Did you know?

The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree

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Ester Montgomery for Thomas Montgomery. The one that got away (with the pornographer...)
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.

Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa

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Former Auror

64 year old Pureblood
5ft. 9in.   ❤   Married
played by Jon
53 Posts

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Argus Scrimgeour

Full Name: Argus Charon Scrimgeour

Nickname(s): Charon Jr. - by few

Birthdate: 63 Years

Age: 64

Occupation: Retired

Blood Status: Pureblood

Residence: Wellingtonshire, Hogsmeade

Hogwarts House: Slytherin Alumnus

Wand: Hazel, 13", unyielding, dragon heartstring

Family: Wife: Media Scrimgeour Children: Julius Scrimgeour, Araminta Scrimgeour, Annabelle Scrimgeour Siblings: Louisa Flint, Hadrian Scrimgeour, Chrysanta Lestrange
Standing at five foot and nine inches, Argus is stoic and firm. Having learned to remain calm and apathetic to even the direst of situations, you could not be forgiven for thinking Argus was indifferent. This translates in his uncaring blue eyes:- a trait he found most useful when he was an Auror. In recent years, however, though he often looks distant and callous to his surroundings, his eyes tell a much different story. His greying brown hair and crow’s feet around his eyes were a very obvious indicator that perhaps this man was tired – though his sorrowful or, more often than not, angry glare indicated something much different. Whilst Argus favours dark coloured suites and an overcoat whilst outside, it would not be surprising to catch him wearing a simple robe whilst in the comfort of his house. He holds his wand, palm facing downward, firmly in his right hand. His pinkie delicately balances against the pommel to stop the wand from falling whilst his forefinger extends up the handle and part of the shaft of his wand – giving him great control over his wand movements.
    Short tempered
    Fiercely determined
    Argus keeps his old Auror uniform on display in his study and since his attack, he has suffered with extreme bouts of paranoia. He also suffers with PTSD.
    August 6th, 1824 was a special day for the Scrimgeour family for it was not twelve minutes past seven in the morning when the laborious task of delivering a new born baby was finally over. The labour itself had taken several hours but it was finally over. Their first child had been born. A boy. “Argus,” a man spoke, his glistening blue eyes looking down at the crying child, “My son.” He said with a smile.
    “Argus!” The man yelled toward the three year old boy, “Come, child. I wish you to see your sibling.” His voice had calmed by the end of the sentence though Argus, as ever he was, was more interested in the toys sprawled haphazardly across the floor. It was, as Argus always seemed to argue, never a mess but a ‘tidy system adults do not understand’. True as it were that the toys were strewn about in a fashion Argus’ parents would never understand, what became clearer was when Argus finally stood up and moved over to his sister – whom was wrapped comfortably inside a few blankets – he realised he was going to have to share his toys. And he was okay with that.
    It was barely a year later when Argus’ mother gave birth to a second sibling. It just wasn’t fair, really! Not at all! Argus had tried so hard to make sure his sister knew his toys were his and his alone and now – now – he had to compete with another child? So unfair! And yet… Argus loved his brother as much as he loved his sister. That was; an inordinate amount from the moment his own blue eyes had laid upon his siblings’.
    Argus was ten! He was ten! And he was excited for several reasons. One: He knew he would be receiving his letter to Hogwarts in less than a year. Two: His siblings had invented their own system of toys that their parents could not fathom. And three: Argus’ mother was back in labour. Another sister. A little disappointing but, alas, beggars ought not be choosers and Argus just knew that his three siblings could do whatever he wanted once they were older!
    Argus’ school years went by like a sharp breeze in a meadow. Quick, slightly painful, but refreshing and an experience nonetheless. Having been sorted into Slytherin, Argus had no difficulty meeting friends to help him with his pranks. He’d grown tired of using his siblings to do his bidding – especially as one of them was less than a year old – and his school friends were more than willing to get up to mischief. Despite gaining a reputation for being a bit of a mischievous boy, Argus had developed a keen interest in Potions, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. His intellect and willingness to learn seemed to only grow has his schooling years went on. He passed his schooling with NEWT levels: Defence Against the Dark Arts: O Potions: O Transfiguration: E Herbology: E Charms: O Apparition: O Care of Magical Creatures: A
    By the time Argus had finished school, he had enrolled with the Ministry of Magic to joining the Auror Training Program. A program which, after three years of hard work, he passed and began his work in the field. It was in this job that he stayed for the next twenty three years until an unfortunate incident involving a dark wizard and a terrifying torture curse.
    It was near the end of 1862 when Argus married Media. Though they were good friends and had a very solid relationship, Argus knew she was not the one he loved and he to her. Appearances, however, must be kept and the family line must continue so that it did. They had their first child not two years later – Julius – and he was destined to become a great person.
    Two years passed and his child was growing up. Argus had been called to work on an emergency. There was a dark wizard whom had torn havoc through various establishments in Diagon Alley. It had been reported by his superiors that the wizard at hand was using various offensive spells though nobody was able to get close enough to apprehend the wizard. Argus was a skilled Auror. He was an Auror who, by any accounts, knew what to do – even in the most direst of situations. Stoic as he always was, Argus walked into the shop where bright red and green lights were sparking erratically throughout the building. He pulled out his wand and, before he could cast any spell, three syllables and a blinding red light had made their way to his body. It felt like years before anyone stopped the wizard. The Cruciatus Curse was not a curse Argus ever wanted to experience again.
    It took another three years before Media gave birth to another child – though it all seemed worth it when twins were born – Araminta and Annabelle. Argus, however, was decidedly absentminded through this birth and the only glances he would give was a small gesture of what he could muster as a smile.
    Disaster struck before Araminta and Annabelle were even three months old. The day remains a haze for Argus. His nanny had left on a walk with his two daughters yet only one daughter returned. It was hard for him to do much else, however, for though it had been three years since his attack; whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see is the manic face of his attacker. For Argus, retirement had come sooner than he wanted. The search for Annabelle was given up almost entirely after a while. Appearances, of course, had to be kept and the Scrimgeour family could not afford to allow this to get out on top of Argus having been subjected – for far longer than anyone ought to have been – to the torture curse.
    The Winter of 1880 was an odd period for Argus. His tempers had slowly gotten worse and his paranoia would not ease up. Whilst initially he was enthused and overjoyed that somehow his lost daughter had made her way back to the Scrimgeour family, Argus felt nothing but contempt once he found out it was Muggles who had not only kidnapped her, but who had the audacity to raise her as their own? She was nothing but a mudblood to him now – and, of course, they were to blame for his headspace and temper. His attack, to him, did not happen. It was the fault of Muggles and, by extension, Annabelle.
    The following few years passed without much issue. That was, of course, if you were to ignore Argus’ increasingly fickle temperament. Two of his children were almost like blessings to him though one of them - Annabelle - was something else. The accent she had got on his very last nerve and for a few years, Argus tried everything to set it right. He hired teachers and vocal coaches and nothing seemed to work. Argus simply resigned to enjoy his retirement.
    When it came to July of 1887, he was put between a rock and a hard place. Annabelle – his daughter – was not a fit for his household. He couldn’t disown her and he could not let her out of his sight like he may have felt was prudent, and he was adamant he would be able to set her right - having her debut alongside her sister was one step toward that. However, Media was insistent on Annabelle simply moving away. So, of course, Argus contacted family. He knew where family was and he could make sure of course, and as always… That appearances were being kept.
    Played By: Jon

