9 How do they manifest energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions?If necessary, Armaud will power through exhaustion, partly because of his own need to see things done as they ought, and partly because heâs irrationally irritated that the body has limitations. Flesh is a cage for the mind and soul, etc,. When heâs tired, itâs often obvious as Armaud will rub at his eyes and probably let loose his true feelings more nakedly, probably snap at someone if theyâre doing something stupid. When heâs angry, he fantasizes about extreme violence and he curls his hands together, or at least has to ball them up into tight fists, just some sort of action to ground him. Of course, Armaud will probably not hit anyone, but itâs sort of like a security measure at this point, a habit from when he was younger.
14 What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?Obviously, Armaudâs loyalties go to God, first and foremost, not necessarily the Catholic Church which makes his hatred of Protestants extremely hypocritical. Down a rung is France, again of which his loyalty is not necessarily the king but the nation itself. Heâs a big picture sort of man and he holds no real mortal authority over his own; he wholly devotes himself to his ideals and sticks with them. That being said, Armaud sort of presides over all his people the same way a Mafia don might: possessive of all his men and belongings, loving of them in a fierce and crushing way, and absolutely without mercy should any of them betray him.
15 What kind of inner life do they have â rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?Heâs getting really tired and lonely so he thinks about that a lot, but heâs also pretty frustrated by all the squandered potential he sees around him and thus pushes all his internal needs aside.
39 What sort of questions or thoughts recur in their lives, either specifically or as a theme? Why are these never answered, or answered permanently to their satisfaction?How can I do things better, how can things be improved? Do the ends justify the means, what is lost through this course of action? Perfection can never be reached, always room for improvement.
41 What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?Stream of consciousness: glasses, red, the soutane, God, church, authority, snakes, strangling (lol), pomegranates, apples. A lot of red things, apparently, and a lot of religious motifs which make sense. I think Armaud likes playing God, who woulda thought?
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PHYSICAL PRESENCE AND GESTURE.
1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?
2. How much physical space do they use, active and at rest?
3. How do they position themselves in a group? Do they like to be the center of attention, or do they hang back at the edges of a crowd?
4. What is their size and build? How does it influence how they use their body, if it does?
5. How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why?
6. What are they like in motionâin different environments, and in different activities? What causes the differences between these?
7. How do they physically engage with other people, inanimate objects, and their environment? What causes the differences between these?
8. Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?
9. How do they manifest energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions?
10. What energizes and drains them most?
11. How are they vocally expressive? What kind of voice, accent, tones, inflections, volume, phrases and slang, and manner of speaking do they use?
12. How are they bodily expressive? How do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands?
DISPOSITION AND TEMPERAMENT.
13. How do they greet the world â what is their typical attitude towards life? How does it differ in different circumstances, or towards different subjects? Why do they take these attitudes, and why do they change? How do these tend to be expressed?
14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?
15. What kind of inner life do they have â rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?
16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?
17. Are they more shaped by nature or nurture â who they are, or what has happened to them? How have these shaped who theyâve become as a person?
18. What kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?
CONNECTIONS WITH OTHERS.
19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?
20. What kind of individual relationships do they have with others, and how do they behave in them? How are they different between intimate relationships like friends, family, and lovers versus more impersonal relationships?
21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why?
22. How do people respond to them, and why might these responses differ?
23. How do they respond to difficult social moments? What makes them consider a social situation difficult?
24. How do they present themselves socially? What distinguishes their âpersonaâ from their âtrue selfâ, and what causes that difference?
25. What do they need and want out of relationships, and how do they go about getting it?
26. How do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them, if it does?
ACTIVITIES AND PREFERENCES.
27. What do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? Why?
28. What are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? Why?
29. What kind of activities, interests, and hobbies do they have? What significance and impact do these have in their lives, both positive and negative?
30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much?
31. Is there anything that counts as a âdealbreakerâ for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?
32. Do they have any âpropsâ that are a significant part of their life, identity, activities, or self-presentation somehow? What are they, how are they used, and why are they so significant? How would these propsâ absence impact them, how would they compensate, and why?
THINKING AND LEARNING.
33. How do they learn about the worldâwhat is their preferred learning style? Hands-on learning with trial and error? Research, reading, and note-taking? Observation or rote memorization? Inductive or deductive reasoning? Seeking patterns and organization? Taking things apart and putting them back together? Creative processing via discussing, writing about, or dramatizing things?
34. How do they understand the worldâwhat kind of worldview and thought processes do they have? Why?
35. How and why do they internalize knowledge? What effect has that had on them?
36. How much do they rely on their minds and intellect, versus other approaches like relying on instinct, intuition, faith and spirituality, or emotions? What is their opinion on this?
