Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
With the same account, complete eight different threads where your character interacts with eight different usergroups. At least one must be a non-human, and one a student.
Did You Know?
Braces, or suspenders, were almost universally worn due to the high cut of men's trousers. Belts did not become common until the 1920s. — MJ
Mason Skeeter was dead in an accident, and Elliot — despite the persistent curse of his sight — had not seen it in advance. He'd had no suppositions, no strange dreams, nothing — and Mason was dead anyways. While Elliot had not worked at Hogwarts for over five years, he'd stayed friends with Mason — so of course he went to the funeral, despite the guilt, despite the sense that someone ought to be blaming him for this.
He lurked at the sidelines, hands in his pockets, until after the funeral ended. Elliot turned, with the intention of going back to Wales — but spun and decided to walk up to the grave, instead. He owed Mason a look at the gravestone he had been unable to predict.
A few had asked Dido, since the news had come out, if she had Known when last she saw Professor Skeeter that it would be the last time. These were the sorts who did not understand her gift or her profession, but as she politely told them she had not, Dido Bloom had not been able to help but to feel slightly guilty, as though her inability to predict every little detail in the world had brought about her colleague's untimely demise. It was silly, and the feeling was shortly shaken off, but the witch disliked it nonetheless.
She attended Skeeter's funeral, of course, though made a point to keep largely to herself. Those already in the grip of heightened emotions did not tend to appreciate some of her more accidental comments; Dido decided this course would be in everyone's best interests. As the graveside service wound down, Dido stooped (admittedly, she did not have to stoop far) to deposit a small bouquet of lavender—for peace and tranquility, wherever his soul's journey took him—upon the freshly-turned dirt, brushing out her skirts as she returned to her full, if diminuative, height.
Though Dido had not prayed in years—she had fallen out of the habit during her student years at Hogwarts—she thought she owed the herbology professor some sort of sendoff, and so did her best to remember as many plants she had encountered as she could before she stepped away. It was unconventional but then, Dido Bloom had never been a particularly conventional witch. It also took some time, long enough for a rather human shadow to fall across her.
"Oh!" the professor emitted, rather than said, startled and not sure if she had reason to be. What had she been doing?
(Right. Dead colleague.)
"You knew him well," the witch acknowledged sympathetically, tilting her head to the side. "Not just in passing, as so many here did."
He had not meant to nearly wander into a stranger, but the way she tilted her head at him — and the words she said — pried the apology from Elliot's lips before it could be born.
He tilted his head back at her. "I did," he said, "You must be Miss Bloom."
Elliot made a habit of knowing the names of those inhabiting his former job. Whether she knew who he was remained to be seen — but he was inclined to think that she was the real thing.
