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 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Today, Blythe Fairchild knew, would be the first day of the rest of her life, however this discussion went. Her O.W.L.s had arrived that morning—mercifully, her aunt had been out—and the Hufflepuff had opened them tentatively, praying even in that last moment that the Lord had been kind to her. He could have, Blythe discovered with dismay, been kinder. Though her circumstances were not altogether hopeless, the prospect of watching Davinder depart for Hogwarts in September while she herself remained home in Swallowbury weighed heavily upon her chest.
Aunt Temperance had returned home in due course, but Blythe had allowed the formidable woman to settle herself, become content, before daring approach.
"Good afternoon, Aunt," she greeted with a demure smile as she entered the sitting room. Knowing full well that the woman was not fond of beating around the bush, Blythe—with only a brief hesitation—handed the woman the fateful parchment. "My O.W.L. scores arrived this morning."
Precious little escaped Temperance's attention and the date was hardly something she was likely to overlook. She had known full well that the results were due today, had in fact heard a screech on the air as owls soared through Irvingly when she had been on her break at work, but being obliged to actually finish her shift had meant a morning spent dwelling upon what she was going to come home to.
Blythe was far from stupid, but her options from this point on were likely to be limited; even with the finest results in the year that would still be true. And the results she was holding in her hand were far from that though they were perhaps not as bad as they could have been.
"So," she finally said, raising a sharp eyebrow at her niece. "Have you given any thought to what you might wish to do next?"
Though hardly elated by the middling scores, Blythe was pleased that her aunt was not surprised, either. The only thing worse than being a disappointment in the eyes of the Lord was being a disappointment in the eyes of her aunt, for the former was much more understanding. And had less of a habit of making that disappointment known.
But even so, what were her options? What career could she cobble together from her possible NEWTs that would justify—to Temperance Fairchild's satisfaction—that two more years at Hogwarts was "worth it"?
"Potions, herbology, divination, charms, and astronomy would give me a typical NEWT course load," Blythe offered shyly before hastily adding, "if I were to return. I daresay better credentials would make me more desirable as a potential governess."
It was a bit of a stretch, she knew, for a witch from her background to find herself in such a role, but the Fairchilds had enough ties within the Church that it was not outside the realm of possibility. An educated, demure, pious girl had to be an asset, hadn't she?
“A governess?” Temperance echoed back with a mild expression of surprise, never having once heard her niece express such an ambition. For an ambition it was: girls like Blythe were far from sought after commodities for those that wished to educate their children in the comfort of their own homes. She might make a living as a nanny but then her education would work against her – in Temperance’s experience people were rather suspicious of those they considered their social inferiors being more education than they were.
No, it would only hurt Blythe in the long run. Best nip it in the bud.
“Don’t you think that might be a little ambitious with these?” She asked scathingly, holding the results between thumb and forefinger as she held them back out for her niece to take away, the Ps and abundance of As glaring up all too obviously.
The knot in her stomach tightened, and Blythe knew she was losing the battle—though the Hufflepuff was not willing to concede defeat until it was entirely undeniable.
“Many of my classmates will be returning to school with worse,” Blythe pointed out, resisting the urge to shrug. “Many” might have been overstating things, but she knew it would do her cause little good to bring money into the discussion. That would only harm her case. “Besides, a small degree of ambition is crucial if one wishes to walk the path that He has designed for them. The easy road is the downward road.”
The flicker of hope that still dwelled in Blythe’s eyes gave Temperance pause; it was abundantly clear that her niece would like to return to school but she simply could not reconcile it with her sense of what was best for Blythe. Or what was best for the family coffers.
“And the ill road is the one you have already been turned away from,” she turned the results back towards her. They weren’t terrible, but if Blythe had only performed a little better she might have been able to justify letting her return to Hogwarts. As it was there was no money to support her through the last few years and, to Temperance’s mind, not much use in letting her indulge in it for the sake of it.
“You will choose something else and begin to earn your keep.”
Her heart sank, her stomach sank, and Blythe wished the floor would open up and swallow her so that she might sink. She had known it was not a sure thing—known it was essentially a long-shot, but still, her aunt’s definitive tone and…less than desirable decision hit her like a hard blow.
“Yes, Aunt Temperance,” the witch replied obediently, looking down so that the older woman mightn’t see the tears beginning to well in her eyes.
Perhaps, if she had been more devout, the Lord might have answered her prayers.
The desolation in her niece’s eyes was nearly enough to move her; nearly, but not quite enough, for her convictions ran a great deal deeper than her compassion and neither thing made a lick of difference with the state of their finances. Mayfield might have had some connections that could sponsor Blythe for her final years at Hogwarts, but Temperance most emphatically did not.
“We will find you something useful that you enjoy,” she insisted with a small degree of sympathy. “The Lord will guide you to your purpose and you can stop looking quite so glum.”
At least Temperance hoped she would. She knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to see Blythe so clearly distraught and Temperance, despite evidence to the contrary, was not made of stone.
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