runaway
disclaimer the following post contains brief mentions of suicide/trauma of being victim to the Cruciatus Curse.
♕- Late Afternoon, December 26th, 2025 | Caussade Residence; Yvoire, France-♕
Merciless was the mind — his own a never-ending cycle of harrowing inhumanity wrought upon by a Hogwarts professor, no less.
Since that early November day, the Toussaint boy had become nothing more than a slave to the excruciating memory, and each day following the recovery, Elmo's emotionless countenance — all his distinctive humanity once there, long stripped away by the booze the Professor had indulged in moments prior — etched itself into the deepest, darkest recesses of Alphonse's haunted mind. The signs of deterioration had begun to rot Alphonse's once smooth and charming features with dark undereye circles, a soulless gaze, a lack of eating, and an edginess when someone moved too fast. Such could be blamed upon the daily violent night terrors, yet the torment wouldn't cease in the boy's waking hours either. That devilish blank stare on Elmo's face lurked in the Haitian's mind's eye all around the clock, and the frequency and realness of both nightmares and daydreams overwhelmed his already weakened state of mind.
Even in dreamscapes, the Cruciatus Curse invoked upon the boy felt real — the raw, searing pain would yank him from sleep without fail. A desperate attempt to avoid falling victim to his newfangled, torturous flashbacks was to avoid sleep altogether — Alphonse didn't know what else to do, and succumbing to it felt like a trap knowing what awaited him the mere second his oak-brown eyes sealed shut. In the end, fighting sleep hadn't boded well; his grades were amiss, his memory lacking, and his temper quick and volatile.
To safeguard his newly-accumulated friends at Hogwarts from what the Toussaint boy was reducing to by Elmo's hand, he'd avoided them all unless avoidance wasn't an option and vacated the Gryffindor dormitories of Piérre or Siobhan for the time being — a visceral fear sowing in his cerebrum that the Haitian's company would poorly affect them too. Outside of classes and Quidditch practice — if Alphonse even bothered to attend either — his days and nights were sunk in his mother's office or in his bedroom at Hogsmeade, rotting away and staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Oftentimes, the eldest of the Toussaint brood pondered if he had made a mistake in dismissing the offer to transfer to Koldovstoretz upon his mother and stepfather's suggestion the following weekend of November 3rd; the weekend trip provided by his very own Djadja Aulya, current Director of Studies of Koldovstoretz, was extremely insightful. Naturally, the militant-like institution presented Alphonse with a new beginning away from the newfangled triggers of Hogwarts even despite Professor Break's immediate dismissal from Hogwarts, and Aulis truly wanted his godson there and had even suggested a number of ideas to make the transition easier for both Alphonse and his parents.
And yet, the Haitian teen couldn't fathom starting over at a fourth school and leaving behind another set of friends; he had no energy to start over — he had no energy for anything, really. Not anymore.
No stranger to despondency, the pubescent boy endured the turmoil every day of his life following last October 2024 following the explosion that claimed his Castelobruxo-native friends — a fate no one should have to face. It was survivor's guilt that called upon him; anyone in his immediate family could notice tell tale signs from a mile away, and Alphonse had since known what it felt like to be suicidal. To dream nightly of repreieve from the persistant numbness inside. To bravely trudge through the overbearing agony and be a halfway decent big brother and a respectable son. Despite the melancholy that lingered in waking every thought, every shadow, and every movement, the Haitian wizard persisted through the lackluster daily lull and grief-stricken nights under the philsophy of living life to the fullest on account of his deceased friends that could no longer.
It was a philsophy that boded Alphonse well; well, until Elmo Break, that was.
Since that day, the Haitian had lulled in an in-between space curated by guilt, lack of sleep, and agonizing memories that haunted his psyche. Sentiments of longing for death's embrace were not always on conscious thought at the front of the Toussaint boy's mind, yet remained lodged deep in the darkest recesses of his numbed cerebrum. It grew unbearable as of late, but his family and friends would keep the boy anchored to the land of the living.