37. Have they had any special education or training that colors their means of learning about or understanding the world? Conversely, do they lack some kind of education considered essential in their world? What kind of impact has this addition or lack had on them?
38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why?
39. What sort of questions or thoughts recur in their lives, either specifically or as a theme? Why are these never answered, or answered permanently to their satisfaction?
40. What do they wonder about? What sparks their curiosity and imagination, and why? How is this expressed, if it is?
FREE FOR ALL.
41. What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?
42. I have a question of my own!
âAbsolutely,â Herbert complied, taking his seat across Armaud, his form formally rigid and his gaze vigilant until Armaud spoke again. âCertainly, your eminence,â he acceded, glancing back over at his superior as he was occupied by his thought. Herbert remained silent, conscientious until Armaud drew his attention back to his presence.
âConsider it done,â he spoke, his tone saturated with his belief in the other manâs judgment, as he added tactfully, âhowever, the bands that reside in the Court of Miracles are still certainly under the most suspicion for orchestrating the attack on his majesty. We do not know yet how many parties may be involved, we could perhaps assign more men to go undercover.â He leaned slightly into his chair, though his back remained straight. Herbert awaited stilly for Armaudâs response before his habitually tense shoulders relaxed slightly at Armaudâs sudden inquiry.
âOui, I am well.â His tone shifted, though only as to bring out a considerably convincing assurance. Both men knew well the inconsequence of such trivialities, and Herbert had never thought to- for the past two decades - ever burden Armaud with the extent of his woes. âI find solace in my duties, Armaud,â he added, with an attempt at a receptive expression, âI pray that things are well for you as well.â
Armaud nodded a sympathetically at Herbertâs answer, but inwardly he felt a little wistful. A void had stretched out between the two of them. Where there once was a certain familial warmth, back years and years ago, there was now rigid formality. Herbert had always been dutiful, had always tried to maintain some sort of occupational distance from Armaud after joining the Red Guard, but Armaud had allowed the gap to widen to the point where he could barely see the other man on the other side of it anymore, looking rather like a pinprick out beyond his reach. Armaud thought about the days before, when genuine smiling and joking werenât so uncommon as they were now, when feelings werenât something so taboo, and he missed them. But he was being a sentimental old fool.
âMy business is rather well known, I think,â Armaud said lightly, dismissively. âThe kingâs would-be killer to catch, souls to save, wars to prevent, you know, just the day-to-day.â If some of that wistfulness reached Armaudâs eyes, then he couldnât tell, but his tone sobered soon after, and he returned swiftly back to business. âUndoubtedly you are right. Iâm afraid that the Court of Miracles is most likely the den of activity for our little band of terrorists, and you are also right that embedding more men might be to our advantage. But I believe we require the help of people more connected within the system already, people much more trusted there that we simply do not have.
âHerbert,â Armaud said, no longer flippant, but firm. âI will require something done very discreetly, and soon.â He paused with a meaningful look. "Nothing messy, just a little meeting with a potential friend who will be staying with us for an indeterminable length of time. Please arrange it for us, if you could, and entertain him neatly until my arrival. I want no trace of it. I believe we have had him marked for recruitment for some time now, a Mr. Baptiste, if I recall?â
Marie immediately started walking when he said he wanted to deal with it now. âIt was Fernand, really. He realised what it was and got it back in the closet, I didnât do much.â Marie didnât think it was false modesty, it was just honesty. âOh, weâre fine.â As fine as they could be, considering Fernandâs boggart. âWe went to the kitchens. The house elves gave us hot chocolates and brownies, that helped.â She still had one in her pocket, sheâd figured itâd be good to have something in case she felt bad later.
She fell silent as they continued walking, unable to think of much else to say. She didnât want to tell him what Fernandâs boggart had been, since theyâd made a deal not to tell. The deal had been meant for their siblings, but she figured it was a good idea to just keep it between the two of them.
Once she was back at the closet, she pointed to it. âItâs that one. I hope you donât mind, but⌠I donât really want to deal with that again.â Marie took a step back as if to head back down the corridor. She couldnât bear hearing someone she loved saying horrible things to her again, seeing them look at her with hatred or disgust. âBesides, itâs late, I have class in the morning.â She was trying to justify leaving him, even though it was silly to be worried about Professor Rossignol dealing with a boggart. He was the DADA professor, after all.
