Hogwarts: A House Divided - Civil War Looms Ahead (IC|Open)

by **Danceria** » Fri Apr 08, 2022 10:32 am

Osahiro was gently forgiving, he certainly felt the pinch of trying to find an in-group, though the monocular gremlin's smile spoke of more mischief. With a rather uncanny Brummi accent, the monocular being spoke. "This 'ere's Osahiro Aozora." he explained. "He's from Japan, not very talkative-" before "Osahiro" could remark, presumably to rebuke his compatriot for being a "wise guy", the entity seemed to remember himself and rescind with a chuckle. "Oh, you mean lil' old me? I'm Chata, a hitotsume-kozō. Basically a House Elf, but prettier."

"Yes, we are the transfer students from Mahōtokoro-well, I am, Chata-tan is my assistant." Osahiro explains with a slight bow, his English clearly accented and a second language, unlike this "Chata-tan". Though if James managed to shake himself of one previous stupor, he may be rendered stupefied once again by the fact that none of the gremlin's mouth-movements matched up with the English language at all! "Pleasure to meet you, I believe the...Gryffindors are down that way." Osahiro gestured, he didn't quite know the ins and outs of who sat where with whom, not that such things weren't prevalent back home, just different.

He began to hear some quibble down that way, though he wasn't sure who started a fight with what. Did somebody snog someone else's prospective crush? Was it pertaining to politics? Someone failing to accrue a debt for assistance with schoolwork? Osahiro's conversation with Ranjit had revealed how shockingly different Britain and Japan were.

by **Purgatio** » Fri Apr 08, 2022 8:48 pm

Students' Carriages, Hogwarts Express
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 12:10 PM
Dominique Jean Rosier

Dominique returned Joseph's overall friendly and charming disposition with a kind smile of his own, nodding as he laughed good-naturedly at what he said, "Certainly Joseph - pardon me, Joe, excuse me - and I regard the bad blood and animosity between our Houses rather silly and arbitrary as well. After all, the values of courage and bravery are not, at the end of the day, so different from determination and drive, are they? Well, in any event, I am most grateful to have met your acquaintance," Dominique said, with a little flourish and regal dignified nod of his head, "And patrolling the hallways jointly sounds like a capital idea indeed, an excellent opportunity for us to get acquainted further still, and it would be my pleasure to have the honour of your company, Joe."

Dominique extended his left hand down the thin, elongated corridors of the students' train carriages, as if extending an invitation and politely gesturing for Joseph Stuyvesant to walk with him, but before either he or Joseph could react, he was distracted by a sudden voice abruptly shouting in his direction from the closest train compartment. The voice was rough, coarse, and aggressive, and the ever-sheltered Dominique immediately tensed up at the very sound of it, a lifetime of inhabiting an incredibly insular social milieu populated by children with a nearly-identical type and kind of family to his own meant that he was instinctually rather fearful of anyone who seemed to be of a 'rough' background, and the rude and uncouth Hufflepuff heckler's rough and aggressive Northern English accent set his nape hairs on edge instinctively. Dominique took a step back on impulse, placing his hand on the tip of his elm-wood wand concealed in the inner lining of his robes, fearful that this thuggish stranger might try something, as he cleared his throat and tried to diffuse the situation, his softer and more refined tone of voice ringing out clearly and mellifluously in a rather stark contrast, "Excuse me, sir, I don't suppose you have noticed that my compatriot and I are attempting to carry on a conversation, hmm? Charming and well-mannered as you evidently are, I'm afraid that as my friend has already pointed out, as prefects we do have duties and responsibilities elsewhere on the train, and do not have the time nor inclination to entertain your doubtlessly witty repartee. Now then, putting aside your baselessly libellous accusations that I 'support murder', an outrageous and offensive charge wholly incongruous with anything I had said earlier which you plainly overheard, it would no doubt be better for everyone if you would kindly return to your quaint tête-à-tête with your fellow companions, alright?" Dominique inclined his head in a formal gesture of politeness, as he gestured in the direction of the interjector's friends in his own train compartment, "Bonne journée, Monsieur, à la prochaine fois" he added quickly with a resolute nod.

by **CoraSpia** » Sat Apr 09, 2022 4:55 am

The Great Hall, Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, Scottish Highlands
8:00 PM

It was not normal for Martina Ollivander to appear nervous. In general, even if she was feeling some sort of nerves the headmistress was able to at least appear aboe it all. Her face was usually a picture of calm, eyes and voice steady; a lady who appeared to the world to be unflappable.
It was starting to get hard though. The discussion in her office had made her more concerned than ever, as at a time when the Hogwarts staff needed to appear united it was very clear that they were not. If Mcmoran and Patel couldn't at least be on the same page about how best to deal with the order, the future didn't look great for the students and staff of the school.
A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she turned her head to see Mcmoran stood beside her looking as grim and firm as ever.
"Relax," the rough voice of the old Scott said. Mcmoran, with his war scars and bashed up face was hardly a relaxing presence however she did attempt to, thouth the looming speech she was going to have to give did not make that even a bit easier.
"What do I even tell them?" she asked, having had no chance to prepare a speech beforehand. "I can't very well tell them that everything's going to be alright, it's not going to be alright is it?"
Mcmoran simply shook his head and replied "No. No it's not."
"It feels like it did when Voldemort was around," Ollivander replied with a little laugh. "Back then Hogwarts had the greatest wizard of the last 200 years. Now they've got the stupid old woman who probably caused this mess by letting the death eaters walk out of prison."
Mcmoran squeezed Ollivander's shoulder comfortingly, managing to meet her eye. "You're not stupid," he told her, "The kids love you, most of the staff believe in you...I know I do, the school is doing better than it has for nearly 50 years. Whatever comes we'll get through it, I know we will."
Martina did not look convinced in the slightest, sighing as she took her place at the head of the staff table.
"So what do I tell them?" she asked Mcmoran, as the tramping of hundreds of feet heralded the arrival of her audience.
"The truth," he replied simply.

by **Purgatio** » Sat Apr 09, 2022 11:21 am

Ground Floor, Hogwarts Castle
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:05 PM
Supriya Patel

Night had fallen, and save for the dim glow of flickering candle-lights scattered throughout the room, the internal environment of the Transfiguration Classroom took on a blackened and darkened hue, as if cloaked and shrouded by the outside world. At a desk situated at the very front of the classroom, the ever-diligent and conscientious Professor Patel could be heard making the final edits to her Transfiguration curriculum, her quill audibly scratching against the rough parchment, crossing out and highlighting various spells and pedagogical explanations, accompanied by little notes and remarks which she added to the section on transfiguring porcupines to pin cushions and puffskeins to paperweights. When she had finished, she checked the time on the golden pocketwatch she kept clasped around her left wrist, letting out a heavy sigh as she realised she would have to put her work on hold, as it was already a few minutes past 8 p.m., and Headmistress Ollivander was likely already in the Great Hall, preparing to greet the arriving students who would be nervously and anxiously returning for the first day of their Spring academic term.

Without further ado, and without much ceremony to it, Professor Patel focussed all her concentrated mental energies on the shape and structure of her body, visualising her physical form compared to that of a blackbird, applying her every thought to holding a clear mental image in her mind of every bone, every fibre of her being, morphing, shifting, transforming into a totally different animal altogether, and in a flash, accompanied by a burst of energy and a flurry of shifting activity, gone was the lithe and nimble South Asian woman, and in its place, a small blackbird emerged out of thin air in the middle of the classroom, cawing away loudly as it flapped and beat its wings violently, soaring out of the classroom and out into the spacious courtyard. Despite the bright glare of the moon-light beams, which bathed and graced the grounds of Hogwarts Castle in a soothing elegant glow, the blackbird that was Professor Patel blended ever-so-seamlessly against the pitch-black background of the night sky. With every caw, she breathed in the open fresh air, feeling such immense vigour in her being as the black-bird soared and flew in the direction of the Entrance Hall, flying past the rows upon rows of ornate staircases, flying past the magical moving portraits adorning and lining every wall, right to the arched entrance of the Great Hall itself, upon which the black-bird transformed again in another massive burst of blackened energy, and the black-bird twisted, shifted, the edges of its being appearing to ebb and flow and blend with the surrounding air even, and within just a few seconds a thin, tall, poised woman had taken its place once more.

