It’s been just two weeks since the mass breakout at Azkaban Prison, and so far no one has claimed responsibility for the disaster. The Ministry is scrambling to figure out what exactly happened, and who exactly was responsibly, as the general public waited for answers that didn’t seem to be forthcoming any time soon.
Meanwhile, the Children of Sanctus were plotting their next move. They had just released the strongest and most dangerous of the Dark Lords followers from prison, but knew they would need to recruit more to the cause and needed to strike fear into the hearts of Wizarding society--lest they forget the terror they had felt merely four years ago.
So they waited, and they watched--carefully picking their first round of victims from the cesspool. Crafting carefully written letters, with spells designed to cloak themselves. It was now time to act. It was now time for the Children of Sanctus to bring back the reign of terror.
OOC:
We are so excited to bring this first event to you all! For this event we ask that you please open your submit page
We’ve randomly generated ten names from our members and throughout the day these members will receive letters via there submit page. It’s required that all members who receive a letter, post it and then react to it IC in whichever way you want too.
We ask that you please tag these posts with sanctusevent001, and please like this post once you’ve read it.
We see that you are currently working as a Spell Creator. How is that going for you? It must be nice, or at least much better than being a failure of a wife. So young, and already so successful. We congratulate you on your accomplishments, truly. However, creating and experimenting on spells aren’t the only thing you have to worry about anymore. As you may have noticed, this Ministry has made a turn for the worst from four years ago. Foul creatures like werewolves and house elves were kept under wraps, and those muggleborn abominations were removed from our sacred community, either by force or, if they were smart, by their own motivations. This place has become too tolerant, and we have had enough.
During the war, you claimed to be apart of the Order of the Phoenix. Yet, you hid yourself away in your little cottage.You may have won last time, but we are a force unlike one you’ve ever seen. You and your unborn child won’t be safe. You can’t protect them, you can’t even protect yourself, just like you couldn’t keep your husband happy. It must be horrible to be a horrible wife and mother, doesn’t it?
Lord Voldemort had a vision, and it does not die with him; he did not die in vain. He is still here, for as long as we live, he exists through us. We’re here to finish what he started. A new world is coming, a world where the pure flourish, and the impure squirm beneath our feet. We will no longer hide from muggles. We will not allow the weakest of the weak rule our planet. We will take back what is ours, and put them back in their rightful place. Nature is as nature does, the strong will live and weak will die. Natural law is coming to run its real course, and you can try and stop it, but in the battle between will and nature, nature always wins. It is a new dawn for wizard kind, and we suggest you prepare for it.
A few years ago, the only letters Fleur received were from her family. Now that she was working as a Spell Inventor and publishing books with some of her inventions, it was common to receive almost hundreds of letters either congratulating her or asking about doubts and telling her their ideas. She hadn’t grown quite used to it, as expected, and ended up hiring a person not only to check if those letters were all safe, but also sending her the most important ones. She had a daughter to take care of, a husband to love, a family to be with and a job of certain importance; in other words, no time to read as many fan messages as she wanted.
What she wasn’t expecting was a letter to appear in the middle of the living room.
It took her a while to notice the envelope, at first she was busy taking care of Victoire, checking if she had dressed up just as she was told and eyeing the toys the little one was now carrying. Fleur could never hide a smile when around her daughter, she was so little and cute and elegant and perfect, just what she always imagined for a first-born. It was also so fun seeing her walk, her little legs constantly searching for a posture just like her mother, but sometimes being won over by Victoire’s desire to reach a place in little time. Now, for example, Fleur could see the dragon she loved to play with a few meters ahead, and Victoire abandoned elegance to go get the toy Charles gave her.
