Archambault: (n.) French surname; meaning "related to Archibald."

The Archambaults reside in the Archambault Estate, as it's known in English. The Archambault family has relatives scattered all the over the world - most prominently in Scotland and England where the Archibald family name ranks just below the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

They're a political family - widely known for their work in the French Ministry's Foreign Relations department and their participation in the International Confederation of Wizards. Several Archambaults have even held long reigns as Supreme Mugwump. In fact, one can always find a member of the family in a powerful position. They're happy to take charge, to lead, leaving them a delicate relationship with the Roy famille. If the family has had any scandals (they have, though they are few and far between) they are surprisingly good at covering their tracks. Perhaps due to their power, their enormous wealth or their renowned wand-wielding skills. Their main trademark, however, is not their wandwork. It is that every Archambault speaks at least five languages with the most common being French, English, Latin, Gaelic and Spanish.

The Archambault family motto is "Utilisez la connaissance de relation avec les soins." (Or "Use the knowledge of relationships with care.") It's engraved around the family crest of a tree, it's long branches extending outward and around, with an "A" centered on the trunk.


Josse Archambault was not enjoying himself. Instead of going out to play Quidditch with his friends, he was stuck babysitting his sisters on the last week of summer. It was the first clear day of the week and his parents just had to leave to London for the day. Merlin's pants, honestly...

There was nothing really wrong with Marjolaine, per say. She was nine, loved Quidditch as much as he did and was a huge cinema and Alchemy fanatic. He just felt a certain amount of disdain for her as, for some reason, their parents thought she desired human company. Weren't the House Elves enough?

"Josse?" He looked down from his perch on the window-seat and immediately stubbed out his cigarette. Merde. He hadn't meant to smoke in front of Marjolaine. In fact, he absolutely detested smoking in front of her.

"Oui, mon souer?" Josse prompted, leaving the ashy Gauloises on the silver ash tray.

Marjolaine's wide eyes never strayed from his, not even to look at the smoke in wonder as she'd down before. "Would you like to play some Quidditch?" She extended a hand towards him that held his precious Firebolt, the latest of the line. In her other hand was her own Streaking Comet 2200.

Josse felt something in his heart soften, a bit of his annoyance disappear.

"I'd love to, mon cherie."

When they made it outside, the sky was clear and bluer than his Quidditch robes. Marjolaine, in fluttering white flying robes, carried the Snitch in hand. Josse was actually a Beater and Marjolaine had preferred playing Keeper since she was five. However, since their positions didn't correspond well with each other, they both liked to play games of Catch the Snitch when they were alone.

Josse figured it never hurt to get in more speed or agility training.

"Pétale?" He strolled over to the House Elf they'd summoned to the vast, grassy back lands of the Estate. "Would you mind?" Josse motioned towards the Snitch his sister held and the House Elf nodded, bowing deeply.

"It would be my honor," she squeaked, taking the Snitch.

Josse and Marjolaine shifted to face each other and Pétale, well-practiced in this, dutifully released the Snitch and carefully, evenly counted to five before the siblings took off.

The wind combed through his hair and Josse immediately felt the tension from today bleed out. Merlin's pants, he loved flying. He let himself rise, higher and higher, until he had the perfect bird's eye view and slowly circled around. Below him, he could see Majorline flying long, repetitive straight lines that crossed over each other. It was another Seeker tactic and Josse found himself impressed - he didn't even know she knew, well, any Seeker's tactics.

It couldn't have been in ten minutes later when he spotted a glint of gold to his far left and shot out to it. In his peripheral vision, he could see his sister swooping up. The Snitch eluded them both, swerving up and right and left and disappearing. It left both siblings to breathe out heavy breaths as they broke away from each other to await a glimpse of it again.

Their Seeker's game lasted a little over three hours. When they dragged themselves inside (the score was 4-3 in Marjolaine's favor - her last dive had been simply beautifully executed), the sun was setting, the hour late. The sky streaked with rose pinks, brilliant gold, deep purple, faded blue behind them. They both headed off to shower and cool down, change into more respectable clothing.

At the glass dining table, spelled to have gold patterns running intricately the surface and long enough to seat at least a hundred, Josse was fairly surprised to find his parents already waiting. There were glasses of red wine in hand, both in more casual robes for a family dinner.

"Business was cut short," his mother said, her voice light and eyes hard. The stubborn English Ministry of Magic must not have been cooperating, then.

Josse let his parents tension roll over his shoulders as he drew his seat. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mère." Not a beat later did Marjolaine make her appearance, hair in twin braids and sun-kissed skin bare of jewelry. She froze at the sight of their parents and Josse found himself rising. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him questioningly and he shook his head minutely, guiding her to her seat.

"Bonjour, Mère et Père," she murmured, bowing her head respectfully.

Their father coughed lightly. "Bonjour, chéri."

Josse internally fumed at his parents. First, they stuck him with his sister and then they returned to ruin the amiable atmosphere that the siblings had finally achieved. Merlin, couldn't he find a break?

His parents murmured to each other as dinner was brought up by the House Elves and served and only when his father had taken a bite did Josse dig in. His anger stewed in the glinting dining light, hands clenching around silverware. He cut into his steak with the slightest bit more force than necessary. How he wished for a cigarette with it. He glared at the pepper shaker and it rushed over towards him. Down the table, his mother nodded at the plate of vegetables - which flew down the table to serve her.

His parents sipped wine from Italian-blown crystal glasses and Marjolaine looked down, clearly uncomfortable in the stifling atmosphere. The words that were exchanged were directed towards her and thankfully not Josse.

Marjolaine was soft-spoken and sweet, yet clever. She was the dream child, while Josse was sharp-tempered and silver-tongued. He was considerably less favorable in social situations despite his ability to make friends easily. It was a bittersweet thing.

"There's talk of the next European Quidditch Cup being in Milan," their father murmured. "I'll be going to sort it out with Etienne next week."

"Hopefully they will be very accommodating," their mother said and Josse didn't miss the implications of 'more accommodating than the English.' "Pierre arranged for rooms?"

"I'll be arranging for rooms, actually," said their father, taking a delicate sip of wine. "Would you like to come? Pierre's dealing with the talk of building a new neighbourhood in Versailles and reviving some of the lost streets."

Their mother shook her head, not a strand of hair out of shape. Her chandelier earrings, bought for over five-hundred Galleons from Greece, swayed just above the rich velvet robes that covered her shoulders. "It's my turn to host brunch for the ladies. Perhaps Josse would like to come?" There was something faint in her voice that sounded like disapproval. Josse gritted his teeth, took a sip of his cocktail he'd filled his glass with - vodka and juice.

"Perhaps," his father agreed and Josse had had enough.

"May I be excused?" he asked. His china plate was clean. His feet bounced against the pale palette, mosaic tile floor. "I have to get up early. I'm traveling to Spain with Leopold tomorrow."

His father's eyebrows lifted, just enough to be mildly surprised. "Ah, yes, you're going on a trip. You may be excused, give Leopold our best."

Josse gave the barest of nods and let his eyes hold Majorline's gaze a split second longer than normal, let himself feel sympathy for her to be stuck at the table with his parents while he escaped. But there was no excuse to get her away, so he fled.

Propping himself up on the same window-seat he had been occupying before, he lit up a cigarette and exhaled heavily.

Merde.