After adjusting her tunic top and running her fingers through her long jet-black hair to straighten out the locks, as if on impulse, Professor Supriya Patel made her way into the Great Hall itself, where Headmistress Ollivander and Professor Donald McMoran appeared to be locked in a rather intense and serious conversation. If she wanted to, she might have attempted to pay attention and pick up the last few words exchanged between the two as she was arriving, but she did not see the point, it seemed a rather private discussion and in any event, in light of the circumstances, it was likely about the Order announcing its existence in the bombastic attention-grabbing fashion that it had, and the impact that societal debut would have on the soon-to-be-arriving students. Professor Patel plastered a wide, genial smile on her face as she made her way over to the front of the Great Hall, right over to the High Table, bowing in the direction of both educators, "Headmistress Ollivander. Professor McMoran. I'm glad to see I am not tardy, thank goodness." Seeing the rather anxious look on Martina's face, Professor Patel decided to add, inclining her head in an obliging gesture, "And I'm sure the students will be more than assuaged and mollified, Headmistress, by anything you may have to say about, well, recent events in the wizarding world which may have put some of them on edge. All of us will do our utmost to work together and protect our students, and I am sure the students will have confidence in our ability to protect them when you reassure them of that fact." Professor Patel said, with a polite nod and a thin, supportive smile.

***

Hogsmeade Station, Hogwarts Express
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:15 PM
Dominique Jean Rosier

As the train came to a complete halt, with the Hogwarts Express announcing the conclusion of the journey with a rather noisy blaring hoot of its whistle which caused a jolting sensation to shoot through his entire body at once, Dominique made his way over to the prefects' carriage from earlier, returning from his patrols of the hallway, now casting from his mind his vivid memory of his earlier interaction with the friendly and polite American boy, Joseph Stuyvesant, and the way he had handled the rougher and more rougish Hufflepuff student from earlier, whose name he had not managed to catch. He had attempted to assuage and mollify the aggressive ruffian with diplomatic words, and had enjoyed talking to, and exchanging ideas with, the American Gryffindor Prefect, and he had enjoyed making his acquaintance and jointly patrolling the hallways with him, and he'd bid the Stuyvesant lad a kind, polite farewell, and a part of him genuinely would be happy to run into the boy and speak to him again. Right now, however, Dominique's priority was getting to the Great Hall, meeting his friends (who always managed to calm him down just by virtue of the comforting familiarity of their presence and proximity), and going to bed so that he could calm himself and calm the thoughts racing across his mind, about how difficult and challenging this term would be, what with all the uncertainty now that the Order had announced its existence to the world, and Dominique and his friends did not have any clue what precisely would happen after the dust had settled, and what impact their actions would have on his education here at Hogwarts, for the entirety of the Spring academic term.

For now, he cast these uncertain and speculative thoughts out of his mind, one hand on his leather messenger bag, the other gripping the handle of his hand-carry luggage, as he climbed into the nearest carriage, allowing it to take off in the direction of the sprawling Hogwarts Castle, the towering structure dotted with antiquated spires and statues easily visible from a distance. The journey to the Hogwarts gates was a thankfully silent and wordless one, an opportunity for Dominique to simply relax, his lips pursed tightly in an anxious smile as he gazed across the shining glimmering surface of the Great Lake, as the black iron gates and winged boar statues drew closer and closer with every ticking second. In front, the carriage was being dragged forward by a thestral, a black winged horse with a gaunt skeletal body, with an appearance which was altogether haunting and disconcerting, merely on instinct, and as Dominique saw the thestral once more, just as he did at the start of every term when he glimpsed at these unfortunate beasts, he suppressed an unnerved bodily shiver. You know why you can see these...don't you, Dominique thought to himself, fingers drumming against the side of the carriage, wheels turning quietly as Dominique's own thoughts raced on ahead inside his head, ever since the start of 4th year, 2037, you've seen them, what, at least six times by now....this shouldn't be uncomfortable anymore, of course not, it should be second nature by now, Dominique told himself, rather half-heartedly. He tried to suppress another shiver as his mind's eye flashed with inward memories which bubbled up involuntarily, those same memories of an elm-wood wand, a horrifying streak of green slicing through the air like a polished blade, and a dirty Muggle vagrant, clothed in filthy gray rags, collapsing to the ground wordlessly right at his feet, in a crumpled messy heap, a gruesome and grisly sight which he was not wont to forget, nearly two years later.

We are so proud of you....such an advanced spell like that, oh, my determined, ever-ambitious boy, I knew you could do it!!, that ecstatic crooning maternal voice played over and over again in his head, like a blissfully broken record, and even now, it brought a sweet, genuine smile on Dominique's young face, and not even the uncomfortable sight of that collapsed Muggle tramp, right there in the middle of a ritualistic circle, surrounded by robed adherents, marred or tarred the memory of that proud and beautiful moment. But then....why do I get these recurring memories of that frightful green streak of energy bolting across the room like an angry spark, Dominique thought to himself, ruefully, mirthlessly, his body trembling, the hairs on his elbows all standing on end, his thighs tightening up noticeably, as he cast the uncomfortable memory out of his head again, banishing it and replacing it with the memory of what had immediately followed that ugly green spark, the crooning soothing maternal voice which told him over and over again that she was "incredibly proud", "extremely proud", of what he had "achieved" and "accomplished" that fine day. Lost in the reverie of his thoughts, before Dominique had even noticed, the threstral had brought him past the gates of Hogwarts, past the famous winged boar statues, over to the spacious courtyard, where like clockwork, acting purely on instinct and muscle memory at this point, Dominique made his way into the Entrance Hall, up the long ornate flights of stairs, through the opened oak-wood double-doors, and into the magnificent high-ceiling room, now replete with floating candles and an enchantingly beautiful night sky hovering above them all, wistry clouds drifting along lazily across the ceiling.

Dominique's eyes scanned across the Great Hall, which had been slowly filling up with students, and at the far end of the Slytherin Table, he spotted the four people he'd been itching to reunite with at the nearest opportunity - Lewis Avery, Melanie Bulstrode, Edmund Yaxley, and Genevieve Flint, four fifth-year Slytherin students, just like himself, who'd stuck together like glue since the first day of their first year at Hogwarts, and remained a comfortingly familiar tight-knit clique ever since. Much like so many other aspects of Dominique's sheltered and ever-cloistered life, his close friendship with the four of them had largely been the product of circumstances, convenience, and perhaps most of all, the simple seductive allure of the 'familiar'. These four children, who were all around Dominique's own age, came from families which moved and navigated the same social milieu as his own, and before he had ever sat one foot in Hogwarts, Dominique had already spoken to them, interacted with them, and made their acquaintances at numerous old-money high-society events in the past, be it debutante balls, masquerade balls, private luncheons, gilded invite-only dinners, cocktail parties, society galas, or intimate yet sophisticated soireés. His family and their families were close, and so, naturally, through events such as these, their children had been encouraged to interact as well from a young age. So it was that when Dominique came to Hogwarts in the September of 2034, along with these four, and they all came to be sorted into Slytherin House, he gravitated towards them instantly, as if on instinct, enthralled and captivated as he was by the comforting allure of the familiar (especially when he was just stepping foot into a new and strange environment). Dominique had gotten on with them easily, all five of them just clicked instantly, conversation with them had always been easy, always seamless and effortless, with them he felt at ease and comfortable, in a rather unique way, for Dominique seldom found himself fully and entirely comfortable being around most other people. Sure, over the years, he'd also gotten along rather well with most of the other Slytherin students, most of whom were often cut from families and backgrounds of a similar cloth to his own, raised and imbued with the same familial ancestral pride, fraternal cliquish instincts, and untameable determination and ambition to 'prove themselves' a worthy and respectable success to their prestigious and demanding parents, which had so thoroughly and irrevocably defined the institutional culture of that House for generations, but with Lewis Avery, Melanie Bulstrode, Genevieve Flint, and Edmund Yaxley, Dominique was comfortable being around them, trusting them, and relying upon them, to an extent even greater than that of the 'average' Slytherin student, because they had known each other for several years long before they had enrolled at Hogwarts, because their families were on such good terms, and because they had been with each other and stuck close to one another as a group ever since that first day of their first year at this school, and that kind of bond and relationship does not exactly fray or weaken easily over the course of those years.

As he grabbed a seat next to Edmund Yaxley, Dominique rolled his eyes in an expression of exhaustion and boredom, which Genevieve Flint picked up, laughing lightly, "If you don't mind me saying, Dominique, you don't seem to be enjoying your prefectorial duties so much".

"Oh quiet, you," Dominique retorted, half-jokingly, "I'm just exhausted, is all. I would have looked for you lot on the train earlier, but so much happened which occupied my attention, I simply couldn't. Such a shame, but no harm done, I suppose."

"By the way, mate," Lewis Avery launched into the comfortingly familiar high-society gossip, which had become a staple of their conversations over the years, "I wanted to ask you last month at the Rowles' debutante ball, did you see the cold-shoulder Rachel Mulciber kept giving to Margaret Nott? Mummy said she hasn't seen the families on such bad terms since the seventies."

"You could practically smell the bad blood from across the room," Melanie Bulstrode remarked airily in a rather breezy tone, shrugging her shoulders as she spoke, "It's not as if they were being particularly subtle with all those cold looks, vicious scowls, icy glares, and what have you. Daddy told me the Mulcibers, Gamps, Goyles, and Notts have been having a bit of a bidding war over a number of high-value real estate properties on Diagon Alley, which has grown rather more acrimonious of late, so it's really soured relations between even their extended relations."