Then, there was doting Geneviève Caussade — his beloved long distance girlfriend whose letters would not be responded to since November 1st. He made a cognitive effort to read each one and once attempted a reply, yet there were no words Alphonse could offer her to temper her frightfulness, and lying was the last thing he sought to do. It was painfully clear how much the Beaubaxtons girl had begun to worry about his sudden absence owing to the frequency of her letters and the growing desperation for a reply scrawled upon the teardrop-stained pages. Geneviève had even dispatched an owl to his mother on particular day with an apology for interrupting the workday, but begging and pleading for confirmation that Alphonse was safe. It was unknown what exactly the Herbology Professor expressed in that reply on her son's behalf, but it was likely concerningly vague and presumably unhelpful to placate the French Duellist's growing fear.
Over the course of the recent weeks following the torturous and horrific incident that occurred that particular evening in the History of Magic office, Alphonse was gradually returning to form and yet remained partially a ghost of his once boisterous self. He'd slowly begin eating just to keep himself from passing out, but anxiously worried about the state of the Toussaint-Fleischer home. The energy within their residence in Hogsmeade was underlain with subtle tension. Not particularly aimed towards one another — no, the Toussaint-Fleischer household remained united in that regard, but there were several closed-door discussions regarding the what-ifs and potential next steps.
Christmas Day was unremarkable; sure, Alphonse, Briar, and their sisters had been spoiled as any other year prior, but what should have been a perfect first Christmas for Célienne and Dèlia would be furthest from it. It was not without trying though — Sarai and Fabian attempted to make the most of the unsettling situation for the sake of the children, and the Toussaint boy couldn't shake the notion that it had all been his fault.
Because it was.
Every hour in the Christmas-decorated Hogsmeade village was a bane to Alphonse's existence; one, because they weren't in Maudeline and second, the sight of the distant imposing castle could be viewed from nearly every window of the Toussaint-Fleischer's Hogsmeade residence. Even if the Haitian's oppressor no longer taught History of Magic within those walls, this grim place once a secondary home now grew to be his nemesis, and the mere thought of returning cultivated dread in his mind.
It had only taken less than five months for the Toussaint teen to err away from the formerly bright-eyed boy he was known to be about two years ago upon starting his wizarding education. What a sick joke it all was now — attending the school that claimed his friends' lives, why would Alphonse be an exception?
And to add to his overwhelming melancholy, his mother decided to step down as Professor of Herbology too.
A sharp, foul hiss slipped the pubescent boy's gritted teeth the very second the Toussaint boy's clenched fist barrelled poorly into the newly acquired punching bag. Only the gods knew how long Alphonse had been unleashing this beatdown on the freestanding punching bag, and he abruptly quit now simply to cradle the limp wrist. It wasn't broken, but it hurt like a bitch all the same.
Moments later, an owl perched at Alphonse's window, and the boy pried his sweat-licked self from the wall of his bedroom that he'd saunter across the threshold to receive the letter the winged creature bestowed. His oak-brown gaze lingered upon the powdery blue wax seal, immediately recognizing it as Geneviève's personal touch. A non-hurt hand gently coaxed the letter from the owl's beak before gingerly shutting the window before additional cold air could seep indoors.
Geneviève; by the gods, he missed her.
His fingertips grazed the wax seal with care, but did not bring his soulless eyes to open it; it was dated a few days prior, likely a correspondence to wish Alphonse and his family a Merry Christmas or something to that effect. It was December 26th now, and it'd take six days before nearly two whole months transpired since Alphonse last replied to one of her letters.
He didn't deserve her — there was no denying the sentiment, and yet the boy's mind thought about the Beaubaxton girl everyday. Glancing at a picture of her home in Yvoire, a photograph she'd captured amid a pretty sunset, he unpinned it from the wall and examined it closely. In his chest birthed the idea of visiting Geneviève; with the European Floo system, the distance between them was an illusion, and surely Alphonse had nothing better to do with the remainder of his Christmas break.
Almost immediately, the Haitian was fulfilled with a newfangled purpose.
Cleaning his room spotless, packing a travel bag, showering, Alphonse finished his internal to-do list by writing a note to leave upon his freshly-made bed in case his parents later wondered where their son had run away to. It was likely that the Haitian teen would suffer consequences for not asking permission to visit his long-distance girlfriend, but he'd worry about it later. Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission, the boy often prattled.
With his family next door at Oziel's residence, the boy lugged his duffle and stepped into the home's chimney, grabbing a handful of powder to complete the ritual.
