#silencioevent

When: April 26th 1977 (Evening) Where: Wildcard – Wrotham Park With: Open to all! :D 

The reception was in full swing. It had been a glorious wedding, all a pureblood affair should be and he’d delighted in raising a few brows by being a member of Bella’s party over Rodolphus’. He’d been alright with being on either side really but Bella had demanded he be with her and who could deny a bride her desire for her wedding? So he’d walked down the aisle next to a bemused Antonin, stood between Rosemary and Rita watched perhaps the greatest wedding of the decade follow through. 

Now though, the airs and graces ceremony demanded had been throw aside in favour of a party vying for the title of ‘bash of the decade’ and he had to say it was making a marvellous go of it. He’d danced, chatted and charmed his way through the crowd, utterly in his element and dressed to perfection (he’d wager he’d outdone his fellow ‘bridesmaids’ but wouldn’t dare claim to measure up to the newly minted Mrs. Lestrange). 

A particular beauty had caught his eye, a young french lady (a literal Lady) who’d no doubt been an invite of political advantage but she’d been enamoured with him after only a few conversations in her mother tongue, French was the only other language he’d bothered to learn, and as the party continued he’d decided to have some fun and led her from the main hall. 

... The pair didn’t make it far. Two halls down between two elegant marble pillar the woman lost her composure and set upon him with delightful aggressiveness. She swiftly unbuttoned his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, desperate to get at his muscled abdominals and chest while he hooked a large hand up her skirt, gripped her thigh and ground against her. The woman’s long blonde hair tipped back in ecstasy, moaning wickedly and meeting him motion for motion, until she opened her eyes and realised they’d been caught. 

She went rigid, frantically stepping away and trying to tidy herself, cheeks flushed red. Evan gently took her cheek in hand and whispered “Retrouvez-moi plus tard mon amour.” she nodded and scurried off back to the party. He sighed and lent against the pillar, shirt still open and now pushed back showing most of his chest but utterly at ease, “I don’t suppose you could’ve waited another fifteen minutes or so?” he asked the interruptor lightly.  

Being the kind of male that Alastor is, he often didn’t take too much notice of his appearance. Not in the way the younger ones did. He dressed smart, and in a way that allowed him to take on rogue elements should the scenario arise. Tonight’s event had the taste of danger in the air as he apparated to Hogsmeade, smoothing his dark navy button down shirt back into place upon arrival. In addition to the dress shirt were dark slacks and a thick black overcoat that reached just above his knees. His leather shoes had recently been shined and his hair slicked back in the usual style. Being head Auror at such a high profile event required him to keep up appearances.

Wasting no time in reaching the destination, Moody avoided the chattering crowd and kept to the outskirts, scanning the perimeter for exit points. Kingsley and Edgar were already here and stationed, he nodded to them but held off on his approach. Tonight may reflect festivities but for the Ministry, it was business as usual. Once he had memorized the layout, he moved into his own position near the main entrance. The hustle and bustle of the crowds made him anxious, they always did. Not that you could see it on his face. No, the Auror carried a stoic expresion- as per usual.

E V E N T 003: WEDDING BELLS RING

@silenciorosier

She’d heard. Of course she’d heard. Word travelled fast when there were this many high society types in one place. Nothing damaging to her cousin’s sterling reputation, of course. The luxury of having a cock, she supposed, was that you could be caught shagging in the coat closet and be applauded for it. ‘Good show, old boy.’

Bellatrix was annoyed. Not because he’d been whoring with some French noble woman. It was a wedding, the ideal hunting ground for flings and one night stands. What the hell else was he supposed to do, if not prey on the wedding-roused guests, panting like bitches in heat.

No, she didn’t mind at all that her cousin was enjoying himself. Bella’s vexation was because she was jealous. It was her day, and yet she still hadn’t been fucked in a dark, dusty storage room. Instead she’d been gliding through the spotlight, making small talk and accepting compliments, forcing herself to smile and play nice while her husband strutted around looking like sex on legs. 

It wasn’t fair. 

The song came to an end and Bella smiled at her partner, thanking them for the dance as they stepped back and another stepped in to take their place. She was about to decline with some poorly manifested excuse when she noted the gold embroidered waistcoat, the purple tie and pocket square peeking out from his slightly rumpled tux. Eyebrow cocked in disapproval, Bellatrix looked up from the broad shoulders and wide chest in front of her to meet her cousin’s smug and satisfied, smirking face. 

Without a word, she placed her hand on his shoulder and in his palm, accepting the dance even as she glared at him through squinted eyes. “Evan,” she said, voice too sharp to be polite. “I hear you’ve been enjoying yourself.” Her nails dug into his shoulder and she smiled up at her cousin with honied venom. 

