your final year ;
Harry Potter was born in the year 1980, but that's not where we want to be. No, let's go back further. Here is where we want to be. It's March of the year 1978, dolls. The infamous Marauders are in their seventh & final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry; the first war against the Dark Lord is about to begin. The Hogwarts students are joined by some guests this year. What role will you play & where will you end up?
It's all in your hands now.
0180 • gryffindor
0165 • ravenclaw
0020 • hufflepuff
0235 • slytherin
0050 • beauxbatons
0010 • durmstrang
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, ' 1978 First war -- Marauder era. [lb]
How do you know a war is approaching?
Can you feel it?
Are the clouds a little darker, the air a little thicker, the night a little longer?
It had been raining for a week now. Seven days of puddles and gloom, broken skies and pouring drops. Thunder rolled and lightning crackled overhead every so often, startling wizards and witches all over Britain from their peaceful lulls.
Alastor Moody hadn’t slept since the rain began - since before the rain began - feeling more unrest than usual. He found himself calling the Order of the Phoenix together more frequently, paranoia reaching an all time high. Because nothing seemed wrong. Nothing but bad weather, high tension, and far too long, far too tiring work days. But it felt unsettling, calling in suspects and witnesses, wasting hours tracking investigations, performing courtroom interrogations - getting nothing, nowhere.
Can you feel it?
In the pit of your stomach. The waves of anxiety. The unexpected fluttering jolt of your heart. The glance over your shoulder as you walk down the street. The heaviness in your very being of unjustified, inexplicable dread.
How about now?
A man named Tom Marvolo Riddle, under the alias of Lord Voldemort, is gaining support in numbers - children of old school friends, the original Knights of Walpurgis - under a new name. Death Eaters. The rumours of this fabled and feared group are still just ripples in the stream, faded from memory. But, as ripples, they start small and spread… growing, growing, until even though the splash is gone, the surface of the water is still unsettled, distorted, marred.
Voldemort still holds the stone to throw, watching, smiling at the now calm, ignorant waters glimmering in the sunshine. In his quest for immortality no sacrifice is too great. He will stop at nothing to cleanse the world of its plague - mudbloods and wretched muggle filth - to watch as one ripple becomes the next, and the next. Until the whole stream, the whole world, is consumed.
Magic is might. Times are changing.
Who will you trust with the truth?
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