Dark Dissension

Invitations for the following (plus 1 guest)

Ms Hannah Abbott
Mr Jude Alderton
Mr Laetus Chambers
Ms Seren Fawcett
Mr Justin Finch-Fletchley
Mr Seamus Finnigan
Ms Daphne Greengrass
Ms Ainsley Innis
Mr Neville Longbottom
Ms Morag MacDougal
Mr Harry Potter
Ms Demelza Robins
Mr Zacharias Smith
Ms Nephthys Spinks
Mr Dean Thomas

( Invitations by express owl post )

Who: Pansy Parkinson & Rodolphus Lestrange
What: A request
Where: Pansy's cottage
When: Late night, Wednesday, 26th Marc, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete

The Granger child had turned out to be obnoxious, as Rodolphus had expected. He gave her the option to elect a more adult and dignified way of going about things, but she had refused. Her reasons, of course, were nothing new. She disapproved of him for being a Death Eater. He disapproved of her being an outspoken, ignorant mudblood who was stepping all over wizarding culture but that hardly disabled him from having a polite conversation with her. Unsurprisingly, Granger's manners did not extend so far. She continued to defiantly raise her chin and go on about the Longbottoms, those insipid Aurors from half a lifetime ago. The poor girl had no idea there were other ways to drive a person out of their mental capabilities. She was learning, but once she truly understood the point she'd be lost already anyhow.

Her defiance was annoying, but it was at least expected. What he needed was to know who may be defiant that he is not prepared for. It was difficult information to come by, particularly if one desired accuracy. Simply hiring someone to gather the information would be ineffective. No, what he needed was someone who wanted the England he did. He needed someone who would join when he reformed the country. If one was invested in the cause they'd have a reason to gather accurate information to the best of their ability. The problem was the same that was ever present in his endeavours. Everyone who could be trusted was in Azkaban, had fallen from social grace, or was outside of Britain with him. A new ally from the Czech Republic who had joined Rodolphus years ago had been sniffing about Britain on his orders for the past week and had turned up intriguing news. One of their own, or at least she once was believed to be, had secured quite a useful position.

( It was exactly because of Pansy Parkinson's unique position within the Ministry of Magic that brought Rodolphus to North Yorkshire. )

Who: Ainsley Innis and Nora Branstone
What: Nora needs an education and extroversion
Where: Dolls, a lesbian bar in Edinburgh
When: Wednesday evening, 12th March
Rating: PG-13 (maybe?)
Status: Closed; Incomplete

This whole scour-the-planet-for-Lestrange thing was getting old. Really bloody old. Ainsley couldn't just refuse to do it, though. Especially not when her entire division was on it and particularly not when she was taking his last victim out for a bit of extroversion that night. She'd owled Nora earlier in the day to tell her work absolutely would not release it's vice-like grip on her until at least seven. Through owls they arranged to meet up at Dolls. While she desperately wanted to rip her hair out and possibly beat the hell out of either a punching bag or a person, Ainsley reminded herself with whom and why she was going out to Dolls tonight.

Ains had managed to get home, shower and relax before she had to go out to meet up with Nora, who she didn't actually know at all. The Auror figured there weren't too many people likely to be wearing a skirt and jumper ensemble and considering recent happenings she was willing to bet Nora would be covered more than anyone else going to the bar. She showed up early clad in a simple white tank, fitted jeans that weren't too tight, and motorcycle boots along with a long, black jacket. Ainsley was trying to not be too much of a dyke but she suspected she was failing just a little bit at that. "Whatever, she's looking for a lesbian, right? Maybe I should've butched it up," she muttered quietly to herself as she leaned against the stone wall.

Who: A litany of NPCs (Corvus, Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione Granger, a Ukrainian Curse Breaker & two misc. blokes)
What: An invitation to discuss a difference of opinions
Where: Hermione Granger's Flat, London
When: Approximately 9 pm, Thursday, 13th March
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete

Why Lestrange had not only sent Corvus but also his own brother and three others just to snatch one little girl was beyond him. Sure, he knew all about the war. He knew the mudblood was smart, but what was she without Potter and when she didn’t expect it coming? What bugged Corvus more, though, was that Rodolphus had sent both himself and Rabastan, which of course meant he had to take orders. He was certain Rabastan wasn’t better at this than he was, but as Rodolphus’ brother he got preferential treatment. Corvus had a way of overlooking the obvious, though. The fact that Rabastan had done more and been apart of things since Voldemort’s first war was completely inconsequential the man. Rabastan had twenty years on Corvus, not to mention two wars worth of experience and time in Azkaban. To say Rabastan did not deserve to call the shots was a gross error in judgement.

