Founding of Beauxbatons
From Magical Hogwarts Wiki
Newer than either Durmstrang Institute or Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Beauxbatons Academie of Magic is nonetheless one of the finest and most progressive magic schools in the world. Founder and first Headmistress Brie Papillonlisse was born in Marseilles France in 1672 ad during the reign of Louis XIV. Gifted with the Sight, Papillonlisse had her first vision at the age of twelve: a grand palace unlike anything the world had ever known sitting shining in the Mediterranean sun, a bastion of elegance and culture for the millennia of witches and wizards to come. Her grandmother - from whom she had inherited the gift - told her it was likely a metaphorical dream, stroked her head to check for fever, and told her to go rest. It would be years before she would mention it to anyone again.
The 17th century was an interesting time to be a wizard. The Sun King, Louis XIV, ruled muggle France as if by the gravity of his charisma, giving security to her people and the magical population that lived among them. The balance of politics and religion were so intertwined that they often seemed to be wielded by the same hand, all but transparent to those out of Louis XIV’s inner circle. France seemed indomitable, sophisticated and graceful, indeed the jewel of Europe. The secrecy between the magical and muggle worlds had not yet become quite as absolute as it would in the next four centuries; however, the tides were already turning that direction.
Two centuries earlier Kramer and Sprenger, under orders by Pope Innocent VIII wrote the Malleus Maleficarum - a manual to systemize the identification and eradication of witchcraft. By the late 1600’s witch burnings had become acceptable, even commonplace. Naturally it was very rare that a real witch was ever burned, as the ability to apparate even a short distance would make it nearly impossible for muggles to imprison a true witch. Nonetheless, certain wizarding bodies took up the cause, suggesting that the magical community needed to do something to ensure that ‘innocent muggles’ were not being slain for being mistaken for witches. This movement’s power and influence waxed and waned for centuries.
Kindhearted Papillonlisse was an early proponent of the separatist movement, that wished to divide the magical and muggle populations completely. She never married, but apprenticed under a great Seer in Paris, eventually returning to Marseilles to teach a form of divination that involved becoming in tune with one’s inner muse and allowing the sight to guide one’s hand in creative works. Her youngest apprentices learned to channel that gift into writing, drawing, or paint; then later into the manipulation of clay or wood; and in advanced classes, the students would learn to mold stone at will. These were always her favorite lessons to teach, for her heart had never given up on that shimmering childhood vision of a magical paradise. Working with the stone made her wish for that day, and perhaps that was why whenever she would surrender herself to the muse, it was that shape - a majestic palace with glittering clear glass and balconies that overlooked manicured gardens and the shimmering ocean.
Bellefeuille owned an apothecary in Marseilles, not far from Papillonlisse’s home. The two became friends over the years, though Bellefeuille was nearly twenty years her senior. Though his first love was for nature, the graying wizard had always found divination fascinating, so that much of their friendship was based on a sort of mutual tutoring between the two. Bellefeuille and Papillonlisse would walk in the woods or along the beach and cliffs and discuss the stars, the plants, and the change of the seasons… There was much speculation that they were lovers and much hope among Papillonlisse’s family that they would marry. In truth, neither was inclined. Papillonlisse had come to feel that Bellefeuille was important to her vision somehow; and Bellefeuille had a secret ambition that he was unwilling to share until he knew whether or not he would be successful: he was working to become an animagus, even at his great age. It was nearly unheard of, but he sought wisdom in the stars and in his friend’s talent, hoping to see his eventual success in her occasional visions.
The stars declared 1706 to be momentous year, though as the two friends sat discussing it beneath the New Year’s night sky, their conversation was more about the weather and what new apprentices the year might bring. That spring Bellefeuille was successful in becoming an animagus: a centaur - his new shape reflecting his love of the mystical and of nature. Less than two weeks later, Lothar Ombrelune, one of the wealthiest wizards in Southern France at the time, died at his estate in Marseilles. His only son, a famed wizarding architect, was recalled home to take care of his father’s final arrangements.