Suddenly, Alphonse was whisked away to a small wizarding alley of the French medieval town of Yvoire in a heap of smoke, where various storefronts awaited the French wizarding community. Had Alphonse not current;y on a mission, he'd stop and peruse around. Stepping from the chimney, the boy's frost-nipped fingers withdrew the photograph of the Caussade residence from his pocket while sauntering behind a group of locals to exit the alley. Amid the Haitian's impromptu adventure, his oak-brown gaze absorbed it all with fascination and awe. Everything about the tiny medieval town was picturesque, just as Geneviève described, and it didn't take long for his squinted gaze to land upon a distant building that matched the picture.
Cloaked as a foreboding foreign embassy to avoid Muggle attention, his long legs began to trek towards the chateau. With each step closer through the snow-slicked Yvoire, the building slowly began to shift in appearance owing to his wizarding heritage. By the time Alphonse approached the door, his body was a trembling mess between the icy temperatures and nerves.
Hesitantly, the Haitian rubbed his hands together to warm them before lending a polite knock whilst wondering what would await him on the other side.——mentions. @Geneviève Caussade
——notes. permission to godmod was granted by all parties. thread begins in Hogsmeade and transitions to the Caussade residence in Yvoire, France.
feb 14th edit- adding Sarai's departure from hogwarts that IC happens jan 24th.
Last edited by Alphonse Toussaint on 14 Feb 2026, 16:15, edited 1 time in total.
Remedy.
runaway
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Date: 12/26/25 | Time: Late Evening | CC:#B9D9EB
────────────────────────────────
The holidays around the Caussade Manor where more than simply a grand affair. For weeks after the conclusion of the official last day of Fall, the Winter season was officially brought into full authority as the servants and housekeepers worked tirelessly to assure the appearance fit with the changing seasons that the Earth provided. The halls of the manor where dressed in the latest fashion of Holiday decor, the current colors being of ruby, palm leaf and gold, and enchanted snow that dusted the ceilings of the halls without truly creating a cold front on the inside of the building.
Yes yes, a truly Caussade Christmas had come and gone but still lingered in the manor. However there was one individual in the household who was not allowing themselves to make merry and brighten the lives of those around them.
Geneviève was peering out the window of her room, which had been transformed from its ethereal angelic blues and whites into a rich aroma of the chosen Holiday palette. Her nimble fingers where pulling at a string that had frayed from the curtains as she looked out at the sky expectantly, waiting for something -anything- just to confirm that her suspicions and fears where not warranted.
What was she fretting about? Only the matter of fact that it had been a month and a day since she had last heard from Alphonse Toussaint, her boyfriend and attendee of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The last words exchanged by them had been a letter to him, inviting him and his mother to attend Christmas Eve dinner with her family and to come see her Christmas Dance Recital. Normally, the expected return delivery time of a letter between the two of them lingered between one to three days depending on their schedules or the time that the other had recieved the letter. Of course neither wished to wear the poor owl's out and this could also affect the time fram by which their responses made it to the hands of the other.
However a month and a day had passed. And with every passing hour, Geneviève grew increasingly frazzled and anxious. This was unlike him. It was nervewracking and it had her normally mostly composed sense of self, thrown off her routine. The first week, she had chalked it up to their exams having started and the both of them being busy. Geneviève had sent a quick "Bonne chance!" to the boy, wishing him a strong will as the semester began its downward spiral towards the Winter Break. There hadn't been a response but she hadn't fully expected it that week.
The second week, she had started to worry but forced herself to wait before completely freaking out. Geneviève had sent a third letter then, explaining that she was worried about him and even if it was just a simple one word answer, that's all she needed to assure herself that he was okay. Knowing Hogwarts, and it's track record of student safety or lack-thereof, Geneviève felt it was only proper to question whether he was safe. And not at all burned, drowned, in the Hospital, or under the ground.
When that hadn't worked and the third week was coming to a close Geneviève had allowed herself to enter into more of a panic. Was this "ghosting?" It was a term that had been thrown around by some of the muggle born students at Beauxbatons and while she understood but 0.001% of what came out of their mouths pertaining to muggle culture, she had understood what it meant to be ignored because one no longer felt the feelings they had once had for. Geneviève had written a pitiful letter, explaing that she was sorry that she kept writing... but that she missed him and hoped he would have a good Christmas.
