Charming is a Victorian Era Harry Potter roleplay set primarily in the village of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the non-canon village of Irvingly. Characters of all classes, both magical and muggle — and even non-human! — are welcome.

With a member driven story line, monthly games and events, and a friendly and drama-free community focused on quality over quantity, the only thing you can be sure of is fun!
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    04.22 Accidental Magic Reversal Squad Blunder
    04.19 Rogue Dementor In Southern England
    04.17 Snakes Slay Badgers
    04.05 Miss Pendergast Returns
    04.03 Miss Pendergast Missing!
    03.10 Pettigrew Found Unconscious
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    04.29 It's gonna be May.
    04.29 Submit your summer banners!
    04.29 Submit your summer banners!
    04.17 We seem to be suffering a shortage of older students >.<
    04.09 A foul odour is plaguing Irvingly...
    04.02 Activity Check underway and other updates
    03.17 Students now have full access to their house skins!
    03.09 Changes to Student Clubs records
    03.01 Activity Check, new skins, and more!
    02.28 So you want to be a Wench?
    02.27 24 hours to submit a Spring banner!
    02.26 The staff team would like your SKINput on spring availability~
    April 1887
    04.01 - 04.30 Posting Wizard
    April Writing Challenge
    04.07 Padmore Picnic
    04.16 Quidditch: Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin
    04.21 - 04.23 Dueling Tournament
    And More!
    Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time
    See Inside... Thread 
    April 12th!
    I'm a scholar and a gentleman
    And I usually don't fall when I try to stand

    And we all fell down
    When the sun came up
    I think we've had enough

    Reuben woke to a strange sound, and realized immediately that his bed was far less comfortable than he remembered it being. It was lumpy as hell, and actually scratching his skin in places--though not in many places, he realized, because he was wearing a hell of a lot more clothing than he typically wore when he went to bed. He groaned. It wouldn't have been the first time in his life that Ben Crouch had passed out with his clothes on rather than getting properly ready for bed, but he didn't remember being that drunk last night. Actually, he didn't remember very much from last night at all.

    Stretching and yawning, Ben opened his eyes and saw dust swirling in the ray of sunlight that was coming in through a high window somewhere. His 'bed', he realized, was actually a lumpy pile of hay--and one that he was apparently sharing with someone else. That someone else happened to be very close, because as he stretched he'd accidentally smacked them across the face.

    Ben had had blackouts before, but waking up more or less cuddling distance from another man was certainly a first. He scrambled to his feet, but was immediately taken by a head rush and had to sit down. There was a wooden bucket beneath him and Ben figured that would make a good chair--only he hadn't realized that the bucket wasn't upside down, and so instead of sitting on it he ended up sitting in it, and there was something wet soaking into the seat of his trousers. Flailing, Ben fell over to the ground on his right side, which managed to at least dislodge the bucket from his arse.

    He had no idea where he was.

    @Howell Merrick @Arthur Pettigrew @Elmer Macmillan @Tristan Michaud @Cassius Lestrange @Ellory Pendergast
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    Someone was licking his face. Had he taken someone to his bed? He must have done, Howell figured. "Impatient, are we, darling?" He chuckled before realizing that it was accompanied by a god awful stench that surely would have put him off any man or woman that he might have taken to bed no matter how drunk he was. He woke with a start and made a strangled sound of disgust as he tried shooing the goat away from his face.

    Where the hell was he? It was becoming too much of a returned habit to wake up in strange places. The last time had been back in February when he had woken next to Miss Pince. Only this time he didn't remember the night before at all and there was no lovely, older woman beside him.

    In fact, he was rather uncomfortable. He squirmed a bit before getting up and staring down at what he had been lying on. Hay? Wasn't this what they fed his horses with? Waking up even more, he realized that he was not alone. Howell looked up in time to see Ben land into a bucket and he watched in bemusement mixed with amusement as Ben flailed and fell over to the ground.

