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!]
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."
Harry: "My name is Harry Potter. I'd like to ask you some questions. Please know you're not being charged with a crime; we're just trying to get information. Is there anything you need before we get started?"
Blaise: "I understand, Auror Potter. I'm fine, unless you have a cup of tea stored in there somewhere."
Harry: "I'll get you a glass of water in just a minute. Please state your name and age for the record."
Blaise: "That's not necessary. Thank you, though. Blaise Zabini. Twenty-three."
Harry: "Thank you, Mr. Zabini. Where were you tonight, before arriving at the event? And about what time did you get here?"
Blaise: "I was at work, in the Ministry. I stayed overtime. After that, I was at home for about twenty, thirty minutes to change. I arrived about thirty minutes late, I suppose?"
Harry: "Is there anyone in your office who can confirm that you were there late?"
Blaise: Blaise blinked. "Most people were preparing for the gala. There were people who would have seen me, I'm sure, but at the moment I can't think of anyone in specific. Does the Ministry not have detector wards?"
Harry: "Yes, we do, but we prefer not to rely on a single form of evidence for anything. Did you come to the gala with anyone?"
Blaise: "Ah, I see. Of course. Yes. I went with Penelope Clearwater."
Harry: "Thank you. We'll have someone let Ms Clearwater know that you're not being charged, and arrange for transportation home for her if she'd like to leave." Harry turns to gesture to someone evidently watching from... well, somewhere. "Are you aware of the letters to which the -- er -- the voice referred?"
Blaise: "Yes - yes, that seems good. Thank you," said Blaise, looking visibly relieved. "Yes. I received one of my own. Would you like to see it?"
Harry: "You brought it with you? Why?"
Blaise: "I've refused to let it out of my hands since I received it. I've been called paranoid more than once."
Harry: "I see. Yes, could I see that?"
Blaise: Blaise handed it over to him. "I have several copies of it and proof of its receipt."
People like you bother me. Ickle wizards and witches who are too afraid to pick a side and stick and be loyal. You are no better then the mudbloods and blood traitors that came from the other side. Don't think you're getting anyway with your inaction, young Zabini. The time will come when we will rise again, and we won't even give you the option of neutrality; you'll just be dead.
Harry: Harry reads the letter, eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, and falls silent. "I -- well. When did you get this? Can you describe when you received the letter?"
Blaise: "A bit less than two weeks ago. Forgive me, the exact date slips me, but I have it documented somewhere."
Harry: "How many people have you told about this letter?"
Blaise: "Five. No, six. Seven, if you count. Why?"
Harry: "We'll follow up with them to see if they've been contacted, and when." Harry rummages through the file, producing a scrap of parchment; after another moment of digging through the papers, he withdraws a self-inking quill from... somewhere. "Can you make a list of the people you spoke to, and about when? Why didn't you turn this in to the DMLE immediately? You work with us; surely you'd have plenty of opportunity."
Blaise: Blaise looked to the side. "There were rumours that the letters come from within the Ministry. You understand - we're pinned by both sides. I am here, right now, being questioned for something that I have nothing to do with - suspicions due to a war that I wasn't even part of. At the same time, I received a threatening letter from the other side. I hope you understand - I'm finding it difficult to trust anyone. By follow up with my friends, my family, does that mean they'll be questioned, as well?"
Harry: "I'll have someone stop by to ask them if they've been contacted. They won't be questioned unless they have some connection to what's happened tonight. Where did you find the letter? Was there any indication of who sent it?"
Blaise: Blaise shook his head. "No, I don't know. It came with my mail for the day, in the office." He hesitated, for a moment, before taking the quill. On the paper, he wrote the names of Draco, Theodore, Marcus, Romilda, and his mother. "There are two other letters, magically dated and sealed, sent to two people. They remain unread, it's just a precaution. Can I trust you, Auror Potter?"
Harry: "If you haven't done anything wrong or broken any laws, this isn't -- I'm not interested in putting anyone away for something they didn't do."
Blaise: "And the minister?"
Harry: "If anyone is interested in putting someone away for something they didn't do, I can promise you, it's not going to go over well, with me or anyone else in this department. You have my word on that."
Blaise: Blaise nodded. "Okay. Thank you." He said, "What about my job? Will it be affected by any of this?"
Harry: "Like I said -- so long as you haven't broken any laws or done anything wrong, there's nothing for you to be punished for. You know Kingsley; neither of us are going to let anyone get unfairly targeted. I've got just a couple more questions, and then you're free to go."
Blaise: "Of course. I apologise for digressing. Carry on, then."
Harry: "Have you kept in contact with anyone who's been convicted as a Death Eater? Besides Draco Malfoy."
Blaise: "Draco Malfoy was acquitted," Blaise corrected. "But no, not that I'm aware of."
Harry: "Right, thank you -- and do you know of anyone who's remained sympathetic to the cause since then?"
Blaise: "No. Not that I'm aware of. You've got entirely the wrong people. I mean, Theodore Nott - " he said, tone rising, before composing himself. "I apologise. Anything else?"
Harry: "What about Theodore Nott? Is Nott involved in something? If you're afraid for your safety, we can protect you."
Blaise: "Theodore Nott is the opposite of a blood purist. They were never involved in anything. They're practically living as a Muggle, right now. Of all the people to bring in, question - Nott was the worst possible choice. I understand putting me here, but not them."
Harry: "I'll -- thank you, I'll make sure that's taken into account. What about the others? Can you tell me anything about them?"
