With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Oct 22, 2019 3:39:04 GMT
So Samantha had decided she was going to meet with Askold herself. The reports she had gotten back from her associate had assured her that the man was sincere in his beliefs, and so she had made the decision to take the risk. She had never gone in person to meet her contacts before, but things had changed in recent months. The Cotswolds needed to make stronger relationships, to get their message out there instead of being a ragtag camp of poor werewolves being funded by one woman.
But it was still something she didn't do, in general. Going into London seemed bad enough, after the incident with the one Auror, but going into Hogsmeade, where she knew a handful of Aurors were certainly keeping a watchful eye on everything going on in the little town? It was terrifying and unfamiliar. The last time she had properly been to Hogsmeade, even, was likely during her own school days. And back then the Hog's Head hadn't been a cozy little inn staffed by a friendly Russian baker, but a place where students were never expected to go.
If she had been in the Hog's Head Inn before, she would have simply Apparated inside to save herself the trouble, but as it was, she couldn't paint a perfect mental image of a place she had never been. She had briefly considered making a Polyjuice Potion, but the fact that time was of the essence and that she didn't have access to the hair of anyone who wasn't a known werewolf had put a stop to the idea. She instead wrapped her head in a scarf, hoping that the February cold would provide a reason for her to have it, and that it would make her look even older than she was, giving her another possible identity.
The village was silent around her as she made her way to the lighted windows of the inn, pushing open its door and looking around for its owner. It was empty inside--too late for dinner for most people, and the students weren't around to provide visitors. "Excuse me?" she said, calling out toward the kitchen. "I'd like a slice of chocolate cake, please." She had alerted him in a previous letter that, when she arrived, he would know her by ordering an item that was not on his menu. It was up to him now to recognize her.
The last few months had been a strange mix of stillness and tension. His Inn was barely getting any visitors, since students still weren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade and nobody had applied for a job at the Inn, so most of the time he was all alone, if you don't count the tall red haired auror, who wasn't much of a talker anyways.
The young man was getting rather lonely. Yes, at first Hogsmeade had seemed like a quaint little town straight out of a romantic landscape, but after a few months it felt more like a village that was living its last years as all the young people moved away, leaving their stubborn elders and crumbling buildings behind. A slight exaggeration? Perhaps. But that was all Askold saw anymore when going out for walks.
The only interesting part of his life were letters from one mysterious "S". This mysterious "S", about the identity of which Askold still had no clue, presumably, was working to help werewolves. He hadn't received a letter since way back in December, but he kept rereading them every other day to the point where the parchment had become dog-eared.
For a month nothing had happened, and Askold begun to worry that something might have happened to S., but there was no word in the papers about any Triumph of the Ministry Against Werewolves. Only silence.
But then, one ordinary evening, a man he'd never seen before had arrived at the Inn, ordered a cup of coffee and struck up a conversation about werewolves, prodding Askold about why he supported them so openly. The baker staunchly defended his stance, and he could have sworn the man left with a smile on his face.
The young man didn't sleep very well that night, trying to figure out what it had been all about. One night, another...Until a letter came from S., saying that he was to expect them. He had to watch out for anyone who would ask for something that clearly wasn't on the menu.
And that's where the tension came into the picture. It had been a whole two weeks already, and Askold was becoming rather jumpy. A few people had asked him for things that weren't on the menu, but it soon turned out that they really only wanted their god-awful blend of coffee with strange additions and had no ulterior motives. With every day that passed he grew more tense and impatient.
Yet another day nervous day had passed, and the Inn was completely empty by 8 in the evening. Feeling a bit down in the dumps, Askold had decided to lock the door and close up the place, to lay down by the fireplace and try to enjoy a book. As he was putting away the glasses he'd washed for the who-the-hell-knows-anymore time, the bell above the door rung, startling him.
A muffled female voice, one he didn't recognize, called out, asking a chocolate cake. He didn't do cakes. Dry pastries made a lot less of a mess. He emerged from the kitchen, glasses askew and a wet glass in hand.
"My apologies, we don't serve that here. Can I interest you in any less creamy pastries?" he asked, offering an apologetic smile. The woman had her face covered with a scarf, which was a bit odd, as the day hadn't been that cold, right?
"How's the weather outside?" he inquired, wishing to have even the most mundane conversation once in a while. He was about to make another off-handed comment about the climate, when a certain thought struck him on the back of his head like a particularly heavy pan.
"Chocolate cake..." he muttered under his breath. He didn't sell that. There is no reason to hide your face under a scarf.
