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.
Thankfully the rest of the day had gone by without incident however the calm had allowed Connie's mind to wonder towards her meeting with Miss Scrimgeour this evening - the meeting she was now waiting for in her rooms, leaning back in her armchair, head propped up by her hand as she tried to ease away a headache and contemplated what she was actually going to say. The girl had misbehaved, that much was evident, and Connie was in no doubt that she was not the only one but Mr Urquart had been much more composed and the Ravenclaw boy was beyond her concern for now.
No, her attention had to be on Miss Scrimgeour and the very fact of that bothered her, though she knew it was an unfortunate way of life. Mr Urquart and boys like him would learn that the world forgave them anything whilst girls like Miss Scrimgeour got away with precisely nothing: surely the girl could see that well enough? Connie didn't care for society herself but she had not dedicated her life to education for nothing and if Miss Scrimgeour was to be a debutante one day then she would be the best and no one would say she had been incorrectly guided by the examples set for her.
"Come in," she called out, coughing to clear her throat and sitting up straight before the door opened, smoothing her robes across her knees and patting her hair into place. "Sit down Miss Scrimgeour," she gestured to the chair opposite her own by the fireplace. "I hardly need tell you why you're here."
While school had been a great source of joy for Holly, it had also been a great source of frustration. She'd never been in an environment where people had different ideas, nor one where people would consider themselves above her. She was used to dealing with authority figures — her father, step-mother, etc. — but she was not used to dealing with bratty mudblood Ravenclaws who thought they could pin the blame on her, even when she was to blame. Like most girls raised in wealthy houses, her upbringing had been a bit of a sheltered one. Thus, being tossed into the open hadn't been ideal.
Mr. Blackwell had gotten her in trouble by testing her patience, and it was already her sore spot. She'd (unfortunately) never had much patience growing up, and it had worsened since Hogwarts had offered plenty of things to test it: spells she wasn't advanced enough to cast, her annoying betrothed, bratty mudbloods. The unholy trinity.
She'd shuffled in Madam Sykes' room with a pout on her face, though she had enough sense to replace it with a neutral expression once the older woman's face came into view. She did not need a lecturing, but she knew she was about to receive one anyways. She understood she'd acted out, but she really wasn't in the mood to care at the moment. She'd show remorse tomorrow when she saw that Slytherin had lost points. Hmph.
"I spoke out of turn," she responded simply, taking a seat. The best way to get through this would to not show emotion — emotions were bad and they led to a downward spiral of arguing (and most tragically, the beat red face that was awfully unattractive on her). No, she just needed to be like Mr. Urquart and nod when she was spoken to.
Connie nearly snorted at the audacity of the response and quite how much it implicitly excused the girl from. Did she truly think all she had done wrong earlier was to speak out of turn? When she had arrived there had been clear signs that more than one spell had been fired, and that students were trying things well above their capabilities, a dangerous arrogance that no member of staff had ever been able to moderate entirely and not something that could be taken lightly.
Still, at least that particular crime had not been Miss Scrimgeour’s.
“And?” She said pointedly. She didn’t doubt that the girl would evade her again but if she could just make some headway with her it would be a start. Since the beginning of term it had seemed as though Miss Scrimgeour was determined to follow in the footsteps of Seneca Lestrange, which wasn’t a bad choice of role model really, but she was yet to be master her emotional control in quite the same way and whilst Connie was happy to encourage the friendship in the hope the older girl rubbed off on the younger it was far from fair to Miss Lestrange to put such responsibility on her shoulders.
A struggle though it was, it would need to be her.
She was prompted further this time, leaving Holly resisting the urge to pout. How much did the house matron expect from her? Apart from her slight temper, she'd been a start student and a good example for the others, hadn't she? Sure, she may have been met with detention once or twice, but that was the risk one took when striving for greatness!
"... I'm sorry for belittling one of my classmates?" she offered, unsure of what the proper answer was.
