Hussein Tamir Nazari
veela • magical five • artist


Personal Information

Full NameHussein Tamir Jakeem Nazari
Birthday24th of November
Age22 y/o
Zodiac SignSagittarius
Sex / GenderMale / Male
Sexual OrientationQueer
Romantic OrientationQueer
Relationship StatusSingle
BirthplaceDamascus, Syria
Living Situation
Languages SpokenArabic / English / French

Magical Information

Blood StatusMuggle born
Wand WoodSilver Lime wood
Wand Corephoenix feather core
Wand Length13 ¾ and slightly yielding flexibility
PatronusBrown Bear
BoggartA missile
Exotic?Half veela


Hussein is a quiet, reserved man that has little time for violence and anger. Raised in Syria, Hussein has seen the brutality that can be afflicted onto the world. He knows how people can be. Hussein isn't naive, he's not ignorant–he knows the reality of the world around him. Both in the muggle world and the magical. Both as prejudiced as the other. One cannot believe that the magical world is without flaws–it's obvious that it is ridden with them. However, Hussein still believes in the best of people. He has faith that people can get better. Hussein really blames those in power rather than the people themselves. Power, he believes, can corrupt a person, even when they have good intention. Whether it be power through a career or power through society. Even though Hussein is in a position of influence, he refuses to care for it. His role is to help people become their better selves. His career is not to benefit him but others. For this, Hussein has little time for materialistic objects and belongings. Hussein does confess that he often thinks people have too much, that it becomes shallow. He often follows the motto of 'keep what sparks you joy' and isn't a hoarder.

Hussein is kind, though, and always willing to give someone his time. Hussein is doing his best to help people and help them through difficult times. A motivational speaker, Hussein does his best to make the people around him feel better about themselves. Hussein is a pensive type of person, always appearing to be stuck inside of his head rather than the world around him. It always takes him a moment to respond, as if he was distracted by something else. That or he just thinks about what to say. Hussein is very considerate in that way. Hussein meditates a lot. If he could make a career out of it, he would. Hussein enjoys hiking, not for the exercise, but for the fresh air, the peace of it all. Hussein is also an artist but a street artist. He has decorated many buildings in Lincliff city with his graffiti. Sometimes political, sometimes not. But he enjoys it. He enjoys walking through the streets at night, sending his artwork throughout the world. To most people, though, Hussein always seems rather sad, the way he talks and smiles. Even when he's the happiest in the world, Hussein struggles to show it. He struggles to show his emotions and if Hussein was honest, he must confess he feels rather empty a lot of the times. But he seeks happiness. He seeks peace and quiet. With that, he's content. His bad habit is cigars. He loves them. He loves the movement, the smell even. He knows it's a bad habit and he's conscious of where he does it.


Hussein's story began in Syria, just eight years before he was born or maybe just after the eighteenth anniversary. Hussein doesn't take notice of the anniversary of when it started. When he was a child, what had happened surround his reality every day. A world before it was unimaginable to Hussein. At least when he was a child. His story began in March 2011 when nationwide protests erupted when the president used deadly force to crush a peaceful march. What resulted was long, long years of war. 365 thousand people dead with 500,000 more missing. Divided groups of people, all with their own agendas. International countries moving in–helping or aggravating the civil war was subjective. Hussein's mother, Alya, was only twelve years old when the Civi war broke out and spent her young teen years moving from place to place, trying to avoid the war. When she was fifteen years old, her own parents managed to send her to boarding school in France. Though her home life was almost non existent, Alya blossomed in the makeshift schools and was able to enter boarding school through a scholarship. It was an international school and hundreds, if not thousands, sought that position. However, it was given to a displaced teenager in Syria. A miracle.

Alya's life changed in France. She was overwhelmed with the simple but stable life she was given. Her horizons had grown immensely, meeting people from all walks of life. Alya was introduced to rock and roll, punk, classical. Gone were her days in Syria. Now, she was living the Western life. She loved it. She loved the music, the cigarettes, the concerts, the education. By the age of seventeen, Alya had practically forgotten the war torn country she had come from. Just before she turned eighteen, she met a man named Albert. He was of, with no other word to describe him, beautiful. He turned heads wherever he went. It confused Alya when he took interest in her and ignored all the people around her, even though they did their best to grab his attention. Naturally, as Albert was a Veela, she was attracted to him but she never acted on it or threw herself at him. However, only a few months later, she fell right into his lap–literally. She fell in love and threw herself into the relationship completely.

Six months later, when she was eighteen years old, she fell pregnant. When she told him, terrified and mortified, he disappeared only a few weeks later. Not sure what else to do, Alya turned to her parents, telling them what had happened in a letter. Apologizing, begging for their forgiveness, the letter took up nearly ten pages. Not being able to continue her studies in France, as they refused to let her continue when they found out she was pregnant, Alya was forced to return to Syria. She was kept hidden from the outside world. People were told she was married, that the father had died in a car accident. Six months later, Hussein was born. He was a quiet child. Rarely cried–in fact, Alya would say he never did cry unless he had been hurt. Alya thought there was something wrong with him. Something emotionally missing. Once thought he was a psychopath. Her punishment. However, he wasn't. But he wasn't completely human. He was half veela. Not that he or his mother were aware of this.

However, as he grew up and grew out of his shell, it was clear that Hussein had a short temper and often grew angry when he didn't get what he wanted. Alya, though, never condoned this behaviour. Having returned to Syria, though it's violence had calmed down by then (not completely but enough that Hussein had a somewhat peaceful childhood without being displaced), Alya found herself more of a pacifist than anything and taught Hussein how to control himself. She raised him on peaceful beliefs, that violence was never the answer, that kindness was important, that you could always improve yourself. Hussein, loving and adoring his mother, took her word as gospel and by the age of eight, Hussein was in despair at the state of his country. School was difficult. To get to one of the few primary schools in Damascus, he had to walk through neighborhoods full of damaged buildings, sit in classrooms with walls marred with bullet holes. He was taught how to protect himself in case of an airstrike. Even at eight, though, Hussein had dreams of making a life for himself and his mother. Getting out of Syria. Maybe going back to Paris.

