Laure laughed, breaking the rhythm of the dance to press a kiss to Rene’s cheek and ruffle his hair. The poor boy really was hopeless at housekeeping. “I promise to keep my judgment to myself. Though we both know that Aurelié is much better at those charms than me. I’m just tidy.”
Maybe they’d sneak over for a visit and organize things. Then René would never find anything ever again. Or maybe David could help. Their cousin did seem to have his things together. Devereaux would probably love to help.
“We will just have to suffer with your messy room. Though you probably could hire someone to help. Maman is giving us an allowance after all. That may cover it. Though you’d have to get a job.”
–
The song was dying down, becoming something slower and more romantic. René watched as all the couples seemed to move toward to the dancefloor as one. Hooking his arm through his twin’s, he led them away.
They were outside in the next moment, where the air was crisply cold and the stars shone high in the sky. René turned to his sister and said in a low voice.
“I sort of want to do things independently, from now on,” he confided in her, “Not rely on Maman and Papa.”
He let out a long sigh and glanced up at the sky. He and Laure used to sneak out at night sometimes to lie on the grass and make up stories about the constellations. He missed those days.
“Don’t you feel the same? That need to...to break away?”
“You were very good, mon cher.” Gilderoy said as he leaned over to ruffle his baby cousin’s hair. He knew that René was barely younger than him but he could still picture the cute curly haired child running through the fields in France. “I’ve missed hearing you play.”
He leaned back, considering René. There was a weight to his cousin he didn’t remember, something like secrets in the air between them. He didn’t care for it. “So, out with it then. You and your darling sibling have been avoiding me since you both arrived. It’s tragic. When are you are free? I’ll have you over to dinner. You can meet my wonderful roommate and I’ll feed you proper British food.”
–
“Thank you,” René mumbled sheepishly, ducking his head to avoid getting his hair mussed further. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
He sighed as Gilderoy considered him, avoiding his cousin’s eyes. He always had a way of getting secrets out of René - not in a bad way, of course. It was just that René had always trusted him, still wanted to trust him.
René’s lips quirked, fighting a smirk, “What is proper British food - bangers and mash? Soggy peas?” He took another swig of beer before saying dryly, “How excitement.”
“that’s gross.” emma declared resolutely from their position sitting cross-legged on top of the well-lacquered bar. there was charcoal smudged across the left part of their forehead and ink staining their right cheek. their eyes were manic and animated jumping around the room despite the dark rings that underlined them. all of which contrasted sharply against emma’s currently pallid skin. it was just that time of the month. “were you raised by wild animals or something? say excuse me. what’s with the get up?”
♩♭♪
René had just lit a cigarette when Emma approached him. He quirked an eyebrow at them and put the cigarette between his lips.
“Excuse me,” he said, as sarcastically as he could, before exhaling some smoke.
“What do you mean by - how you say- ‘get-up’?” René glanced down at himself, gesturing to the suit, “This? I had an orchestra performance.”
He gave them an amused smile, “I look like what you Englishmen call un prick, I know.”
Daphne had only been in town for a short amount of time, and already she had found herself covering a shift for the regular bar tender at the White Wyvern. Thankfully the night had been mostly quiet, giving her time to sit in the corner behind the bar and look over the possible leads on her father’s whereabouts, only occasionally getting up to serve someone as they filtered in and out.
Hearing the other shout from further down the bar, Daphne folded the few scraps of parchment she was making notes on and turned to face the other. “Funnily enough, that’s usually how these things work” Daphne replied, tucking the folded parchment into her back pocket and making her way down towards where René was sitting. “Do you always state facts that stupid, or are you already blackout drunk” Daphne continued as she filled up his glass with more cheap whiskey.
♩♭♪
“I’m... I’m stupid,” he said, gazing at her blankly. When he realised what he’d said, a moment later, he shook his head vehemently.
“No, sorry - drunk. I’m drunk.”
Though he was quickly sobering up. Making a fool of yourself in front of a pretty girl would do that to you.
“Pardon, I meant simply that we hadn’t met before,” he gave her a winning smile and held out his hand, “I am René. And you are?”