"How awkward for them, then," Edmund Yaxley snorted rudely, speaking as bluntly as ever, "Merlin's beard, though, that does remind me, Hilary Gamp looked like such a hideous troll at the Selwyns' brunch over Easter, did she not? Did you all notice? Mummy told me she thinks she's been dabbling in the Dark Arts, anti-ageing stuff, the whole nine yards, but I swear whatever it is she is doing is backfiring, I mean have you seen those frown lines? Those sagging cheek muscles?"

Genevieve Flint nodded, laughing rather proudly as she covered her mouth and nose, shaking her head as she spoke, "I'm surprised the ugly hag is willing to even show her face in polite company nowadays. Along some random street in public, maybe, but a society event? It's rather courageous of her, is what it is, especially," She lowered her voice ever so slightly, leaning in with a conspiratorial hiss and whisper, "With her husband having a rumoured paramour in the city."

"So?" Edmund Yaxley looked confused at the significance, as Genevieve Flint could barely stifle a giggle as she added, "A half-blood mistress. I'd say the dirty philanderer is dating down but, honestly, he's not much of a looker himself, and based on what I've heard whispered about this shameless two-bit hussy of his that he's keeping on the side, let's just say, it does not require a particularly active imagination to figure out what he's getting out of this bargain."

Dominique sighed, resting his head in his hands, feeling drained and exhausted. He was already racking his brains with anxiety trying to figure out how he was supposed to deal with the mental and emotional burden of navigating the stress and pressure of the upcoming O.W.L.s alongside the stress of his Order duties and responsibilities, and what the Order's leadership would have planned and whether it would interfere with his own plans for his academic term. He tried to join the rather light-hearted conversation on society gossip but he gave up on exercising self-restraint and asked the question that was really on his mind, "What do you guys think the Headmistress is going to say? Do you lot think she's even going to acknowledge the memorandum in the Prophet?"

Everyone fell silent at the question, rather uncomfortable glances being shot in each other's directions, as Melanie Bulstrode gave a rather nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, "Maybe? Who cares? It's just a speech, it doesn't actually mean anything."

"Mm, right...I guess not....but still..." Dominique's voice trailed off, he did not vocalise what he thought in his head at this point, that maybe the Headmistress is planning something, that maybe the faculty is going to work overtime or do something to try and root out and flush out suspected Order members, and then we'd all have to worry about that on top of all the academic stress of being fifth-year students. "Anyway, I can't wait for O.W.L.s to end already..." Dominique let out a frustrated groan, shaking his head, "Promise me we'll holiday together in Chantilly over the upcoming summer break. Mummy said this year she'd let me join any of you guys if you had any relatives summering over in the Hamptons. Not the Bulstrodes though, I mean no offence to you Melanie, of course, but I'm sure you understand when I say that last year's masquerade ball at the Bulstrodes was such an unmitigated disaster, I mean, really, Carmen Bulstrode can be such a vindictive and ungracious host when she really wants to be," Dominique said, rolling his eyes, mostly trying to distract himself with inane idle chatter as he waited rather nervously for the Headmistress's speech to begin, curious as he was about what she would say, what her reaction would be.

by **Meretica** » Sat Apr 09, 2022 7:20 pm

Amos Fleming - Student, 5th Year Slytherin
Sinestra Hopkins-Jones - Librarian, Head of Ravenclaw
The Great Hall, Start of Term Feast

Sinestra and Amos had locked eyes as soon as he had entered the Great Hall. Despite being so far apart, they nodded to one another, as though to say welcome back. Sinestra wore a small smile on her face and watched as he took his seat at the Slytherin table; he did not return it. He listened in for some time at the Slytherin table, taking in the rumors, but saying nothing, even after they were quite finished.

Sinestra, meanwhile, was scribbling away on a small scrap of paper with a Muggle pen, which she promptly slid to Professor Misks. It simply read, Come to the library after dinner.

by **Dogutrakya** » Sun Apr 10, 2022 10:10 am

Joseph A. Stuyvesant

Hogsmeade Station

He bid his farewells to Dominique. He had been rather pleasant, for a Slytherin, even though his ideals are as strange and despicable as ever, Or was he uncapable of understanding their point of view? America is a vast and free country. The bleak, tiny, dreary island he now calls home is in no way comparable to that, and the trappings of this land, for thousands of years, brought pride to those who not only survived - but rose. Nonetheless, their actions are loathsome, and he had thoughts if Dominique was a part of it, as Marcellus suggested on the train. But another time. There will be moments of intrigues, moments of getting close with this cadre of purebloods. For now, the Gryffindors awaited.

He grabbed his luggage, a rather small one, because it has been enchanted so that large things can fit inside. His wand, safely tucked on his belt. Inside the Gryffindor robe he wore a jacket, suede, Ralph Lauren. A last gift from his grandfather, though he was loath to remember that. Somehow the cloth had not the unpleasant memories that came with it - a reassuring feel, rather. He boarded a carriage, with the other people - two Gryffindors, who looked alike, and an Asian-looking boy who he could not recognize. He bid his greetings to each of them.

"I'm a prefect," Joseph introduced himself. "Gryffindor prefect Joseph Stuyvesant. Never had I seen you before." He leaned himself on the carriage's wooden bench, creaking and unstable as it was. Most of the people, he observed, was oblivious to the fact that these carriages aren't moving by themselves. Dark, skinny horses, with large menacing bat wings pulled the couch, the appearance that which would make a first-year shit and piss on their pants. The thestral seemed also to note his ability of seeing them. These are the creatures of death. Joseph closed his eyes, remembering just what made him could see these beasts...

2029
Stuyvesant Ranch, Camdentown, Missouri

The boy, barely seven, peeked out of the stairs just beside his living room. The old farmhouse was large and spacy, his great-grandfather bought it from a No-Maj developer back in 1960. It was designed so, since tourism was booming in America, and the lake created by the dam back in 1931 was a perfect retreat spot for weary Chicagoans and St. Louisans. The living room, wide but not overly tall, boasts a fireplace, a massive oak table, and rows of sofas surrounding it. Inside three men sat, just finishing their dinner of steak and wine. His grandfather, Bobby Stuyvesant, always the wizened old man with his trademark brown Stetson. His own father, looking distressed. In the far end was someone Joseph didn't recognize - likely one of his grandfather's friends. Many of them came into the house recently he'd lost track of everyone's faces.

He had came down because their conversation, which started out as a friendly discussion, was turning increasingly loud and angry. Joseph was in his room - he closed his eyes, but sleep won't come to him. His mother was in the other bedroom, his parents's, though mommy and daddy had a breakout and decided to sleep separately a week ago. Something, something political - mommy hated it, but daddy said their family's fortune depends on it. His grandfather, as expected, was becoming increasingly angrier. Joseph nearly closed his ears.

"...total idiot, we're gonna bring down Congress investigation in a day or two. How did it come to this? You gave us assurances that Picquery didn't know. He's majority leader, Merlin's balls, this scandal is gonna cost our lives." The other man, grandfather's friend, stayed calm through his rant. "Well, Bobby, I warned you. The Japanese are not to be trusted. You and Graves, you had this whole idea. You're a fucking goddamned hypocrite, you know? You facilitated the sale. Me? I'm just a man trying to make a life, and you found in me a Democrat you can use to further your political agenda. Obviously I don't want to spend my whole time in Alcatraz."

Grandfather's face was turning red. Joseph's father, meanwhile, interjected. "Bobby, calm down. He's a total jerk, but this can still be contained. I know a Mexican hitman. I- we need some sasquatches dead, that's it-"

"A government witness! Dead!" Robert Stuyvesant's anger flared. He lifted up his wand, and the chandelier on the ceiling fell down. "There's no way this can't be traced back to me!"

The other man rose up from his seat. "Bobby, not my problem. Tony, calm him down. Maybe ask Graves to come here, at the very least, you both planned this together. Anyway, I'm a Democrat. Honestly, the GOP's breaking down might be more beneficial to-"

All hell broke loose. Grandfather shouted a thing. Joseph saw a tiny flash of silver out of his pocket, and six loud booms shocked the house. Boom, the man, shocked. Boom, a splot of blood. Boom, more blood. Boom, he fell down. Boom, blood on the sofa. Boom, blood on the floor. Boom, daddy's shaking, a dead man lies on his house. Grandfather's real mad, and his eyes gleamed with fire. Joseph screamed.

---

"God, Gods, Merlin's beard, Bobby, what the fuck?" His father's eyes met him. "I- Joseph!" He shivered, panting, nearly pissed his pants. He could see the same expression on daddy's face. "Kendra! KENDRA!" Mommy came down, looking equally horrified. "Fuck are you thinking? Why isn't he on his bed, holy fuck?"