Was Madam Sykes expecting her to apologize for hexing Mr. Blackwall? They had been in dueling class; had she been expected to stand there passively while the Ravenclaw showed off his supposed "amazing" display of spell-casting?
Pursing her lips, largely to contain the urge to smirk at the sheer audacity, Connie breathed deeply as she settled in for what was clearly going to be an exercise in getting blood from a stone. It was not uncommon amongst her charges. Slytherins were, after all, rather better than most at self-preservation and a small part of Connie was usually proud of their determination to be evasive even in the face of overwhelming evidence.
It did make for long interviews though.
“I think we both know it was rather more than that Miss Scrimgeour,” she said pointedly, waving her wand to have the tea-set spring to life and pour itself. “But I have no wish to chastise you further. Your behaviour in the classroom today, at least what I saw, was no worse than that of Mr Blackwall or Mr Urquart.”
Holly's face began to heat up, and she couldn't tell if it was because of embarrassment or anger. She understood what Madam Sykes meant, but that didn't mean she liked it. There were privileges of being a young lady (or, perhaps, of being a young lady of her socioeconomic status), but at the same time there were plenty of downfalls that made it unbearable at some times. She rarely failed at complying to societal expectations in the way that, say, Camille did, but she had her own issues. Her aggression, bossiness, ambitions — all were traits that society expected her to withhold from showing.
"Then why didn't Mr. Urquart receive a similar punishment as myself?" she asked, quickly adding: "Not that I want him to lose points. I just felt that the differences in our punishments were due to my sex."
Huffing, Holly sat back in her seat. It was such a difficult topic to breach, especially with the woman who was tasked with ensuring that the Slytherin ladies remained ladylike. But, as previously informed, the house matrons were there not only to keep them in line, but also to resolve conflicts and review their concerns.
"Slytherin house... values ambition. Power and resourcefulness too. I just- I feel like the traits I pride myself on are the traits that I'm not supposed to show. What am I doing wrong?" she all but pouted.
Mr Urquart, though undoubtedly as equally culpable, had taken the wise decision to keep his mouth shut at the critical moment and Connie wished she could explain that to Miss Scrimgeour without inadvertently giving her advice on how to break rules. It would hardly reflect well on her, even if it might mark an upturn in Slytherin’s fortunes in the House Cup.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Connie insisted, before pausing for a moment to consider, and amending her statement. “You’re not failing at being a Slytherin, if that is what you’re concerned about. We do indeed have all those traits, but we also value cunning and we women have to utilise that a lot more than any man might.”
She pushed a cup of freshly poured tea towards the girl.
“You must learn to control your temper Miss Scrimgeour,” she said firmly, but not unkindly.
Perhaps what she'd been missing was female guidance in her life. Sure, she had Papa's wife, but Holly would rather forcefully transfer to Hufflepuff house than accept the woman as a mother. She'd made a point to defy her at any moment she could — at least in ways that would see Papa take her side rather than his second wife's. Perhaps it wasn't a lack of feminine guidance, but rather that she'd forcefully denied the offers of feminine guidance she'd been given. Were there deeper meanings for her issues? Or was she just awful? (Hint: It was probably the latter.)
"But —" She'd started to speak, but realized she was about to go into a tirade. That, she realized, was exactly what Madam Sykes was talking about. She needed to think before she spoke, no matter how confident she was and how deeply believed in the words that left her mouth. It's about the perception of others.
(Which, when she considered it, meant she could technically be as opinionated, loud, and mouthy as she wanted when no one was around to scold her — or when she cared little about the opinions of the person she was mouthing off to. Hmm.)
Taking a deep breath, Holly would try again, and this time slowly and with care.
"Do you have... methods for that? It's hard," she whispered.
It was a small victory and one Connie immediately latched on to. She didn’t doubt Miss Scrimgeour would need more than one talking to before she manage to control her temper – it was rather endearing really and Connie was never opposed to seeing spirit – but at least this was a start.