âThank you for bringing this to my attention,â Armaud said, looking straight at the closet door. âTen house points for coming to get me and ten more for successfully warding it off, for both you and Mr. Baptiste. Iâll deal with it on my own. You may go.â Marie went, and Armaud watched her leave, making sure she was definitely out of his way. The corridor itself was bare, void of any decoration which felt somewhat odd to Armaud. Distantly, he thought he mightâve thoroughly made use of such an out-of-the-way place while he was a student, if only to get into mischief. But even as an adult the privacy would served Armaud well. Those who were privy to what lied in wait for him were few in number, and he planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.
Armaud exhaled once, trying to ground his emotions. He listened as the sound of Marieâs footsteps tapered off into silence. Now he could do what he came here for without any witnesses. From where he stood, he opened the closet with a flick of his wand, and it soundlessly it swung open. Revulsion filled his soul.
âHello, sweetheart,â he said lowly.
The thing masquerading as a woman looked small and pathetic, hunched over itself, body wracked with sobbing tremors, arms curled around its pregnant belly. Its long, dark hair obscured its face, hanging limply, but Armaud knew what the boggart was supposed to be. Godâit looked the same, everything was the sameâhadnât he suffered enough?
It flinched at the sound of Armaudâs voice and let out a miserable yowl that reminded him of a very unhappy cat. The thing straightened out a little to get a better look at him. It had nothing on save for some flimsy undergarments, but they barely covered anything at all, nearly see through with sweat. Armaud could see the dark teats of its breasts through the lacy fabric. There was a slight sheen to its face on its upper lip and forehead; everything was so wet with perspiration, it seemed to be sweltering with fever. The thing looked the same as she did.
âArmaud,â it pleaded with a trembling voice. âArmaud, h-heâthereâs something wrong with me.â Eyes wide, it looked at him with a blotchy face, impossible to tell if its cheeks were wet with tears or sweat. It tightened its arms around swollen stomach. It took a step toward him.
He remained unmoved and softly asked, âWhatâs wrong, sweetheart?â It was just as he should, he was reading off the script.
âPlease, god, Armaud!â it cried, hysterical, staggering closer toward him, moving like it had a limp. Its mouth trembled. It was overwhelmed, terrified. âArmaud! I canât feel it anymore! H-heâthere wasâheâI canât,â It couldnât formulate the words quite right and it sobbed some more, wailing louder now.
Armaud swore lowly under his breath, his heartbeat racing so fast each individual beat seemed to blend into one continuous sound in his head, buzzing, buzzing like white noise. He couldnât remember if heâd put up a sound barrier and he did not know how much the screaming would reverberate off the walls. Too late for that now: he had to focus on the boggart.
âHe did something to the baby! Heâit isnât my baby!â it wailed. It cast its eyes round the space as if frantically searching for something. Its fingers dug into its distended stomach, scratching, scratching. The fingers came up red. âHe told me, h-he was looking for youâI let him in, he said you were married! God, he saidâArmaud! I canât feel it anymoreâhe took it! He took it!â Her sobbing gave way to hiccuping coughs as it choked on its saliva in the rush to breathe.
âDarling, the baby is fine,â said Armaud, though it was useless to argue with her. He hated himself for trying.
âNo! Itâs not!â it yelled at the top of its lungs. âHe took it and replaced it with something, itâs not our baby! Itâs growing inside me but it isnât our baby! He said he was your husband, and he took our baby!â She was fully hysterical and couldnât be reasoned with. Quicker than heâd anticipated, she lunged for him and grabbed him by the arms.
âDaniĂŠle!â he cried out, the name escaping from him like smoke from a burning building. Caught in the moment, he was immobilized as he stared down at herâheâd forgotten she was so much smaller she was compared to him.
âGive me the knife!â DaniĂŠle screamed. âWe have to take it outâgive me the knife back! Itâs not our baby anymore! Itâll kill me if we donât take it out! Please! Please, Armaud, please!â Her voice broke off and the end of her plea and she moaned with unhappiness. Her distended stomach rubbed against him, a warm, warm weight. This close, he could see everything in detail: the skin pocked with scratches and stretch marks alike, the little protrusion of her bellybutton, the fair trail of pregnancy hair that started from her navel to disappear into her panties like a guideline. He felt the baby squirm.
Armaud violently threw her off him and she fell to the ground with a little shriek. DaniĂŠle moaned, hands scrabbling in front of her only long enough for her to curl them around her midsection yet again. She looked pathetic there on the floor, no longer a threat, but Armaud could feel nothing but disgust with himself. Soon enough she clambered back onto her feet as Armaud moored himself to reality. She wasnât real, she wasnât real, she wasnâtâ
DaniĂŠle tried to grab him again, but before she could do it, he pointed his wand at her and bellowed, âRiddikulus!â The air swirled around the boggartâs form and right before Armaud its body morphed, mass distributing up and down to become one of his old schoolteachers, Mr. Prideaux, with his swinging jowls and handlebar mustache. His body spewed into the bra and over the panties, entirely obscuring his sex.