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    Registration Date: April 1, 2018

    Date of Birth: November 23, 1993 (25 years old)

    Local Time: December 16, 2018 at 5:17 PM


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    Last online: October 22, 2018 – 10:25 PM


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    <link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Berkshire+Swash" rel="stylesheet">

    April 2nd, 1888
    <div style="padding:10px 50px 10px 50px">
    <div style="font-size:20px; font-family: 'Berkshire Swash', cursive; text-align: justify;">Annabelle Scrimgeour,</div><p>
    <div style="font-size:16px; line-height:110%; font-family: 'Berkshire Swash', cursive; text-align:justify;">You are most lucky your mother has been persuasive this day. I was within seconds of apparating to your aunt’s house and scolding you in person – though would you learn then? I think not. If your history thus far is anything to go by, it is a miracle I am even sending you this owl and not simply denying all knowledge of you ever existing; a thought, I am ashamed to admit, has crossed my mind more than I would care it to.

    What in Merlin’s beard were you thinking? You have a lot of explaining to do. Who is this Mr. Crouch you were seen – unchaperoned might I add – drinking with. I am beyond disappointed with you.

    I want a good reason why I ought not bring you home. Your aunt has been telling me that you have been settling in properly and, yet, why am I being made to write you? Because of this folly? It is abundantly clear to me you care not for your family. There is no other reason to are persistent in making sure you look a fool to everyone you encounter.

    My blood is boiling thinking about my mudblood of a child – why are you like this?

    I expect an owl within a few days or I will be seeing you in person.
    <p><div style="font-size:20px; font-family: 'Berkshire Swash', cursive; line-height:110%; text-align:right; ">Your father,<br>
    Mr. A. C. Scrimgeour</div><p>