And then immediately wrote to his mother.
The only thing she knew well about the Toussaint Matriarch was that she was fiercely protective of her son, but that she did not excuse his behavior when she believed him to being an absolute git. Geneviève had only seen it in person once, but from the stories that Alphonse had shared with her, never in a way that disparaged his mother it always seemed that if Alphonse had done something that Madame Toussaint believed to be wrong then she would not allow him to get away with it.
So Geneviève wrote to Madame Toussaint, begging to know whether Alphonse was okay. It was not even an hour or so before a swift and indirect response appeared.
'Geneviève,
At this time, I unfortunately cannot relay much information through owls. I can confirm that Alphonse is recovering well in my care, and he will respond when he feels capable.”
Best,
𝕾𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖎 𝕿𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙-𝕱𝖑𝖊𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗
Hogwarts Professor of Herbology
Geneviève had screamed when that letter had arrived. Recovering well? What did that mean? Was he sick? Hurt? Nothing had been answered for her and she had not been able to understand what it could possibly She'd thrown a conniption fit and ripped the letter up in absolute frustration as she had sobbed for hours. Where was Alphonse? What was going on that he was so sick that he could not write back to her? When she had calmed from crying she'd begged her father to allow her to go to the English Village where she knew that Alphonse stayed with his mother during the school year and allow her to visit him.
The pain of the anxiety had sent her to her own bed, with heart palpitations and a near nervous breakdown. It had been the worst week of her life. From then, she had taken to simply waiting by the window like a forlorn lover waiting for their dear to return home from a distant land that she could not travel. It was excruciating. All she wanted was to hear from Alphonse himself.
Today was no different.
Geneviève fussed with the curtain until a soft ringing noise notified her that it was time to enter the dining hall with her brother's and father. Despite the men of the family being incredibly busy, they made an effort to keep her company during dinner, especially given how fragile she had been lately. Geneviève sighed as she gathered herself and made her way to the table.
The delicacies on the table were mouth watering and prepared by a master craftsman. A delicate plump chicken was the center of the deliciousness, a whipped potato dish sat to the right while a plate of chargrilled asparagus sat to the left. Stewed greens and carrots where around the chicken itself and the meal radiated a tantalizing aroma which would send any person who sat at the table into a ravenous state.
Yet Geneviève sat in her seat poking at a stray carrot as her brothers and father conversed about their occupations and the French Ministry. It wasn't conversation she would have participated in on a normal day, but even so- she took care to remain quiet as she slumped as far down as possible in still a dignified way. How could she even think about eating when she couldn't think about anything but where Alphonse was and what could have possibly happened to him. As dinner wore on, Geneviève sulked further, even stooping so far as to rest her elbows on the table and hold her head up with one of her hands as the other stabbed at her chicken with her fork. This was clearly enough to gardner some sort of attention as her father spoke up.
"Geneviève- Elbows off the table." Micheal, her father, spoke using the tone that was reserved for dignitaries and not his usual loving father tone that he normally used when speaking to her. Geneviève's lip wobbled as she instead started to cry again, holding her hands to her face.
"Oh Papa I'm sorry-" Geneviève sniffled behind the safety of her hands. In the midst of the commotion and Geneviève's blubbering, a servant had bustled in and whispered quietly to the Baron that an unexpected guest had shown up and had asked for Geneviève herself. It wasn't uncommon for visitors to request a specific member of the family to talk to, but Geneviève was the rare exception to those visitors.
"Geneviève darling, why don't we cease these dramatics and attend to our guests. Te voilà ma chère fille... No more tears." The Baron had said more gently as he stood up and crossed to Geneviève's side, giving his daughter a hug. It was helpful. It was kind and and it reminded her why her family meant so much to her. They cared deeply for her...
Geneviève dried her eyes as she and her father walked to the front of the manor. She dabbed at the tears that continued to threaten to spill as she walked. Goodness, the emotions where far too heightened. She just wanted some peace in her life. Though it wasn't something that she believed she would have when the door opened and right in front of her, in the soft glow of the evening winter snow stood Alphonse.
Geneviève's stomach lurched.
