Magical Hogwarts

Beauxbatons, September 1st 2005

He entered the Grand Hall of Beauxbatons, of his school and it felt exhilarating. He had been a Department Head for several years which was a prestigious position. However, aside from the Minister for Magic, the most prestigious position in the French wizarding community was certainly that of the headmaster of Beauxbatons. He straightened his back as he marched along the house tables to the front.

Everything looked great. The house elves had outdone themselves. The castle looked good and the feast was perfectly prepared. He checked his watch. It wouldn’t be long now until the silence would be replaced by the joyful chatter of the students who could finally return to their school. Maybe the decorations were a little too posh, but this was a castle and not a rundown mansion, after all. Some extravagance was quite alright.

He had supervised the menu choices and had insisted on hiring a pâtissier
from Paris for the evening. He was a firm believer that the way to a person's heart goes through their stomach and some delicious sweets seemed like the right thing to offer to a group of kids.

The groundskeeper Alejandro García pushed the doors open and students small and tall filled into the room, some seemingly astonished that there was quite some room left empty in the middle of the hall. Placide felt that this welcome back to Beauxbatons feast should more than just a fine dinner, it should also turn into a dance later on.

“Bonsoir mes chers enfants, bonsoir mes collègues estimés,” he began, “I’m ever so pleased to welcome you back to Beauxbatons, the castle which has become a second home to so many of you. As you probably already know, I have replaced headmistress Olympe Maxime and am your new headmaster. The recent past has proven that it is time for Madame Maxime to seek fulfilment elsewhere. She has, however, done a lot for this school and I ask you to give a warm applause in acknowledgement for her achievements.”

He paused and took a few steps to the side before facing the crowd again.

“I intend to change some things from how they have been handled recently. As such, I want to reinforce the importance of the house cup. In order to be prepared in the best possible way for adult life, you will have to work on being the best you can be. I want to see you competing to win house points, to be on top of your class and, last but not least, I want to give sports at Beauxbatons a stronger significance. There will be a sports initiative starting soon and there you can also gain points for your house and, maybe, you even discover a so far unknown talent.” He clapped his hands together and beamed at the students.

“Now let the feast begin. Enjoy your meal.”

@Bellefeuille @Ombrelune @Papillonlisse

Still a rather new member of the teaching staff, having just taught for one year, VIvianne wasn’t sure if she could really judge things as her colleagues could. It was no secret that she hadn’t trusted Arsène Dutour and that she felt that Olympe Maxime could and should have done more to protect the school. So maybe it was a good thing that she had been replaced as headmistress, but when she sat in the Grand Hall at the teachers’ table, watching Placide Flaubert and listening to his welcoming speech, she felt that something was amiss.

Beauxbatons had a reputation for being the magical school that valued the fine arts and gave the students a ground to prosper and develop their own creative talents. Now the new headmaster spoke of the house cup, of competitions, of rivalries. To Vivianne that wasn’t the core of Beauxbatons, but maybe she was wrong. After all, she was the arts and literature professor and had in her first year co-led the arts initiative with the music professor Karl Böhme. It hurt her pride a little that her efforts were so soon forgotten and that the school was moving in a different direction.

It was too early to really make up her mind, though. It was not like Placide Flaubert had taken arts, literature and music off the curriculum. The classes were still there. She turned her gaze off Flaubert and looked at the fellow professors, trying to read their expression and figure out what they thought. It was hard, though. Barely anyone would risk to show any obvious reaction, not this early in the school year.

When Flaubert finished his speech, she applauded politely and smiled vaguely as the older wizard joined the staff table. “That was a most enlightening speech,” she said to no one in particular.

Seated at the staff table as usual, Monsieur Améliore, recently re-installed as the Head of Ombreune House, subtly acknowledged the weight of responsibility that came with the position. It was a role he and his childhood friend Gaston Malinat had traded back and forth over the years, a duty that he approached with a calm and measured demeanor. Tonight, he wore the purpure of Ombreune with pride, the embroidered gainsboro shirt beneath his vest reflecting his allegiance.