Blaise: "Draco's a ponce. An arrogant asshole. But he means well, and he's got nothing to do with any of it anymore. The wizard works in a damn bookshop. The rest of them, I have nothing to say." Astoria. He paused. "And Astoria. Or her sister. The war's over, Auror Potter. We all just want to live in peace."
Harry: "Right, then. Thanks -- you've been a lot of help. Sit tight for just a minute while we get this filed, and you'll be free to go as soon as I get someone in here to escort you out. And if your date's still here, we'll bring you to her. Thanks again for your time."
Blaise: "Yes, okay. Thank you, Auror Potter - really. I hope you have a nice night."
She’s wheezing, lungs feel like they’ve been dipped in ice water as she watched her friends and family get dragged off by officials. Daphne Greengrass, poised and perfect was trying not to make a scene as she took one sharp breathe after another. Her hands were shaking, as she smoothed out her dress over and over until the lace darkens with the sweat of her palms.
“Please state your name and age for the records.” They’re voice was authoritative and cold, cut and dry and in most cases she’s prefer it. At work it delighted her, the straight to the point nature left little to wonder about. She could just do what came naturally to her and everything would be okay. But in this situation, it got under her skin. ”You know who I am.” She states trying to keep composer as she reached into her clutch for her Ministry identification. Hating the fact the officer continuously talked over her. “Where were you prior to this event?”
”At my home, with my father.” And she hits the last word hard. When he finds out about this, she thought to herself. The overwhelming feeling in her chest migrated from a pounding in her chest, to one in her skull.“I need to speak to my sister.” Her voice grew more panicked and frantic with every word she managed to get out. “Did you receive a letter?” They cut in once again.
”No I don’t know about any letters.”
“Have you kept in touch with any sympathizers/death eaters?”
“You have my sister back there.” Daphne lashed out, before suddenly becoming aware of the scene she was making and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Please, this is a mistake.”
The fifth annual peace gala, was a celebration of life--but also a reminder of what could happen when that peace escapes a nation. Wizarding Britain has worked hard on rebuilding themselves after the tragic events that preceded them just over five years ago. It truly was a mark of how far they’ve come, looking around the room and seeing former Slytherins and former Gryffindors able to share a drink together without some form of tension, and though not every coupling was approved by the Ministry’s eyes--the night still was an utter success for the might and prosper of the Ministry.
There is a brief interruption as the last song fades away, and a voice booms over the quiet crowd,
“Attention, Attention--Our new Minister of Magic would like to speak, please raise your hands and give a toast to Minister Crinke.”
Penelope Crinke steps up to the podium as the applause settles, waving at the room and plastering a smile on her face as she appears to steady herself, “Welcome everyone to this peace gala. I’m so honoured to be here tonight and be able to share in a celebration of everything we have fought and sacrificed for.”
“It brings me incredible pleasure to be able to stand in the presence of heroes this night. To those that fought bravely to end the tyranny of a madman bent on our destruction.”
She paused then, before her mood turned sober, “But we still have work to do.” With a wave of her wand images of the fallen witches and wizards began circling the crowd. “Lord Voldemort was finally defeated by Mr. Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts and for that we will always owe him our gratitudes and adoration--but tragically many lives were still lost during this time. Friends, Sisters, Brothers, Mothers, Daughters, Fathers and sons..and we should all never forget the sacrifices and the terror that had once gripped this very nation.”
Minister Crinke swapped her eyes across the crowd then, “We must not sit idly by, right now...we do have peace. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Will our children have a peaceful future to look forward to? Or will the Dark leech it away from us as it has done before?”
“We must be vigilant, we must do everything on our power to prevent the dark from taking over our good nation and distorting us and covering us in it’s filth and damnation.”
“Tonight I would like to you you all a hint at what this new Ministry will try to accomplish for our future.” She paused then, “It starts with our Schools---”
Minister Crinke was cut off as a large crack penetrated the ballroom hall, uneasy murmurs could be heard from the crowd.
Suddenly a dark deep chuckle could be heard in the room, causing dread and exclamations of fear to rise up in a wave of muted panic--the voice sounding easily reminiscent to the voice that had once been heard on the eve of the Battle of Hogwarts.
“How pathetic.” The voice hissed, “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. We know where you live, who you hang out with, where you work. We know your deepest, darkest secrets. You think you can hide? 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.”
The voice faded, but what remained was a bastardized version of the morsmordre, with a slight addition--A pike, with Minister Pikes head on it.
Panic began settling into the crowd--screams and cries rose as people attempted to apparate--only to find themselves splinched as wards came down on the hall.
Minister Crinke turned to to the Ministry heads standing next to her, eyes clouded with furry, “I want all former death eaters into interrogation, now. And separate all suspected death eaters or supporters. I don’t want them out of our sights.” With that she swept out of the room, wards parting for her as she left the hall, heading straight to her office.
Pop.
Astoria Greengrass was grabbed roughly and cornered--ropes binding her wrists as she was dragged out of the hall, wards parting for the Auror.
Pop.
Draco Malfoy was next--you could here him cursing before he too was stunned and dragged out of the hall.
Pop.
Gregory Goyle, didn’t even get the decency to be stunned. Instead an Auror behind him hit him over the head and knocked him out where he too was picked up and out of the room
Pop.
Roger Davis, Eddie Carmichael, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson were separated from the crowd and forced into one corner table. The fact that none of them were death eaters (or proven death eaters), or that some now worked for the ministry itself did not matter to the Aurors crusade, it was policy, after all.