His grandfather scoffed. "It's a revolver. A fucking No-Maj weapon. Ain't no way feds can track this back on us."

"Us?" His father screamed. "My son! You fucking killed a man in front of him! Kendra, pack your bags." He hurriedly approached Joseph. But his gradfather didn't waver. A clink, and he pointed the revolver on... Joseph. "Ain't no way in hell anyone's leavin'."

Now.
Hogwarts Grounds

"Hah!" He jolted awake. Joseph shivered. That was one thing in life he wished not to think of, especially in places like these. "Sorry, I... 'm feeling rather unwell. Must be the journey sickness." He forced himself a warm smile, and sat to listen their responses. "Let's sit together in the Hall, should we?"

by **Hochster Stern der Morgenrote** » Sun Apr 10, 2022 12:57 pm

Ignis Lestrange

Paris, Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, Lestrange Mausoleum- Octuber 12, 2031

As if sensing her sadness, the sky that day was covered in a leaden color. The chirping of birds, the conversation of people, nothing was heard, or maybe it was just an illusion caused by his suffering, but everything seemed to stop. And there he was, looking with tears in his eyes and his hands bandaged, not wanting to believe that this would be the last time he would ever see his parents, his sisters, his beloved family. He fell into deep despair, his world turned completely upside down. his body was burning with hatred and loneliness. Suddenly, it was as if he had fiery tears streaming down his face. "See Ignis, most of the time the world is cruel, good people go and we can't help it, bad people live among us but don't let it get the best of you, don't let it get your soul. Do you understand me, son?"
"Yes, uncle." Dante's words echoed inside Ignis, the scenes still fresh in his memory, playing through his mind once more, as if he were there again, with that sickening scent of blood. "Because they? Was their crime simply having the last name Lestrange? Really bad people live among us"
"I hope you understand son, I hope." Dante resumed after his eyes took in the cremation pyre in the middle of the mausoleum for the last time. "Fiendfyre" he intoned in a mournful voice, consuming the family that lay hand in hand in the flames. As the fire danced over the bodies, Ignis carefully held his family in his heart, slowly making his way towards the flames, leaving there a newspaper whose headline read: "Lestrange family murdered by extremists."

Hogsmead Station - Today

Ignis Lestrange was patrolling the aisles when the magnificent scarlet locomotive's whistle sounded, announcing its arrival at Hogsmead station. Hearing it, he paused for a moment, as if considering his future, before heading to the prefects' compartment, finding it empty. "They must not have arrived yet." Ignis thought as he picked up a large, old-fashioned bag, with a raven embroidered on it, and then disembarked. The moon was already high when he got off the train, the clear sky boasted a multitude of stars, and a cool, light breeze was blowing, ruffling his long black hair. The carriages pulled by thestrals were waiting for the students to finally make their way to the gates of Hogwarts. “Magnificent creature” Ignis boarded one of the first carriages after carefully patting the animal's head. Taking his seat, he involuntarily grabbed his wand and began to twist it slowly between his fingers, thinking about the month before the Easter break, when his mind turned upside down and feelings, that many elite pureblood families would consider filthy, invaded his heart. Each time he buried those feelings deeply, the stronger they came back. "I can't let them doubt my loyalty, not even for a single second, yet I don't know how it happened." This thought echoed through his mind as his eyes gazed at the moonlight reflected in the Black Lake, now and then curious merpeople poked their head out of the lake to watch the convoy of students, churning the surface of the waters.

When Ignis came out of his reverie, the carriage had already arrived at the Hogwarts gates, its columns adorned by two great winged boars, which had long given the impression of firmly guarding the entrance to the old castle. Since his first year, Ignis had been rejoicing at the sight, this year was no different, perhaps greater now that the Order has opened the curtains on the play, in which he aspired to play the lead role. After a long sigh he finally made his way towards Entrance Hall, crossing it with grace and elegance, finally arriving at the Great Hall, whose surroundings were beautifully lit by floating candles, whose splendor was matched only by the star-studded sky, as if someone had spilled them from a jewelry box, he then made his way to the Slytherin table, noticing familiar faces, among them many fellow Order members. Ignis automatically cast his gaze at an empty seat next to Dominique, whom he habitually called young Rosier. Well, they weren't exactly what you call friends, but having interacted several times they didn't consider themselves strangers, even if their families aren't as close as they once were in the not-so-distant past.

Already seated, he supported his chin with one hand, put a cynical smile on his face, and addressed the boy who was talking to his friends, also acquaintances, looking at them with his emerald eyes, so green that they seemed to pierce the soul:
“Beautiful night, it seems a long time since we last spoke, young Rosier, how have you been?”

by **South Olpen** » Sun Apr 10, 2022 4:16 pm

Professor Misks
Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Fields

Professor Misks had comfortably sat on his chair. He was rather nervous. 2 years ago, soon after he was made Head of House Gryffindor he had spilled his cup. He doubted anybody knew with his lighting fast wandwork, but he knew that if anyone had they lost all respect for him. Since then, he had barely drunk his wine at the Feasts, worried too much. However, he was determined today to release himself of that memory. He wouldn't.

As he heard the rumbling of feet, undoubtedly from the Thestrals walking up, carrying with them thousands of young minds, he noticed a note right beneath him. The vague inscription gave little instruction, but he was already too enticed by the mystery to say no. He couldn't tell the handwriting of the note but knew it must be from a Professor. He suspected a Ravenclaw professor due to the soothing handwriting.

Misks sat, watching the first students arrive. Among them were a few of his favorite pupils, including Andromeda Edwards, who despite her house was a true Gryffindor, and the Longbottoms, who not only did he like for Neville Longbottom, but also for above-average skill in his class. He looked with a small taste of disgust at the pure-blood neo-death eaters, who were in his mind the root of all evil.

He was worried about the Headmistress' speech, as he recognized that she would be unlikely to address the Order issue as he wished she would. He supposed this wasn't too detrimental, as he would be given the ability to speak to the student body in his class tomorrow, to inform them of the severe punishments if they are caught expressing their beliefs. He decided, since waiting at the grand, majestic, wooded High Table that he would make the punishments for any anti-muggle born/half-blood behavior so intense that even the mere thought of his listening to be so worrying they wouldn't think about it.

As Professor Olivaander stood up to greet the students who were rapidly arriving to begin the feast, Sheldon got ready to listen.

Andromeda Edwards
Lower Grounds, Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Fields

As the train halted, Andromeda stood up. The bespeckled sky was black as obsidian, with the stars poured periodically over it as white and light as the pearls hidden beneath the surface. She stood and gazed, memorized by the grandeur and glory of the sky above for a moment, before checking her satchel and entering the brown oak carriages, seemingly gaining a moment from thin air. Andromeda was blessed with the inability to see the Thestrals, and she always felt mournful of those who were not spared the constant reminders of their loved ones' deaths through the winged, pitch-black horses.

She looked for the most empty carriage, which was one in the middle, housing not even a single mouse. She stepped in, releasing her tensed shoulders from strain and placing her bags underneath the sturdy, wooden benches. She didn't bother pulling out one of her many, many-colored magazines draped in dancing neon lights for this short ride. At that moment, she laid eyes upon the magnificent castle once more, barely taking in the magnificent sight and glorious lighting. Just as she did, she noticed a small lad with brown hair, the shade of milk coffee the muggles consumed, and blue eyes, the same color as the Hogwarts lake when doused in Summer light.

"Hello, Amos," she said plainly, her head supported by her light arm, further supported by the window sill of the carriage, skull still tilted towards the luxurious castle. "I don't suppose anything interesting has happened since we departed," she said this time with slightly more enthusiasm, although she was still staring at the now-lit castle and thinking about the courses and exams within. She was confident this year, having already read the rest of her textbooks, performing several charms and incantations over the break, the Ministry has no proof it was her.

by **Purgatio** » Mon Apr 11, 2022 9:14 am

Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:20 PM
Dominique Jean Rosier

Dominique heard a smooth French-accented voice next to him, and in the corner of his eye, noticed a slim and familiar figure take the empty seat right next to him, which shook him out of his minor daze - he had been thinking, as he had for the past few hours really, about how he would handle an academic term shrouded with the naturally-unpredictable prospect of a war brewing between the Order and much of the wizarding world, bubbling away in the background, and all the burdensome or onerous implications it would have on his time, his safety, his education, and his future, lost and immersed into his anxious thoughts - and his face broke out immediately into a polite and cordial smile when he saw who it was. It was Ignis Lestrange, he recognised him instantly as his rather unique facial appearance was difficult to miss or forget, especially the long black hair, the thin nose, the arched eyebrows, and the piercing green eyes which dazzled brilliantly in the light, and the glimmering sheen of those distinctive emerald irises appeared to peer into your soul and hold and grasp a bystander's attention all on its own. He still remembered what his mummy and his Burke relatives had told him about the Lestranges at a private intimate soireé many years back, that, historically, the 'main' branch of the Lestrange family, the one descended from Radolphus Lestrange, the one which everyone in established, old-money, English wizarding high-society was familiar with (owing to its members including prominent and honourable warriors like Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix Lestrange), had dwindled significantly since the Second Wizarding War and become de facto extinct, or at least inactive within the British wizarding social scene, but the present remnants of the Cyrille Lestrange branch had settled and re-established themselves within Great Britain after tragic events which the adults at the dinner table did not seem very willing to explain to Dominique and the other children at the time. All of this meant Dominique and his friends were rather familiar with Ignis Lestrange, having seen him around at a number of society events in the past, his family running in the same circles and milieu as their own.

