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Archived Applications / Elian Malvaux
« on: 18/08/2024 at 01:03 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Elian Malvaux
Birthday: March 22, 1957
Hometown: Montsorcier, France
Bloodline: Halfblood
Magical Strength : Divination
Magical Weakness: Transfiguration
Year (pick two): 5th, 4th
Biography:
“Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.”
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.”
Sunlight filtered gently through the soft cobalt rain clouds, casting dappled patterns as it wove its way through the blooming peach and plum trees in the backyard. The light touched everything gently—the rustic, warm bread nestled in its basket, glinting off the simmering pot of thick pork stew, and made a ripple of color on the cool pitcher of water, where bright yellow lemon slices bobbed.
It was their seventh birthday, his and Angel’s. Maman had made her special tarte aux pommes, a tradition as long as he could remember. She had a secret ingredient she would always add and never tell their grandmother about—a pinch of cardamom. The scent of spiced apples and rich, buttery pastry drifted through the open door, mingling with the crisp March air.
Elian knew that scent well—it meant lunch was nearly ready.
Outside, Angel and Papa were tossing a quaffle back and forth beside their little cottage—Le Gîte du Soleil, Maman had named it. Elian watched, a soft smile spreading across his face as his sister, full of laughter, leaped onto Papa’s back to snatch the crimson ball away. He thought about calling out that it might be a foul, but his voice remained silent; he didn’t want to startle Miel, the baby hedgehog he’d found alone the week before.
Elian kept Miel close, nestled gently in his lap, wanting the little creature to know the comfort of companionship. Having a twin sister, he had never known loneliness, and he wished to share that feeling with Miel.
Two weeks later, they would discover Miel was actually a knarl, with a particular distaste for Elian’s well-intentioned offerings of woodlice. Papa’s violets, which Miel shredded in a fit of displeasure, bore the brunt of that misunderstanding. But even then, Elian couldn’t help but feel a certain fondness for the prickly creature.
After all, everyone needs someone, even if they’re a bit misunderstood.
“He danced with the leaves in the wind,
Whirling like a restless tree”
Whirling like a restless tree”
Elian attended the muggle Académie de Danse in Paris three days a week, and he loved every moment of it. Yet, as much as he enjoyed the polished wood floors beneath his feet and the rhythm of the music echoing in the studio, his favorite way to dance was far from the bright lights and the watchful eyes of others. In the studio, he could still lose himself, spinning away from the curious gazes of muggles and even the critical eye of his teacher, colors blurring and bright studio lights flashing as he twirled.
But it was in the woods behind their cottage that Elian truly loved to dance. Here, he didn’t just dance—he became part of something larger, something deeply rooted and alive. Down by the stream that meandered behind the houses on Rue de l’Aube, Elian felt most himself, most connected to the world around him.
His bare toes would glide effortlessly through the cool, slightly damp soil near the water as he performed a glissade, the sensation changing as his feet transitioned from rich earth to the fresh ripple of the stream, then onto the lush, spring grass or the fragile leaves of autumn.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy of ash and poplar trees, casting a delicate interplay of light and shadow that became his dance partners. The music was the soft murmur of the stream, the gentle rustle of chestnut leaves, the swing of plums in the breeze, and the distant calls of birds.
In this secluded sanctuary, Elian danced for the woods and its quiet inhabitants, knowing that here, there were no expectations—only the pure, unspoken language between him and the earth.
“Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”
They had turned eleven yesterday, and there hadn’t been any stew or tarte aux pommes. But then, they hadn’t been in the back garden of Le Gîte du Soleil. Everything had felt wrong. Elian had left early that morning, guilt heavy in his chest for running away, for hiding. But this spot—by the stream, in the woods, behind what used to be their home—was the only place that made sense, the first right thing he had thought of.
The warm, steady weight of his sister beside him a moment later had not been a surprise. She had come without a word, just as he knew she would. They sat together on the muddy ground, his head resting on her shoulder, his fingers twisting into the fabric of her pink sweater as though it were a lifeline.
“Que fait-on maintenant, sissi?” he whispered, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves around them.
He never did return to the glade to dance again.
“Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes.”
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes.”
By their thirteenth birthday, Elian noticed that his grandparents were beginning to understand him better. They had connected more quickly with his sister, but he didn’t mind. He knew that with him, it just took a bit more time. And he was always patient, quietly waiting for that moment of recognition. When he realized they had finally noticed he no longer loved dancing, a small pang of guilt had settled in his chest.