And because of all that, her attention wasn’t on the house’s decoration. It should have been, though, because the piece someone somehow managed to leave there entered her eyesight the second she turned around. Instead of walking directly at it, Fleur made sure to get her wand first, for some reason feeling as if something terrible was about to happen. Sixth sense, she thought. Not the type muggle writers liked to use in horror books, but the type only a mother could have. If anyone entered the house, they would probably have an awkward vision: Fleur Delacour pointing her wand to a letter and slowly getting closer to it. But she knew protection would never be enough when her daughter was around, let alone knowing she was carrying an unborn baby. At least nothing happened when she got to the letter, and sat on the sofa to read what was inside.
(…)
No name, address, indication, nothing. There was not a thing to tell Fleur who exactly had left it there. Nothing of importance enough to show just who was the sick mind who sent her that letter.
No, it wasn’t a letter. That was worse. It was a threat.
“You and your unborn child won’t be safe. You can’t protect them, you can’t even protect yourself”
By the middle of the letter, she couldn’t breathe anymore. Her mouth was dry, her heart racing and she knew the sensation would be better if someone had punched her repeatedly in her stomach. The things written in that letter, the things some sick mind wrote, it was.. it was… she couldn’t even formulate a phrase to explain it, couldn’t even tell herself how she felt about such message. It was awful. Terrible. Someone was telling her they knew things only three other people in the world knew - three people that would never share the news. Someone was telling her she wasn’t safe, but Fleur wasn’t paying attention to it; they were telling her that her children weren’t. Victoire and the little girl or boy who wasn’t even born yet.
She kept reading, though. No matter how much her head hurt by then or how many tears fell down her face, she couldn’t stop reading. It wasn’t curiosity, it wasn’t a desire to have someone figuring out some of her worst fears and shoving them in her face, none of that could explain why she kept reading. It was worry and hope - hope that something might indicate who had sent it, because at least she would have a chance to get to the person and make sure they would never try threatening her and her family again. But there wasn’t, she knew there wouldn’t be anyway.
When she reached the end, Fleur wanted to be angry about it. She wanted to feel rage. She wanted to be able to stand up and go looking for the motherfucker who thought it was a good idea to do such thing to her. But she couldn’t. Somehow, she found no strength to get up, let alone think of a plan. All she could do was wipe away the tears and wait for everything inside her to calm down, but it didn’t work either. Instead, she felt sick - literally and figuratively. The letter was dropped, forgotten, just for a few minutes, enough time for her to run to the bathroom and vomit. Unfortunaly, she couldn’t let go of her emotions like that, it wasn’t that easy. Worse, she couldn’t even stop crying to begin with.
She returned to the living room, though. This time, not to the letter. She had left it there, in the sofa, glancing at it for only a second before staring at Victoire. Before, she had been playing so peacefully with her dragon, so happy to be at their house doing something that would never hurt anyone. Victoire had never hurt anyone. For Merlin’s sake, she had never done anything bad, she was a great child, better than she and Bill had ever been (it hurt even more to think of Bill, she was now aware of their new child, they had just ‘gotten back together’, it hadn’t been one week even). And yet, she was exactly who they had promised to attack. For a moment, mother and daughter stared at each other - mother, worrier, daughter, trying to understand just why her mother was crying, why she had run to the bathroom and why she was now walking in her direction and hugging her tight?
Because Fleur couldn’t stop herself from doing that. She simply did it, hugged her daughter in the floor, caressed her hair and whispered words of love in her ear. It was all she could do right now, all she needed. If someone was planning to do something to them, if they could see and hear things most people wouldn’t, at least they would know they would have to get her first to reach anyone she loved.
And she made a promise to be the hardest challenge right there if the time ever came.
[If anyone wants a thread out of it, just tell me!]
We see that you are currently working as a Author. How is that going for you? It must be nice, or at least much better than rotting in prison next to the other Death Eaters. So young, and already so successful. We congratulate you on your accomplishments, truly. However, exploiting the Dark Lord’s true followers isn’t the only thing you have to worry about anymore. As you may have noticed, this Ministry has made a turn for the worst from four years ago. Foul creatures like werewolves and house elves were kept under wraps, and those muggleborn abominations were removed from our sacred community, either by force or, if they were smart, by their own motivations. This place has become too tolerant, and we have had enough.