Rabastan, unlike Corvus, understood what his brother was doing. He understood why he was doing it. Corvus seemed to be under the impression that this was yet another thing for the glory of the Death Eaters. “Death Eater” was a dead term so far as both Lestranges were concerned. It was symbolic of an utterly flawed attempt, two actually, and their consequential failures. They’d discussed a name of sorts, but ultimately both brothers agreed it didn’t matter what they were called. People would forever associate them with the Death Eaters and a name didn’t really do much for them. Perhaps a name would come eventually, but it was unimportant. What was important was making people understand they could not tarnish the culture they joined. They either had to assimilate or stay outside of its bounds. ( The wizarding world would not be torn apart by those of tainted blood with no sense of heritage. )

Who: Demelza Robins & Harry Potter
What: Mel and Harry decide Scrimgeour is one sexy mofo. Guess which scenario we picked? (And modified, because Ruth is made of fail and already tagged.)
Where: London. Mainly Scrimgeour's place
When: 12th March, evening
Rating: PG-13ish for language
Status: Open; incomplete

Harry pushed the chips in his hand around a bit, fingers prodding the greasy, vinegar soaked chips and making them move about the newspaper clutched in his hand. The smell wafting off them was delicious and he rather wanted to shove the lot of them in his mouth. It was a pity his stomach was protesting eating anything else.

Eyeing them, he sighed and offered the newspaper over to Demelza. "You want them?" he asked before continuing where he'd left off, "Anyway, like I was saying, Scrimgeour is...well, he's not bad for an old bloke, really. I mean, he's nothing special or anything but it's not like he's really bloody ugly, is it? He's got all that...hair."

That was rather a lame compliment, he knew, but it was the first thing that had came to mind.

Who: Hannah Abbott and Leto Chambers
What: Hannah escapes her overprotective best friend for something that is NOT a booty call.
Where: His flat
When: Night. Sunday, 10 March
Rating: Um, open?
Status: Closed;Incomplete

Now she was in a sour mood. She was trying not to be, trying desperately to go back to being relieved and happy and excited like she had felt a few hours ago, but Justin had stomped all over that. Yes, she made mistakes, and alright - maybe she had the worst track record when it came to relationships, but they weren't his business and he had no right to interfere. This was different, she felt sure of that. Leto wasn't like the others - he was respectful, and chivalrous. Maybe he was also a Death Eater who until recently wouldn't admit that she was worth anything, but she was sure that he was still good despite that.

And that's why, she left the house despite her best friend's warnings.

It wasn't long before she was in Diagon, one of the few times she apparated there. It didn't take long to find his apartment, and Hannah took a moment to collect herself before knocking on the door. She didn't want to take her anger out on Leto, because he didn't deserve to be slapped this time around.

Who: Nephthys Spinks & Morag MacDougal
What: Errands, goats and confessionals
Where: St. Mungo's, London, and a Lithuanian-speaking muggle Catholic Church (Saint Casmir)
When: Early afternoon, Saturday 8th March
Rating: PG-13 for dirty thoughts
Status: Open;Incomplete

Jameson said the department desperately need more potions, particularly a sleep potion they could only get from St. Mungo's. There was an agreement between the Ministry and the hospital that the Department of Mysteries could request unrestricted amounts of certain potions. It was too bad little near mute Neph was the one left trying to explain that to the person behind the counter in the potions pick up. It had taken their supervisor just to get everything straightened out.

She left feeling awkward and ruffled, shifting uncomfortably in her skin. The daft one who couldn't get the idea through his head that such an agreement was on file with the hospital had been leering. Leering people always made her hope the ground would open and swallow her whole. Unfortunately it just never managed to do that. Out in the air, even if it was on the cold side, she relaxed a little. It was counter-intuitive, honestly. Out here there were more people and chances were some of them would leer as well, but at least she didn't have to talk to them. She didn't need them to take her seriously or stop staring at her chest.

