Black Sunday

[wand_wavers]

Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds
Voldemort had waited a very long time for this. This day would be the true beginning of his march to victory. He'd allowed enough time for the populace of the Wizarding world to grow more complacent. Even with the neverending stream of minor attacks planned to unnerve them on a daily basis, his spies reported that many people thought they were safe, that the war would not impact them.
Do breed unnatural troubles
They were wrong. Oh, so wrong. He would strike quickly and fiercely. His army is ready.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute
There is a map of Britain on the wall of the borrowed ballroom. Little lights glow upon it, marking the houses to target. Teams have been assigned, and timelines and checkpoints established.
Blood will have blood
He faces his kneeling minions, his arms outstretched. "Now you shall know carnage, my loyal fighters. You will spare no one. The smallest child, the weakest grandmother, all must die. Their bodies shall be brought back to me, but leave blood. Leave the Dark Mark. Leave blood traitors as witnesses. Leave no doubt that we are ruthless and will do what we want when we want it!" His voice rises to a maniacal shriek and the Death Eaters kneeling before him are silent as the grave.
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
"Arise, Death Eaters," the Dark Lord hisses. "Arise and show no mercy."
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
In clusters the Death Eaters disapparate in a series of pops.
The cry is still, "They come!"
Voldemort smiles and waits. This is a glorious day.

Comments

[thecoolone]

He hasn't slept well. Perhaps it was from birthday cake, he thinks, or perhaps it's because Fleur's significantly bigger now and needs more room in their bed. Perhaps it's because the lights in the courtyard outside did an annoying flicker on and off and on and off until they finally stayed on but buzzing, or perhaps his dreams were simply hazy and not particularly friendly. He knows the sound of wings fluttering against a window only too well, though, and that does jolt him into wakefulness. An owl, wings ragged, breathless, falls inside as he opens that same window. It's clearly come a long way; Bill grabs the parchment from its talons and feeds it immediately. The owl, grateful, takes its fill before tucking its head under one wing and falling into a fast and desperate sleep.

The parchment, apparently scrawled hastily, contains a perplexing message in four words with no signature:

LUXOR RUINED, STAY AWAY

He has no idea what the message means, but he recognises the handwriting: it's from the goblin who hands out curse-breaking assignments at the auxiliary Gringott's office in Luxor's wizarding quarter. Moving the parchment nearer to a candle, he frowns: how can Luxor be ruined? Don't they know that his first impulse is to head back immediately when someone tells him to stay away?

The second owl in as many minutes, though, distracts him from that thought and he marvels that Fleur can sleep through it. Well, she deserves the sleep but this owl's parchment gets an even bigger reaction.

HQ NOW.

Reaching over to wake Fleur, he's interrupted by a third owl.

All right? Your clock hand says Mortal Peril but that hasn't changed in years. Owl back straight away, Mum and Dad

Bill grabs quill and ink, scrawls We're fine, more soon and sends it back with the third owl. He shakes Fleur awake by the shoulder. "I know you're not supposed to Apparate, but we've been summoned. Something's going on. We have to get out of here now. Right now. Hurry."

It takes only moments for the two of them to dress; hand in hand, they Apparate together to Order Headquarters. And not a moment too soon: outside, the streetlamps in a three-block radius go out with a simultaneous pop.