lucien alexandre de montfort ★ beauxbâtons

★—————— [physical]

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Lucien Alexandre de Montfort has striking stormy grey eyes that change hues depending on the colour of his clothing. If one should stare at these eyes, they will notice how the intensity of his gaze kept the target pinned down. He has a downturned smile as though he was resisting the urge to make it visible. He is fair-skinned, accentuated by his sable-coloured hair. His hair is thick and coarse, the ends had hints of waves.

[personality of lucien alexandre]——————★

Lucien Alexandre de Montfort adored painting since he was a child. He is born with eidetic memory; wherein he can memorise an image in only one glance in short periods of time. He utilises this gift in his artworks, copying the shape down to the colours - even the tiniest bits of details a common person will not be able to notice. He is wise for his age, one can perceive that he talks in astute phrases he memorised from poems he read before. He brings his sketchbook everywhere he goes, as he never knows when inspiration strikes him dead in the eyes.

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He always had a certain faraway look in his grey eyes, which indicated him thinking about something in-depth. It can be a beautiful scenery he remembered years ago, or a heart-throbbing colour he cannot copy with his watercolours.

★—————— [background of lucien alexandre] ——————★

Lucien Alexandre de Montfort is a pure-blood born from the noble house of de Montfort, the only son of Théodore Montfort and Noémie Fabregue-de Montfort. Fabregue women are widely popular in the Wizarding World for their infertility. Therefore, Lucien's birth on November 27th of 2012 is one considered as a miracle, the light of the endless tunnel – namely, his birth to their loveless marriage. Noémie Fabregue-de Montfort loved her son dearly, as Lucien is the living proof of her capability to become a mother, a ticket to her chance in motherhood, that she is not cursed unlike the Fabregue women before her. Noémie ended that cycle. However, loving one's offspring does not mean one is good with parenting. The Fabregue woman occasionally uses her son to get close to her aloof husband, initially thinking that it is not late for the both of them yet.  Théodore de Montfort celebrated the birth of his only son, made sure to host a formal party and paid the tabloids excessively for this delightful news to be first page. He laughed merrily and it appears that the lines on his forehead temporarily vanished. Nevertheless, the birth of the sole heir to the house of de Montfort did not make him any more tolerant with his expectant and wretched wife.  Loving one's offspring does not mean one is being present, either. Lucien was technically raised by his personal maid, an old woman named Claudette; handpicked by Théodore himself. Claudette was present in the earlier years of his young life. This nanny was the first person to notice his remarkable memory, the first person to notice his passion with arts, the first person to shape his virtue and morality. Lucien grew up to be empathetic as Claudette inevitably became his role model. The mention of a mother figure would make Lucien automatically think of the motherly presence of Claudette.  Noémie became jealous of their close relationship. Lucien's nanny seemed more like a doting mother to him than she ever could. Upon

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her request and constant nagging to her husband, Claudette was fired from her job as a maid and was let go with a parting gift for her loyalty to the house of de Montfort. Lucien never saw her again. In fear of eventually forgetting her face as years went by, he kept a sketch of her portrait in his chambers. The de Montfort large estate is located in the Southeastern French department called Haute-Savoie. No de Montfort came out inferior – all contributed even a little to the history of the Wizarding World, and Théodore intended for his name to be that way forevermore. Thus, he hired exemplary private tutors and scholars from across France and Switzerland for Lucien's early education. As expected, the boy excels in learning and finds no trouble digesting the material given to him. His father also helped him pursue his burning passion for arts and squeezed in more subjects  in his schedule, among other things.  Lucien did not bore hate or resentment towards his parents for their imperfections as adult figures in his life. It did not bother him in the slightest that his father only shows love through gifts he spoiled him with, like a new set of paintbrushes and acrylic paint. It did not bother him in the slightest when his father only praised him for his performance and never complimented him as an actual person.  What bothered Lucien the most is the dynamic of his parents together, as public figures and behind closed doors. Noémie undoubtedly did everything to catch her husband's attention, to the point she was already neglecting her son. In comparison, Théodore never once looked in Noémie's way. Lucien notices how his father's eyes never meet his mother's. It was rumoured between the servants that a long time ago, Théodore de Montfort once fell in love with a Muggle woman and they accidentally conceived a child. That he would have been with her if not for his parents’ interference.  Lucien Alexandre de Montfort enrolled in Beauxbâtons, wondering what love looks like.