But when Papou had given him a stack of books on herbology, along with a satchel of crystals—special ones, ones his grandfather had collected as a young man during his time in Brazil—Elian knew his grandfather finally saw him for who he was. His favorite classes at Beauxbatons had always been herbology, ancient runes, and divination.
He felt a similar shift with Mamie the morning she found a green tree frog perched on the rim of the apricot jam jar at breakfast. Instead of shrieking as she once might have, she simply sighed and shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. And when she stopped fretting over the dirt, leaves, and occasional critter that seemed to follow him into the house all the time, he knew she, too, had begun to understand.
“The rain to the wind said,
‘You push and I’ll pelt.’
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged—though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”
‘You push and I’ll pelt.’
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged—though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”
The kids at Beauxbatons never understood him, and as they arrived at their new home in Hogsmeade village, Elian didn’t have high hopes for the kids at Hogwarts either.
At fifteen, Elian was as tall, if not taller, than most boys his age, but his height only served to make him more of a gangly silhouette, with limbs that seemed better suited for rescuing cats from trees (or dancing, as they had been) than navigating the treacherous world of adolescence. His long limbs, though graceful, often betrayed him, sending him sprawling whenever a rough shove sent him stumbling into the unforgiving side of a brick building.
He’d only meant to visit a bakery called the Muffin Man, but a wrong turn had led him into trouble. A group of boys had decided he was in their way. Elian was quickly learning that the insults were always the same, no matter where he wandered. The words might change—muttered in different languages and colored by varied accents—but the intention was always the same.
What hadn’t changed, whether in France or here, was how people always understood his sister, even if they didn’t understand him.
Not long after, Angel received a warning letter from the Ministry of Magic for underage magic—not the best start to their new life in a new village. Elian hoped their start at a new school would perhaps go smoother. He thought maybe it would.
He hoped.
tarte aux pommes - apple tart
Le Gîte du Soleil - The Sun Cottage
Académie de Danse - Dance Academy
Rue de l’Aube - Dawn Street
Que fait-on maintenant - What do we do now
permission to powerplay and include Angel Malvaux given by player.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
House Request: Hufflepuff
Personality:
Soft boy with a softer heart, far too open, far too forgiving. The embodiment of sunshine and puppies. He cares for people, animals, and nature very deeply and wants everything to always be okay. Incredibly kind, sweet, generous, and unassuming. Curious, thoughtful, likes to nurture and care rather than judge. Enjoys seeing things and people grow.
He’s also vulnerable, too trusting, doesn’t know how to say no or how to put down boundaries. He's a bit of a doormat—a cozy, warm doormat, but a doormat.
Appearance:
A mix of his parents and essentially a male version of his twin, Angel. Dark messy curls that often flop in his eyes and are never tidy, no matter how often they’re brushed. Contagious smile and gentle, warm brown eyes. The body and grace of a ballet dancer despite not dancing anymore. Usually has a plant or an animal on his person. Wears a lot of cozy clothes in earth tones. Usually has dirt under his nails.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Roleplay Response Option 2:
The gardens at Hogwarts were among Elian’s most cherished places. There, amidst the vibrant flora and the gentle hum of wildlife, he found a quietude that was soothing. There was always a patch of grass or a shaded nook beneath an old tree where he could curl up with a book or simply drift into a nap, undisturbed by the world around him. In the gardens, he could simply be.
As he grew older, Elian had noticed he hadn’t had to worry about being bullied more and more, but there were still times. For different reasons now, and at Hogwarts, not everyone knew his sister quite as well as they had at Beauxbatons.
Elian heard the heavy footfalls before the sneeze; the stomping made him wince inwardly at the thought of crushed flowers. The boy who had caused the commotion seemed distressed though, and Elian’s heart went out to him. Gently, he set down the lizard he had been holding onto a low tree branch, waiting patiently as it scurried away, before making his way toward the boy.
He was just about to offer a soft 'bless you' or another English equivalent when the boy turned on him, snapping angrily.
“Oh,” Elian began, surprised, “Well.” He fidgeted with the strap of his bag on his shoulder before continuing, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to seem impolite.”
His French accent wasn’t as thick as his grandparents’, softened by years of schooling at Beauxbatons, where he had learned to appreciate the beauty of languages from all over the Mediterranean. To him, they were like music—each one a different melody, each one with its own rhythm. Reaching into his pocket, Elian pulled out a clean, powder blue linen handkerchief.
“Here,” he offered hesitantly, extending the handkerchief for the boy to take. “Are you looking for… a rat? Could I help?”
→ ABOUT YOU.
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