─────────────────────────────────────
| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: Alphonse Toussaint@remedy norden | Translations: Bonne Chance! - Good Luck
Te voilà ma chère fille - Here you are my dear daughter |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Siobhan McCarty -PC-
━⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅━
Geneviève Caussade -iNPC-
runaway
♕- Late Afternoon, December 26th, 2025 | Caussade Residence; Yvoire, France-♕
Despite the cold that enveloped the young Caribbean-bred boy, the Caussade home's exterior was most certainly ornate and picturesque — a certain charm that distinctly set it apart from the medieval town as a whole, just as his girlfriend had described.
It was a given fact — a sentiment proven time upon time again since last February — that his doting Geneviève had a penchant for dramatics, albeit mostly harmless. Exuding with life in all facets, the French Duelist's words were no exception; her descriptions and emotions flared with lighthearted exaggerations, especially when it came to things Geneviève adored most. It was a trait the Toussaint progeny had eventually recognized since their happenstance meeting in Beautbaxtons, yet grew admittedly fond of. The surrounding medieval town of Yvoire was among the long list of things the Caussade heiress loved most and often the subject of conversation amid many correspondences, and for once Alphonse deemed her words honest, true, and free of flair.
What had been absent among Geneviève's many recountings of Yvoire was the steep temperatures that cloaked the medieval town.
Despite the thin layers shielding his skin from the frigid air, the occasional sweeping gales were so penetrating, they began to seep into his jacket, into sinew, into bone. Alphonse's skin was so achingly cold to the touch, and moving even the slightest muscle wrought agony to the Haitian's stiffened and rangy form. Turning the polaroid photograph of Geneviève posing in front of the chateau over in his gloved hands, the Toussaint boy cracked the faintest of smiles in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the searing chill while standing idly at his girlfriend's front door.
Surely Alphonse knocked hard enough to alert someone's attention — his gloved hand still ached in the bones from the contact with the cold wooden door. Were they not home?
Disinclined to relinquish the sliver of hope he'd clung to, the Toussaint progeny gravitated away from the door and towards a dry corner beneath the opulently decorated portico. Boasting a small decorative brazier, the delicate flame provided an acceptable waiting spot for the Haitian yet minimal solace to the frosty air. After the next few minutes come and gone since the notion registered within his cerebrum, the boy was beginning to assume it was a likely possibility and slowly turned away from the chateau.
Approaching the snow-laden steps to return to Hogsmeade, the chill of the air licked Alphonse's cheeks, tainting them a red hue from the cold. Icy hands pulled up his jacket's hood and adjusted the scarf to conceal his lips and nose; neither did anything to relieve the ache in his bones as Alphonse prepared his mind to survive the trek across Yvoire to reach the floo, but nonetheless his long legs prepared to make the trek. That was, until a squeak from the heavy door opening alerted the Toussaint boy's frozen ears, and his oak-brown gaze locked onto an unfamiliar face peeking through the gap.
Sudden relief washed over him in those mere seconds, and Alphonse stuttered from the cold, words muffled by his thick scarf, unable to push the words into the empty air. Had it not been for Alphonse's new Gucci jacket hugging his body, the boy likely would've appeared homeless due to his malnourished state, sullen appearance, and dark undereyes. Understandably wary, the man on the other side of the door wore an expression that screamed of blatant confusion at the Haitian's random arrival at the chateau.
Alphonse's form stood stark against the brickwork; arms crossed in desperation for warmth as the occasional cold draft breached his thin jacket, yet the Haitian uncovered his frost-nipped face from the fabric in hopes of disarming any tension at his arrival.
"B-bonjour, sont ils rentres? J'esperais— " but fate would be too merciless to allow the Haitian to finish. Hello, is the family home? I was hoping
Quick and snappy, the man rebuked: "Nous n'avons pas besoin que le trottoir soit déneigé. Pas de démarcheurs," then proceeded to close the door. In the nick of time, Alphonse's foot impeded the heavy oak's complete closure despite the pain firing up his ankle and a curse belted from Alphonse's gritted teeth, and the man let out an annoyed or astonished gasp or sound of the sort. We don't need the walkway shoveled. No solicitors.
Through gritted teeth from lingering pain and harrowing cold, the unfinished words caught in the Toussaint boy's throat: "Geneviève? Est-elle chez elle?" Is she home?