âArmaud, you coward!â yelled Mr. Prideaux in a lisping voice Armaud had thought heâd never hear again. âyou have to cut it out of me!â
âRiddikulus!â Armaud said again, moving his arm so violently that the force of his wand work hurt him a little. Mr. Prideaux changed again, his body shrinking but his head stayed the same, until he was a tottering little infant with the head of a grown man. He ran around in stumbling little circles until he fell over and cried.
âRiddikulus!â Armaud said once more, feeling very vindictive, and the little boggart kept shrinking and shrinking until it was only a head the size of a coin. It bounced up and down where it was on the floor. Acting quickly, Armaud took the fountain pen that hung from his lapel and spelled it away for an empty bottle of ink heâd been meaning to refill. He scooped the tiny little boggart inside and capped it. He turned the bottle to stone immediately. It would be going into the lake in the morning and hopefully would never resurface.
With a heaving sigh, Armaud rubbed his tired eyes, ready to collapse into bed and never get up again. Armaud stood there for a time, trying to find his bearings. Absentmindedly, he touched the places where the boggart had grabbed him, pressing through his sleeves and into the bruises that were already forming underneath. He felt old and frail to be rattled so thoroughly by a boggart, something that had once not given him much trouble at all. But the world was quiet now, what was done was done, and he headed back out the corridor, not bothering to close the closet door.
Marie smiled sheepishly at Professor Rossignol when he opened the door. He always unnerved her a little. It wasnât that he said or did anything to warrant it, but he had this commanding aura, as if he knew everything, and she had always worried heâd get annoyed with her antics.
âIâm sorry to disturb you, sir. The problem isnât urgent urgent, if that makes sense, but I didnât want to wait til morning, just in case.â Realising she was babbling a bit, she took a deep breath and explained. âThereâs a boggart. We - Fernand Baptiste and I - we found it while on patrol. It kinda took me by surprise, well both of us but Fernand clued in quicker. He locked it back in the closet, but anyone determined enough could break in and get affected by it. I figured I should let you know. If you want, I can show you where it is now, or tomorrow, if itâs too late?â
She half hoped he said it could wait until morning. He wasnât a mean professor, but sheâd never spoken to him outside class really, and he always gave her the impression that he knew all the rules sheâd broken. It wasnât as though she sought out trouble, but she definitely wasnât always a model student either.
âYou do yourself too little credit, Miss Duval,â said Armaud after hearing her story. He looked at her sympathetically, eyebrows furrowing in an exaggeration of the worry he felt. âBoggarts are nasty business, and even I am loathe to deal with them. Please, if you could, take me there now. Iâd like to for it to be gone before morning. Besides, thereâs no use in leaving a problem to be dealt with for later when one has all the means of dealing with it right away.â He was glad that the two students were successful in defending the boggart themselves, and felt deeply proud in having ensured they could rebuke dangerous enemies despite their young age. He turned to lock the door to his study before setting out with her. âMore importantly, the two of you are alright, yes? Facing oneâs fears is always a nerve-wracking experience.â
Armaud had always viewed Marie as a student like most others at Hogwarts: silly in the way children should be expected to be silly, wanting of a good education, but perhaps more importantly, in possession of a great deal of good intention. He had no doubt she would grow up to be an upright citizen when she was of age, but he hoped, as he did with all his students, that she would become discerning and compassionate.
He allowed Marie to take him to their destination. They walked down the darkened school halls together at an impersonal distance, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The paintings and statues that decorated the place showed all the interest of beings with very little to do, and knowing something somewhere else must be occurring, followed the two of them with their little whispers and gossip, but beside the hushed background chatter, the two of them made their way to that corridor in relative quiet.
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Sybille sat just a little bit sullenly as Armaud told her off. She was just being a good Slytherin, embodying the history and attributes of their house in a way that would make any househead proud. She crossed her arms over her chest, her normally straight posture slinking as he went on and on and on. Wasnât he the one always marking her essays, telling her to be precise and concise? He could use a taste of his own medicine, instead of rubbing salt into the wound and making her feel bad.
She swallowed when he reached into his robe and pulled out his notebook, though she tried to make it look nonchalant by looking out to the side and pouting. It was always bad when Armaud grabbed out a notebook. A notebook meant he had too much on his mind to say at one time. She waited for the number to fall like a guillotine, only to be⌠pleasantly surprised. She fought hard to keep a smirk off her face. He had only noticed⌠what⌠two months ago? Sybille kept up the pout, shifted in her chair sullenly. She had been borrowing books from his library since at least half the year.