Nephthys tugged on the bottom of her underbust corset as if to move it further down so it couldn't push her cleavage up quite so high but she did a good job lacing it and it wasn't budging at all. Somehow she didn't notice the faint sounds of chaos as she picked a direction to walk in randomly.

Who: Nora and open
Where: A chip shop on the pier
When: Saturday night
What: Nora goes out with Dan the Plumber at Harry's insistence. (No idea what happens from there - I simply thought it'd be an amusing open thread.)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, most likely
Status: OPEN; in progress

"I said, of course, you can't bloody put your hand down my knickers." Nora was growing obviously irritated. "This is a chip shop - can't you read the sign? You can't very well rent it by the hour." She watched as Dan rolled his eye at her, then shoved another chip into his mouth. It was truly amazing how many he'd the capacity to shove in at one time. Perhaps you should have tried the tart cards, Nora told herself. At least when you pay someone, you might be able to expect them to behave.

With a sigh, she leaned against the table, her eyes looking out across the crowded room, begging someone- anyone - to spill hot coffee on her so that she'd have to jump up and go to the emergency. And be so horribly scarred she could never go out with the man again.

Or something of that nature, any road.

Who: Hannah Abbott & Laetus Chambers
What: A date meeting at Hannah's flat
When: Friday, March 7, evening
Rating: TBD
Status: Open; incomplete


He leaned against the doorway as he knocked, a small box in his hand. Leto had deliberately not brought flowers - her comment had distracted him and he was still turning it over in his mind as he waited for her to answer, wondering what he was doing on her doorstep when she was so far beneath him. Thoughts wandering again, he asked himself what her parentage was exactly, then quickly backed away from the idea of that, taking a full step backwards.

As Hannah opened the door, he pressed the box into her fingers with a grin, then added, "It isn't flowers."

Who: Seamus and Zacharias
Where: Zach's place and then "out on the town" (ie, a pub or something)
When: Thursday night
What: Seamus wants to get rid of Zacharias' inhibitions. Out of the goodness of his heart, and all.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, most likely
Status: Thread/Incomplete

Zacharias spent the first three of his eight minutes in front of his open wardrobe staring at his clothes, wondering what the hell he was doing agreeing to go out drinking with Seamus. Seamus. The man flustered him through a journal, how much worse was it going to be actually physically being in his presence, under the influence of alcohol? The whole idea was madness.

He couldn't back out now though, so with five minutes left his brain suddenly comprehended that he was running out of time and he grabbed the first decent, non-clashing outfit he could find, black jeans and a red button-down shirt that, on second thoughts, was really too formal-preppy for pub crawling or whatever the fuck they were going to do, and didn't he have some t-shirts around here or something? Plain white t-shirt. Impossible to find fault in. And he was putting far too much thought into this. He sighed, raking his hands through his hair and going into the en suite to check his reflection. His eyes drifted to the medicine cabinet as he contemplated whether it might not be a good idea to take an energy booster or something, but he supposed really he was keyed up enough that nervous adrenaline, alcohol and whatever was in those things probably wouldn't be a good combination.

Grabbing his jacket, he headed back downstairs with thirty seconds to spare.

Ministry Conceals Death Eater Activity!

Nine days ago a horrific act of vandalism was connected to the attack of a young woman which took place at the British Wizarding Museum the night of Saturday, the 23rd of February. In the attack the woman, whose name shall remain undisclosed, was forced to remain conscious while infamous Death Eater, Rodolphus Lestrange, cut her unborn child out of her. This child would then become mere pieces affixed to four wizarding institutions: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, the Ministry of Magic and the entrance to Diagon Alley.

The mother of the seventh month old foetus reported the night of her attack that Rodolphus Lestrange was the perpetrator. Healers at St. Mungo's reported the information to the Ministry who did nothing. In fact, they kept the fact a secret from the public who has a right to know that one of the most loyal servants of Lord Voldemort is alive and terrorising England once more! Not only that, but he clearly has a mission.

The words "A fortiori" were inscribed on each section of the child who was heartlessly displayed more than a week ago. An informant at St. Mungo's tells the Prophet that those words were also carved into the chest of the surviving mother. We at the Prophet can only hope that Minister Shacklebolt will not keep such vital information from the the public as Minister Fudge once had!