"One moment," he said, dashing towards the outer door, opening it and looking outside. There was nobody on the street. Good. Closing the door, he grabbed the plaque in the window right next to the door and turned it around, announcing that the Inn was closed. And then he prayed to all the gods he knew of that his gut feeling had been right.
"How may I help you?" he asked, turning around and taking his place behind the counter, lest this was actually yet another customer. He wasn't sure how'd he explain his erratic behavior, but he really hoped it wouldn't come to that.
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Oct 27, 2019 14:39:18 GMT
Samantha stood silently, only moving her head to watch Askold's motions at the door. It looked like he'd understood--she only hoped he wouldn't lock the door, only close the inn; she hated the idea of being unable to escape, even when she had reason to trust the man. With her place in the world, trust was hard to extend. Reaching for her wand, she whispered a small spell at the front windows, fogging them up before she took the scarf off her head, arranging it more neatly around her neck. Even if everything went perfectly right, she didn't need anyone to ask him who the unknown customer was. It'd been so long since she showed her face in Hogsmeade that she knew people would see her as an outsider.
"Cold out there," she said, "I'm sure you're enjoying being around the ovens all day instead." It wasn't a lie; it was cold, and she needed to start the conversation somehow. "If a chocolate cake is not on the menu, I would take a spot of tea--any pastry you suggest to go with it?" It was far too late for afternoon tea, but Samantha wouldn't say no to trying a bit of the baked goods she'd been hearing about. She may have been there for business, but conducting business over a meal was one of the best ways.
She took a seat at the table nearest the counter, observing the young man. He seemed energetic, if perhaps a little nervous, and welcoming, which was always good--though maybe that would make him too trusting? She would have to gauge him as they spoke with each other. The pack member she had sent to talk to him was someone she trusted to make a reliable report, but it was always more dangerous when she was dealing with someone as her own self.
"Samantha Banks," she said, extending a hand. "I've spoken to you through owls before, but we haven't met in person. It's good to meet you. Come sit when you're done preparing the tea."
I'm very drunk while writing this so apologies in advance
As soon as he closed the door behind him, the windows fogged up, obscuring the duo from any prying eyes. It startled him for a brief moment, but Askold soon realized that it was just a simple spell, nothing more.
The young man turned around to face his visitor. Somehow, the identity of the mysterious S. didn't surprise him all that much. The writing style had seemed terribly official, and the woman in front of him - she seemed just as terribly official. Middle aged, probably a good twenty years older than Askold himself, if not even more, of short stature, which made Askold feel a little bit like an awkward giant -- which made him wonder, how did Almir feel next to all the little kids? -- and immaculately dressed.
He felt like a village peasant next to Samantha Banks.
"Honestly, sometimes I don't have enough fresh air in here, but I guess it beats being out there," he said, approaching the woman who had already taken a seat. She'd stretched her hand out for a greeting, and Askold quickly wiped his hands on his pants -- even thought there was no flour on them in the first place -- before firmly grasping her hand.
"Askold Panin-Sutherland, but just call me Askold. It's an, uh, how you say it? Pleasure? To meet you. I'm glad I didn't mistake you for a regular customer," a slight tint of red appeared on his cheeks, and suddenly he wished he'd shaved that morning. Good Lord, this all felt so proper all of a sudden.
Releasing her hand, he lingered there for a few moments, as his mind tried to catch up with the events of the last minute.
"Ah, right, tea. Any particular requests?" He asked, moving behind the counter and waving his wand in the general direction of the kitchen, making a kettle warm up. "If not, I'd offer peppermint. As for pastries... If you like meat, there are pirozhki," he pointed at the crescent buns on the other end of the counter, "or I have some sweet ones with cherry jam a bit further. It's all on the house, pick what you wish."
While he moved back and forth, fetching two clean mugs and plates and all the rest, he inquired, "How can I be of service to you?"
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Nov 5, 2019 4:48:43 GMT
Ah, tea. After walking through Hogsmeade in the cold, it sounded perfect. Living alone for so long had given Samantha much time to indulge in hobbies like collecting tea--she truly was British, wasn't she? "I'm partial to lavender or chamomile at this time in the evening, but you can surprise me if you wish. Peppermint would be fine, if that's what you have." She watched the young man run back and forth through the kitchen, seeming to embody the nervousness that Samantha felt herself. Tea should help with that, to steady and warm them both. "And I'll take the one with meat, please." She didn't attempt to pronounce the name of the pastry in the same way Askold had--she had never spoken a word of Russian in her life, and didn't want to sound like a fool. But, despite the fact that cherry jam did sound delicious, and that she worked hard to pretend the wolf in her didn't exist--that was the one she wanted.