Still, despite her pervasive, flippant attempts to keep in good humour, Sybille was hurt by this telling off. Despite herself she felt her eyebrows arch upwards, her eyes going hot, and - Merlin forbid - her vision going blurry. Along the way she had come to crave Armaudâs praise; his displeasure was a pain to her too. She tapped her foot against the floor agitatedly, keeping her face decisively pointed away from him. She wanted to scream at him, that she was only doing as he taught her, that she was smarter than he seemed to think, that she could handle herself. Instead, she stayed quiet, that foot tap-tap-taping, her jaw clenched tight.
âMay I be excused?â she asked after a pregnant pause, already loathing how weak she felt. She would sneak to one of the abandoned rooms of the castle and practise her attacks until her tongue was tied in knots. After she ciphered and charmed and locked her notebooks that she was to hand to Armaud beyond the rotating cipher she had written them in. Taking out her feelings on a levitating sack would definitely make her feel better.
Armaud sat in silence, and though he leaned back in his chair with all the condescension of a king, his eyes could not conceal his anger, and he needed a moment to compose himself. The girlâs pride assured Armaud that she needed no further scolding from him to feel the consequences of a destroyed relationship. Unscrupulous people such as her would no doubt use and abuse people all their lives, Armaud thought, but perhaps this would teach her some measure of temperance and consideration. He would probably never hold her in the same regard ever again. Disappointing, as she had the potential to become actually interesting if she could learn humility. God, heâd been nearly apoplectic with rage what had transpired behind his back, and by a favored student no less, and was halfway to dismantling the club entirely before his good sense reined him back. But good had begrudgingly come from this betrayal, and ever since Armaud had charmed all Dark Arts books in his possession to hell and back to prevent any other sticky fingers from taking them again. The seconds ticked by before he rapped once on the table with his knuckles and released a long-held breath.
âDo close the door quietly on your way out,â Armaud said with a dismissive hand wave in permission for her leave. He refocused his attention to the papers in front of him; he wanted nothing more to do with her for tonight.
In quietude I soughtThe coolness of your touch upon my brow,Soft murmuring, your voice could carry me to rest.In you, alleviation came easy.Bereft of you, my balm, my tea,I must make due with silence.
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Marie left the kitchens and headed straight for Professor Rossignolâs office. She didnât want to wait until the morning to tell him about the boggart in case another student stumbled across it. The chocolate had gotten rid of the physical effects of the dementor, but she had to try focus on anything else to forget about what her boggart had told her.
She knew it hadnât been real, that Marian would never actually say those things, but the fear was still there. She hated knowing she was so scared of being abandoned, but she couldnât help it. It was easier to focus on what she had to do, to focus on getting rid of the boggart, keeping an eye on Fernand over the next couple of days, homework, classes, quidditch practice, prefect duty, everything. If she thought about that, she might not feel so lost.
Once she knocked on the door of his office, she looked down at her outfit with a grimace, knowing heâd probably dock points for being out of uniform when she was technically on prefect duty, but at least it wasnât blatantly out of uniform.
@redeminence
Armaud was grading papersâa never ending taskâwhen a knock at the door roused him from his duties. He looked at the little clock on the far wall, surprised that someone should be summoning him so late. It was good that he had not already retired to his own rooms. Unhurried, he finished circling the last of the errors on the paper in front of him, cleaned and clipped his fountain pen to the lapel of his outer robe, and went to answer the door.
One Ms. Marie Duval stood waiting for him on the other side. Armaud knew Marie to be a fairly diligent student, a responsible prefect who took her duties seriously, and upon seeing the untidy way she wore her clothes, he immediately became alert. While Armaud doubted there was too much trouble given the way Marie was not totally frantic, it was unusual for a prefect to come calling during the night unless his presence was actually needed. Unconsciously, he felt for his wand in his pocket.
âMs. Duval, what seems to be the problem?â Armaud asked as he adjusted his glasses on his face. âIf the matter is pressing, you may explain it to me while we walk.â
I. WandÂ
Armandâs wand is 14 inches long and is fairly brittle in nature. Cherry wood has a penchant for being particularly lethal, especially paired with dragon heartstring, but hopefully Armaud has the necessary restraint to be a responsible master. This is his second wand.
II. House
Armaud had little experience with the wizarding world prior to his entry into it, so houses meant little to him upon his arrival at Hogwarts. He had something of an explanation of the house system by an interesting boy heâd met on the train, but little else. Having been told only wizards of pure blood were allowed entry, Armaud was a little surprised when he was sorted into Slytherin near immediately. Oh well, he supposed at the time.
