With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
Negative Traits: Impulsive, blunt, opinionated, vain, emotional.
Quirks and Habits:
Admiring herself in any reflective surface she happens to pass.
Exclaiming in French when irritated.
Singing to herself under her breath.
Always writes in pink ink.
Likes: Jewellery, white roses, violin music, dark chocolate, spending time with her family.
Dislikes: Dirt, loud noise, being underestimated, cows, English wine.
Boggart: Her husband turning away from her for a more attractive woman.
Mirror of Erised: Herself, gracefully aged, with all her family around her complete with beautiful grandchildren as yet unthought-of.
Patronus: Swan
history
Wand gripped between delicate fingers, the eleven-year-old furrowed her brow in concentration, eyes fixed on the nondescript wooden button which lay on the desk in front of her. To an onlooker, it might have seemed nothing special; to her, it was a challenge, and if there was one thing which Fleur Delacour abhorred above all else, it was... well, ugliness, actually, but a very close second to that came defeat. She simply would not stand for it, and as the soft footsteps of the teacher rang around the room, growing ever-closer, the blonde flicked her wand with the elegance that came naturally to her, carefully pronouncing the incantation which she had spent countless hours being instructed in up to this point. Here was the culmination of all her hard work, and she regarded the spot where the button had previously resided with great satisfaction; it was now occupied by a pincushion, and a rather fine one too, if she said so herself.
Well, that was eminently satisfying- and so simple, too, once one had grasped the basic principle! She nodded in response to the murmured praise of her teacher, reaching to pick up the little pincushion and running her fingers gently over its soft surface. Incredible.
She liked Transfiguration.
---
Hissing under her breath, Fleur ducked under a flash of red light and very nearly brought herself into the path of another in the process. This was no fun at all, and she spared a moment, as she dealt a nasty hex to the nearest black-robed figure in a mask, to wonder whether it was really worth all this. Yet there were no lengths too great to go to for the sake of the survival of the wizarding world, and she wouldn't consider that an exaggeration, personally. It was odd, she realised, in a detached sort of way, that she had left this castle under a cloud- what was it, three years ago now?- expecting never to see it again and found herself now back within its walls and fighting for her life. Perhaps it was an argument for omens, although if that mad old bat kept on throwing crystal balls around as if they were snowballs then she didn't see much future in Divination at Hogwarts. Just as well, really.
She was dimly aware of her heart thudding in her chest and her pulse ringing in her ears, but she couldn't spare the time to worry about that now; there were Death Eaters all around her, and a moment's lapse in concentration could very well be the end of her; Fleur was an exceptional duellist, but there was only so much that one woman could do against a crowd of so many, and especially since she couldn't help but to notice that they were, gradually but surely, pushing her further and further from the exits and pinning her against a wall by sheer force of numbers.
Despite her best attempts to stay calm, the blonde felt the unstoppable tide of panic beginning to rise within her, and she was just on the point of screaming for help when, with a colossal crash, the ceiling came in, and she found herself suddenly alone in a world composed chiefly of dust and stone chips. Some distant areas of the rubble were stirring faintly, but Fleur, still on her feet, had the advantage of them, and she laughed faintly to herself. Hogwarts wasn't so bad, really. She would have to revisit properly some day.
---
Hair a mess, cheeks still bearing a faint red tinge, Fleur was of the opinion that she looked absolutely atrocious, and for once in her life, she didn't care. The warm little bundle in her arms was absorbing all her attention for the present, and seemed likely to do so for the immediate future. In former years, Fleur had always been very much her own focus, but she had been practicing for some time with Bill, and she felt that by now, she might just be able to cope with this new state of affairs. So long as it didn't last for too long, of course.
She would have to admit that she had never seen herself as a mother. It hadn't quite seemed to fit with her personality; she was ambitious, she had places to go, she hadn't the patience to wait until she got there any more than she'd the patience to cope with a thousand and one questions every hour of the day or to sit up for half the night with a fretful baby. Still, this was how things appeared to be going, and the blonde was not exactly opposed to it. A great deal of her acceptance of the matter did have to come from the fact that apparently, babies were rather cute, and Fleur flattered herself that this was more true of her own than of most others. Only to be expected, of course, and yet it was a great satisfaction to her nevertheless. Gently, she parted the fabric that wrapped the child, running a finger along her daughter's smooth belly. "Adorable," she murmured, the French influence still strong in her words after so long in Britain. "Are we not?" Pausing a moment, almost as if she expected a reply, the blonde nodded. "Oui. Enchante, mademoiselle Victoire."
roleplayer
RP Alias: Jay Pronouns: She/Her Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw Other Characters: None Roleplay example:
The rays of the sun were turning orange as day slipped into evening, and Fleur, glancing up from the tall pile of parchment on her desk, flicked her wand, drawing the curtains closed over her office window. Sunset was one of her favourite times of day, but she knew well that if she allowed herself, she was quite capable of sitting watching the slow approach of darkness for hours on end, which would go nowhere in getting her marking done.
And Merlin, such marking it was. For many years, Fleur had managed her own workload by ensuring that her classes handed in their essays at different points throughout the term so that she never found herself inundated with hundreds of sheets of stained, blotted, crumpled parchment at the same time, but this week, the system had come crashing down around her ears with the arrival of an unexpected Quidditch match. Though the French witch had never herself quite understood the British obsession with the sport, she did at least respect it, and did her best to avoid setting lengthy pieces of work around matches. But in so doing she'd established a precedent which she could hardly revoke; deadlines had had to be rescheduled, and here she was on a pleasant September evening with a stack of parchment on her desk so high that she could barely see over it. Not ideal.
Still, it had to be done, and the blonde sighed as she dipped her quill once again into her inkwell, setting out a list of somewhat caustic comments at the foot of an essay which had been submitted by a Gryffindor girl capable of far more than she was demonstrating at present. Such students, Fleur found the most frustrating; she could understand those who genuinely lacked ability, and had discovered untapped wells of patience within herself which she had to access when dealing with them, but for those who simply didn't try, she had no such patience, and it showed.
See me was a phrase which she hated to append to anyone's work because her students quite obviously did see her; she was the teacher. Still... When in Rome...
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Age: 42