The next words he asked for were ones that she had to think about carefully. She'd been thinking about them since she had made the decision to not only go out herself but recruit a pack member who wasn't a wolf at all. He wouldn't be a part of the pack in all senses, of course; he couldn't be, and shouldn't be. Despite the love she had for the pack, Samantha knew it would be better if not a single one of them had been bitten. Having Askold was, though, what she thought they needed--more people like herself, who had the influence that only came from not being barred from all jobs, from all education. The Cotswolds stood for integration--they needed humans who would stand by them in that goal.
She only could not let it ruin their fragile security.
"As I've told you, there is an organization that works for the rights of lycanthropes. Peacefully, of course." Samantha thought through all her past letters, hoping that Askold would not have ever associated her with Greyback and his ilk. "We know you're interested in helping us, and to put it simply, we could use the help. And that's what I'm here to find out." Her words were friendly, but formal, distant, still refusing to name herself as one of them.
Twenty-five years, and she still had not told a single human.
"Lavender? Don't think I've ever had that, sounds, uh, terribly fancy," he said, a nervous giggle accompanying his words. Askold was sure he was as red as a beetroot by now -- his flour stained clothing made him feel like a lowly servant standing in front of the Lady of the Manor. Or, or however aristocracy worked, he knew about it just enough to know that half of his last name was a mark of blue bloods. And here was Samantha, being the paragon of what it meant to be a British lady.
In short, Askold was Awkward.
At least there was chamomile to save the day. A nice brew of it always calmed the young man, and he hoped today would be no different. He started to open and close the countless jars that adorned the wall behind the bar counter, muttering words in Russian and sticking his nose into the jars, frowning each time he didn't smell what he'd been looking for. The jars began to pile on the counter -- and it was just his luck that chamomile was in the very last one.
"Uh, I've made a mess. My apologies."
He felt like someone was holding a lit torch to his ass.
Soon enough there were two steaming mugs of chamomile tea and a large plate of piroshki on the counter that separated the two. He'd found a high chair to sit on and was fiddling with the spoon, considering if he should add honey to his tea or not.
It was time to get down to business.
Askold was a tad taken aback by the posed question - what was he able to help with? The simple answer was 'Anything you'd need', but it was apparent she wanted him to show initiative. He pushed his fake glasses higher on his nose and started speaking, light hand movements accompanying his words.
"Well, for one, I am a baker. I have a bakery. And at this moment, not a lot of clients. So there is some food in the basement that I'd have to throw away, if I didn't find a use for it." Magic and refrigerators could keep things fresh for a while, but nothing lasted forever.
"Then, I'm sure the basement could be used as a traveling station, if it was reformed a bit. Add another door with magical protection, things like that." It meant a considerable risk -- he'd be living on top of a gunpowder keg, but if he could help just one werewolf, it would be worth it.
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Nov 9, 2019 15:15:05 GMT
Samantha accepted the tea happily, wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them. The inn was cozy, but the chill outside had still gotten to her, and the warm drink would help plenty. She reached for the jar of honey on the counter, adding a small spoonful to the cup. With black tea she always added cream, but with herbal tea, she would rather have honey or sugar. Just one spoonful, that was enough--she had a practiced method of making every cup.
She listened carefully to the young man's answer to her question, light brown eyes tracking his face all the while. For all that he was nervous and messy, as she could tell by his rushing around, she could detect intelligence in there, too. It was impossible to judge someone's mental quickness on appearance alone, she thought. She'd been a Hufflepuff in school, and she still felt like so many of her classmates had been more intelligent than the Ravenclaws when it came to actual success in the world. Askold was Russian, and she wondered what the Sorting Hat would've said about him if he'd been at Hogwarts.
"You've thought about it. That's what I like to hear." Samantha nodded approvingly before taking a sip of her tea. "Food would help us use the money for other things, although I would want to compensate you somehow. We are located in Gloucestershire, so we're a bit far to collect everything from here, but that's what magical transport is for, isn't it?" Even though she'd known about magic since she was eleven, Flooing and Apparating most places, she still sometimes forgot that long distances didn't have to be a problem, as long as you'd been there before. "If you're interested, I would want to sign some sort of contract. To protect us both, you know?"
Her stomach growled, and while she waited for an answer, she reached for one of the buns on the counter, biting into it. Not something she would have made, but it was delicious--it tasted like the hearty kind of food that most of the pack ate. She ate in small bites, wanting to be polite. It wouldn't do to have Askold think she was unrefined.
He felt like there was more than one pair of eyes watching him. What was the quote - the world is a stage and people were just actors in it? Askold felt exactly like that, as if Samantha was judging if he was worthy of...Living? That was a little too dramatic for his tastes, but this situation sure as hell felt like it.