When he was nine, he had his first magical incident. He was playing with some of his friends, playing football, when he kicked the ball with enough force to fly into the net and scored a goal. Thing was? He was on the other side of the field and it really wasn't that possible for him to kick that far. No one questioned it and his peers hailed him a football king. Afterwards, his popularity sore. Everyone wanted Hussein around. It became jarring, then, when he went to Beauxbaton. When he and his family were told about Hussein's abilities, they didn't believe it. But Alya was the firs too come around. She saw the opportunities that the French ministry was offering her son and decided to agree, even if she didn't believe in magic. Hussein was more hesitant. He didn't want to leave his mother alone. He didn't want to go to a strange country that ate croissants. No, he wanted to stay–even if it meant that he would struggle. Unfortunately for Hussein, he had little choice and was on his way to the French school of magic at age eleven.

Hussein didn't know French and he struggled to keep up with the people around him. No one really talked to him and left him well alone. The school gave him extra classes, teaching him both French and English to try and catch him up to his peers. As years went by, Hussein didn't really know anyone. Still that kid at the back of his class. Hussein hated the magical world. He was barely passing any of his classes and he found French jarring. They say it was the language of love. To him, it was the language of utter pain. When he was fifteen years old, he began to develop a crush on a guy. It scared the crap out of him. Especially when the guy kissed him. They dated on the down low for a year or so, the guy constantly telling Hussein it was okay. His feelings were normal. However, everything changed when he was sixteen, on the verge of turning seventeen and entering the final year. His family, both Alya and his grandparents, had died. They were on a roadtrip visiting extended family and they ran over a land mine. It should have been removed a decade before but it had obviously been forgotten. It was only because his grandfather thought he found a shortcut that they ended up being the ones to find it.

It was only a week before Hussein was returning home for summer. Hussein nearly didn't go back to Beauxbatons. But he couldn't stay in Syria without his mum, so he finished his final year and graduated with top marks. This year, though, he immersed himself into the French culture. Like his mum had so many years before him. He continued to see the boyfriend, had friends, and tried his best to ignore his mum and what had happened. Hussein ended up graduating with good grades, far better than he expected when he first entered the magical world. Afterwards, though, Hussein had little idea what to do with himself. Turning his back on Syria, he wasn't quite sure who he was. What his identity is. He didn't feel apart of the magical world, but he didn't quite feel aligned with the muggle world either. Hussein felt stagnant and for a year, simply moved through the motions, working odd jobs. What kept him going was his dreams. Each night, he dreamed of his mother. His childhood. His dreams are what he became excited for, but at the same time dreaded.

Eventually, he woke up.

It was when he was nineteen years old and was kicked out of home. Hussein had been struggling with rent, struggling to make money, and it caught up to him. Booted out of his apartment after forgetting to pay rent three times in a row. Not sure where else to go, Hussein lived in the streets of Paris, moving from shelter to shelter, struggling to get a meal. Six months later, in the middle of winter, he woke up in Hospital after suffering from hypothermia. The police had found him freezing to death in Parc du Champ de Mars. It was the wake up call for Hussein. Here, he met a friendly doctor who spent the next three weeks talking to Hussein through his problems, giving him a shoulder to lean on. When he was discharged, Hussein felt...reinvigorated. He nearly lost his life. He had a second chance and he was determined to take it. Hussein went to university, albeit a muggle one, to study psychology, wanting to give himself a life that helps people. He wasn't quite sure what part of psychology he wanted to throw himself into, but something. He eventually went into social work and by twenty one, he found himself in England, helping kids who have lost their homes and parents. It was a stable life. By twenty two, he found himself recruited into a show. Queer eye. Hussein was queer. He knew it and he was open with it to everyone he met. He accepted the opportunity. It seemed like something good to do.


Face ClaimToni Mahfud
Eye ColourIce blue
Hair ColourBrown
Voice Type
Blood TypeO
Distinguishing MarksN/A
Body StyleMuscular
ScentSmells like paint

Family Information

FatherAlbert Mccann
MotherAlya Nazari
Full SiblingsNone
Half SiblingsN/A
Other RelativesN/A


Significant Other(s)
Best Friend(s)

Name Etymology

Given [ Hussein ]Good
Middle [ Tamir / Jakeem ]Owns palm trees
Raised up

Surname [ Nazari ]Son of Nazareth


Nickname(s)Jakeem, Tamir
Favourite ColourSand yellow
Favourite MovieNone
Favourite SongDarb El Hawa
Favourite FoodCigar nut pastries with orange-honey cream
Favourite DrinkBlack tea
LikesCigars / Graffiti / Art / Traveling
DislikesViolence / Cursing / Smoothies / Technology
First KissSomeone in Beauxbaton
First CrushSomeone in Beauxbaton
First LoveSomeone in Beauxbaton
First TimeSomeone in Beauxbaton
OccupationMagical Five
Sports PlayedNone
Instruments PlayedPlays the Zither
SmokerYes, but cigars
GoalsTo find peace with himself
AchievementsThe Magical Five
Biggest HopeThat he's able to help people
Biggest RegretNot writing to his mum more
Best MemoriesHis mum's birthday
Worst MemoriesThe day he was told of his mum's passing
Mental IllnessesPTSD (to a small extent, not diagnosed)
Criminal RecordNone
Medical RecordNone

Custom Trivia


Tumblr peog1fF87q1untqm5o1 500.gif

Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.