For the first elongated seconds following Alphonse's lackluster French, the man eyed the pubescent teen curiously and did nothing nor spoke a word. His wary gaze then dropped solemnly to the Haitian's crushed ankle before swiftly and wordlessly closing the heavy oak door.
Accompanying the shutting door was the unmistakable sound of metal locks snapping shut, so the pubescent teen assumed lest his ears deceived him. Reluctant, yet ultimately realizing he had no other choice but to acknowledge the literal slammed door in his face, the Toussaint boy sighed and accepted his fate. Silence was the only salvation offered as the dark, depressive notions began to take root in Alphonse's psyche once more — thoughts stemmed out of guilt for mistakenly abandoning the one person, beyond family, who truly cared about him. It was completely his own doing, yet he had dared to show his face at her family home, uninvited and unannounced, without a word for nearly two months.
Alphonse stood frozen and lowered his head in shame.
Knuckles whitened as they clenched onto the cold-edged photograph of Geneviève, peering downwards at it with a saddened, shaky exhale before carefully slipping it into his jacket's pocket. He'd loiter a moment more at her doorstep as the Haitian collected the courage to trek across town, but the familiar squeak enraptured Alphonse's attention once more.
Instead of a meek and wary stranger, there stood the Baron himself, noticeably warm yet restrained quality of the Caussade Patriarch, joined with a tear-streaked Geneviève at his side.
Gone was Alphonse's usual confidence and charm; abject terror were two of the words the Haitian could use to describe standing in her father's presence.
A chill streaked down the Haitian's spine, forgetting his breath and the ache of his ankle entirely — simply frozen.
In one second, Alphonse felt nothing at all but the familiar numbness and agony left behind from Professor Break's Cruciatus Curse, yet in another, everything at once; joy, sadness, regret, and something unspeakable — something beckoning him home. All it took was his oak-brown gaze meeting Geneviève's cobalt eyes to feel partially human again, but the feeling slipped away almost instantaneously in remembrance of the error of his ways once again.
His heart began its sprint, but no words would come. Would she want anything to do with him now?
A seed of self-loathing ached in the pubescent boy's chest. His soulless and sullen gaze lingered on the Caussade heiress a moment more, reflecting unspoken apologies for his sudden and unaddressed absence. Yet, deep within the recesses of his mind, Alphonse sought to escape her sight out of fear of what he'd been reduced to since the Cruicatus Curse that haunted his every waking second — a ghost of his former boisterously proud self; now broken, lifeless, and weak.
A sideways-falling sleet began to rain down across Yvoire. The wet and cold mixture of ice and rain snapped the boy into focus, initially overtaken by fear, exhaustion, and the sudden drop in temperature. He exhaled a nervous breath, and as the cold caressed his frost-nipped face and sleet pelted down on his jacket, the mental fog finally lifted.
"Monsieur Caussade, I apologize— " his sullen gaze subtly dropped to his daughter when the word slipped, aiming to demonstrate respect to the Baron while silently conveying his own remorseful sentiments to Geneviève, "—for the sudden intrusion. I came all the way from Hogsmeade to see Genie, if your family will have me. Sir."——mentions. @Geneviève Caussade
——notes. ----
Remedy.
runaway
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Date: 12/26/25 | Time: Late Evening | CC:#74b3ce
────────────────────────────────
Geneviève's hands clasped over her mouth as she gazed at Alphonse. The normally stocky and suave boy in front of her looked a shell of himself, as though he wasn't all quite there. The snow along his hair and shoulders looked as though it was weighing him down as though he was Atlas and he bore the weight of the globe. Her lip trembled as she listened to the plead that Alphonse gave to her father. She watched as her father looked towards her and debated what it was that was happening in front of him.
On the one hand, she knew that her father was aware of the last couple times that she and Alphonse had been together outside of school. Alphonse had been subjected to an asinine attack from her brothers and later she had accidentally ingested something along the lines of a… “bittersweet” treat as Geneviève had described it. The Baron knew that the boy meant a great deal to his daughter, but he worried for her safety. Cleary something of grave concern had happened to Alphonse. Of what, he was unsure, but he would be writing to the boy's mother and doing his duty as a fellow parent to inform her of where her son had wandered off too.