Dominique's friends glanced in Ignis's direction, as Dominique inclined his head politely, giving him a simple graceful nod as he spoke in a delighted tone of voice, "Ah, enchanté, Monsieur Lestrange," (as always, Dominique had an unshakeable and instinctual habit of pronouncing 'Lestrange' in the less common Francophone fashion, sounding more like Lay-Twonge than Le-Strange, a habit he had picked up as a kid despite his family living and residing in Kingston-upon-Thames, London, as a result of his family spending a good third of every year during the holiday months just down south in the Rosiers' antiquated ancestral home in Chantilly, acquainting themselves with their Rosier paternal extended relations, those reclusive distant cousins who generally cloistered themselves away in the rural countryside of Oise and Hauts-de-France and retreated from any and all social or political affairs in the wizarding world at large), "Oui, c'est magnifique, c'est vraiment incroyable!" Dominique gestured upwards with his gaze to the magicked evening sky adorning the ceiling of the Great Hall, as if in agreement with Ignis's remark, before adding quickly thereafter, "Mm, je vais bien, merci...or, hmm, at least, as well as I can be under the circumstances. What with O.W.L.s coming up within a few weeks, suffice to say, I just feel as if there is so much pressure to perform, to excel. It's rather difficult to juggle and balance that academic stress with, well, with everything else." Dominique left it vague, since he knew he was in public, but as Ignis was an Order member too, and attended all the same Order training and duelling sessions during the holidays that Dominique did, he was confident Ignis would get his veiled meaning and know what he truly meant by those words, "Other than that, I would say I'm coping fairly well, all things considered, under the circumstances that is. Certainly, I tried my best to take advantage of the Easter break to get in more O.W.L.s exam preparation, and I hope it was not for naught...mm, how about you, Monsieur Lestrange? Everything alright at home? Mummy speaks very fondly of the Lestranges at her dinners, you know, mm why, just the other day, I recall that she remarked that she would have loved to see your relations at the Burkes' Easter ball in their Hampshire country-manor. Mm-hmm, well, in any event, I do hope and trust that you've been well, Monsieur Lestrange, very well." He admired the older boy's cool, unflappable manner of carrying himself, as Dominique wished to himself that he did not have to feel as anxious, nervous, and apprehensive about the coming academic term as he did inside.

by **Dogutrakya** » Mon Apr 11, 2022 10:40 am

Salma Shafiq

Great Hall, Hogwarts

She is the heir of the great fortune of the Shafiq family, a line of purebloods tracing their ancestry to early-modern Egypt and centuries before, and it is only natural that her parents would like to dress her up as regal as possible. But Salma Shafiq loathed fancy, expensive robes. Instead, she kept the one she got from first class, magically modified and expanded so that it could fit her every needs - including secret pockets and compartments. The silver-green embroidery was becoming dull, but she could care less. It was the day of returning to school - really, a cherished moment where she can be free from the annoying and tyrannical supervision of her parents. Ugh, Salma thought. A little sigh. First-class kids are marching into the Great Hall. Salma smirked, slowly and covertly pulling out her wand, and waving ever so slightly its tip, causing one of them to fall. Cute. She almost burst to laughter witnessing the confusion.

"Oh, wow! What a spectacle," Salma said, to a small Slytherin girl she didn't even knew. It could as well be the kid's second time at Hogwarts. "Ooh, merry! Mood on the train was somber and dark. Even with all of these disturbing news Martina provided a jolly welcome. Who'd wonder she actually cared for the well-being of children," she frowned. "Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Salma. And you're gonna be seeing a lot of me throughout the year," she grinned. The girl, uneasy on her face, ran towards the other end of the Slytherin table.

Salma shook her head, her long, dark-brown hair flowing. Her sparkling hazel eyes scanned the table. She winked to boys - mostly Gryffindors - who she noticed happened to be fixated on her. A few faces she could recognize, however - who wouldn't, two of the most famous Order juniors there are? Gently, perhaps even out of character, she took a seat beside the Lestrange boy. "Hello, kids," she started. "You didn't call for me, what a shame. Is it because I bested you all at the Rowles's ball last month? But Ignis, though, I can't remember if you're there or not." Salma smirked.

"What about you, Dom? And stop, Merlin's asshole, speaking froggy, I know it sounds good and all but there's honestly a problem in your ears if you really thought that. It's Hogwarts."

by **Hochster Stern der Morgenrote** » Tue Apr 12, 2022 10:23 am

Hogwarts Great Hall
Ignis Lestrange

Like a goblin admiring a gold coin, Ignis peered at the boy beside him. His politeness was especially pleasing, and even if Ignis' habit of starting to withdraw when he became intimate with a person didn't make them great friends, he did care and knew of the young Rosier's concerns for the Order and school in general. , especially the order, since the boy was there more for his family than for his convictions. Hearing the boy then, he couldn't help but calm him down: "Je vais bien autant que possible...you know, I haven't been attending social events much since my uncle Dante's health is not the best, even so, so he sends his heartfelt greetings to your mother and your family. But speaking of the O.W.Ls, I'm sure someone as talented as you will do well in all tests and circumstances, and in the end will reap your well-deserved merits. Just let things go at their own pace and don't push yourself too hard.” Said Ignis with a shy but frank smile, as he cast his gaze towards the tables of the other houses, mainly Gryffindor, on the other side of the Great Hall.

"Well, any clues about the speech that our esteemed Headmi..." He said, before being interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice, whose owner he recognized before he even turned around, was Salma Shafiq, who although when Ignis met her he found her pleasant, today he would fit her into the pertinent nuisance category, of course, her appearance stood out in the eyes of the beholder, but her personality was somewhat irritating. “Why is this little Mandragora sitting next to me and not in a potion as it should be?" At the moment that question was the only thing on Ignis's mind.

“Good evening Miss Salma, your class and politeness always impress me.” Ignis addressed the girl sarcastically.
“Even though I was away for family reasons, I heard about the events, and I’m immensely happy to see someone, whom I hold in my heart with great affection, stand out so much in society.” Said Ignis with a wide smile as he wiped away tears that were streaming from her eyes, tears that due to her acting skills, acquired in wizarding high society circles, very few could know if they were fake.

by **Meretica** » Tue Apr 12, 2022 8:32 pm

Amos Fleming
Lower Grounds, Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Fields

Nothing had, of course, happened since he had last seen her-- how could anything have happened in the handful of minutes that they had been separated? Though, arguably, one thing had changed.

Amos could see the thestrals. He had seen his grandmother die. He didn't know if any others could see them too, but he thought it'd be rude to ask. The beasts stamped their hooves, and he did his best to ignore how uncomfortable they made him feel as he climbed into the same carriage as Andromeda sat in. It was only after he was settled and comfortable again that he bothered to answer as the soft pitter-patter-pitter-patterof a late-evening drizzle reached the grounds.

"Nothing," he said simply. "Though I did see a Ravenclaw fighting aMonster Book of Monsters. He knew to stroke the spine, though, so no entertaining moments where a book turned on its owner... I saw the librarian, Sines-- er, Ms. Hopkins-Jones, I saw her fight three of them once. They nearly took out her Kneazle."

by **CoraSpia** » Wed Apr 13, 2022 12:09 am

Marcellus Travers, Hogwarts Great Hall

The Hogwarts head boy was one of the first off the express as it finally pulled up outside of Hogsmeade station. With what looked like a record-setter in the largest trunk competition being pulled behind him and a cage containing a magnificent snowy owl on his shoulder he made his way somewhat unsteadily into one of the carriages with a few of the other older Ravenclaws. Left arm aching from the strain of dragging the enormous trunk he settled down on one of the seats.

The thestral dragged the carriage, it's near-skeleton like figure a reminder to everyone of their past. A reminder of memories it's best to forget, of people you don't want to think of anymore. For only those who have seen death with their own naked eyes can see the thestrals; and when they did they couldn't help but remember why. Yet again his mind went back to a candle-lit room and a circle of masked figures. It went to children, some his age some younger forced to pledge their obedience to something that they could never truly say they understood. Forced to torture, to mame, to kill. It went back to his own turn, the man dragged before him in rags. There were others after him but as far as he was aware he was the only one to defy his parents and refuse to kill, the only one who had had any issue with taking away a human life.
He knew now he must treat every child of an old-money family at Hogwarts with suspicion, anyone with a background like his own was probably part of the group that thought torturing muggles was fun.
As he looked at the horses, his memories of why he could see them just would not go away. He remembered Dominique's killing curse, his look of pride as his simpering 'mummy' kissed him. He remembered his shameful lies and as he did Marcellus got the impression of living in a den of snakes.