As Monsieur Flaubert's speech unfolded, Gauvain maintained a composed expression, his sky-blue eyes reflecting the neutral pleasantness he intended to convey. The change in leadership at Beauxbatons stirred a mix of emotions within him. Madame Maxime, the previous headmistress, had been a figure he respected and was fond of, and her departure left a void in his sentiments. Nevertheless, Gauvain's disciplined demeanor hid any trace of his inner conflict.

Next to him sat Vivianne Courtois, the arts and literature professor, and the subject of Gauvain's unspoken feelings. Gauvain's gaze occasionally shifted towards Vivianne, aware that the changes in direction the new headmaster hinted at seemed to diverge from the artistic and creative spirit that Beauxbatons had long been known for. During the summer break, they had exchanged letters, beginning to forge a bond that went beyond professional courtesy. When Vivianne expressed her thoughts on the speech, Gauvain turned towards her with a polite smile.

"Indeed, a new direction for Beauxbatons. Change is inevitable, though I hope the core values of creativity and individual growth remain intact," he remarked, his words carefully chosen to convey both his acceptance of change and his desire to preserve the essence of the school. He looked back out across the student body and added, "There will be challenges and opportunities ahead, for the students and for us as well."

Phil had spent most of his summer either working with his mother in the bakery or focusing on his own personal Quidditch development or creating possible training schedules for the house team. He knew there was a lot of responsibility that would come his way with his new role on the team, but he also knew that he could handle it. During the last year away, he had run a few small training sessions for the younger students who wanted to work on their broom skills or who thought they might want to try out for the house team once those were a thing again. He had considered restricting it to his own house, but after enough interest had been shown, there was really no way to justify keeping anybody from the sessions, especially when everything else about the place they were living was so meh…

But that was all in the past. The time they had spent at the Manoir was no longer something they needed to spend time talking about. Almost all of the things that Phil enjoyed about Beauxbatons hadn’t been there, so—as far as he was concerned—last year just didn’t need to come back up. Walking into the Grand Hall of the palace he had come to know as home for the first time in a long time, Phil was overcome with a momentary wave of gratefulness and emotion that he was back. That things were going to be back to normal again.

Making his way to his table, Phil adjusted his robes and the new pin he wore that identified him as the house Quidditch captain. Exchanging pleasantries with his housemates, thanking them for their congratulations at his new badge, he took a seat next to some of his housemates and awaited the opening remarks from the new headmaster. Clapping when asked, Phil listened intently to entirety of the speech. He noted the changes M. Flaubert alluded to with great interest. Reinforcing the house cup didn’t seem so bad, neither did the sports initiative, but the pesky bit about being prepared for adulting…that didn’t seem like something Phil was as interested in. He would have time to figure that out later, not now, not when he was supposed to be given license to explore magic, to flit from one topic to another without being nailed down into a track, to be placed into a mold.

He would be interested to see how M. Flaubert was planning to implement such things, what he would expect of the students, but for now, it was time to eat. Phil was excited to see that the standard fare was all present, but so too were some very impressive pastries and other breads. Filling his plate, Phil turned to make conversation as he enjoyed the start to another term.

Sydney burst into the Grand Hall with the exuberance only she could muster, a whirlwind of energy that raced toward the Papillonlisse House table. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she exchanged warm hellos with her housemates – "Hi Cél! Hi Danielle! Hi Estreilla! Hi Lola! Hi Florian! Hi Cinda! Hi Brais!" The air was thick with the sound of friends reuniting and the aroma of tantalizing food when Headmaster Flaubert's voice echoed through the hall.

Sydney, still buzzing with the thrill of being back, turned her attention toward the front. However, Monsieur Flaubert's words about Madame Maxime seeking fulfillment elsewhere caught her off guard. A flicker of disapproval crossed her features; she held Madame Maxime in high regard, and the idea of questioning her commitment struck a discordant note. Despite the awkward moment, Sydney managed a polite applause, her inner turmoil hidden beneath the surface.

