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THIBAULT CHEVALIER
Half Veela
Age
22
Wizfriends
113



Occupation
TV Personality
Birthdate
February 27
Lives in
Paris // London
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Status
In a Relationship
Significant other
She's absolutely bonkers
Alias
Kat

OWL STATUS
Last Active: Jun 14 2018, 04:57 PM
Wondering if I should get a haircut or work the man-bun?

Qu'est-ce qu'il y a dans un nom?
What's in a name?
Une rose de n'importe quel autre nom sentirait aussi doux.
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Chapitre Un: Claimant.

For centuries Veela were worshipped like gods among muggles who did not see beyond their complete, strict grip on the French political system. It is said that House Fontaine, one of the holdest royal lineages in history was the next to claim the throne. In an effort to keep the Veela blood pure, there were strict rules of courtship and ceremonies to ensure that Veela would be the only ones who maintained their glorious lifestyle of splendor and beauty, with the understanding and responsibility of upholding the highest ranks of government. That is, until the complete abolishment of the French monarchy in 1848, the country had become a republic.

Enter Gregoire Chevalier, the next in line for the throne, who betrayed his own family by becoming a soldier for the revolution while muggle and (unknownst to the population) Veela blood stained the brilliant cobblestone streets in Versailles. Once captured by the enemy, the Veela council decided to curse him once they found out he'd been sleeping with non-magical beings outside of his marriage to Antoinette Vianney, with whom they had a son, Jacques. This curse would not have been so calamitous if the throne had not been lost. The curse detailed how all consumation with muggles in his family line would end in death, a second plague to the one eradicated in Marseille, with Gregoire's bastard children included and forgotten in the spoils of war.

The Veela population mourned for Antoinette as her husband was killed the same way he sent their own to die- by guillotine. What they did not know, was that it affected Jacques, yet he was spared by being pure Veela yet the curse still remained dormant for future generations who would risk the line. The time eventually came for the populace to hunt for the last remaining members of House Fontaine. At the very last moment, with a strategically placed portkey in the little Prince's secret closet, Jacques vanished from the fray- waking up in one of the safe havens for pure Veela in the northern French countryside.

"Notre prince!" they exclaimed, "Nous n'oublierons jamais."

Our Prince. We will never forget.

-
Chapitre Deux: La Rose

"They will never take me alive!"

The last words a distantly related Rosier spoke to his wife before he left to serve The Dark Lord echoed in Camille's mind as she stood trial to confirm her late husband's affiliation and deeds. She never took the mark, but lived complicit with the act of killing mudbloods for the sake of maintaining order. A poor-yet-pureblood French farm-born girl had charmed the likes of one of the Sacred Twenty Eight. A dangerous combination of interests. When they sentenced to life in prison for harboring criminals and torturing FMOs (French Ministry Officials), she screamed at her child sitting in the audience, security keeping a sizable distance between them.

"Qu'arrivera-t-il à mon enfant?" What will happen to my child?

At the tender age of seven, Claire Rosier was too young to fully process what had just happened among the uproar. But she was old enough to know that she would not see her mother for a very long time. What was to become of her? Her fate?

"She will be taken into our services which will protect her until she becomes of age to take care of her own."

"Olympe! Protège ma petite rose!"

Olympe Maxime watched as her best student was whisked away, and she saw Camille's soft traits reflect the epitome of heartbreak in the young girl. Claire had those long eyelashes which brushed the tears away from her lids, dark wavy hair which came to cradle her skull, and high cheekbones which could shatter glass. But that jawline, that sharp bridge of his nose, and small lips- those were Evan Rosier's doing. Maybe she could help this child to find the light, to use magic for good instead of evil. So, she cared for the child, who grew within the Beauxbatons walls, attending classes off campus to train her skills until she was able to be admitted. The Staff at Beaubatons took great care in teaching Claire, because everyone remembered Camille fondly. Maybe this time- they could get this right.