How many other people were there in this castle who'd gone through that ceremony? How many potential murderers lived among them? Truly now only muggle-borns and just about halfbloods could be trusted...but what he wondered would they think of him? His uncle had been a death eater, his mothers family were amongst the darkest wizards in Europe and were certainly the darkest to advertise the fact by living in a spooky castle and keeping vampires as pets. He was a target for his allies, and a target for his enemies; to plough a furrow through such unfriendly ground sounded to all the world like madness.

White-faced and sweating, Marcellus Travers stumbled from the carriage, looking around himself with new eyes. He saw the open doors before him and started towards them but now his breathing was quickening and when he looked again he saw eyes upon him. Were they judging him? Were they seeing him as a threat? Perhaps they saw him as a target...Marcellus did not know but, with a pale sweaty face and trembling hands he made his way towards the great hall.

by **Purgatio** » Wed Apr 13, 2022 5:54 am

Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:30 PM
Dominique Jean Rosier

A sharp female-sounding voice rang out, true and clear on his right, and Dominique jerked his head in the direction of the voice, eyebrows raised as he realised quickly who it was. Oh great, she's here, Dominique thought to himself, as a poised confident girl, wearing that trademarked haughty smirk on her face, took her seat next to Ignis Lestrange, a knowing glint in her eyes as she spoke, rather animatedly. Salma Shafiq was such an unmissable fixture of wizarding high-society, Dominique thought to himself with a bemused smile on his face, because at all of these old-money society events, where adults and children alike were always so composed, polished, and carefully well-mannered in everything they said and did, Salma's behaviour stuck out rather starkly, her bold and unvarnished way of conducting herself coming across, at the best of moments, as unusually frank, and at the worst of moments, as coarse and rude. Dominique fell silent in shock when Salma spoke to him, because for a few seconds he was genuinely unsure as to what 'froggy' meant, and it took him about a quarter of a minute before he realised she was referring to his occasional smattering of French, which he did on impulse as opposed to consciously, an inevitable habit simply because so much of his formative childhood had been spent in both Oise as well as the historic county of Surrey.

Once Ignis had thrown out his sharp retort to Salma, Dominique cleared his throat, and as usual, decided to take the path of least resistance here, replying to Salma with a rather nonplussed tone, "Ah, I see, decorous and tactful as ever, Mademoiselle al-Shafiq. Mm, of course your dance moves at the Rowles' ball were rather inspired, and your conduct as original and striking as ever, there's no doubting that, certainly. Forgive me for lapsing into French sometimes, Salma, I mean no offence by it and I did not realise it would upset you so greatly, I will attempt to refrain from it in future, as far as I can anyway, it's just something that comes out in my speech as a force of habit, having spent so much of my younger years in Chantilly, Oise, during the holidays, forgive me, it's not as if I do it intentionally to irritate or annoy you; but, yes, I shall do my best to...well, refrain from speaking, as you say, 'froggy', in future. Glad you could join us this term."

With a bemused smile and resolute nod, Dominique then turned to Ignis, a friendly grin on his face as he rattled off his reply, "Ah, I'm glad you've been well, truly, and I am sorry to hear about your uncle, I wish him nothing but good health and a swift, seamless recovery, and please send him my regards". Dominique gave a polite little bow at that, as he kept talking, internally grateful at the older boy's attempts to calm him down, "And I am immensely grateful for your assurances, I am, of course, attempting to maintain a cool head as the examinations draw nearer, and I shall try not to exert myself too much, mm, thank you for your concern. As for the Headmistress, well, it's impossible to know what goes through her undoubtedly muddled brain," Dominique said, with a visible note of disgust in his voice, "Hopefully she falls back on her usual nonsense of flinging out 'sunshine and rainbows' at everything in her path, telling the student body not to worry, everything will be alright, the worst thing would be if she makes a mountain out of a molehill and blows this whole affair totally and completely out of proportion, hmm."

by **South Olpen** » Wed Apr 13, 2022 9:18 am

Andromeda Edwards
Lower Grounds, Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Fields

"Yes, yes. It seems CAMC teachers grow more and more wreckless every year, well since the appointment of Prof. Hagrid, anyway," she said jokingly. Edwards suspected Amos might be able to see the Thestrals given his... unpleasant reactions as he got near the winged, midnight black horses.
As the Thestrals started getting restless, the gamekeeper sent them off. He felt the small lurch, but he noticed the castle, in its light-specked glory, was getting faster and the stars, white flecks of color they were, were moving, which inform him they were moving. And Andromeda and Amos made small talk, mostly about cases and professors, before they got to the glorious gates of Hogwarts. The bars of coal-black iron brought her reminiscently of her first day.
Going through the open gates, Amos and Andromeda resolved that they would sit together in the Great Hall. They strode across the Viaduct Courtyard, moving casually and in great stride to the entrance, just as thousands of young minds had, are, and will. There was little spiel about entering by a Professor, that Andromeda had forgotten by the time she sat down. She walked through the doors of the school and made her way with many others to the Great Hall.
Always dazzled and amazed by the floating candles and the bewitched sky, she breathed deeply. She took in the magnificent white candles, their tops burning with the strength and light of the sun. For a second, she forgot herself in the liberally scattered white dots that accurately reflected the night's clear, crisp sky, before breaking her trance and floating back to her mortal coil. With Fleming, she strode to the Slytherin table. Although the reforms of Martina Olivaander had allowed her to choose a seat, she did not know whether or not Amos would support it, and now that Quinn was as distant as an island in the Pacific, Andromeda had no reason not to sit with her housemates.
As she settled in, Andromeda noticed the Gryfindor HOH, Prof. Misks, looking at her and some at the "Gryffindor" Table with an approving look. Andromeda had always liked the Potions master for his House-fairness, for their mutual dislike of the 'normal' Slytherin archetype, as well as the shared hate for her own Head of House, Supriya Patel.
Far too late, however, had Andromeda realized which housemates she had sitten next too. To her right were the most Slytheriny Slytherins, including Ignis LeStrange and Dominique. She couldn't stand up, as her Headmistress was getting up already, so she resolved to ignore the boys, recently swarmed with someone even she disliked, Salma Shafiq. She tuned out Martina's statement, but knew from the reaction of her table instantly the contents.

by **Stollberg-Stolberg** » Wed Apr 13, 2022 1:49 pm

Prof. Leopold L. Arlaryberg
The Great Hall

He had read the headlines of the newspapers, not much else of the Newspapers as he was more of a Book-Fan, but from what he heard dark times could be ahead. He'd been there during the times of the One-Who-Shall-not-be-named, and because of that knew how much mistrust there was whenever the Wizarding World had a... disagreement. Looking around the Great Hall he saw the first-class Students pour in, hopeful that many of those Ravenclaws would become exceptional Herbologists, but as he could not influence the Mind of them he could only hope. Sinking into his thoughts he remembered that his Birthday was 3.5 weeks ahead, he would need to start planning something, so that it would not end up being himself in his office like last year. Maybe he could invite Prof. Lynch or Prof. Misks if he felt adventurous and daring, maybe even more, or other people. Times can change after all. He tried to remember why he did not really like Prof. Misks, at least not on the level as a teacher. Then it struck him again, sure, Prof. Misks was talented at what he was doing, but he would make a far better politician, such strong opinions were better left to one self's consciousness and not out in the open where they could corrupt the youth, but Prof. Misks was not even the worst, that was Prof. Patel, at least with Prof. Misks he could agree on certain points, but with members of The Order, that would be even harder.

Going out of his thoughts he started to wait until everyone would calm down and the Head Mistress could start her speech. Until then, he scribbled on a Piece of Paper that he should focus on the Floo this year in the seventh year classes, drew up a proposal for the expansion of the Greenhouses, and wrote down a small Poem that talked about the Autumn, he liked writing as he was creative enough to not run out of Ideas. The wait for the speech was boring, though the speeches which Headmistress Olivander gave were superb. So he got excited for this year's speech, as so many different, interesting, and frankly important events took place during the Easter break. So he waited patiently until the Headmistress started her speech.

by **Woodstovia** » Thu Apr 14, 2022 2:34 pm

Regulus Carrow, Hogwarts Great Hall

For Regulus "patrolling" the corridors of the Hogwarts Express and looking out for new students had actually just involved visiting all his friends carriages and bullshitting with them all the way to Hogwarts. Regulus found it easy enough to make friends - he was attractive, charming, had a strong family lineage, and was a good student with a position as prefect. but still, he found it difficult to make any meaningful connections. his friends were always surface level, kept at an arm's length.