III. Boggart
A pregnant woman forms upon Armaudâs sight of the boggart. She is a figure from his past, one whom he has failed completely and utterly.
IV. Mirror of Erised
His former spouse holds him from behind. Armaud misses those days, but they are long passed.
V. Additional Questions if Desired!
Cat, Owl, or Toad as their familiar? He has a lazy great-horned owl for parcels named Florian.
Amortentia? Aging books, a brand of aftershave he can no longer purchase, fertile earth, pear tarts, a particular rooibos tea
Patronus and memory to summon it? His patronus is a mockingbird which he enjoys because of its tiny size compared to the much larger dementors or lethifolds. He has difficulty summoning his patronus and would prefer not to do so. Frustratingly, the only memory that seems consistently able to project a corporeal patronus is his wedding day.
Most Liked and Disliked Subject (if relevant) He liked Defense against the Dark Arts and Magical Theory the best. All his core classes he found tolerable, though he was easily bored by the pace of the curriculum and rarely studied for a good portion of his schooling. However, he put a worrying amount of time into dueling.
Desired Future Career (if relevant) Armaud is thinking about changing careers entirely one day, maybe doing something completely different once he bores of teaching or if it becomes dangerous for others if he continues. He would enjoy being an Unspeakable if not for the absolute fealty required to the government. Heâs not quite sure what heâll do, but heâs not too concerned about itâhe has the ability to thrive in most environments.
Special Skills? He is a competent Occlumens and has a fairly impressive resistance against the Imperius curse.
Simone didnât know how, but Professor Rossignol always seemed to catch her in trouble. Fooling professors was easy and navigating through the cracks of the system seemed to be a natural skill for her. But the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor always found her out. Of course it didnât help that she had started it. The first time she cast the full body bind curse on him, it was a dare from a classmate. Since then, sheâs tried it just to see if she was successful. She would have stopped years ago if she didnât secretly enjoy the treks out into the Forbidden Forest.
Still, she wanted to work on her potions that night and not roam around with her professor. In fact she was sure there were a million better things to do with her time, but of course, she had no choice in the matter. With her hands stuffed in her pockets she made her way to the Quidditch pitch, only half aware that she now had to miss practice that Saturday because of detention.
As she got closer, she saw her professor, instinct having her reach for her wand. Before she could do anything stupid, however, she nodded in greeting. âTo be fair, this is the first detention of my fifth year. That has to be a record with us right?â she asked with a small smile.
âErklings are like elfish creatures that are native in Germany. They eat children and when used for a wand core, the wand is incredibly tempermental,â she added as she remember what she read about them in her wand lore book.
âExcellent!â Armaud said. âTheyâre nasty little things and theyâve quite the fight in them, but to witches and wizards like ourselves, they shouldnât prove too much of a threat. I suspect the most trouble weâll encounter in their capture is actually locating some. Fortunately, erklings favor nesting under alder trees, so we know where exactly to look. Come, letâs get going.â With that, Armaud turned and went in the direction of the forest, knowing Simone would not be trailing too far behind him. One good thing about those few students who found Defense interesting enough to purposefully get detention was that they were much keener on following directions.
The woods were cold and misty and the rugged terrain made each of their steps uneven as the two of them traversed the landscape. âOne interesting thing,â Armaud said as they walked, âabout erklings is they are capable of human speech, but they speak english with a heavy german accent. Iâve tried speaking german to them before, but they speak german with a heavy american accent.â He paused in his lecture, having reached their first alder tree, and he put a steadying hand on the bark to observe some scratches upon it. âThat was a lie, by the wayâbut look here.â He motioned Simone over and pointed to some faint lines on the alder bark.
âThere is definitely no erkling nesting here, but, look here and there,â he pointed to some more lines trailing up and down the side of the trunk. âWe have something almost more surprising than erklings. It seems weâve come across a tree of nesting bowtruckles. Oddâthis is definitely not their natural habitat.â Armaud scanned upward looking for the little animals but could not see them.
Sybille blinked when Armaud mentioned rescheduling the meeting. He would let them know of postponements during meal time; a simple note enchanted to fly over to his students. She hadnât received any such notice. At first she was pleased that he had something to say to her; perhaps it was that her charms were getting better each time she used them; no, that her silent spell casting was really showing improvement!
Instead, he shattered her bubble of happiness in two sentences. âMy behaviour!â she squeaked, incredulous, hand at her chest, splayed wide. âWhat could I have possibly doneâŚâ she trailed off, hand lowering, looking off to the side. Well⌠there was her B+ grade, but she was working to fix that! Maybe it was the polyjuice potion she was brewing- or the occasional book or seven she had âborrowedâ from his office. It wasnât like she hadnât returned them, after taking extensive notes and not having asked permission to take them in the first place! Maybe it was the net of blackmailing she was weaving - Merlin - Baltasar better not have run off to Armaud to complain about her catching him and subsequently extorting him over his carryout of an Imperius curse! Sheâs show him a Forbidden curse.