Geneviève pushed past her father and pulled Alphonse into the house. If her father needed a moment to gather his thoughts the least, he could do was allow the poor boy to wait inside while he came to a decision about what to do. Geneviève did not care what her father decided. Alphonse was here and he was alive.
She hugged him. Tightly but till in a loose form so as not to snap the fragile form in front of her. Her hand dusted the snow from his shoulders and his hair. His body felt heavy in her arms, and she could tell there was more than what had been relayed to her from his mother. Geneviève tsked softly to herself as she looked towards her father with the largest eyes she could muster- as if she was asking him to take in a wounded animal rather than her boyfriend who had clearly undergone something so unspeakable that he was shaking in her arms. When she tried to help him stand, his body faltered and stumbled. She caught him the best she could.
"Father please. You can't keep him out in the snow." Geneviève begged as the noise of her brothers coming into the room came from behind her. She heard the scoff of her brother's and she had to hold everything that she wanted to say inside of her head just to focus on Alphonse. Who needed her. And she needed to take care of him.
Geneviève looked at her father once more as the Baron sighed and nodded walking towards the two on the floor. Geneviève looked up at her father as the man bent down and rested his hand on Alphonse's shoulder, looking at him with a concerned look.
"Young man, does your family know where you are? How did you manage to get all the way... Never mind. We will discuss this later. You may rest here as our guest. Geneviève show him to one of the guest rooms and I will have someone bring you something to eat." Her father said as he gently helped Alphonse up off the ground, wrapping one of the Geneviève stuck herself under his other arm and rested a hand along his back. Dinner well forgotten, she and her father accompanied the ragged boy up the grand staircase in the Caussade manor. Geneviève remained silent as she and her father got Alphonse situated in one of the nicer rooms around the corner from her own. The colors inside were a warm neutral, a much-needed contrast to the snow and sleet outside. Geneviève gently wrapped the taller boy in the blankets, removing his jacket before pulling the comforter up all the way. Her father had crossed to the ornate baroque fireplace on the left side of the room and muttered a spell to summon fire.
The wave of her father's wand had a comforting fire roar to life against the marble. Geneviève hopped that it would help to warm Alphonse from the deadly chill that he had been subjected to. Her quiet hand rested against the back of his head, checking for signs of an impending illness that may or may not have taken root. Her lower lip rested between her teeth as she stood only to hang his coat on the coat rack by the door. As she did so, a scrap of paper fell from it and she noticed upon picking it up, that it was the photo she had given to him over an exchange of letters.
The first visit to her home was supposed to be one of endearment, one of memories where they could be together without the fear that one bad memory would ruin the experience. She had so many things she had wanted to show Alphonse about Yvoire. Seeing him so broken and barely existent in her eyes struck a deep chord with her. She didn't want to leave him. A deep-rooted need to protect him was carving out a place in her chest and she dared not take her eyes off him as he rested.
The Baron's voice warbled something about fetching a Healer to try and alleviate whatever it was that was plaguing Alphonse. Geneviève's head nodded along, barely acknowledging the sound of his footsteps leaving and the door closing, leaving just her and Alphonse alone. Her hands held one of his as she sat in a chair by his bedside like a grieving lover.
The minutes ticked by and the silence grew. Geneviève remained steadfast in her vigil as she finally broke the silence with a gentle topic.
"Yvoire is so pretty in the winter. Our gardeners spend time sculpting beautiful snow sculptures." Geneviève whispers as she pleads with whomever could be listening that Alphonse could hear her and that he was not so far gone in is head that he was lost to reality. "But the Summer is prettiest. Our lake is open for swimming and it has the most beautiful boats that visit. You were supposed to visit when there was beauty... What happened to you ma amour?"
The tears fell quietly, no sniffling or hiccups, just the gravity of the water falling from her eyes. Though she wiped none of them. The fear that if she let go of his hand for even an indiscernible moment meant she might lose whatever was left of him that was in front of her. Though nothing was said back to her, she continued to talk- trying to comfort Alphonse. Wherever he was in his head...
"I'll wait for you here... Rest..." She mumbled softly as she leaned over and placed the softest of kisses upon his brow, her lips barely touching the frozen tundra of his forehead as her mind willed the fire and the blankets to warm him faster and to protect him from whatever it was that had been so cruel to him.