During the war, you claimed to be a Death Easter. Yet, you made money selling the Dark Side’s secrets. You’re a coward, Theodore, and we despise cowards. You may have been released from prison, but we are a force unlike one you’ve ever seen. You won’t be safe from us. You can’t protect you’re loved ones, you can’t even protect yourself, just like you couldn’t save your mother. I wonder how she’d feel knowing that her son has turned into such a disappointment?
Lord Voldemort had a vision, and it does not die with him; he did not die in vain. He is still here, for as long as we live, he exists through us. We’re here to finish what he started. A new world is coming, a world where the pure flourish, and the impure squirm beneath our feet. We will no longer hide from muggles. We will not allow the weakest of the weak rule our planet. We will take back what is ours, and put them back in their rightful place. Nature is as nature does, the strong will live and weak will die. Natural law is coming to run its real course, and you can try and stop it, but in the battle between will and nature, nature always wins. It is a new dawn for wizard kind, and we suggest you prepare for it.
The letter sat undisturbed tied to the gate of the Nott Manor when Theodore woke up and found it. Opening it when he got inside, he quickly scanned over the content of the letter, again and again. Should he believe it? Should he ignore it? Theo could feel the fear and anxiety rising up in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feelings he had gone through on his first day being out, not sure how the public would receive him, and yet here was that fear again.
Throwing the letter into a desk drawer, he quickly closed it and locked it. Right now Theo didn’t want to see the letter it worried him too much, brought forth too much fear and too much anxiety. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, he knew he’d be up all night in a cold sweat. He had to go to the Ministry with it eventually, but not yet, not as soon as he got it. He need to take a few days and prepare himself mentally, and physically for the questioning that would come with this letter, and even worse, the whispers that would come with it.
Slowly Theo slid to the floor, his back against the desk the letter was locked in, they knew where he lived, they read his book, and he had a mark on his back now. While he was once worried about people whispering things about him, he now had to live in fear of someone ending his life over this book. Why was he so stupid? Why did he have to write his book? Why did he feel the need to bring these problems upon himself?
We see that you are currently working as a shop owner. How is that going for you? It must be nice, or at least much better than being the jokester . So young, and already so successful. We congratulate you on your accomplishments, truly. However, the death of your brother isn’t the only thing you have to worry about anymore. As you may have noticed, this Ministry has made a turn for the worst from four years ago. Foul creatures like werewolves and house elves were kept under wraps, and those muggleborn abominations were removed from our sacred community, either by force or, if they were smart, by their own motivations. This place has become too tolerant, and we have had enough.
During the war, you claimed to be apart of the Order of the Phoenix. You may have survived last time, but we are a force unlike one you’ve ever seen. You and your precious family won’t be safe. You can’t protect them, you can’t even protect yourself, just like you couldn’t save your brother. Do you really think he would be proud of you?
Lord Voldemort had a vision, and it does not die with him; he did not die in vain. He is still here, for as long as we live, he exists through us. We’re here to finish what he started. A new world is coming, a world where the pure flourish, and the impure squirm beneath our feet. We will no longer hide from muggles. We will not allow the weakest of the weak rule our planet. We will take back what is ours, and put them back in their rightful place. Nature is as nature does, the strong will live and weak will die. Natural law is coming to run its real course, and you can try and stop it, but in the battle between will and nature, nature always wins. It is a new dawn for wizard kind, and we suggest you prepare for it.
There was a constantly growing stack of mail in the corner of George’s office. Every morning, he’d flip through the pile of unopened bills and letters to see if there was anything of interest among the previous days’ rejects. He had checked it this morning and found nothing that caught his attention, but now there was a new letter addressed to him, clearly centered on the stack.