The pause between Sybilleâs rhetoric question and her next words did not bode well for her mortal soul. Clearing her throat she face Armaud again, smiling pleasantly, if not a little bit strained. âWhat do you think I have done wrong, Professor Rossignol?â
He tutted at her answer. âCareful now, Miss Delacroix,â chided Armaud. âYou implicate yourself more than you know. You must understand the fact you are incapable of placing what exactly landed you in this situation does nothing to help your case.â He put on his glasses again and leaned back in his chair, sizing up the girl in front of him. Quiet, he looked up and down at her once before he continued with his scolding.
âI found it curious when I could not find one of my books a couple weeks agoâa treatise on the Imperio curseâand despite the rest of my shelf being in order, I could not locate it. Mind you, Iâm not the sort of man to easily lose things, so when it miraculously found its way back on my shelf only a few days later, I was quite intrigued. Over time, a pattern began to emerge.â He smiled wanly. âIt brings me no end to my amusement, that students often forget that we professors also possess eyes and brains.â
From an inner pocket of his robe, Armaud pulled out a small leather book and flipped through it for a moment before stopping a finger on a page. Peering down his nose, he looked at his list and said, âNine books. Nine books missing from my library at one point or another, all of which contained sensitive information, not removed by me or by another staff member. Youâve borrowed nine books from my library this past month, and who knows how much longer this thievery has been going on.â He looked at her with displeasure plain on his face and shut the book with a decisive clap, returning it into its hidden place.
âIâve always viewed myself as a tolerant man, but there are some things I very much cannot overlook. Your behavior in regards to these dark arts is too careless and too arrogant, and unsupervised this information could be extremely dangerous. The fact you were unaware of what exactly got you in trouble only proves my case: I cannot allow the likes of you to continue their studies with the Candlelight Club. You are hereby suspended indefinitely from the club. You will report to the library and help Madame Vallaincourt with anything she requires every day for a month, since you seem so keen on reading. It goes without saying you are banned from the Restricted Section, of course. I have also taken the liberty of subtracting nine house points each book you stole. Bring to me the books still in your possession as well as all notes youâve taken from themâand I know you have definitely taken notes. Again, I am much smarter than I look, Miss Delacroix, despite the fact you seem to take me for a complete fool.â
There was nothing that could make Sybille more excited than a Candlelight Club meeting. She even added some rouge to her cheeks, flowers to her hair. She liked looking as enigmatic and secretive as the club made her out to be. Finally made up properly, she quickly made her way to Armaudâs office, armed only with her coded notebook and her wand.
âGood evening Professor,â she sing-songed once he opened the door, walking into his office and seating herself down at her usual chair: front and center. âWhat is the agenda tonight?â She looked around the room, surprised that the other club members werenât here yet. Slackers. âAm I early or are the others very late?â
âAh, Miss Delacroix,â Armaud said, setting down his fountain pen from the First Year papers he had been grading. His least favorite year was always the First Years, who were often too young to get a real grasp on the matters he was teaching, and had the most abominable spelling and grammatical errors. All their papers were swimming in corrections. It was a pity, to Armaud, that there was no class dedicated solely to reading and writing, but he endeavored to correct each misplaced apostrophe all the same. âTechnically, you are extremely early, as Iâve postponed Candlelight Club to tomorrow evening. It is somewhat curious youâve come nonetheless, but Iâve been meaning to speak to you.â He took his glasses off and polished them with a little rag he kept in the drawer, mulling for a moment over how best to word his next phrase, but ultimately decided the straightforward approach would best suit his needs.
âFrom this moment forth you are suspended from Candlelight Club until I have seen conduct befitting a club member. Itâs quite a pity as youâve shown such promise, but until your behavior improves I have no other choice.â
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The Quidditch pitch was more deserted than usual, Armaud discovered, after a quick scan around the field. He checked his watch, confirming he was indeed on time. It was a little after any Quidditch practiced would have ended, which was usually when Armaudâs little excursion into the Forbidden Forest would begin. As was his way, Armaud found his assistants among the neâer-do-wells of the school, those who were doled out his company as punishment.