★—————— [first instance of magic] ——————★

“Maman,”  Lucien Alexandre de Montfort is already five years old. He has luscious, sable-coloured hair that reaches to his nape. His cheeks are plump and flushed from the hot, summer air. He is a delight around the large estate, as under Claudette's care he grew up to be the sweetest boy in Haute-Savoie. Dramatically described, but never hyperbolic.  Being a five-year old, Lucien is already very curious. He does not cry about boo-boos anymore, braving it out especially when he is in front of his nanny. Claudette would always notice, his pout visible as it trembled. Nowadays, he does not ask to be carried around, by Claudette or his father, Théodore.  As far as he was concerned, Lucien is a big boy now. He has been learning what is right and what is wrong; what is considered beautiful and what is not. Théodore frequently asks what he is partial with these days, and in those times Lucien always answered why he finds the stars beautiful and would love to accompany them at night, if they so desire. Théodore notices the dreamy twinkle in his wintry eyes, and thinks none of it as the boy is only five.  However, he did not notice that the boy is a prodigy in art. Might have been a gift from the deities, Lucien was born with a remarkable memory. He can already sketch a slight likeliness of his subject. The boy likes to draw what he deemed as very beautiful, and he was sketching his personal maid and the old woman who practically raised him, Claudette. He sketched portraits of her cooking and cleaning, with flower doodles on the border. Lucien's muse changed when he finally noticed that his mother, Noémie Fabregue-de Montfort, does not pay much attention to him compared to what Claudette gives to him. Even he can proudly say that Théodore was surprisingly more attentive to his daily activities than Noémie. Which he finds very curious and kind of strange.  So, just like any other child who craved the attention of a figure very dear to them, Lucien started clinging towards his mother like a leech – sketching her and showing her the examples every other minute if it was possible before Noémie calls for Claudette to make him play around the garden.  Just like today.  “Maman, je t'ai encore dessinée. Regarde mon dessin,” Mama, I drew you again. Look at my drawing. Lucien babbled excitedly, waving a parchment over Noémie's vanity table as she busily put on make-up with her sycamore wand.  “C'est très joli, mon doux ange. Je le regarderai plus tard ce soir, en rentrant du bal auquel je vais avec ton Papa.”

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That's very nice, my sweet angel. I will look at it later in the evening once I come back from this ball I am attending with your Papa. Noémie waved a dainty hand dismissively, her grey eyes still on the old vanity mirror in front of her as she meticulously looked for imperfections in her delicate face. The de Montfort matriarch particularly clicked her tongue when she saw an open pore just between her eyebrows. She was already itching to bark on a maid for expensive skin oils.  Lucien did not notice the dismissal.  What the five-year old only noticed is how pretty his mother is; like the essence of refreshing spring air after a draining winter day. Or marguerites blooming below low church bells from this poem he read from a disheartened poet living near Rainbow Hill. That poet talked about loss and waiting by the marguerites, the intonation of the poem somewhat unclear for Lucien. He draped his small head on the unoccupied space of the vanity table, his grey eyes twinkling as he watched his mother fuss over this one pore, muttering about refusing to be blemished in front of the infamous Lady Morissette, a person Lucien met the other day; a plump woman with an odd, shrilly laugh that hauntingly echoes in the room.  All of a sudden, blooming marguerites emerged from Noémie's hazelnut tresses, carefully pinned to an intricate braid. They are small, some framed her face. They matched her ball gown, which made the woman gasp as she leaned towards the mirror to get a better look. Lucien jumped from his position.  “Oh, mon doux, doux ange,” Oh, my sweet, sweet angel. Noémie muttered to herself before she turned her gaze to her son, who was looking up at her in wonder. She pulled Lucien for a hug, planting soft and tender kisses on his sweet head, her dainty fingers carding through his messy, sable-coloured hair. “Pourquoi n'y ai-je pas pensé? Lady Morissette sera jalouse de la beauté que tu m'as apportée.” Why did I not think of that? Lady Morissette will be jealous of how pretty you made me look.  Lucien giggled happily.  “Pourquoi dois-tu être plus jolie que Lady Morissette, Maman?” Why do you have to be prettier than Lady Morissette, Mama? “Parce que Lady Morissette se croit plus jolie que tout le monde. Ce qui est tout simplement faux.” Because Lady Morissette thinks she's prettier than everybody else. Which is simply not true.  “Je pense que Maman est plus jolie que tout le monde!” I think Mama is prettier than everyone else!  Noémie chuckled as her son burrowed his face in her neck excitedly as he exclaimed how he thinks his mother is prettier. The matriarch did not even notice that this is Lucien's first instance of magic. What she boastfully told to the people who are willing to listen was how the small flowers embedded in one's tresses or braids became a trend in Haute-Savoie for a month.