@the-underestimated-amelia-bones​

He fucking hated weddings. They hadn’t been so bad growing up, because he and Frank spent most receptions stealing whatever bottles of liquor they could get their hands on and partying somewhere far from their parent’s supervision. Now that they’d been of marrying age for awhile, he couldn’t take two steps without some ancient, liver spotted, geriatric crone blockading his path and suffocating him with her rosewater perfume. 

All night. He’d endured it all fucking night, had thought that ditching Amelia at the door would have saved him from being spotted --since she was the one everyone liked. But no. It’d been a veritable minefield of ‘I have a daughter about your age,’ and ‘my niece is back from studying abroad,’ except for Edgar would’ve preferred a minefield because at least he’d be out of his fucking misery. 

Karma, being the sadistic hag that she was, put him over her knee tonight. His abandoning Amelia had resulted in Ted and Frank disappearing to the godsdamned ether, leaving his dance card to auction, and him with a dwindling list of excuses for why he really couldn’t. Work related injury had been his go to until someone had offered to massage his thigh. 

Now, a lifetime later, Edgar found himself hiding behind the fronds of some potted plant, peeking between the leaves for either a face he recognized or his chance to escape. When his sister came into view he muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to whatever higher powers decided to give him a break, and stepped out from the safety of his leafy sanctum. He made a beeline for Amelia and fell into step beside her, giving their surroundings a quick look around to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. 

@viciousvisage

“Stay with me, Kitten… stay with me.”

Heartbeat punching at his ribs like a mallet to concrete, he could feel the fissures spread with every impact. It went against every instinct to run. She was hurt. They had hurt her. She was his and they had hurt her, and they had to pay. He had to kill them. His mouth was dry and the only thing that would gratify his demanding need for vengeance was the taste of their blood, the sound of their screams, their slow and painful deaths. 

But he couldn’t stop. Fenrir ran faster than he’d ever run, bounding between trees, dodging low hanging branches, legs eating up miles at a time, and he couldn’t stop. Not when he could feel her heartbeat slowing as his sprinted faster than his feet were carrying him through the forest. Fenrir knew that if he satisfied that need to dismember the deadmen who’d hurt her, he could lose her. 

“I’m here. I got you. Just stay with me.”

Heart racing so fast he could feel its throttle in his throat, could hear it in his ears, louder than his breathing, louder than roaring, primordial instinct, Fenrir knew only one thing. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t fucking lose her. 

“You’re going to be okay, Kitten. Do you hear me? Look at me. You’re going to be okay.”

His whole life had been shit, and violence, and death since the moment he was turned. Every day had been a fight for survival, to be whatever kind of monster he had to be to live, to never be the victim but a hunter to the very end. He was the apex predator he was today because he had suffered, and bled, and endured until he was strong enough to obliterate every threat that had gotten in his way. 

“Look at me. Just look at me. Don’t you dare close your eyes. Do you hear me, Arielle. Fucking look at me.”

Until her. Until this little kitten of a witch had marched into his life and demanded his help with a reckless kind of bravery that had gotten plenty of people killed before her. She came into his life like the sun dawning after a brutal, deadly winter, and for the first time in his life he had felt its warmth. Her warmth. And she was dying in his arms. 

“Hang on. Just a little longer, Kitten. Stay with me.”

Another bestial roar thundered from his chest and his pace redoubled. He imagined familiar marble floors, gilded paintings, busts of old wizards on granite pedestals. Fenrir clawed for the one place he knew was safe, where he knew someone would be able to help her, that belonged to the only thing resembling family he’d ever known. Not slowing his pace, a bodiless hook snagged around his middle and yanked, and Fenrir stumbled, still running, through the Lestrange foyer, ageless ceramic crashing as he skid to a stop.

Event Wedding Bells Ring 

ft. Bridesmaid Rita Skeeter

One would think that after over a decade of her parents’ murder that she still wouldn’t get emotional about watching families together. But Mary still finds it difficult to look at families, especially with children around the age that she was when they died. Seeing children look so happy with their parents make her wish that they were still around. She had a good childhood, full of laughter and love, before they were murdered, but she still wishes that they could be here now. They missed out on so much, and she still misses them. Grief doesn’t just go away, and she still mourns them, especially with the way their lives were lost. It’s hard to get over something like that. 

So she doesn’t know why she’s watching the families together. She doesn’t even know why she’s here, honestly. She’s had fun at these events before, but that’s when she was surrounded with friends. Now she’s here by herself, standing off to the sidelines, just watching everything around her. While she tries to keep her gaze from families, she can’t help but to notice them, especially when they’re around everywhere.