There were other professors, of course, who had their reservations about Armaudâs forms of detention, finding them usually too dangerous or too extravagant for their own liking, but rarely could Armaud pass up an opportune teaching moment, and thus the hands-on experience of going into the Forbidden Forest, rife with all sorts of Dark things, was ideal. Armaud, sure of his own skill in combating anything they might find there, and having particular paths on which to lead the students, encountered very few issues. It was killing two birds with one stone: he could gather materials for his future classes, and students might learn from a more organic, unpredictable environment than the staid classroom.
The light was wan in the sky, dusk giving way to darkness, but it would soon be the perfect time for hunting erklings in the forest. Tonight, however, he found himself surprisingly bereft of young helpers, with only one sole student to accompany him. Quickly Armaud pulled a small leather-bound book from an inner pocket in his robe, checked the weekly detention roster, and put it back. Tonight, it seemed, would be an intimate affair.
âMiss Baptiste,â he greeted her, unsurprised by her presence in detention as he was the one to issue it, âit seems it will the only the two of us tonight. Bad form for a prefect to end up here, isnât it? Now tell me, what do you know about erklings?â
As Armaud strode into the Slytherin Common Room, all the small faces of the First Years turned to look at him. He was a little late for their introductory meeting, having been caught up reading the news, some troubling signs having been seen in France, and he would have to cut his time short because of more pressing matters. It couldnât be helped, he supposed. Armaud knew he cut an imposing figure, his dark robes swirling around him like an animate shadow, especially to the muggleborn children for whom magic was a totally new experience, so he tried his best to encourage them in the beginning of the term. He shot the group a crooked grin before he launched into his quick speech.
âExcuse my lateness,â he said, his voice carrying clearly over the Common Room, "I am Armaud Rossignol, and I am your Head of House. I also teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but thatâs another story for another time. First and foremost, I welcome you to our fine school, and even more specifically, I welcome you into the Slytherin fold. No doubt some of you have had family in Slytherin or family excluded from Slytherin, no doubt some of you have heard of our spotted history, no doubt some of you have your reservations about being here.â He looked around the room as he spoke, eyes meeting each and every nervous First Yearsâ eyes with the same absoluteness as he would a grown adult. âI am here to quell your fears.
âWe are a congregation of men and women all alike in one particular aspect: a certain unwavering resolve to always push forward. Iâve often felt we Slytherins are misrepresented by the world at large, by those too eager to paint us as connivers slavering over common success. They are wrong. It is more accurate to say we are pursuantly walking toward the horizon despite knowing we will never reach it, that we might never know what contentedness feels like.â His voice crescendoed, louder than before, rousing in his passion. âWe are a house of the hungry, unable to glut ourselves to fullness, yet we strive all the same toward the unreachable. We see what life has allotted us and we refuse to accept it. Never accept it! Never find peace! There is always more to do, to achieve. Ravenous is our appetite; take it all in and always ask for more.â Armaud grinned with all his teeth, before his mouth suppressed itself into something more kind. It was never in his agenda to appear intimidating, but nevertheless sometimes he found himself at this end all the same. "Remember: the world is your oyster. Slurp it raw, children.â
Quiet persisted for a moment, before one lone hand went up. A tremulous little voice asked, âSir, what if Iâm allergic to shellfish?â
Silence descended upon their group. Armandâs eyebrows went up, surprised, and from behind him he could hear a prefect failing to stifle laughter behind a fake cough. It took Armaud a moment to realize that this child was being absolutely sincere. The children they were, the hapless boyâs peers parted away from him like the Red Sea, leaving him in the lonely and terrifying sight of his professor.
âWhatâs your name?â said Armaud, deceptively soft, with a tilt of his head.
âP-Paul, sir. Paul Ineguez,â he replied, looking like he might absolutely wet himself.
Armaud hummed and let himself have a full appraisal of the funny boy. Paul was skinny, with knobby legs covered in band aids, and an unkempt mop of jet black hair. He seemed nearly on the verge of tears, and yet he met Armaudâs eyes all the same. There might be some potential here, Armaud thought.
He wanted to laugh, honestly, at the great sincerity of youth and the pure, accidental humor of the situation, but Armaud knew it was far better for the boy to feel intimidation in their first meeting than for him to feel like Armaud had mocked a genuine question. The boyâs fears could always be extinguished in the coming years of mentorship with Armaud, but shameful mockery from an adult could leave a much harsher scar on a young personâs consciousness.
âHere at Hogwarts, we will do our best to accommodate any food allergies you might have, Mr. Ineguez,â Armaud said with a half smile, before turning to address the crowd once again. "Thatâs all I have to say. If you have need of me, I can usually be found in my office, hours on the door. Donât be a stranger: for all my eccentricities Iâve been told Iâm quite good at my job.âÂ
And with a nod, he left them with that, as quickly as he had come.