Papillonlisse had met young Ombrelune in Paris years before when he had accompanied a friend to one of the ‘separatist’ meetings. He had been singularly unimpressed by what he saw as a group of idealists who wished to treat the muggles like a child race. In reality, he did not care what happened to muggles, but the meeting would later prove significant. When Papillonlisse saw the young man at the funeral, she collapsed into a vision - the first time she completely blacked out since that first time at the age of twelve. In this vision she saw young Ombrelune digging a hole in dress robes while Bellefeuille stood by with a sapling, ready to plant it. At first the three seemed alone but suddenly a rush of children pelted by them on both sides, drawing her gaze to the ocean, from which they seemed to be materializing. Spinning about, she found not Ombrelune and Bellefeuille planting a tree, but the palace of her earlier vision, doors open wide to admit the hundreds of children running towards the building.
It took her three days to recover enough that she could tell Bellefeuille what she had seen, confessing her conviction that she thought the three of them were to build the academie together. As her friend, he wished to comfort her, but a palace? How would they ever get the money for land, materials, and labor? And young Ombrelune was expected to return to Paris as soon as his father’s estate was settled. Why would he even agree to see them?
But he did; and Papillonlisse knew the moment she saw the old chateau overlooking the sea that this was the location. Grasping onto Bellefeuille’s arm, she pointed to the sea, whispering, “Here… it will be here.” Bellefeuille did not know what to say. He had no wish to build a palace. Papillonlisse was his friend, but her vision was overwhelming to them both.
Ombrelune had not been fond of his father - a sentiment his father had returned. He had no love of this house, stately as it was, and had been debating burning it to the ground since he was fourteen. This was his first time home in nearly twenty years - when he had left to study architecture in Paris. Ombrelune had been born with a gift for hypnosis - a gift he had used to get his way even before he knew what it was. Once his father found out about the gift - considered dark by most wizard’s standards at the time - he nearly disinherited his own son. At the age of fourteen his skills had not been enough to sway his father to his side; but now that he was grown, educated, and experienced he had often dreamt of returning to make his father beg his forgiveness. Certainly he had had the power, but somehow he knew it would never feel like a victory.
Papillonlisse and Bellefeuille found Ombrelune to be charming, attentive, and vague. In truth he was inclined to dismiss them out of hand, as they were both… unsophisticated by his standards. However, Papillonlisse was persistent and there was one thing that intrigued him: building such a great edifice. Certainly he had his father’s fortune now, and he owned the land. Papillonlisse even agreed when he half-heartedly suggested that this dream-school teach hypnosis. For months the idea rattled around in his head until he found himself idly doodling elevations and floor plans. Years later he couldn’t even say when he became enamored by the idea, save that Papillonlisse’s passion was contagious, and that for the first time he had the time, money, and inspiration to create the ‘something grand’ that he had always believed himself capable of.
After some debate, they razed the chateau, using only the old cornerstone in the foundation of the new structure at Papillonlisse insistence, which is still clearly visible in the southwest corner of the kitchens. It took six years to build, even with magic, a six-story tall building with four eight story tall towers on each side. Up a short flight of stairs from the ornate and massive foyer, a grand ballroom serves as the main dinning hall, beyond which lay what would come to be the crowning glory of the school: the domed glass atrium.
Bellefeuille’s influence on the school design was two-fold: this majestic atrium which replaced the greenhouse in Ombrelune’s original design; and the stables, which were designed to be equine friendly with back doors to the stalls leading into grassy enclosed paddocks and a system to ensure that each stall always had fresh, flowing running water. Both as a centaur animagus and as a nature lover, his concern was always more for the grounds and animals than for the students that they were meant to be teaching.
The new Beauxbatons Academie for Magic was dedicated by the three founders on the night of the spring solstice, 1712 with an elaborate picnic on the grounds at dusk followed by a ceremony in the atrium which the trio stood before the small group of staff and students and declared their loyalty to the school and her tenets, shooting sparks into the air as one to signal the start of an elaborate fireworks show Ombrelune had arranged out in the bay. The school had begun accepting students before construction was complete, mostly older students wishing to study hypnosis, architecture, care of magical creatures, herbology, the arts, and divination; so that there were less than thirty souls there to witness the grand event. Over the years as they recruited a more diversified set of professors, they drew younger and younger students until like Hogwarts and Durmstrang, they were teaching basic magical skills to their younger charges while still maintaining the school’s reputation as the most advanced academie in Europe for the study of the arts, nature, and the social sciences.