Not recognizing the handwriting, he picked it up and checked the back for any indication of who sent it. Finding no identifying marks, he tore it open and read…
…You and your precious family won’t be safe. You can’t protect them, you can’t even protect yourself, just like you couldn’t save your brother…
His breath caught as he read the words for they were true. Even though he didn’t blame himself for Fred’s death, there wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t regret that he wasn’t able to save him - that he hadn’t even been there with him. Just thinking about it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.
He continued reading, frowning deeply. One thing was clear. Who ever wrote the letter did know him very well or they’d have known Fred would be bloody proud of him for what he’d done with their joke shop and how he’d supported their family. In fact, the only thing Fred would complain about would be the time George spent mourning Fred and feeling sorry for himself. George could just imagine his twin shouting “For Merlin’s sake, Georgie, its been four years! I’m glad you miss me, but get on with your life while you still have your dashingly good looks about you!”
George smiled bitterly at the thought before he remembered what had conjured it. He returned his attention to the letter with a sigh. The rest was just evil wizard babble, as Fred would have called it. Fred would have laughed about it, told him not to worry, and made a joke about how threat letters are just a cowards way of lashing out. But Fred had never lost a sibling.
George reread the letter twice, and when he’d finished, he realized he was furiously pacing his office. Maybe it was an empty threat. Maybe it was a coward trying to stir up trouble. But he wasn’t about to assume the best when the worst was clearly more likely.
He pocketed the letter and grabbed his coat. He couldn’t be the only one to have received such a horrid threat. Chances were he wasn’t the only Weasley that had gotten one, considering how involved his family was in the war. He’d visit his family to make sure they were safe, and see if any of his siblings had the misfortune of being on this psychopath’s mailing list along with him.
Harry: "Hello. My name is Auror Potter -- which you already know -- and I just have a few questions for you. Please know that you're not being charged with any crime. We're just trying to get some information."
Roger: "Strange way to go about getting information. Though I suppose I should just be glad there is no Dementor at the door."
Harry: "I know. For what it's worth, I don't really like this, either. We've already got a record of you cooperating with us in this matter and if we can keep this quick, you'll be out of here in no time."
Roger: "Yes, I'm sure you don't. Just get on with it."
Harry: "Could you please state your name and age for our records?"
Roger: "Roger Davies, 26. This is known already."
Harry: "Where were you prior to this event tonight?"
Roger: 'St Mungo's, getting treatment for a wound I suffered while working for the same ministry who is now interrogating me for... whatever this is supposed to be."
Harry: "What time did you leave St Mungo's?"
Harry: "And this isn't an interrogation. We're just trying to get information."
Roger: 'I'm sure you are. Around six, I believe. I went home, was there just long enough to shower and get changed, went to pick up Astoria at her lab. spent around half an hour there, and then here we were."
Harry: "Right, thank you. We already know you got the letter -- we already know what it said. There's no chance that we're lucky and you've somehow realized who's sending these?"
Roger: "I'm afraid not."
Harry: "Do you have any leads? Any ideas about this?"
Roger: "No."
Harry: "Have you gotten any more letters? Or found out about anyone else getting them?"
Roger: "No and no."
Harry: "Right. Okay. Thanks, then. You're all set. You're free to -- er -- wait here until we finish our sweep of the building. Do you feel safe heading home on your own, or do you want us to have someone bring you there?"
Roger: "I don't need a nanny. Thank you, though."
Harry: "Not a nanny. But -- right. Okay. D'you want me to have anyone bring you anything to drink? We can't have you helping investigate this right now but if you've got any questions I can try and answer them."
Roger: "No. Am I free to go now or am I a suspect in anything else?"
Harry: "You're not a suspect in this. But yeah, you're free to -- well, we're still sweeping the building to make sure there's no threat to anyone in here, so it might be a little while longer. Tell them you're one of my staff and they'll probably let you through but I can't make any promises."
Roger: "That's very helpful of you. Well, if that's all--well, I'd say it's been a pleasure but we both know I'd be lying. Have a good night, Auror Potter."