This was partly why he found it so easy to cycle through the different carriages containing them, quickly swapping out one group of interchangeable lackeys for another. Rinse and repeat. Eventually, he grew bored and retired to his own compartment to finish reading Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds and to scoff at its lacklustre stage directions.

When the Express arrived he placed his public mask back on and slipped into one of the interchangeable groups of "friends", laughing and joking with them as they seated themselves in the Great Hall. While the Headmistress had tried to promote house-mingling and seemingly abolish the house system altogether Regulus preferred sticking with Ravvenclaws. It was tradition! What was the point of being a Ravenclaw if it meant nothing and he hung around Gryffindors all day?

As he waited for silence to eventually wash over the hall Regulus noticed something peculiar: a giant stumbling around nearby seeming just about ready to throw up. He almost seemed to be... Trembling?

Regulus got up and made his way over to Marcellus Travers, feigning a look of concern that was disguising curiosity. "Travs are you okay? You look ill>"

by **Audunia** » Fri Apr 15, 2022 11:27 am

Cyrus’s face flashed with confusion for a moment, before he had to fight off the urge to smile. Was this prefect seriously trying to threaten him? It was clear that they hadn’t associated much together since one thing that was true about Cyrus was that he very rarely backed down from a challenge. That being said, starting the year off with a detention before stepping foot off the train wasn’t the best idea.

“There won’t be a scene if you boys got a shift on” he said, his face tilting to Dominque as he started to speak. He felt a rush of something as he watched the boy’s hand shoot down, his eyebrow raising. Maybe he wouldn’t get in trouble for starting a fight if the prefect’s first instinct was to jump the gun “Grand job you’re doing with those duties, standing about having a natter, I feel safer already”

The two boys stared off at each moment, neither particularly willing to give up their position. Cyrus certainly didn’t want some damned prefect thinking they had actual authority over him, and he was pretty sure the Gryffindor wanted to ensure Cyrus obeyed his authority. Rather than seeing which will would break first, Cyrus felt a tug at his elbow, seeing Actaeon trying to be a physical voice of reason in disuading Cyrus from getting his record for fastest detention yet. Frowning, he turned back to see the prefects had set off, making their way down the train on their duties.

He kicked himself for turning away first, even though the situation likely would’ve gotten worse if he hadn’t. At least he could say that he won since the prefects went on their merry way, as he had first demanded. The cabin sat in awkward silence for a moment, Acteaon and Cali exchangging glances as though they were communicating telekinetically, uncertain how to break the awkward silence. Fortunately, Cyrus did;

“The hell does tete-a-tete mean?” he asked, his voice mangling his echoed French. The tension in the cabin melted quickly, as they soon found themselves laughing loudly.

It didn’t take much longer for them to reach Hogwarts, riding on the enchanted carriages to the great castle. He’d heard people mention that those thestrals drew the carriages and, considering how they looked and how one was able to see them, he was quite happy to not see them.

Reaching the Great Hall, he took a seat at the long tables of Hufflepuff, his stomach growling as he realised he’d gone most of the day without eating anything.

by **Danceria** » Fri Apr 15, 2022 6:20 pm

Sunday 24/04/2039
~8:00 PM, GMT
Scottish Fields, En route to the Main Hall of Hogwarts
Osahiro Aozora & Chata-tan

After disembarking from the Hogwarts Express, Osahiro found his way tagging alongside the unnamed medium-blond-haired man and his twin (were they brothers or cousins? It would be rude of him to ask), and floated with the Gryffindor group. He had been aware of the strange grouping, and found it curiously intriguing that the separate traditions of magic fell into similar means of grouping-that is to say, four cardinal groups. While there were technically five in East Asia, the Fifth House of the Golden Dragon was technically not a House at all-but the place for all others to draw from and submit to-and the exemplars of the four other houses to enter into at the cost of severing their allegiance to their former colleagues. While cooperation and harmony were the watchwords of Mahōtokoro, it also begat a complex web of alliances, debts, and differences. Hogwarts was going out of its own rut with the Death Eater Insurgency a generation ago, but the scars of centuries of traditions still remained. He still hoped to be able to converse with peers of excellence in each House, regardless of where he was sorted into.

Hopping into an honest to goodness horseless carriage with his yōkai valet, Osahiro thought it was an actual automobile. It made sense since a train-albeit an antiquated steam engine-was used and there were a variety of lights even in Hogsmeade. Yet they lurched and moved across the fields as if by magic. How curious! the Japanese student thought, No petrol in the air, I can’t hear an engine-other than the clip-clop- When he turned to his assistant, he realised the small monocular being was…shaking. Nose sniffing as if he smelt the chemical smoke of napalm, his ears twitching as if Chata-tan heard shrieks and the crinkling of burning materials, accusatory screams, and the ticking of radiation on the wind. For the briefest of moments there was panic-was Chata-tan going to utilize the Ring of Return[1] that his father bestowed upon him? Were they in danger, did they need to leave?

“Obake.” Chata-tan said with a shortness of breath to Osahiro. With that, the tension dissipated as quickly as it had escalated. What replaced it was a twinge of sadness, for Osahiro knew what many of the other passengers did not. That Chata-tan had seen death, and much of it, during the waning years of World War II.

Something that the Gryffindor Prefect no doubt had experienced as he fell asleep for all of three seconds before sitting back up with a start;

Dogutrakya wrote:"Hah!" He jolted awake. Joseph shivered. That was one thing in life he wished not to think of, especially in places like these. "Sorry, I... 'm feeling rather unwell. Must be the journey sickness." He forced himself a warm smile, and sat to listen their responses. "Let's sit together in the Hall, should we?"

“Yes, let’s.” The Japanese Wizard smiled, and bowed his head. “Stuyvesantu-san, I am Osahiro Aozora. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

While he realized he carried himself as a dopey, naive foreigner, in the back of his mind, the gears whirred. There were few gaijin names he knew in Britain-but in America, where he was initially slated to go-he knew this name.

[1] The Ring of Return is basically a Portkey mixed with a Bond of Blood charm, enchanted in such a way to alert should Osahiro be in danger and in need of extraction. Due to being a blueblood of sorts, his Ring of Return also allowed for a location that several very armed and very loyal retainers would break in and break heads to extract their target-should the need arise. This was a diplomatic caveat in case of emergencies, as Hogwarts has been notorious for student health and Ofsted Violations.

[2]Obake - The term being “ghost”, but more “preternatural being whose true form is that of an animal”. As the author is not a professional Japanologist, this term is a faulty one at best as there isn’t really an analogue or Thestrals in the Far East.

by **Meretica** » Mon Apr 18, 2022 8:56 am

Amos Fleming
Lower Grounds, Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Fields

[size=85][i]The author of one Amos Fleming was positively exhausted. The Author had put off the post long enough, but it was important to write it, even if it broke the fourth wall. Nonetheless, the Author had Amos seat himself beside Andromeda before slinking off back to his bed for some well-deserved rest, despite his disappointingly short post.

by **CoraSpia** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 5:21 am

Marcellus Travers

The sounds of the great hall were loud and overwhelming as the head boy attempted to make his way to the head of the Ravenclaw table. So many faces: friend? Foe? Suspicious friend? It was impossible to know, and his huge frame made sure everybody noticed the obvious distress he was in. It was only a matter of time until somebody decided to come up to him, and when it happened it was one of the worst possible options. Regulus Carrow: another of the children of these old money families with highly suspicious leaders. Marcellus couldn't remember if he'd been there on that night where so many children had murdered so many muggles, but he couldn't count it out.
"I'm...I'm fine Regulus," he tried to sound composed. He failed dramatically. "Just all the stuff that's going on, you know?" He knew how lame he sounded, he didn't care. He wanted to sit down and get some food inside him, and that was all he cared about at the moment.

Martina Ollivander
Excellent, Martina thought. The students had all filed in, and there wasn't a large gap in attendance like she had feared. The ability of major bad news affecting the decision of parents to send their children back to school was something she had considered but it appeared that the house tables were largely full, something she had hoped to see.
The nerves were settling as she looked over the hundreds of expectant faces, both staff and student, all waiting on her to speak; if she failed now she knew that it could mean disaster. If there was going to be violence outside the school gates, it was her responsibility, even before the education of her students to make sure that it stayed just there: outside. As the final few students entered the great hall, the aged headmistress climbed the steps of the podium, amplified her voice and smiled genially down at them.

"I must apologise," she began, "For keeping you from your meals, your beds and your conversations. I know how tired and hungry you must be, and how much you will have to catch up on following your holidays; but I am sure most if not all of you will be aware of why I am addressing you. Two days ago, Sienna Ashbridge was found brutally murdered in her home; I am sure that some of you will be familiar with her work. Ms. Ashbridge was a well known activist for the rights of muggle born witches and wizards, and the equality between magical races. This brutal act, it was revealed on Sunday, was apparently the work of a hitherto unknown organisation named the 'Hermetic order of the Acolytes of Gaunt.'