“I know it is,” she replied in a low voice and a small smile on her face. She would make it easier for Holly in the long run, she refused to see another girl forget herself so much she was packed off to finishing school, or worse, married off before she was old enough to even think about what she wanted from her life. Miss Scrimgeour deserved to flourish, not have her wings clipped before they were even fully grown.
“But it’s not impossible. Believe me there are plenty of people I know that would like nothing more than to shout about injustice and fire off spells to their hearts content but they control themselves,” she added with a wry laugh at the thought of how many of those people resided in this very castle. “There are things I can teach you though if you’d like that?”
Holly's future, while more solidified than some girls—especially in the marriage department—lacked true direction. Her father had been a distance once since the plague had seen the majority of her siblings buried six feet under, so he hadn't been too much help deciding what her future would be like. Would she attend Pendergast's School for Young Roses? Be immediately married? Enjoy a single season, if only to be able to assist her future daughters in their seasons? She didn't know, and she hadn't thought to ask at the young age of twelve.
"I'd like that," she confirmed with a nod. "I'd like to be able to be myself—but without losing what makes me me. Whatever that means." Who was she? Was she supposed to know at twelve?
All she knew is she didn't want to end up weak, spineless, and a doormat for any man or woman.
What she was, Connie immediately thought, was someone dearly in need of guidance and, she expected, rather overlooked in the grand scheme of her family. In her experience daughters without mothers always bore the brunt of the neglect, the oldest expected to look after the other children while the younger ones ran wild with their moods and tempers. Miss Scrimgeour had the added upset of losing half her siblings, a blow Connie could scarcely imagine though the only incidents she had witnessed had involved Holly lashing out rather than being sad.
Perhaps it would come with time?
“I believe that part of the purpose for your years here are to find that out for yourself. No one else can tell you no matter how hard they might try,” she replied with an encouraging smile that soon turned into a raise of her eyebrows. “All we can do is impart what we know and hope you have the wisdom to work it out for yourselves.”
Holly took in a deep breath. She supposed the first step to getting better (whatever that meant) was accepting that she had a problem, but she was far more inclined to believe society's issues with her were their problems. Putting aside her pride was something Holly had never been taught, especially at home where she was spoiled and allowed to speak her mind. Affirmation, however, was a great desire of Holly's, and to get that from Madam Sykes—even if it meant changing her attitude and making a pointed effort to be a "good girl"—would please her immensely.
"I just don't want to end up like one of those girls—the ones that end up in the tabloids because they misbehave." Like her cousin. (Not that Holly would ever think to partake in less than perfectly proper activities, but sometimes a bad attitude was worse than bad choices.) "I want people to look up to me, not down on me."
Connie had seen enough of the Prophet, and watched as several eyes in the Great Hall had flickered in the direction of Holly and her sister over the morning paper and toast when each lurid article had been released, to know precisely what sort of girl Holly was referring to. She hadn’t had much to do with the older girl when she had been a student but Connie wasn’t sure simple misbehaviour had been the root cause of it all.
“That is an excellent attitude to take,” she said emphatically, smiling broadly at the girl, pleased she was getting through. Could it be this easy? A little talk and a genuine offer of help and Miss Scrimgeour would become a model student? No, that was ludicrous, frankly Connie would be astounded if they got to the end of term without having to have another sit down in her office, but it was progress of sorts.
One could no more reshape Rome in a day than one could build it.
“I think that’s enough for today Miss Scrimgeour and I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said.” She smiled and gesture for the girl to get up, not wanting to take up too much of her time and risk Holly becoming irritated with her. That wouldn’t do at all. “We can talk tomorrow after dinner but until then if somebody makes you angry, or you encounter Mr Blackwall again, then take a moment, take a breath, and consider what your instincts tell you to do,” she raised an eyebrow sardonically. “And then consider whether those instincts will put you back in detention.”
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