Ophelia burrowed herself into the first abandoned room she could find. She wasn't sure where she was or what the room was but all that mattered was that she was alone - away from that voice and the panic that ensued within the ballroom. Her back against the wall, pale palms flat against stone as she brought herself to sit upon the floor, her eyes watered, her chest heaved for breath, and panic crippled her far more than any curse could. Panic cripped her outward and inward, and if it could, it'd catch her sideways too. It hadn't mattered who she was with or who she had been talking to, the second the voice and those words rang forth, she slipped off on her own as best as she could, away from the immediate crowd but close enough to not merit suspicion. They were all fools, she thought. Every last one of them to think that the war was truly over. Nothing had changed. The war still lived like a repulsive infection waiting its turn to gnaw everyone clean out of their skin. “All these little sheep celebrating peace when they should be wetting themselves with fear. Did you not hear my warning in those letters I sent you? Did you not feel fear? Did you not tremble? You should be trembling—we’re coming for you. She was tired of hiding. She was tired of pretending that the world could simply move on; that there was still good and happy things and clinging onto a face of sweet optimism to help other relinquish their trauma. Perhaps most of all, she was tired of being awake, period, but no one would ever know that. Especially not her father. "We know where you live, who you hang out with, where you work. We know your deepest, darkest secrets." A shiver rattled down her spine as she replayed those words in particular in her mind. She wasn't safe - no matter what her father insisted. He wasn't safe either. And the fear of who was looking out for him while she pretended he was no longer alive left her sick to her stomach. "You think you can hide?" The words felt as though they were for her and her alone. "We’d like to see you try to escape us. We will finish what Lord Voldemort failed to do and we will take this world as ours, and rid it of the filth." She was the filth. She was the 'filthy half-breed' and it was only a matter of time before someone found out and she was plucked off. And she didn't mean to think dark, but there was nothing light about war. There was nothing or no one that would go easy on her. She was a wounded doe in a sea starved wolves. She pursed her lips together and hid her face in her hands, thankful no one had found her; thankful no one would find her until she was good and composed to come out. She still heard the murmur of panic-stricken voices in the hall over - words composed to and of fight or flight. At the same time, as much as she didn't want to grow an inch close to anyone, she had. There were people she loved in silence, people who barely had the chance to think much of her but she had all the time in her lonely world to riddle in happy thoughts upon them, some of whom even spoke to her that very night at the Gala, that the thought of so much as a scratch hitting their skin made her blood boil. There was Eddie; Cho; Harry; Terry; George; Charlie; and above all, there was her father. They were all too good for this. They all deserved better. She wasn't ready for this. She hadn't been ready for it back then and she wasn't ready now if it were to wage again. She wasn't ready for the war to take her. Hesitantly, she felt for her wand in her pocket and clung to it as a child clung to a blanket. Her wand felt tired of hiding too. And as she used the back of her hand to wipe at her tears, she took a deep breath inward and nodded to herself before picking herself up off the floor. Something needed to change.
Blaise was annoyed. Because even after all his efforts, in the end he was still Slytherin, he was still from a dark family, he was still a suspect. He had went along with no panic, with no struggle. He went along with the brash arrogance of someone who was confidently innocent. (Even though he knew it didn’t matter how innocent you were. In that case, there was no point to the struggle, either.) He had no bad blood for the people who had captured him and his friends. These aurors were people he knew. People he was friends with, who he drank with - who he greeted along the corridors and asked about their families. Still, here they were. It stung, but it was their jobs. There was nothing they nor Blaise could do. They were just following orders.
So, Blaise, treated the thing with entirely prepared indifference, as he always did - remaining pleasant, smiley, if a bit tired, exhausted, irritated from all the previous happenings of the night. He didn’t snap, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t repeat, “I want a solicitor,” over and over again, as much as he really wanted to. He was cooperative, civil, and upon being returned to the table, told that he would have to be questioned again later, he resisted the irritated scowl that was only one twitch away. He nodded, sat down, and crossed his arms. He looked at the person beside him.
