Nationality: French

Personality

If you were to stare into the dark brown eyes of Armand D’Eparvier, you would say she was cognizant, painfully aware. The soul of a thirty year old meticulous businesswoman from Soho seemed to peer out her eleven year old eyes, despite her average nature. It wasn’t as if she had such extraordinary talent or knowledge beyond a very average child. Yet, most who saw her would describe a future presence within herself, a poised, confident woman, able to achieve her whims with preciseness. They would imagine her, perhaps, in a sharp red suit, a tasteful glass in her right hand, a historical drama for literature in her other. In reality, she was a jolly child, but an average one. Yet her essence to those who knew her was a shining star. Everyone who met her would say to her parents, “A future ministry position is likely, or perhaps a headmaster.” Those voices were the adults however, who cynically, often viewed children through their future value, rather than the true ontological joy within a small human, that eventually is choked out, by the expectations of society.

Armand would rather describe herself as whimsical and curious, with not a desire to adapt to societal expectations. In her own words, “I want to know. I do not want to grow up. I want to never forget happiness. Adults are boring, concrete robots.”

Yet, in some ways, Armand would agree that she did leave an impression on people she met. There was an inner passion and light that drove her to achievement, whether or not such achievement was morally good or bad. Passion was all encompassing and a light of such kind need not be pure.

If you were to ask her, “Is this ecstatic expression of achievement, detrimental?” She would say, in her simple, child-like words that her passion for knowledge and achievement often led her to trouble, that once, she climbed up into the tallest tree in her neighbourhood, apathetically hanging from a branch. She wanted to know. She wanted to know what disastrous pain felt like. She had been coddled her entire live, especially so, with the fact that her parents were well-to-do wizards, with above average magical ability.
She fell. She broke her arm. She did not cry. Instead, she stepped into the house, told her mother who had already seen the events unfold, but could not stop her daughter, “My arm is broken, do be a dear and heal it, please.” That was a lie. However, lies tell more about a person than truth does at times. It displays the inner instincts of protection, of what you don’t want anyone to know. What was it that Armand did not want anyone to know? Well, she had never fallen. She had made up this story, because the truth of it, was that she was scared. She was scared of knowing and not knowing. She wanted to know the reason to everything around her, but it always made her be abandoned. She had no friends her own age for a long while. So she often pretended that she was average, acted like others were better than her, acted as if, she was content with knowing only and exactly only what was taught. In summary, she was insecure.

Physical Description
In alignment with her insecurity, or perhaps not, She was precisely 150cm, nothing more nothing less. Her dark brown eyes were warm and clear. Her dark hair braided and tied into perfect pigtails. Her cheeks were cherubic and her hands, dainty. She had a birthmark in the shape of a half moon on her right heel. Her right foot was half a centimeter longer than her left and when she smiled, a similar anomaly occurred with her lips. The right side always curved more than the other, imperceptible, of course, to anyone but herself. Her nose was perfectly pointy and singularly slender. The ratio of her upper body to her lower body is about 1: 1.6. To those mathematically inclined, a close approximation of phi.

Biography
The 21st of September, 2014, was a perfectly good day. The family that Armand would be born to, that fateful 9:21 pm, was perfectly good as well, or like all humans, tried to be.
The mother was Madeleine Siebert, youngest cousin on the father’s side to the now well known lawyer, intellectual, and extraordinaire, Emery Albrecht. She was a sprightly young pureblood of 28 years of age and forty weeks, three days pregnant. Soon afterwards, she would return back to her position as editor in chief of a French Editorial called, “L’Egalite.”

The father was Louis D’Eparvier, famous pureblood duellist, and director of a theatre troupe, successful enough to support a family. He was also whimsical and curious and from whom Armand received her personality from. The troupe was called, “L’autorité d’expérience.” The male name Armand was chosen for her by her father. When she asked why, at a precocious five years of age, her father would explain that his first love was a young boy named Armand who had died in a terrible duelling accident, where due to a miscast Knee Reversal Hex, hitting his torso, not his knee.

Armand grew up on four languages, two from each parent, German, French, English, Italian.
Her tutoring was from Emery himself, who had just returned overseas from his position in the German ministry of magic.

Though in constant engagement with other pureblood children, she found himself more drawn to conversation with Emery, who let her affectionately call him, “Emile” or “Albie.”
Her favourite subject was history and she found herself drawn to Merlin and the founders of Hogwarts, but also the ones who were the villains, those who made morally wrong choices, those who had led history down the path of the present.
Perhaps it was because she found it easier to lie than tell the truth at times.

Her most distinct memory was of cruelty and ignorance at nine years old. She had visited a neighbourhood park in London with Emery and his husband, along with her cousin. A stranger scowled at her uncles, demanding attention by throwing a bottle at their held hands. Her uncle had stepped in front of everyone in a protective stance and asked, “Please, not in front of the children.” The adults blocked her and her cousin’s ears but she heard one last thing from the stranger, “You have no right to say that to me, when you’re…”

She decided then and there that adults were concrete robots unaware of the pain they cause and unaware of anything beautiful.

First Instance of Magic

Her most distinct memory was of cruelty and ignorance at nine years old. She had visited a neighbourhood park in London with Emery and his husband, along with her cousin. A stranger scowled at her uncles, demanding attention by throwing a bottle at their held hands. Her uncle had stepped in front of everyone in a protective stance and asked, “Please, not in front of the children.” The adults blocked her and her cousin’s ears but she heard one last thing from the stranger, “You have no right to say that to me, when you’re…”

She decided then and there that adults were concrete robots unaware of the pain they cause and unaware of anything beautiful.

That day was a normal Wednesday, but it was a Wednesday that changed the rest of her life. Cruelty awoke her to the real world. However, perhaps the adults were right, because that future vision they saw of a meticulous businesswoman, metaphorically, that light, burned brighter.

In her emotional declaration of the robotic impotence of human adults, her emotions rose, and though she did not enact it, the very same bottle that disrupted the perfectly good day, shattered upon the mean stranger’s head. This was the day that changed everything. Though magic was familiar to her, this was proof her passion was beneficial.

Of course, adults instead then discussed the logistics of moving house to England for Hogwarts or to a Slavic country for Durmstrang. Armand believed they should have discussed instead the merit of heroism and sacrifice instead.