'That's what I like to hear.' He'd acquired her approval, at least for now, and that made the young man sit up straighter, grabbing his mug and taking a sip of the tea. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that it was piping hot, and he had to force the scorching liquid down his throat so as to not cough it out all over the place.
"Sorry," he muttered, grabbing a paper tissue from the work space under the counter. He felt like a darn fool, but there was no other choice for him to just face the music.
"You don't have to pay me anything, I'm all set for now," he said. That wasn't the full truth, really. He'd bought the Inn, so he didn't have to pay any rent, but it still made a dent in his savings, and with the Hogsmeade ban, he really wasn't seeing any income. "I'd rather you use the money to help others. But I do suppose that it would be good to have some kind of legal explanation to why I would be contacting you frequently. I think I have just the thing, I made forms in case anyone would order catering for a large event. With a few changes to it, and we could be set!"
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Nov 24, 2019 5:06:23 GMT
It was always important to do things responsibly and by-the-books, Samantha thought. Never mind that she was doing this in total secrecy, that even her investments held in Gringotts were technically not supposed to be there. A contract would make sure that they both knew what terms this arrangement was on, even if no wizarding court would be able to uphold it for them. "I think that would be good, yes. To arrange exactly what will be delivered to us. I know you can't predict the precise amount of extra food you'll have, but we can agree on the basics, yes?"
As soon as she was done with the first of the buns, she picked up another. Even if Askold wasn't going to ask for payment for giving his extra food to the pack, she would certainly be able to give him a few sickles for a good meal and tea, so she wasn't going to regret eating several of them.
"Having forms for contacting me, as if I was simply ordering food, will help with what happens if someone asks questions, but I want to make an agreement between us as well, not for the Ministry's eyes," she continued. "I know it wouldn't be legally binding, but I simply want to know that I can trust you with the members of the pack. To lay out all the rules that we might need for using this place." She wasn't sure if Askold was aware of every concern that werewolves had about their security, but Samantha knew every single one.
"Yeah, for sure. If you would let me know the amount of people you have in your care, I would do my best to provide for everyone. And it would be good if you'd find out if any of them have any... What's the word?" Askold's speech stopped abruptly as his English failed him, "If there is something any one of them can't eat. I wouldn't want to cause any discomfort with my baking."
Then Samantha mentioned signing another contract. One, that wasn't legally binding, but to Askold it felt like the Unbreakable Vow written on paper. He took another sip of his tea, this time slowly, and spent a full minute in silence, pondering over it.
"While I understand where you're coming from, I am not sure such sensitive information should be laid out on paper?" The baker was very well aware of his penchant for being messy, and he feared that there would be one unlucky day where his scrambled mind would land the werewolves in trouble just because he forgot to hide the most important piece of paper in his possession--
Or, perhaps, he was just overreacting. But then, an idea struck him.
"I know!" he exclaimed, pushing up his fake glasses, "What if we make two copies of it? First, you would write out one in English, and then I'd copy it in Russian. I'd keep the Russian one, which should provide us some security!"
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Nov 28, 2019 23:16:18 GMT
"I'm glad you understand," Samantha said, offering a smile. "I don't think it's so bad yet as to require me to ask you to make a more serious vow than a signature. I think that will be binding enough for now." It wasn't a serious magical pact, but there was something sealing about a signature that she felt would suffice. She was putting a serious degree of trust in a human for this political environment, but it didn't seem right to ask anyone for a blood pact or Unbreakable Vow just to supply some food.
Perhaps they would need a Secret-Keeper of some sort. That was far less ominous; didn't threaten anyone with death. Samantha dreamed of a world without violence, without threats; she simply needed secrets at the moment. To keep her in control of the situation, so as not to risk their funding. Or her own life.
"The group keeps growing larger, but thankfully not every day. I can get you a number, certainly," she said. "I can't think of anyone who with allergies or anything from the top of my head, but I can certainly ask. Some of my associates spend more time around them, you see. There is a camp--but I would rather not tell you where it is yet, perhaps once you've delivered some food already."
"And you can write whatever you like in Russian, so long as I can have a copy in English. There are diplomats in the Ministry--I worked with them myself, a few decades ago--but I doubt they'll be the ones to poke around in Hogsmeade." She'd studied French herself when she'd been positioned for a diplomatic career, anyway, not Russian. "Shall we write up a draft tonight? I assume you've got paper around her somehow. Come, let's think about it." She scooted her tea and buns off to the side and gestured to Askold to come and sit with her, ready to write down all she'd been considering carefully for the last few days before their meeting.