He was layering on the kind of charm he’d learned from Gilderoy. Not that it really helped - he was still a drunken idiot, and a slob. He doubted it had the same effect.
Rene was a walking contradiction - and honestly, he preferred it that way. One would see him, expect him to be all poise and grace; after getting to know him for just one minute, though, they’d quickly learn that that wasn’t the case at all.
The boy, still in his crisp black suit after an orchestra performance (though his tie was loose and hanging around his neck), cracked open a beer and slumped into a booth seat, all loose limbs and sloppy posture. He took a deep drink from his beverage, and let out the most disgusting, yet satisfying, burp.
“A friend, already? Why am I not surprised, you always make friends so quickly.” It would be so like her wonderful, charming brother to immediately make a friend good enough to move in with. Laure made fights, Rene made friends. That had always been the case.
Laure crinkled her nose, unable to directly disagree. Architecture needed space and tidiness. Rene didn’t quite lend himself to those things. Not that he didn’t try but lord did he not quite succeed.
“Well, yes, that’s true. But you simply must tell me where it is, so that I know where to visit. Unless you don’t want your silly sister coming to call?”
–
“You’re welcome to visit whenever you like, Laure. Just don’t judge the mess too harshly,” he chuckled.
The twins were lucky they’d never had to share a room, growing up. The manor was large enough, with more than its fair share of bedrooms. Laure’s room had always been immaculate, whereas Rene’s was always a tip. Each day, it would be cleaned, only for Rene to find a way to make a mess of it again by the time night fell. It was a talent of his. He didn’t go out of his way to do it, it just sort of happened.
Now, he didn’t have any House Elf to clean up after him anymore. It was getting to the point where he could no longer see his floor, and he was running out of clean outfits. It was starting to become distressing.
“Unrelated, but do you think you could teach me some household chore charms?”
Pronunciation: rr-uh-nay | ah n t - w ah n | d ai sh ah n
Meaning: The French name René means ‘rebirth’ or ‘born again’.
Antoine means ‘worthy of praise’.
The French surname Deschamps which means ‘from the fields’.
Birthday: 27 June 1961
Age: 19
Pronouns: He/him
Sexuality: Pansexual
Siblings: Twin sister, Laurette
Younger siblings: Celestine and Jules
Parents: Marius Deschamps
Juliette Deschamps
Other Family: Gilderoy Lockhart (cousin)
Languages: French, English
Current Residence: Mack’s residence, in London
Hometown: Somewhere in Southern France
Wizard Fun:
Wizarding school: Beauxbatons Academy of Magic
Year of Graduation: 1978
Occupation: Principal Cellist for the Nihil Nusquam Wizard Orchestra
Pet: René absolutely adored the family dog, Adélard, growing up. Adélard has long since passed and René is still struggling to fill the dog-shaped void in his heart.
Blood Status: Pureblood
Species: Human
Patronus: Jellyfish
Boggart: Madame Maxime (she terrified him during his time at Beauxbatons. He got detention often, and more often than not they’d be accompanied with stern reprimandations from the Madame. He still has nightmares where she looms over him and tells him he’s a failure.)
Amortentia: Candied figs, cigarette smoke, lavender hand soap
Fashion Style: Whatever is clean on the day. Leaning towards casual Muggle fashion - hoodies, jeans.
Distinguishing Features: Dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, a mole on his upper lip - with a scar just below it.
Personality: René appears simple in every sense of the word. He’s easy to get along with, easy to understand, and is about as bright as a troll (that’s an exaggeration, but it’s not far off - he did once mistake a bar of soap for something edible. He blames the soap; it was the general shape and colour of a cheese tart. The fact that it was next to the bathroom sink is inconsequential). René is gregarious and tries to get along with everyone - and if you’re one of his loved ones, he will protect you with his life. Even if he’s not the best and brightest wizard, he’ll do whatever he can for others. When it comes to taking care of himself, however, René is not as willing.