Still, the name Rosier lived on like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, and Claire struggled to shake off the remnants of her father's less than laudable reputation.

-
Chapitre Trois: Feu

It was no surprise to Henri Chevalier that his female sisters would capture male attention at their second-cousin's wedding. Full blooded Veela walking into a room with all eyes on them was of normalcy, and without another second to spare, one of the Weasley twins escorted Amelie and Chloe to their seats during reception. Henri gave fond greetings, kissing Bill and Fleur kisses on both cheeks as customary, before the flames began erupt. Kingsley Shacklebolt's patronus shined as proof that the Ministry had fallen, and Voldemort had taken over.

Henri was deathly afraid of fire, and his sisters were no different. The Chevalier children fought hard to combat the Death Eater attacks, and eventually Henri watched as two red haired wizards got his cousins to "presumed" safety amidst the madness. Ah, to be female- although he was sure that his sister were more than able to take care of themselves. He found himself face to face in a duel with a cloaked figure who was holding absolutely nothing back. He found his body raised three feet above the ground, as serpent-like fire started to emerge around him. The Death Eaters started interrogating him for knowledge he had no hope of giving.

Everything turned black. He was in a coma for eighteen years.

St. Mungos was blissfully cold, and Henri thought he had died and gone to heaven because of the bright sunlight illuminating his white walled room. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were blistered, burned, glowing a warm orange. Hissing in disgust, he tried to move once more, but company had arrived.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. Comment allez-vous?" Good morning sir, how are you?

Before him was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Suddenly he felt no desire to move another muscle, and relaxed back into his sheets as he saw her walk forward and look at his wounds.

"Mieux maintenant." Better now.

His comment escaped his lips so easily like water running through fingers, but he blushed afterward remembering just how ugly he must have looked. For a Veela, looks and charms went hand in hand. He was failing in half his department. It was embarrassing. He watched as her careful hands scribbled with a quill on a clipboard, and Henri wanted to sink beneath the mattress.

"Healer Rosier, I need you to sign off on these discharge papers- the Kilburn family is ready to take their child home."

The angel went to the doorway and looked at the new paper work and shook her head.

"You'd think that even after a divorce, a girl could just keep her ex's name," she chuckled,"It's Harcourt now. Please tell the admin desk to keep it the way it is. I'm not a Rosier any more. And never will be again."

Henri didn't eavesdrop that often, but he wanted to know every bit of information he could get about this woman who was saving his life. Henri did not believe in love-at-first sight, but this moment could have changed him. As a patient, he knew that it would be completely inappropriate to hit on her, or ask her out to dinner. But if fate had some way of bringing them together, he prayed to whatever unknown deity out there that something could happen. For the first time in an impulsive Veela's life, he was content to wait.

-
Chapitre Quatre: Bon Voyage

Eliott Harcourt and Claire (now Chevalier) were still on good terms after she remarried. Their child, Royce was glad he still got to spend time with his parents, and even welcomed a stepfather in Henri. They were all-in-all, a nice mixed family wo enjoyed spending time together for the sake of the children. Claire continued to be a healer for St. Mungos, while Henri continued his living as a historian who collected articles on French magical history. When their son Thibault was born, however, he was not so keen on being a Healer or a Historian- he enjoyed taking trips with Eliott and Royce to the ministry most of all. Thibault dreamed of someday being able to be some kind of political dignitary, but Royce always teased him about being too soft-hearted and emotional.

Well, he did faint that one time when Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger, waved at him.

Still, he was determined to go on a work trip to see what things were like. Eliott, the Head of International Cooperation, was visiting Argentina for a special case. His older brother, Royce, was ecstatic about being able to see what actual protective legislation was like for seats of power- especially in a different countries. The young men didn't know however, that the operation was more delicate than met the eye- and a handful of aurors accompanied them along for the trip. Claire and Henri desperately didn't want their son, at the tender age of twelve, to be exposed to such sensitive matters. But Thibault was adament in expressing his exposure and interest for the sake of truly knowing what it was like- it was now or never to prepare for the rest of his life. He was always this dramatic.