This organisation makes certain demands of the wizarding world, of this school and of the ministry of magic. Through violence it appears to wish to force our hand in agreeing or submitting to said demands.
Some people would criticise the wisdom of me standing here today and addressing these demands; it may appear that I am legitimising this organisation, whose existance after all is not confirmed beyond some ramblings in the prophet. It is my belief however that the students of Hogwarts deserve to know one important thing: that this school rejects these so-called demands. It will never be our policy to deny education to muggle-born students. It will never be our policy to deny education to students of any and all magical races. It will never be our policy to restrict who our students interact with, to legislate on their thoughts and opinions, or to cease educating future generations on the history of their forefathers.
Rather, while I am headmistress this school will continue to be a place of free education for all who have the talent. The students of Hogwarts deserve to be educated in a place of open-minded tolerance, and of respect for one another. What they do not deserve is to have their education stunted by fear of a group who would see us return to the dark times of the 1990s.

Please allow me to be clear. While I reject these demands, I am not declaring that it is in any way acceptable for students or staff to go on a modern-day witch hunt and decide for themselves who may or may not be a member of this so-called order. The staff of this school, along with its prefects and the head boy and girl, will be taking a firmer line on violence between students going forward. Although I accept that emotions and tension may be higher than usual, there is no place for acts of violence at our school. Should you suspect a fellow student of criminality, or of posing a risk to their fellow students, my door and the doors of your respective heads of house are always open.

I am sorry for the gravity of this speech, it is not one I hoped to give. Rest assured however that the staff of this school will do their utmost to ensure that all of the students in our care are safe and can enjoy their education free from threats of violence.
With this being said, I welcome you back to school and will be happy to answer any questions you may have until lights out tonight and at any point in the upcoming term."

by **Meretica** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 6:35 am

Sinestra politely clapped, being profoundly disappointed with the speech. It was to be expected, perhaps, but that was how things would be-- publicly, at least. Privately, she was scheming, dreaming up a plan worthy of the House of Ravenclaw. She had read Muggle books once about a society known as VFD, an acronym that had many, many meanings. Why not make it real? Besides, there was no Sugar Bowl to mess anything up...

Likewise, Amos was not impressed. He saw the Headmistress as a moderate (especially in comparison to his radical grand-uncle) but it was still petty to see the Headmistress fail.

by **Arlye Austros** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 11:55 am

Frank Elphias Boyd Longbottom.
The Great Hall

Frank’s mind had been trapped in the discussion he had heard in the Express. Like a charmed armour, he had walked into the Great Hall, vaguely responding to some teammates as they asked his opinion on the new Team line-up. The voice of his Great Uncle still rang in his ears, and he was still paralyzed by it.
… named the 'Hermetic order of the Acolytes of Gaunt.'

The voice of the Headmistress broke the spell. Frank paid attention to her words until the end, trying to be as neutral as possible. But his own voice got in-between.
Should we expose our world to this conflict at all? We can separate Muggleborn from Wizardkind and still provide magical education to them.
At least, he thought, she was willing to bar out of school grounds any threat to anybody based on their thoughts. That was something he could stand by. Although he felt uncomfortable doing so.
He joined the expected clapping, albeit far from being the most enthusiast at it, and he quickly glanced around to see his schoolmates’ reaction to the Headmistress speech.

Professor Rutherford Conyer-Fawley.
The Great Hall.

Rutherford was also looking at the Student Body from his seat on an edge of the Staff stands at the front of the Hall. In fact, he was checking on his protegees every few sentences, but also paid attention to the Headmistress’s declaration.
What worried him the most was the breakdown of School Life on this strife. He feared school curricula being interrupted, Houses divided by ideology, friendships torn apart of aborted before birth in the case of the First and Second Years.

As for Frank, he seemed to be focused on something else. That was good. A boy shouldn’t fix his mind in politics at this stage of his life. James was also entirely distracted. Hopefully they would get the just of the Headmistress’s message, avoiding getting themselves in the current of this chaos.
He joined the applause, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about it, he reckoned. Rutherford heard Martina had been uncertain on how to tackle this opening statement, which no doubt would be echoed in the Ministry and Wizarding Socialité. It was a brave stance, at least.

by **Stollberg-Stolberg** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 2:30 pm

Professor Leopold Ludwig Arlaryberg
The Great Hall

Leopold listened very carefully to the speech which Headmistress Ollivander, it was as good as always, and frightfully efficient. He found it great that she was on the same page as he when she announced that the school would be a place of free Education.
It was great that the school still had a competent Leader, who would keep Hogwarts out of all sorts of Trouble, but, he still knew that there would be no matter what political tension and mistrust between Staff, and Students alike. At the End of the Speech he clapped enthusiastically, while still trying to think of ways to limit violence and hate.

When everything was loud again and the food appeared he started a conversation with Proffessor Conyer-Flawley who was seated to his right: "Proffessor Conyer-Flawley" he begun, "As you know my Birthday is not that far away from now on, and I would love to invite you to a small gathering to celebrate it. It would be delightful if you would come to it, as you have been one of my favourite colleagues to talk to. The Gathering would consist of a couple of people, I thought about no more than 5. There would be a lot to discuss by that time, I would believe, and of course there will be food and drink, in case you would come, would you have any preferences?", he thought a bit, "It would be in my Office on the 18th of May, at around 18 o'clock would be the start
". While he waited for a answer he quickly wrote down the information and question on a Piece of Paper and folded it into a letter. Of course he could not seal it with wax so he had to hope that it reached Professor Lynch successfully, he then asked the Professor to his left to give it to Professor Lynch who sat 2 seats to his left.

by **Purgatio** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 9:58 pm

Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:35 PM
Supriya Patel

In solidarity with the other teachers gathered and seated along the elongated High Table, Professor Supriya Patel maintained a composed ram-rod straight posture, back kept upright in her seat as she nodded and politely applauded the end of the Headmistress's speech, a thin smile plastered on her face, as her gaze travelled and roamed across the room, especially at the children at the Slytherin table, her House, with a heavy burden weighing on her heart and in her head. They are my responsibility, Professor Patel thought to herself, as she took a quick sip of the white wine before her, legs crossed as she adjusted the seam of her dress, I have my orders, we all have our orders. I cannot let them down, any of them. As an acolyte, a follower, a member, Professor Patel had no knowledge of anything the High Council members were planning and plotting, all she could do now was look out for the safety and security of the youngsters who had been coaxed and influenced and inducted into the organisation, who would surely now be in danger and imperilled, now more than ever, and as the Head of her House, their safety had to be her number one priority as well. She half-listened to the remainder of the Headmistress's speech before applauding along with many of the other staff members, in a largely ritualistic fashion, thoughts still racing away with fervent determination, this is surely the term when everything changes, and now, more than ever, we are under threat and under attack once more, I have to keep these children safe, I have to protect them.

***

Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
Sunday, 24 April 2039, 8:35 PM
Dominique Jean Rosier

Not infrequently, Dominique felt himself having to suppress groans of annoyance or eye-rolls of irritation at various moments of the Headmistress's speech, he tried to exercise some self-restraint and minimise the impatience and irritation in his posture and facial expression, but sometimes, many times, it was a difficult task. Most of it was the fear-mongering, 'we will not give in', cliched inspirational speech that he had come to expect, Merlin's name mummy sure was right about this senile old woman all along, hard to believe she has anything new to offer our world anymore, Dominique thought to himself rather contemptuously, as the Headmistress went on the expected drawl about how terrible the death of Sienna Ashbridge was, how awful this new organisation was, how terrible their violence was, how this brave and courageous school would never submit to threats, blah, blah, blah, Dominique could not help but wonder if the Muggle-borns and their pro-Muggle-born colluders and collaborators in the student body were actually reassured by these cliched lines, if they really felt safer and more confident about their personal security hearing their Headmistress say the completely-expected, throw out words about resisting violence.

Dominique certainly did not take at face value the tail-end of the Headmistress's speech about abjuring all violence on school grounds. He scoffed a little as he thought, yeah right, this school is going to the dogs, if any of us here gets attacked all because we have a last name that some random mud-blood deems 'wrong' and no doubt that rabid mad-dog McMoran will just give them a free 'get out of detention' card, we have to look out for ourselves, as usual, the school is not going to protect us when we are under attack from vigilantes and troublemakers, we're alone, no matter what the Headmistress claims now. As the speech came to a close, Dominique politely applauded, softly and not very enthusiastically, as he leaned over to Genevieve Flint and Edmund Yaxley, whispering as he lowered his voice, "I can't wait to get back to the common room, Merlin's beard, she sure knows how to waste all our time with platitudes, doesn't she? It's a talent, really".

Hogwarts: A House Divided - Civil War Looms Ahead (IC|Open)

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