Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Thierry Olivier Perilloux
Gender: Male
Age: 24

Education: 
Private Tutoring to 1928
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic 1928-1935, Studio Art - Architecture

Residence:
London

Occupation
Junior Diplomat, Ministry of Magic

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Ministry of Magic

Requested Magic Levels:

• Charms: 12
• Divination: 7
• Transfiguration: 7
• Summoning: 6

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nope!

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Petty Thistlecomb et al.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

The French did not tend to make a scene about completing an education at Beauxbatons, and Thierry had always been grateful for this fact. He had transitioned from the navy blue school uniform to simple suits with only passing commendation; it had always simply been expected of him to do so.

His father was still his constant, and Thierry looked forward to returning to Marseille, to the quiet and solitude away from his classmates. It did not particularly matter what he ended up doing - ordinary endeavors tended to be a waste of his time - so long as he could be alone, to think, to pursue worthy achievements.

He began a diplomatic career with the French Ministry simply because he could not afford not to. His research and personal projects took up his free time because there had never been anyone at Beauxbatons he wished to continue interacting with - especially willingly. Despite all this, he made a passable diplomat, pleasant where it counted and firm when necessary. Interactions with his peers at Beauxbatons, it seemed, had not been entirely inconsequential.

Thierry still studied the intricacies of wizarding architecture in his spare time, and was invited to the school on a number of occasions to present guest lectures. Lecturing, as it turned out, suited him surprisingly well, just as diplomacy did, as Quidditch never had. Quidditch had been Jean's idea, and Thierry had obliged because to do otherwise hadn't seemed an option.

Life went on like this for a few years, and the brunet boy found that it was very easy to settle into a routine. Diplomatic meetings, lectures, research. Routine was normal; routine was comfortable. Perhaps he would have lived out his days just so if it were not for the war.

Jean and Thierry managed to flee France, stumbling upon a conclave and a portkey to England. Beauxbatons had fallen, came the words from the radio, in panicked French, then in English. Thierry was fortunate enough to understand both. They arrived in London disoriented and without a home to call their own.

It was perhaps the worst day of his life, though he knew that such a designation only existed to be overly dramatic, so he never said as much out loud.

Eventually the two men found an apartment and steady employment, but it did not truly feel like home. Thierry doubted it ever would.

Roleplay: 

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:

It was amusing how very little attention you were paid when you weren't in constant motion.

Thierry had been watching this woman for some time, fluttering about trying to get the attention of people who clearly had much better things to do. He sat on his usual bench, eating a small meal of fruit and cheese. He'd been there several minutes, and the reporter hadn't so much as glanced in his direction. It was almost as if movement made a person more conspicuous.

He'd used the obvious likely hundreds of times - desolé, je ne parle pas - and that was usually the end of his interaction with strangers. Most stared blankly and allowed him to continue with his routine, the one he was slowly building back up again.

Today, though, the reporter thought it appropriate to seat herself on his bench, seemingly oblivious to his presence even still. Thierry froze and waited, hoping she would not notice him and go away.

The woman stood after a few moments, and the brunet relaxed slightly. That was, until she went tumbling to the ground after just a few seconds. Thierry paused as he considered his options. The woman had still not seen him, or did not seem to; that was something he was extremely hesitant to relinquish. On the other hand, he did not particularly enjoy watching people being trampled to death -

Thierry sighed, stood, and approached, kneeling next to the woman and offering a hand.

"You are... all right?" Merde, that had been English.

OTHER
How did you find us? I HEARD THERE WERE CUPCAKES