#and figure out how he hides this centaur form within his robes

[gh0st-b0und]

i also love this gay ass little worm imo,, he should get to be a silly little centaur

[loonylupin5]

Sorcerers of the Arcane

'Let it be known who we are...'

A devastating massacre occurs at the Ministry of Magic on the evening of August 23rd, 1889. The murder of 127 witches and wizards sends the wizarding world into a state of anguish and worry. Who are the group of dark sorcerers that could commit such a crime? Will they be locked up in Azkaban? When will they strike next?

Ex-Auror turned professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Viran Leveret, is called upon to help the Aurors track down the cult of dark wizards and put a stop to them. He faces his past traumas, disturbing challenges and strained relationships, and must not lose himself to the task he has been set.

This is an original story with original characters set in the wizarding world of Harry Potter! Please give this series a chance, as I have worked very hard on it, and I really hope you enjoy it.

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PROLOGUE (#1)

Faris Spavin was a man that loved to listen to himself talk. It was his favourite thing to do, in fact, and could simply go on forever about the story of how he narrowly survived an assassination attempt made by a centaur, who took offence to the punch line of his infamous 'a centaur, a ghost and a dwarf walk into a bar' joke; but changed the narrative each time to somehow make it longer than it really was.

Though he seemed like a complete garrulous fool, as his nickname of Faris ‘Spout-Hole’ Spavin would suggest, he was quite proud of his accomplishments in wizard legislation including the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, in 1875, thank you very much!

Sadly, little to his knowledge, a large portion of the wizarding world finally saw him for the long-winded annoyance that he was, when in 1883, the Muggle government made plans to flatten The Leaky Cauldron, with the creation of Charing Cross Road. Faris Spavin made a melancholy seven-hour speech before the Wizengamot explaining why the Leaky Cauldron could never be saved, which, to his word, “Will be the greatest loss of my entire lifetime. Countless hours I spent in that pub, drinking amongst friends, telling great tales, and cracking the best jokes. That reminds me, actually, of a joke I once told the Minister of Denmark may back in ’67, she absolutely adored it…”.

During the course of his tedious speech, however, the wizarding community rallied and performed a mass of memory charms (some say, although it has never been conclusively proven, that the Imperius curse was additionally used on several Muggle town planners), so that the Leaky Cauldron was now accommodated in the revised plans for the new road. After his speech, his secretary presented him with a note describing the developments that had just invalidated his words.

Miraculously, nevertheless, he still reigned as Minister for Magic for another year. In this time, Spavin made some particularly noticeable reforms to the game of Quidditch. One hot night on the 21stof June 1884, the Department of Magical Games and Sports decreed the institutionalisation of the Stooging penalty in Quidditch. This announcement caused widespread discontent among British Quidditch players and fans, who demonstrated profusely at the Ministry of Magic Headquarters: the assembled crowd bombarded a departmental representative with Quaffles, as well as threatened to stooge Minister Spavin himself. Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were duly dispatched there and the crowd reluctantly dispersed. This was not without precedent: just over a year before, another riot had broken out at the Ministry when the Department of Magical Games and Sports had decided to get rid of "goal baskets" in favour of the modern goalposts.

Most disagreeable changes within the Ministry usually fell to blame on the gormless Minister. No sympathy was spared, however, since the country’s disdain for the man only seemed to fly over his head. Obliviously, he would hubbub endlessly to anyone who dared strike up a conversation with him. So, eventually, and almost naturally, people seemed to avoid him unless it was really necessary.

It was not a secret that people pitied the man’s most unfortunate wife.

Even in regard to his reputation, Faris Spavin was declared the longest standing Minister for Magic in history after his resignation in 1903. It was speculated that he was kept in office so long partly due to the obscure amusement of the wizarding world. Though, as Spavin sat in his office on a humid evening on the 23rd of August 1889, history, as we know it, had not yet run its course.