─────────────────────────────────────
| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: Alphonse Toussaint@remedy norden | Alphonse and Geneviève have a standing permission to Godmod |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Siobhan McCarty -PC-
━⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅━
Geneviève Caussade -iNPC-
runaway
♕- Late Night, December 26th, 2025 | Caussade Residence; Yvoire, France-♕
Time was the kindest of enigmas.
At a blink of an eye, it was unbeknownst to Alphonse just how long he’d slept—thirty minutes, an hour, five?
The last thing the Haitian could recall within the dark and hazy recesses of his sleep-rattled mind was Geneviève’s gentle touch and soothing words. What murmurings his girlfriend had departed the Caribbean-bred boy with before he’d fallen into a blissful slumber remained unbeknownst to him, yet never before did Alphonse feel such an overwhelming sense of security and repose.
By now, he’d half-expected to be rattled awake by the damning recurring nightmare—just as the lion had every night since that torturous early November day—but this moment of quietude would bestow Alphonse’s haunted psyche with a brief respite from the familiar yet agonizing pangs of the Cruciatus curse.
Slowly and peacefully, his sleep-crusted eyes fluttered open to an opulent room painted in long shadows and flickering verdigris-hued firelight.
It was only then that Alphonse noticed the tension and sweatiness accruing upon his palm.
To his left, Geneviève’s hand gripped his own like a lifeline as she slept in a chair positioned bedside. Witnessing her peaceful, picturesque self had him breathless—the very sight of her, a beacon of light in the metaphorical dark storm that shrouded his life. Between summer camp and occasional sleepovers, this was not the first time the Caribbean-bred boy had seen his girlfriend asleep. Yet, the shadows and amber-hued firelight emanating from the marble fireplace played across her sleep-drawn features, painting the French debutante like a heavensent angel delivered to pluck him from the depths of Hell—and perhaps that's exactly what she was.
In a silent gesture of gratitude and equal parts grounding himself to reality, Alphonse gave her soft hand a gentle squeeze before rolling back onto his spine to stare at the ceiling for awhile.
For once since falltime, his tempest of a mind was calm and free of any gruelling thoughts, but the serenity wouldn’t linger long.
The Haitian knew that come sunrise, he’d likely be bombarded with a dozen questions, potentially another beatdown by the Baron’s sons, and a magnitude of consequences by his parents for running away, but in the tranquility of the moment with Geneviève by his side, the pubescent boy couldn’t bring himself to care. Alphonse could only be grateful that he’d received the privilege to visit the French Beaubaxton student, if only once during the winter holidays; it made every forthcoming punishment worth it.
But was it worth Geneviève’s heartache? Was he worth all the dramatics that seemingly followed the formerly boisterous boy at every waking turn when his path crossed hers?
A sudden self-loathing hit Alphonse like a tidal wave, and he abruptly ripped his gaze from her peaceful, sleeping countenance once more. His breathing quickened until his eyes clenched shut—from exhaustion, dejection, or self-contempt, he couldn’t quite say.
But the despondent boy suddenly knew what to do.
Not wanting to disturb Geneviève from sleep, overextend his welcome, and drag her into his mess, Alphonse attempted to gently slip his fingers from her ironclad grip to escape before daylight came. In doing so, the Haitian knew would be yet another betrayal against their relationship and possibly sever it for good—but the Gryffindor knew that Geneviève would ultimately be better off without him despite the initial sting of the moment.
It was better off this way, so the pubscent teen repeatedly told himself. It had to be. She had to be.
In his attempt to flee the chateau, the blonde seemingly only held his hand tighter in response. After some time had lapsed, he’d try once more. Fail. Then, another try, but this time she’d suddenly rouse awake with a sharp stir–
He froze in place with bated breath, and his oak-brown gaze wide with remorse, fear, and regret.
“I- I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up…” the boy urgently whispered, “I was just trying to-”
There was a small pause before a weighted sigh slipped his lips upon being caught red-handed, and he gave her hand a squeeze, “I shouldn’t have come.. I’m sorry for interrupting your family’s holidays and everything. I just wanted to see you.. to apologize for not writing back-”—mentions. @Geneviève Caussade / @Siobhan McCarty
—notes. al and genie have a standing permission to godmod.
Remedy.