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
"Go on, then!" he directed Paxton encouragingly, with a nod towards a stout, busy-looking wizard at the counter. "I'll be right here when it comes time to go elsewhere, but this is for you."
It was unconventional, Herbert knew, for a student to purchase a wand before being formally invited to Hogwarts, but these were not normal circumstances. The younger son in the Fudge family, Paxton had had a rather dramatic (and unfortunate) first act of magic some years ago, reassuring his parents that an invitation was inevitable. With Somersby soon to set off into the Fog, however, Herbert had wanted one last outing with the children—just in case—and thought that the purchasing of school supplies was just the ticket.
The elder Fudge children had been left at his cousin's dessert parlour whilst Herbert had taken—not physically, of course—their young brother to the wand shop. It was a big day, to say the least!
This was it. This was the day he was going to get his wand. Herbert had come through to Paxton’s bedroom rather early in the morning to tell him the surprise; they were going to London! And Paxton was beyond thrilled. His excitement was palpable and he ran around the breakfast table telling everyone he could that he was getting his wand!
Once breakfast was over, Paxton, his siblings, and father were all off to Diagon Alley. It wasn’t long before the other children were ushered off and Paxton followed his father into Ollivander’s.
He froze. At the back of the store in front of one of the many shelves holding wands stood a tall scary man and Paxton looked up nervously to his father, his bottom lip quivering slightly. What if there was no wand for him? What if they all hated him? And this man was scary.
But no, he was a Fudge! He was going to be grown up. Slowly, Paxton nodded to his father’s words and cautiously walked toward the counter where the man was stood. Standing at the counter, Paxton turned to his father one last time and swallowed.
“Hello sir,” Paxton said quietly, his gaze looking at the shelves behind the wizard.
The wandmaker had heard the telltale tinkle of the bell as the pair walked—or floated, in the father’s case—into the shop, but had not greeted them. Gervaise was more antiquated in his thinking that the customer ought to make the approach, as that desire helped to produce clearer results in the wand selection process. Now that the boy had done so, though, the wizard placed the wand he had been ‘examining’ (always good to look busy!) back in its box before addressing him.
“Good afternoon. Am I right in thinking you’re here for a first wand?”
Paxton nodded at the mans words, his eyes focused intently on the wands packed on the shelves behind the shopkeep, “Yes, sir. My father wanted to come with me,” Paxton said shyly, turning back to Herbert briefly before turning back to Mr. Ollivander, “I hope that’s okay. He’s a ghost,” the boy said proudly.
He wasn’t really sure what to expect though the man seemed nice enough and to know that if anything were to go wrong, Paxton’s father was right behind him even if he was more ethereal than helpful at present.
“I’m going to be going to Hogwarts soon, I think.” Paxton spoke up once again, “So I do need a wand. Don't wands pick the wizard? Is there anything I need to do?”
It was, Gervaise acknowledge, rather a safe bet (particularly for a long-term gambler), but he smiled at the young boy nonetheless. An entire foot in height separated the two of them, so the wandmaker crouched slightly as he moved to take measurements, voicing them aloud to the quill and parchment that hovered helpfully behind him—obnoxiously, he knew, it would also pick up what he said as he worked.
"You need only follow directions," the wandmaker replied distractedly. "The wand does choose its master in a sense, though anyone competent can have a passable relationship with most. What I strive to do is identify the best-suited pair—and rest assured, lad, I'll not let you leave empty-handed."
Smiling politely, Paxton nodded at the man's words as the shop owner took his measurements; holding out his arms when prompted.
His eyes drifted momentarily to the parchment and then he turned his head to his father with a gleam in his eye. It had suddenly hit the boy that this was actually happening; he was actually getting a wand!
Once the measurements were done, Paxton turned to look back at the wandmaker.
"Alright, sir, He began, narrowing his eyes at the boxes behind Mr. Ollivander, "But how does the wand know? Isn't it just wood with some stuff inside of it? And how will I know? What if no wands like me? What if I break it? Are they easy to break?"
Nodding at the man, Paxton kept quiet and followed the wandmaker’s instruction. He wasn’t going to misbehave or do any adventuring right now and seeing as this man didn’t want to answer Paxton’s questions, it was a safe bet that he probably just wanted this to be done with.
Holding out his arms, Paxton put on a stern face as if to say he was a super serious, super business grown up. Not that he was. But he could pretend.
With practiced and fluid motions, Gervaise took the necessary measurements before explaining that he would be back with some options in a few moments. When he emerged from the shelves, it was with half a dozen wand boxes—four containing his own crafting, one a wand by his apprentice, and the last a creation of his late father’s. He selected one of his own first, holding the wand out for the boy to see.
“This one is made of dogwood, which is well suited to those of a jovial disposition,” the wandmaker explained. With this lad, he suspected more information was better, if only to save all involved parties some time! “At its core is a strand of kelpie mane. At twelve and a half inches, it’s rather on the long side—particularly for your current size—but you would grow into it.”
Listening intently as the wandmaker described the wand to him, Paxton felt his whole body rush with excitement and adrenaline! He was going to actually be holding a wand that wanted him! His own wand that he could cast spells with!
Taking the wand politely and with a quiet nod, Paxton pointed it in the direction of a stack of wands and gave it a quick wave, a look of nervous anticipation on his features.
Merlin help him. Gervaise had been doing this long enough to know he was in for a rough day if the children pointed their would be wands at something, and this proved to be no exception. The stack of wands at which the lad had promptly taken aim was scattered about the room, and his groan of dismay was as evident as the resulting mess. Deftly, he snatched the dogwood wand from the boy's hand before choosing something more subdued.
"Try this instead," the wizard sighed. "Demiguise hair, ten and a quarter inches of willow. Quite bendy."
Watching the stack of wands fling across the room in all manner of direction, Paxton recoiled; a horrified expression had shot itself across his features. As soon as the wand was snatched from his hands, Paxton turned to look apologetically at his father before turning back to the wand-maker.
He didn’t dare saying anything, though, as the wizard sighed his words as if he’d already had enough.
Paxton took a hold of the willow wand and pointed it sheepishly at the floor with a wince before jerking his hand slightly. He didn’t want to cause anymore damage that he already had; he felt bad enough as it was!
No, Gervaise decided, that would not do either, but at least this time, mercifully, nothing had actually happened. With a bit more delicacy this time, he reclaimed the second wand, exchanging it for a rougher-looking number with small holes dotted throughout, true to the nature of the wood. It was nothing fancy, but in that same way was, the wandmaker thought, rather elegant.
"This one's made of driftwood. A hair longer than ten inches, with merrow hair at its core. Bendy."
Slowly taking the wand, Paxton nodded. It felt nice in his hands, he thought though the ‘bendy’ description had the young Fudge rather curious. He narrowed his eyes at it a little and tightened his grip.
He knew not to actually try to bend the wand though so instead, a little more confidently than last time (seeing as nothing did happen with the previous wand) pointed it at a small candle and gave it a little swish and a quick flick.
It seemed like that, as they so often said, was the ticket—a match made in heaven. With a reassuring smile, he reclaimed the wand from the young boy to return it to its box, tying a simple twine bow about the package before handing it back, recording the necessary details, and completing the transaction.
With the lad and his ghostly father departed, Gervaise set about the tedious work of repairing the damage.