It's the middle of the night in Argentina when Buenos Aires is under attack when a rebel group takes hold of the building they're residing. Two years at Hogwarts, and Thibault was definitely not prepared for this. He was confident that Eliott, a trained official, and Royce, an Eastwick student whose concentration was DADA, could handle it- along with their security personnel. He hid under a table in cowardice, hearing screams, sparks, and the crashing of objects against others. His breathing began to slow when it seemed after hours, a hush of silence fell around him.

Footsteps were outside his bedroom door, and he gripped his wand so tightly he thought it would slip out of his already sweaty palms. Once the door opened, he spotted shoes unfamiliar to him from under the table. The words of his great grandfather, unbeknownst to him, became clear in his adrenaline-filled mind.

'Tu ne me prendras jamais en vie,' he thought, 'You will never take me alive.'

Thibault got out from under the table and raised his wand to see a girl standing there in a similar fashion, wide eyed and just as surprised. She started speaking Spanish in a low register he could not understand- so he shook his head. He lowered his wand arm slowly, hoping she would do the same. He couldn't describe the safety he felt in his core, although they were surrounded by death at every turn. A single glance at another well-placed portkey near his mirror, and he broke into a run to capture the royal amulet with the Chevalier seal.

History kept repeating itself, but he knew he would live to pay the ultimate consequences of choosing to run.

-
Chapitre Cinq: J'ai Oublié

The pain was the worst, and indirect guilt drove Thibault insane. Eliott and Royce died trying to protect him, and they were outside his room. He shouldn't have hid under that table. He should have stayed at home. He should have done something else. All the shoulds-coulds-woulds became one huge cigarette flooding smoke into the air he breathed. It was hard to inhale when everything tasted like regret. Thibault chose to leave institutional education behind, opting to be home-schooled. He kept to himself in a bubble of solitude, and desperately wanted to forget. It came to the point of near suicide, the memories were so scarring. The Pensieve, he believes, is the wizarding world's best creation.

There was one that belonged to his family for generations, and in those swirls, he saw everything- The Guillotine, The Rosiers, The Wedding- bits and pieces of memories his family needed to keep away in order to survive and to keep on living. Argentina would no longer be a part of him, he wanted to leave it in the past- to be blissfully ignorant was better personal choice. Perhaps Royce was right, he was too soft to be a politician, or was he too perfect to be an aloof one? His political ambitions dwindled out of fear, and he needed to find a way to start building again.

Literally, that's what he did.

An artistic eye for the aesthetically pleasing, and his half-veela charming smile got him into the archiecture-interior design sect of modern culture. He made great strides and accomplishes building and creating homes for people who weren't happy. Thibault could take a plot of land and make a garden. Thibault could create castles out of shoeboxes. Thiabult's soft heart and dashingly handsome looks earned him his own show. The quiet charisma of everyone's favorite French-English youth became a staple of desired approval for those who wanted to upgrade their lifestyle, in more ways than one.

"Tee," Graham Norton casually addressed him in an interview, "Where does Property Prince come from? It's not just your looks, right?"

Thibault blushes a deep red, "It's funny you should ask. I'm half French, as you know. On my father's side, my lineage draws from House Fontaine, which was the last standing family in the monarchy."

The audience 'oohs.'

"So you're an actual, legal Prince?"

"Technically it's my title, but I don't have any perks. I don't have a castle, or servants- it's been just me in the apartment with my cat," he looks at the camera and waves, "Hello Bon bon! Daddy says go to bed! It's past your bedtime."

The audience 'awws.'

"Next question, are you looking for a princess?"

"Not actively, no. I believe that there's a time for that, but I'm just really blessed for what I've got right now. A good job, family, and most importantly- a purpose."
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