As Monsieur Flaubert continued, shifting the focus to the House Cup and the spirit of competition, Sydney's eyes lit up with determination. The prospect of competing for her house, of earning points through her favorite subjects like Creative Arts and Metamorphose, fueled her competitive spirit. Sydney's eyes scanned the room, landing on Phil Dujardin, one of her year-mates but a member of Bellefeuille House. A playful grin danced on her lips – he was now the captain of a rival House Quidditch team, and their friendship was about to take on a new, competitive edge. The idea of friendly rivalry excited her, and she couldn't help but wonder about the challenges that awaited them on the Quidditch pitch.

The thought of their rivalry reminded her that she hadn't put on her Quidditch Captain's pin. "Guys, guys, guess what!" she cut across the chatter and excitement, as she pulled it out and shared the announcement with her Papillonlisse friends, excitement bubbling over as she included them in her joy. A little ways down their House table, Sydney thought she saw Julien turn her way and gave a little wave in case he happened to see it. Then as she turned to the right, she saw another familiar face over at the Ombrelune table and waved again, "Ari!"

Mathilde wanted to make herself believe that the return to the castle of Beauxbatons meant that the last year had only been a nightmare, but, of course, she knew very well that it wasn’t. The things that had happened had left scars on the soul of the teenage girl. Her whole world had crumbled down when she had realised that her father wasn’t her true father and that this crazy old professor was, in fact, her biological parent.

She had come to terms with the fact that she had siblings, even more than she could have ever dreamed of and several around her own age. Most of them were actually quite nice and she was looking forward to getting to know them better. With Amandine she had even shared an igloo at the summer school. Nonetheless, it was hard to accept that her parents had happily let her grow up with a big lie as to who she was and she was still furious and disappointed, heartbroken and desperate, and felt that their relationship was beyond repair now.

At least they didn’t have to go back to Manoir Vertneuf where the memories of the past year would haunt her all the time. Arsène Dutour was imprisoned and they could try and start a new chapter of their lives. While Mathilde had always liked Madame Maxime, she was somehow grateful that she had been replaced. After all, people blamed her for not seeing through Dutour’s schemes. Then again, the betrayal her parents were guilty of would never have come out. She would still live in blissful oblivion if Madame Maxime had refrained from hiring the old man. Was it better to know than to unknowingly live with a lie? It was a question Mathilde had asked herself plenty of times.

Placide Flaubert, a new ministry approved headmaster, was holding a welcoming speech and Mathilde forced herself to listen but her thoughts drifted off again and again. Nonetheless she took in some of what the man said - the arts initiative of the previous year would be replaced by a sports initiative and competition among the students and the houses was encouraged. Great… she was just trying to befriend some of her newly found siblings and now she had to compete against them for house points? The girl sighed audibly.

At least the new headmaster had made sure that they’d have an evening in splendour with fine food that actually didn’t all look like anything that Mathilde would usually choose for herself. The first course appeared on the table in front of her and the girl eyed the delicacies with a frown. Clearly the man didn’t know what teenagers liked.

She looked sideways at Phil Dujardin, her older housemate who had practised Quidditch with her the previous year and had now been made Quidditch captain. That, undoubtedly, was a great choice. The boy loved the sport and he was not only good at it but also good at teaching others.

“Phil, congrats, you’ll be a great captain,” Mathilde said, mastering a small and genuine smile. “I’ll definitely try out for the team if you’ll have me.” She shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “We know I’m not an experienced player, but some former team members graduated and…” Why was she talking so much? Her cheeks felt hot and she helped herself to some hors d'oeuvres, not really paying attention to what she was getting. Her eyes widened when she took a closer look and found that she had picked escargots…

“Syd  Congratulations. Quidditch captain! that’s so exciting.” Célestin was actually happy for his friend. He had wondered who’d be the new Quidditch captain for Papillonlisse and he thought that whoever had made the decision, had been wise not to pick one of the boys in their year (him included). Sydney was easy to get along with and he knew that she also enjoyed teaching others. She’d surely build a good team around her.

Before he could voice that he’d like to join the team, the new headmaster started his speech and he forced himself to listen. He had admittedly enjoyed the arts initiative in the previous school year a lot, but the sound of a sports initiative intrigued him as well.

