

Artemis: that’s a lie. I’m your favourite.

Al: I know, but now’s not the time.

Actually, maybe now is the time. My HPHL OCs were all created to provide a background and heritage for Artemis, and each one was fashioned in such a way that they reflect an aspect of her personality. I’ll be talking about that today.

JEREMIAH “JIM” HEXLEY - Hufflepuff, Libra, ISFJ, Healer/Artist/Beekeeper

Jim has Artemis’ compassion, her softness and her well-hidden insecurity. He also has her ability to sulk for days. No one is perfect, not even Jim.

ETHEL HEXLEY - Gryffindor, Libra, ENFP, Troublemaker/Suffragette/Lawyer/Lawmaker

Ethel has Artemis’ rebellious spirit, her mischievous streak, mischievous nature, and refusal to be intimidated by anyone or anything. She unfortunately also has Artemis’ rashness and lack of boundaries. In fact, she is somehow even more lacking in that department than Artemis herself.

OPHELIA BURKE - Slytherin, Virgo, ESTJ, Aspiring Rags-to-Riches Trophy Wife

Ophelia has Artemis’ determination and resourcefulness. She sadly also has Artemis’ tendency to focus on the task at hand so much that she fails to see the bigger picture, among many other flaws that are entirely her own. A problematic queen.

HÉLOÏSE PERRAULT - Ravenclaw, Aquarius, INTP, Astronomer/Academic/Polyglot/Polymath/Scientist/Stargazer/Actual Genius

On paper, Héloïse has little in common with Artemis. Artemis is a fast-thinker, Héloïse is a deep-thinker. Héloïse is an academic, Artemis is practical. Artemis is coarse, Héloïse is refined. Héloïse uses her head. Artemis uses her heart. Really, the only things they have in common is a nasty temper, a natural aptitude for Transfiguration, and the fact that they both prefer cats to people. And yet, there’s something about Héloïse that I can’t put my finger on, something that is just so very Artemis about her. I just can’t for the life of me tell what that is.