Positive Traits: + Loving + Protective + Social butterfly
“I have no immediate plans to introduce him to the Thames.” She said with a laugh. Laure had always loved twirling. No matter how she felt on any given day, somehow a billowing sheet would make it better.
There was something that was bothering him still. Laure didn’t know what but she could tell. Something he was hiding from her. He deserved the privacy of his own secrets. It wasn’t as though René didn’t know that she would listen no matter what. If he wanted to tell her then he would. Patience was just hard.
“Of course you, you always more of a city kid.” Laure teased. “Where are you staying? I have an apartment and I can make room. Happily, I can make room for you.”
–
“Ah, I wouldn’t want to impose,” he dipped her playfully, “Besides, I’ve found an apartment with a friend. There’s no need to worry.”
Living with his sister would only complicate matters further. It would be difficult to explain where he was sneaking off to in the late hours of the night, and harder still to tell her who he was meeting.
Don’t worry, dear sister, I’m only a Death Eater - yeah, that would go down well, he was sure.
“Besides, I’m sure you don’t want your slob of a brother messing up your place,” he smiled and rolled his eyes at his own expense. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“They were a special brand of awful, weren’t they?” He took his place against the wall next to his friend. “I wonder if any of the Brits would dare to criticise their precious magic school. It seems to be an unspoken Hogwarts rule to never dare to say a bad word about the castle.” He didn’t see the appeal. The castle itself was impressive - a giant of cold brickwork fighting against the unfeeling winds - but the atmosphere wasn’t much to write home about.
He knew he was jaded though, especially this time of year when all he wanted was a canvas and his hound. Instead he’d received more social events than he could ever count.
At René’s question, Devereaux snorted. “It’s funny that you think Laure would allow me within ten feet of her in public. I shudder to think what would happen if I actually requested a dance.” He sighed. “I saw her shortly after I arrived earlier. I think she’s been deliberately avoiding me since.”
🖌
“How could you have anything bad to say about Hogwarts?” René huffed a laugh into his drink. “I feel like if you were to insult this place, the walls would open up and trap you inside them.”
And wasn’t that a horrifying thought. René found himself inching himself away from the wall, standing up straight so that he was no longer leaning against it. One could never be too careful with a magical castle.
He stayed quiet for a moment, as Devereaux lamented over Laure’s indifference to him. With a thoughtful nod, he gave Dev a comforting pat on the shoulder. A lot went unsaid with the understanding gesture.
“Just give her time,” he said, “I think you need a distraction. Let’s get out of here, huh?”
The glass of whisky was half empty, and the ice was beginning to melt. It was cheap whisky, the kind that one would never drink unless they were truly desperate to get blackout drunk and focus on nothing more than the burn in their throat - rather than the quality of the actual alcohol.
René took another sip.
When he’d decided to leave the apartment for a night out (or, more accurately, to avoid sleep), he’d immediately found his feet leading him to the Wyvern. It wasn’t his favourite establishment, by any means, but it was the only one where he didn’t stick out. With his shoddy choice of clothing, and his poor posture, he looked just like any other patron who frequented the bar. It was fantastic.
He drained the rest of his whisky with a grimace. Slamming the empty glass down on the counter, he made a gesture in the bartender’s general direction.
“Another!” As he finally deigned to glance up, his gaze did not meet that of the regular bartender. Instead, it locked with a pair of startingly blue eyes. The eyes belonged to a face, a face that he did not recognise but that was beautiful nonetheless.
“Well,” Laure said with a grin that grew with each passing second, “Only because you asked so nicely, brother dear.”
Laure had stolen René’s fancy suit coat the moment he’d taken it off. It didn’t fit correctly at all but it made hanging out in a room with Dev much easier. Sibling armor was her favorite kind. Plus, her bangles fit over the sleeve so people could still see them.
“You really didn’t have to move here to keep an eye on me, you know.” She told him as they moved to the dance floor together. “I probably won’t push Devereaux in the Thames, and I know you have a life back home.”