For sixty-three years the trio ran the school together, dividing the initiates between them according to their talents and temperaments. The towers of the palace became the residences, one for each house and the fourth for the staff. At Ombrelune’s insistence, the public was granted the use of the central atrium for rent for elaborate functions, as the school was easily the grandest building in all of Europe during its day and the architect wanted it seen (though this practice was eventually discontinued). But allowing outsiders into the magnificent school added to its prestige, until wealthy parents from as far away as Algerciras and Amsterdam applied to send their children to Beauxbaton’s Academie.
Bellefeuille, the oldest of the three, was the first to die, leaving behind him a last gift for the school: the elaborate cloak broach he had worn daily for decades. After his passing Papillonlisse carried it with her, finding to her surprise that it wept whenever nature was violated on the school grounds. The enchantment, though certainly sad, always made her smile. It was just like her friend to think more of the trees and birds that called the school home than for the students it launched into adulthood.
Ombrelune followed him only thirteen years later, leaving his own gift: the small snuffbox he had always carried, though apparently full of dust and not snuff. His instructions were that it was to be carried by the headmistress or headmaster of the school everyday and opened only in the event that the school was in desperate need of protection. The snuffbox made Papillonlisse weep bitterly, for Ombrelune had always cared more for the protection of the palace that he had built than for the children it served; for Ombrelune’s instructions were clear: If the snuffbox were opened and the dust released, a flurry of shadow demons would emerge from their captivity, destroying any and all that would harm Beauxbatons.
For decades the three had debated on the future of the school: How could they ensure that the values the three of them prized were passed on to future generations? But it was not until four years after Ombrelune passed away that Papillonlisse had the vision that led her to the solution. She had been sitting in her office on the fifth floor, a block of wood in one hand and the crystal meditation orb she often used held unheeded in the other. For hours she had sat watching the sea wash up the beach and then retreat in the soft rolling rhythm that had always called to Bellefeuille’s soul. She missed them, her two unlikely and long-time friends. How could eighty years have passed so fast? It seemed just like yesterday that the three of them had stood, wands aloft and tips together, swearing a wizards’ oath to each other and the school in the then-empty central atrium.
The vision was so intense that it nearly killed her. In a spinning, whirling blur she saw thousands, even hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards walking out of the ocean carrying the same golden wand, standing on the shore and declaring their desire to serve Beauxbatons Academie just as she and Ombrelune and Bellefeuille had done so many decades ago; but instead of shooting forth three colors of sparks, as the founders’ three wands had done, one color was displayed for each student… thus passing on the sacred trust of the founders on year after year after year. The students served the school; and school returned that service by instilling in them the proud culture that the Beauxbaton’s represented; molding them into more than mere educated adults, but completed individuals that recognized beauty in all its forms: spiritual, natural, and logical.
When they found Papillonlisse unconscious on the floor of her office, the block of wood had been transformed into a statue of the three founders, wands raised and tips together, a model for the grand fountain that graces the central atrium to this day. Her mediation orb - which she had worn on a chain around her neck since she was thirteen, was still clutched in her other hand, now glowing so brightly that it was impossible to look directly at it until after her death. The force of her vision had been so great, that it had imprinted on the orb a sort of echo of Papillonlisse’s experience and wisdom. The enchantment came at the cost of her vitality; for though she would live another seven months, Papillonlisse would never speak again. She ordered a casket made for the three objects - Bellefeuille’s weeping broach, Ombrelune’s snuffbox of demonic guardians, and her orb of wisdom - so that they might be passed down together to each of her successors. Finally, she conveyed her wishes to have the wand cores of her two friends combined with her own. The gentle seer lived just long enough to sit on the dais as the new Beauxbatons’ sorting wand was used for the first time. Upon her instructions, the initiates were led up from the shore and sorted before the gathered students and staff, their backs to the sea, facing the school, as each one declared his or her service to the school, raising the wand and sending a shower of sparks into the air as an orchestra continuously played the school’s anthem. Papillonlisse slipped away in her sleep later that night, leaving behind her a legacy of love, beauty, and grace that survives to this day.
Welcome, child, to Beauxbatons Academie… your sorting awaits.