If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of Rodolphus Lestrange please inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Immediately. We apologise that the only photograph found of the suspect may be out dated. The Ministry was unable to provide anything more recent.

Who: Neville Longbottom & Nephthys Spinks
What: Lunch and company
Where: Caffè Puccini (a muggle cafe a block from the Ministry)
When: Monday afternoon, about 1pm 4th March
Rating: PG at most
Status: Closed; Incomplete

Nephthys was a creature of habit where work was concerned. She showed up at work at the same time every morning. She took her lunch at the same time every afternoon. She went to the same cafe, sat in the same window booth with a book and returned to work at the same time every day. Every evening she left work at the same time. A lot of people would have pointed out how incredibly boring that was, but for someone as shy as Nephthys was habit was comfortable, familiar and it didn't make her jumpy at the thought of it like new things, places and people did. She could have even been called high strung because of her reactions to new experiences on more than one occasion. Mostly she found someone or something to hide behind.

She liked Puccini, though. The people were nice and they knew her. They didn't bother her or creep her out. It was a calm place to be which was sometimes more necessary than usual considering the Department of Mysteries wasn't the most normal of places to work all the time. Neph's inner music nerd also had a deep love of the place just because it was named for the Italian composer. When she was in Italy her uncle had taken her to see Madama Butterfly and La bohème both. Little fifteen year old Nephthys had fallen in love with the man's operas then and when she'd first seen Caffè Puccini she couldn't stop herself from going insane.

Just like every other day Nephthys sat in her booth by the window, eyes alternating between a muggle fiction novel about Faerie and the Sidhe and the outside world where people wandered past going about their lives. Watching people was always interesting because of the things people didn't realise they did. The way they would look in every window to see their reflection or continually finger the third button of their coat or constantly tuck their hair behind an ear even though it never fell from it. People were always most interesting when they forgot anyone was looking, Nephthys included.

Who: Hannah Abbott & Harry Potter
What: A ghost walk
Where: London
When: Sunday, 2nd March, night
Rating: Veering on the side of caution, R for language, potential for possible paranormal violence etc.
Status: Open; incomplete

His toe was throbbing rather painfully and Harry found himself barely resisting the urge to hop about on one foot, yelling and cursing like a kid who'd had their favourite toy yanked from their grasp. Unfortunately, he suspected that it wouldn't go over well, especially seeing as the woman who'd decided it would be fun to tread across his foot was wearing stilettos which could rival a deadly dagger with the point of them. Wary eyes followed the brunette as she walked ahead of him, her short form disappearing into the crowd standing in front of him.

"If you'll just follow me and stay close together to ensure nobody gets lost we'll be fine," a clear, male voice said, ringing through the night air. Harry watched the clouds the came out of his mouth with every word and the expression's of those around him rather than the bearded Muggle leading the tour, interest shining in green eyes. Occasionally he wandered what it would have been like to live his life as strictly Muggle, if he'd never known about Hogwarts, if he didn't know for certain real ghosts existed. Sometimes he wondered if he'd have been drawn to paranormal activities regardless and if he'd end up like these people, many of them tourists, taking a ghost tour with a supposedly experience guide just to get a glimpse into another world.

Pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Harry unconsciously cleared his throat and shook his head, his hair which was still damp from earlier rain plastering itself to his face and refusing to move. A few people glanced over at him but for the most part he was ignored and he was okay with that; he'd come here mainly to observe. Out of morbid curiosity, he supposed.

Ducking his head down and keeping his eyes, for the most part, on the ground, Harry followed when the group began to move forward, shuffling footsteps. For the most part he didn't listen to the guide. Listening with only half an ear let him know that what he was talking about was, mostly, misinformed rubbish.