While he knew that some of his friends missed Madame Maxime, he didn’t really care if she was their headmistress or this man. His father had told him a little about Flaubert. The new headmaster of Beauxbatons had started his adult life as a professional Quidditch player even before Célestin’s parents were born - Merlin, the guy was old! - and had then started to work at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports before he had switched the the Department of International Magical Cooperation and had moved up to be Department Head there.

Célestin didn’t applaud when Flaubert ended his speech but immediately turned to Syd again. “Hey, Syd,” he said, grinning at her, “I’ll be there for tryouts. I’m sure you’ll make the right choices when it comes to putting together a great team. The Quidditch Cup is ours this year.” He winked. He wasn’t at all concerned that he might not make the team. He was a pretty good flyer and Sydney was his friend, after all.

When Wassim had been invited to see Placide Flaubert before the beginning of term he had been worried that the older man was displeased with his work and wanted to give him a warning. Admittedly he had been unaware what he might have done wrong, but sometimes, in uncertain situations, the insecurities because of his heritage still caught up with him. However, headmaster Flaubert, or Placide, as he was allowed to call the man, had told him about his plans to start a sports initiative.

They had discussed ideas, had corresponded regularly from that first meeting on, and Wassim felt that a good year lay ahead. Maybe he could even impress his children with his new, stronger role at the school, or maybe not. He felt that with puberty they were even harder to read than they had been in the past.

He sat at the staff table, listening closely to Placide’s speech and felt a little disappointed that the older man did not voice his name as head of the sports initiative. Well, he was just the Arab who had to put the Frenchman’s plans into action, he thought bitterly. Then, however, he brushed this thought away. He was too sensitive here for sure. Placide had considered all his suggestions, they had made up a plan together and he’d carry it out. The students probably knew that a headmaster would hardly find the time to run a sports initiative.

His gaze scanned the student tables for his children and lingered there until Placide finished. As the headmaster approached the staff table, he grinned at Wassim who mastered a small smile back.

While Placide didn’t sit too far from him, Wassim turned his attention to the other side of the staff table where Gauvain and Vivianne were tentatively sharing their thoughts on the change of direction.

“After the all the drama with Arsène last year, I think, the students will appreciate a change in direction,” he said, “even if the sports initiative might only be for one year like the arts initiative before… It’ll be a good diversion and I think encouraging some more competitive spirit can’t be wrong. When they leave school, they’ll all have to fight for themselves anyway.”

VIvianne looked at Gauvain, her lips forming a thoughtful little smile. It was a new direction for sure and she wasn’t sure it was a good choice. Then again, she was still a pretty inexperienced professor and didn’t feel that her opinion had any weight in the grand scheme of things yet. She knew, however, that her opinion mattered to Gauvain and that was reassuring.

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” Vivianne said, her voice not sounding entirely confident although she had tried to sound optimistic. “I’ll work with the new directions the best I can and I hope that we don’t lose sight of the traditions at Beauxbatons.” While the idea of giving house points for art and literature felt wrong to her, she thought that she could still reward enthusiasm and commitment.

Wassim now voiced his opinion which naturally was in favour of the sports initiative and the competitive spirit. Vivianne understood his point, but at the same time she couldn’t really agree with him.

“Not everything last year was bad,” Vivianne said. “It’s natural, though, that you’re defending the change of direction as it favours your subject. I don’t complain, though. I started at Beauxbatons on a high note, being allowed to run the arts initiative. I just hope that the competitiveness doesn’t destroy the core of the school.”

It was a relief to be back at Beauxbatons, away from that...place.  Gaston couldn't think of Manoir Vertneuf and its owner without feeling enveloped by a cold fury. That terrible year was over, but he still felt soiled by what had happened. For almost six months he had been on probation, his lessons scrutinised, supervised by other professors when he was even allowed to teach at all. And now the school had returned to its rightful home, but he still felt punished. Ostracised.