The Minister drew the fat cigar between his stubby fingers up to his mouth and sucked on it hard. He released the smoke from his lungs as rings in the air. Spavin smiled stupidly as he puffed again, continuing to entertain himself. Mounds of magical sweets littered his desk, with some of their wrappings discarded to the floor of the office. A rack of spirits stood against one wall, and grand, dusty, bookshelves lined another; but it was obvious which one was more frequently used.

Faris spun in his chair to gaze airily out the large window at the head of the room. It overlooked the atrium of the Ministry and the shining gold statues of the Fountain of Magical Brethren at the centre. A number of witches of wizards bustled around below, tending to their professions. He did this quite often, just to soak in the pride of the sheer fact that he was the Minister of Magic. In his eyes, he didn’t have many faults, and only rarely made mistakes when it came to how he ran the government.

It was a very quiet night at the Ministry. As quiet as it could get, anyway. No sign of a catastrophe, a mass breakout, a murder spree, or any damage whatsoever. Spavin sighed in contentment, drawing in another breath from his cigar. He had singlehandedly set the wizarding world on due course for peace and prosperity, he subtly agreed with himself. How could something go wrong at a time like this?

Then, as the clock struck 8:00 pm, the serenity of the wizarding world shattered.

Many miles away from the Ministry of Magic, a group of witches and wizards festered.

A chilling mist lingered in the dark cobblestone street, the moon hidden behind the clouds, with no other signs of life present, only the ordinary houses lining the street; the Muggles would be settled in to sleep at this time. There was no sound, except the noise of their shoes connecting with the stone beneath them. The cloaked figures brandished glistening silver masks, morphed into the shapes of moons or stars with strange, smiling faces delicately sculpted into them.

They silently formed a large circle; there were about thirty of them, or so. The air was tense, nervous, but full of excitement. None of the masked people could stand still as they glanced at one another and exchanged small touches. But then, as a significant-looking figure stepped forward, their restlessness quickly diminished. His golden mask, representing the sun, scanned them all briefly.

Two gloved hands were unveiled from under his black cloak, as the figure addressed them gracefully.

‘Welcome, friends. This day has been long awaited.’

The leader’s voice was deep, modulated, and mellifluous. His tone seemed happy, and the other figures fidgeted with heightening excitement. He stepped further into the middle of the circle, placing his arms under his hood. Everything fell quiet once more.

‘For too long have we lived in the shadows… cowering away in fear of what consequences we may face, if we are to be revealed,’ He began to say, slowly turning around to gaze upon each of the characters standing around him.

‘Our power should not be hidden!’ He pronounced, and his voice echoed down the street. ‘We hold a great gift. The darkest, most formidable, magic lays in the very tips of our wands, going to waste. But not anymore. That all changes, today.’

The cloaked figures nodded their heads rapidly, hanging on to every word, every syllable, uttered by the man. His quiet laugh protruded from under the mask, while watching the way his companions drew closer, their eagerness bouncing off one another.

The man held his hand up again, granting silence.

‘Now, you all know what to do. Let it be known who we are.’

Devilish laughter exploded into the air. The figures drew their wands, exchanged ready glances, then disappeared into the floor like shadows.

Witches and wizards dressed in neat, colourful robes were filing into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, preparing for a seemingly normal evening of work. Some chatted happily, while others had their noses buried in files and other important papers. Sorcerers of all different types appeared from the many green fireplaces lined on the high walls, making their way to their respected departments of work. Unbeknownst to everyone in the grand space; they were about to be greeted by many unexpected guests.

Screams and explosions erupted through the Atrium as the masked figures materialized from the ground. Their metallic masks shined brightly, and their wands were pointed at any person who dared move. They swept through the crowd with inhumane speed, knocking anyone who got in their way to the floor, cackling as they went. Flashes of red light flew through the air, causing the screams to grow louder. Duels broke out in the crowd as security arrived, but they were quickly ended by the masked figures with a single incantation.

