Sanguine and the Order of the Phoenix

The Mystery and the Prophecy

The Mystery and the Prophecy

After a significant amount of cajoling, Sanguine and Vaermina were travelling - by thestrals of all things - to the Ministry of Magic, where no doubt they were going to get bollocksed. By this point, he was honestly in it for the ride. Their arrival was met with suspiciously little resistance, and Sanguine was, in that moment, grateful that he was immortal. Were he mortal, he'd be very afraid - damn Gryffindors.

'What an exciting field trip!' Sanguine muttered, sarcasm dripping from his voice. After all, he wasn't best fond of Lovegood or Longbottom, and they were the two clinging to his arms, with Longbottom using him as an immortal shield. It soon became clear that Sirius wasn't there - Sanguine prided himself on his top-notch senses, and couldn't sense him anywhere in the building. Of course, there was the off chance that it was to do with the magic in the area, or perhaps he was dead already, but there wasn't a trace of him.

'This feels like a trap,' Vaermina hissed, poking Ron, her twin brother, in the ribs. He twitched, but said nothing - even the thick headed Gryffindor could sense that something was off.

Off it was indeed. Once in the room filled with the glass orbs (certainly Vaermina, Mephala, Nocturnal or Hermaeus' domain) Potter found one with his name on. As soon as it was in his grasp, they were ambushed by the 'Death Eaters', the followers of the wizarding Dark Lord. He didn't believe an ounce of what was going on, but his instincts were screaming at him to destroy the damn thing and kill everyone in their way. What he hadn't been expecting, however, was to be knocked out cold in the middle of the fight when a nasty green bolt of light shot his way.

When he regained consciousness, he was under a white sheet. Shit, he thought. This won't go well. If his assumptions were correct, he'd been hit by the killing curse, and was now presumed dead. What the Oblivion had happened while he was dead? Things about the night came back in drips and drabs, before being hit. Long blonde hair. Luna's? No.

Lucius Malfoy.

The ambush.

They'd been losing. Where was he now? Panic began to settle in - an uncommon sensation for an immortal being. It would seem as though spending so long in a mortal vessel in actual, mortal years was taking its toll on him. He was almost... scared. He was a true Slytherin - he wasn't brave, he was a manipulator. Were he Boethiah, he would be far more confident. Were he Hermaeus Mora, he'd have seen this coming, and know exactly what to do. If he were Sheogorath, he wouldn't give enough shits to worry.

He was Sanguine. He wasn't brave, or smart, or insane.

He was presumed dead.

Without further ado, he returned his consciousness to Oblivion, leaving his mortal vessel to lie peacefully under the white sheet in the hospital.