The Ministry had apologised. Flaubert - for whom Gaston had developed a good deal of respect in recent weeks - had apologised personally for what had happened, for what could easily have become a miscarriage of justice that would have ended with the loss of his job and even liberty. The man was ambitious, a businessman first and foremost, and probably even somewhat ruthless in his expectations. Gaston found himself in agreement with those qualities, even comfortable.

None of that changed the fact that he was no longer Head of Ombrelune house. Not that he blamed Gauvain in the slightest - the position had been his, then his friend's, his again... it was almost as if this was Gauvain's turn. But for it to come after the previous year felt like a personal slight, and nothing Gaston told himself could change that feeling. He listened to Flaubert's speech and applauded dutifully, even with enthusiasm. Gaston wasn't overly interested in sports, though Alyona would be interested to hear of this year's initiative.

He wondered how he would have got through the past year without the support of his other lifelong friend, even if they had done little more than exchange owls and share their respective difficulties. He hoped this year would be brighter for both of them. Time to start making that happen.

"May I pour you some wine, headmaster?" he asked, examining a fine Richebourg Grand Cru burgundy that stood enticingly between then on the table. Obvious, perhaps, but he intended to befriend this newcomer and be seen as an ally. Not that he intended to neglect the rest of his colleagues, either. Once the wine glasses were filled, he turned his attention to his colleagues.

"A little competition does no harm at all" he commented, catching Gauvain's eye "the transfiguration relay proved how well our students can enjoy a contest while still managing to work together and support each other."

Back at Beauxbatons, Renata found herself ensnared between tendrils of exhilaration and a shroud of disappointment. There was something great about being back here, in the magnificent castle. It was the grandeur and excess that spoke to the maximalist in Renata. She adored the sprawling gardens and opulent decor, the whispers of a bygone era of princes and princesses and majestic flying horses.

Yet, the echoes of the preceding term within the manor’s shadowed confines lingered like a persistent fog. The creepiness of the manor spoke to a different side of her: one that was absolutely obsessed with mysteries. The manor had a certain darkness that let her imagination run wild. It seemed like every sinister tapestry and shadowy hallway was hiding something. Every whispering corridor was a conduit to the unknown, beckoning to the concealed alcoves of Renata’s grim soul.

Like so many of her classmates, Renata had experienced true fear deep within the Manor, but unlike her peers, Renata had enjoyed it. What was life without a little adventure, after all? She courted darkness and intrigue; terror was a siren’s call. It was this craving for the thrill of the unknown (and the possibility of a delightfully dramatic death), that drew her to the skies, where Artistic Flying and Quidditch had become her dance with the abyss, a ballet of adrenaline and defiance.

When the new custodian of their fates heralded the advent of a sports initiative, Renata began to bounce in her seat, anticipating this initiative would include her favorite athletic activities. She became enthusiastic for the coming term, and proceeded to fill her bowl with all the sensational food on offer.

Everything was back to normal. Or it was for some people, anyway. Amandine glared at the new headmaster and wondered why he was trying so hard to make a good first impression. Did he have a bunch of random kids here, too? After the revelations of last year, nothing would surprise her anymore.

On the upside, they were back at Beauxbatons and if he was just trying to make a good impression, at least the Flaubert guy had arranged for the castle to have a thorough spring clean. Amandine approved of that much, at least. And the sports initiative sounded interesting. Maybe she would even try out for the Quidditch team this year, she thought. After all, she'd survived a summer in Antarctica, so a bit of time on her broom shouldn't be much of a hardship.

So far she hadn't spoken much with anyone. Secretly Amandine was a little disappointed that they were sitting at their house tables. She would have liked to have sat with Mathilde, but she had her own friends and it was foolish to think that just because they'd discovered they were half-sisters they would suddenly be friends at school as well. Lettie was seated within earshot, and that was nice, but there would be time for them to chat more privately in the common room later. Amandine wanted to hear all about her friend's summer, though she'd already read all about the Artistic flying championships and practically memorised the latest rankings.

Oh, well, at least the food looked good. Amandine decided to stick to just soup and bread for her main course, but had already saved one of the nicest-looking pastries on a plate for later, in case everyone else ate faster than her...