The leader climbed onto the fountain underneath the towering golden statue of a wizard, watching the chaos that was occurring beneath him. Wizards and witches were being thrown through the air, suffocated by dark shadows summoned by the mysterious sorcerers, and stunned by the endless flashes of spells. Many tried to run and hide; but there was nowhere for them to go.

The sun-faced figure held his wand to his throat, and roared, “Sonorus!”

Silence filled the space instantly. All eyes landed on the man and time seemed to stand still. As he was about to speak, his eyes creeped up the furthest wall to the large window where Faris Spavin’s frightened silhouette could be observed.

‘Minister Spavin. What a pleasure it is to witness you, trembling away in your office which you so love to do,’ The leader drawled, his voice echoing loudly off the walls. The other masked magi screeched with laughter as if it was the funniest thing in the world, but he continued; ‘Your wife is doing well, I hope?’

The Minister did not move an inch. Obviously, he could hear every word the stranger was saying.

‘You thought, that by banishing dark magic, like your predecessors before you… it would simply disappear forever? You’re a fool, dear Minister.’

Limp bodies beside pools of blood littered the floor of the Atrium. Terrified faces of the wounded stared up at him. They did not bother to destroy their surroundings, but instead the people within, because that always portrayed a much more substantial message. The leader soaked in the glorious sight.

‘It is easier to walk with a friend in the dark than it is to walk with them in the light. I think you’ll all do well to remember this when our time comes…’ He uttered coolly, spreading his arms like a great dark eagle with a golden head. ‘Some can only dream of the powers we possess. Powers that had been kept hidden inside ancient texts that have been sealed away from the entire world. Fortunately, we learnt the secrets those texts depict, and now hold magic of the most prevailing. Magic so great, that is in incomparable to the nonsense you teach at your quaint schools of witchcraft and wizardry.

‘I advise you to succumb to us now, or sorely feel the consequence of what we will do to you, your family, your homes, and everything you love. It would not be hard to destroy you, I can promise that. This is a dark, cruel and twisted world we live in. Wouldn’t you agree, Minister? If my knowledge is correct, you are ignorant and unkind to those who belong to troubled backgrounds. And you do not accept those who are not pure of blood. You call us filthy and unworthy of magic. But look at what we have accomplished…’ His smile was almost audible. The man lowered his arms and gazed up at the golden statue behind him. He absorbed in its magnificence for many moments, before finally turning back to the crowd.

‘We are the Sorcerers of the Arcane. I’m certain you’ll be more aware of our presence from now on.’

With a swish of his wand, pure black vapour filled the air like a detonation. The attack had finished as suddenly as it had started. The darkness settled, minutes later, and there was no trace of the masked figures except the population of dead bodies strewn across the floor.

Mere hours later, in the Morning Prophet, it was revealed that one hundred and twenty-seven witches and wizards died at the hands of a group of mysterious and highly dangerous individuals that called themselves the Sorcerers of the Arcane.

Faris Spavin recounted the attack to journalists, Aurors, and anyone who could listen while his whole body trembled, and his face shone a ghostly white colour. He was later admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital for the shock of what he had just witnessed and left the dilemma to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to control, and demanded, shaking his fists and screaming, that they left him far out of it. After his short stay in the hospital, the Minister promptly packed bags for himself and his wife and fled the country. This was most unfortunate for the witches and wizards at the Auror Headquarters, as they were stumped on a plan of how to handle the situation best.

Naturally, panic had engulfed the entirety of the wizarding world in the United Kingdom by the next day, August the 24th. The tale of what happened the night before at the Ministry and their Minister’s flee was the only topic for discussion across the country. Never before had they suffered a blow this deadly.

Approximately one hundred and two miles away from the scene of the disaster, in a charming cottage on Kemps Lane, Painswick, Gloucestershire, a spindly wizard by the name of Viran Leveret gasped loudly as he gaped at the front title of the Morning Prophet: ‘127 KILLED IN BRUTAL ATTACK AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC’.