*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕
To outsiders, Laure and René moved together as one unit on the dancefloor; the picture of grace and perfection, with the sort of coordination one would expect from twins. It came from years of practice. Their parents expected a level of poise from them, especially at functions like this, and they couldn’t disappoint. In truth, it took many years of dance lessons before the pair stopped stomping on one another’s toes.
(It still happened, though those cases were more deliberate).
“You’re not going to push him in any rivers?” René exaggerated his eye roll by twirling his sister away from him, “Boring. I suppose I’ll be packing my bags.” He pulled her right back to him and they fell back into step with each other.
René hadn’t been in London all that long. He supposed, in a sense, he had relocated for Laure - but there was also far much more to it than that. Not that he could explain that to her. Not easily.
He spun her again, before she could notice the hint of sadness in his eyes.
“Dear sister, what life do you speak of?” he had to laugh, “No, I think I’ll be more suited to city living. I’m already enjoying it.”
The orchestra swelled with a tune that was familiar to René. It was upbeat and lively, the kind of song that you were meant to dance to. It reminded René of those few joyous celebrations he actually attended in his youth - weddings, and birthday celebrations, and Christmas dinners. The song was one of the few that could always get him out on the dancefloor - always with the same dance partner.
He approached them as they stood in front of one of the dessert displays, apparently considering a cascading tower of tarts. He tapped them on the shoulder delicately, and lowered himself into a sweeping bow with his hand outstretched as they turned to face him.
René knew he wasn’t getting through the night without a little bit of a buzz. Sure, the evening had been fun so far - but one can only handle so many high society ladies asking whether or not you’re still not engaged to another eligible Pureblood.
The answer was always no, no he wasn’t.
And so it was, René found himself sneaking outside for a smoke. The night air was bitingly cold, stinging his cheeks a light pink. The thick snow crunched lightly beneath the soles of his shoes.
Once he found a spot on the grounds that felt isolated enough, he retrieved what he needed from his coat pocket. He had to cup his hands around the joint to get it lighted, and then he took a deep drag.
He exhaled, watching as the smoke curled up from his nose and mouth and swirled upwards. He took another drag - just as the sound of footfalls against snow caught his attention. With a long sigh, lamenting his interrupted session, he reluctantly turned to see who was approaching him. His demeanor shifted when he saw who the person was, however.
“Mack!” he greeted his roommate with a grin, “What are you doing out here, man? Shouldn’t you be, like...snogging someone?”
❄️The Yule Ball ❄️
Location: Hogwarts Great Hall
Present: Devereaux and René ( @just-rene )
Devereaux had learnt how to charm people before he’d learnt to speak. It was second nature to him by now. He’d flit through the crowds and join conversations as seamlessly as anything. He had a wide range of conversations and compliments in his arsenal for any occasion. Except now.
How could you capitalise on nostalgia that you didn’t share?
He’d made the rounds regardless, having a few inane conversations before needing a break. He looked around for a friendly face. They were few and far inbetween in a country that wasn’t his. Eventually, he spotted René leaning against the wall and intently watching the orchestra play. He made his way over with two goblets of butterbeer, offering one to his friend.
“Christmas at a school doesn’t feel the same without those powder blue uniforms.”
René watched as the second chair violin missed their entrance and huffed in amusement; amateur mistake. The entire string section, in all honesty, wasn’t holding their own. And the longer the night stretched on, the worse the intonation got.
He was, however, being hyper-critical for no reason.
His attention was (thankfully) stolen away from the orchestra when Dev approached him. He accepted the goblet of butterbeer with a bright smile and a wink.
“It doesn’t, no.” He paused to sip at his drink, “But god, I don’t miss wearing those things. Felt like I was suffocating in them.”
René hated most clothing that pinched at him awkwardly and demanded his neck be constricted by a tie. He’d only worn formal robes tonight at the request of Laure; as it was, he’d already ditched his cloak and tie. With his ruffled appearance, along with the silly headband he’d gotten out of a Wizard cracker earlier that evening, he probably looked ridiculous. He didn’t care.
“So. You been spending the night with my sister?” He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. He glanced around, searching for a familiar face in the crowd, “I actually haven’t seen her in hours.”
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
dededos
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