Who: Seren Fawcett and Jude Alderton
What: He’s going to take her to dinner, because he’s a soppy sort of puppy.
Where: Her house, and then La Lanterna, because Jude wants to shock her with muggle culture.
When: 1 March, evening
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed; incomplete

Flowers were always tricky. Different girls like different flowers, and they all found different things romantic. Seren, he thought, was a strange girl. Not strange in the way that every Unspeakable was strange, or even strange in that typical Pureblood strange way, but her own kind of strange. She was smart – too smart, maybe, and somehow he thought that she would see roses as an easy way out. They were pretty, but they didn’t really require thought when it came to buying them for a girl, they were just the first flowers most people went for. He had considered bringing her a set of working lungs (not human, those were too hard to find, but maybe rabbit), but that reminded him of work and the whole point of going out was to talk to her outside of work. So, in the end, he settled for a small bouquet of crocuses, which meant gladness – because he really was glad to see her, and daffodils, which meant respect and also that the sun always shined when she was near. And if she didn’t understand their meanings, they still looked pretty.

Unspeakable in Love were usually unromantic, which most people outside the department found ironic. They saw love as something to be studied, and learned from, and most of them were so wary of it that they avoided relationships. But Jude was a hopeless romantic, and he always had been. He liked dating – being close to someone, making them smile – and ever since he started dating again about three years ago, he felt a lot like a teenager. None of his relationships seemed to fit like his marriage had. They all took too much work, or they found each other impossible to understand, and they always left him feeling more discouraged. Discouraged, because he was getting old. His thirty-second birthday had just passed, which was depressing enough, but spending it alone was downright sad. He wanted to be back in love, and more than that he wanted to love someone.

He knew that it wasn’t that simple, and he wasn’t expecting fireworks when he stood on Seren’s doorstep, but it was nice to try again. And he did like her, a lot. He liked having someone to argue with, someone who understood what he was talking about when even he didn’t know what he meant half the time. He liked her – the little things, like how her right foot always seemed to shuffle a little when she walked, or how her nose scrunched up slightly just before she smiled, and how she slipped into other languages when she started cursing.

He hoped he hadn’t scared her off when he mentioned Jeanine and Lucas, and the moment he remembered that he tried to push them out of his head. It wasn’t fair to her to think about them while they were out together, although he did think it was only right that she knew.

Jude took another second to compose himself, to check and make sure he had his wallet, and to try and bring his hair into some sort of order (pointless), and then he rang the doorbell and waited.

Who: Seren Fawcett & Harry Potter
What: Waxing philosophical about the way paint peels off the walls in the DoM. Perhaps not, but you never know.
Where: The Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries
When: 29th February, night. Assuming late because it's Seren.
Rating: PG-13/R for language
Status: Open within reason; incomplete

The Death chamber had an odd pull to it, Harry thought. It wasn't something he'd expected when he'd started here; then again he couldn't have said what he had expected. The Unspeakables were hidden deep in the bowels of the Ministry, not talked much about in the other departments within the building and for the most part people went out of their way to avoid them. Their purpose was unknown to nearly everyone else outside of the department and Harry thought, shoulder pressing against the stone of one of the archways surrounding the chamber, that it was perhaps a good thing.

Even Unspeakables shuddered walking past this room.

Pushing himself off from the wall, he walked further into the chamber, his steps loud on stone ground loud in the silence of the room, the sound hitting off the walls and bouncing back at him, filling his ears. The closer he got to the centre, the more the echo of his footsteps faded in his mind, instead replaced by the sound of soft rustling, like velvet passing over velvet. A hand lifted, thumb rubbing across his nose and Harry's head turned slightly, glancing at the long shadows in the room, searching for another person. He was almost sure he heard breathing other than his own but no one seemed to be there and he was grateful. He supposed it could be seen as rather odd that he was here.

Finally stopping in front of the veil, his eyes lifted to see the gauzy layers passing over one another and here the sound of velvet passing over velvet was louder than it had been before. Harry had known it would be. His eyes remained on them even as his hands groped through thin air and then rested on the stone of one of the benches that surrounded the veil. It was tall and higher off the ground than he'd expected and his arms hoisted him up onto it, feet sliding against the wall almost blindly. When he managed to sit and not fall off, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

It was eerily calm here, he thought, dark and yet not at the same time. The glow from the veil made the shadows seem longer, darker, and far less threatening for some odd reason and from where he sat he could swear he could see straight into it. His breath caught slightly just staring.

"Do all dead things go there?" he muttered and then shook his head. "What a silly question." Fingers closing around a loose stone next to him, Harry turned it over and over in his palm, thumb tracing the sharp edge of it as teeth gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes remaining firmly fixed on the veil.