    "Where the hell are we?" He asked as he stumbled to his feet. Howell tried to bring back some sort of memory of how he had ended up in what appeared to be a barn of all places.
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Howell Merrick's post:
       Reuben Crouch
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    It had been Orlando Lovegood's idea. The two had crossed paths on the High Street and they've talked business and Elmer's long stay in Peru. It had been commented on how it must be weird for Elmer to be back after such a long absence. Then, Lovegood had invited him on a night out and Elmer had agreed because, frankly, he had nothing better to do that evening. His parents could be attending some dinner, so he'd be all alone at the castle, anyway.

    He could vaguely remember meeting with Orlando Lovegood and then the scene moved abruptly to him being smacked in the face. "Mmm!" Elmer complained and slowly opened his eyes. If he didn't feel so tired, he might have been startled - he rarely got to share his bed with anyone, at least not all the way until morning.

    Sleeping in the hay, in what was most likely a barn, was a new one.

    Who were these strange men? Where was Lovegood?

    "Where's Lovegood?" Elmer asked. Frankly, neither the man with the wet butt nor the other man seemed like kidnappers, so Elmer kind of crossed out that possibility. "What's this?"

    Maybe they were in hell?
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Elmer Macmillan's post:
       Reuben Crouch
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    This was not the first time Arthur had woken up in a barn with no memory of the previous night, although it had been a very long time. At first he thought that Dezzie had smacked him in the face - but no, as Arthur's eyes blinked blearily open he realized that it was Reuben Crouch. 

    There was hay stabbing into his back. His mouth was dry. Arthur sat up suddenly, and immediately regretted it as his head swam and his body felt, suddenly, far too warm.

    "My wife -" Arthur sputtered, then stopped. Dezzie wouldn't kill him, but she would probably be sorely disappointed, and that was probably worse.

    At least he wasn't in prison.

    "We appear to be in a barn," he said, snarky.
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    Ben was still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes as the others in the barn (there were a hell of a lot of people here, and Ben wasn't immediately sure whether that was a good thing or not) woke up as well and started expressing various concerns. He stood up and dusted himself off--a process that, he found, took much longer than usual when there was actually copious amounts of dust involved, as Ben had to smack at his pant legs repeatedly before they eventually knocked some of the orange-brown layer he'd acquired from the barn floor loose.

    Waking up in a barn with a bunch of strangers would have been a bad sign, he decided as he battled the very persistent layer of dirt. Waking up in a barn with a bunch of his friends probably still wasn't a good sign, but it was at least better than waking up somewhere alone, without even knowing if he was close enough to apparate anywhere. Luckily, he recognized Howell, and Art--though he wasn't sure who the other bloke was. The stranger was mentioning Lovegood, though, and Ben had some very vague recollections of meeting up with Orlando Lovegood sometime last night (had that been last night? He certainly hoped that had been last night).

    "Astute as always, Art," he grumbled at the Quidditch player, before turning his attention to the one he didn't recognize. "And who the fuck are you?"

    OOC: Lauren got busy so this is the lot! We'll say Orlando showed up (& brought Elmer) but then left before the night got crazy. Since we're all assembled, 2 days/2 posts from here on out! <3
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    Elmer recognized Art Pettigrew, though he wasn't half as ruggedly handsome as he was in the few paper photos he'd seen him in. The others still remained strangers to him, though one of them, the one who'd sat in the bucket, didn't seem to like him very much.

    "E-Elmer Macmillan," Elmer replied morosely, his eyes cast downwards. That man seemed the violent sort and he'd already used profanity to talk to him. Elmer didn't want to get in any trouble, mostly because he'd never been good at physical fighting (or any sort of fighting, really).
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    Now that the stranger introduced himself, Arthur recognized his face - they weren't related (probably) but they were close to it. Or something. He knew Macmillans, just not this one.

    "Great, then," he said, "Whose fucking barn is this?"
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Arthur Pettigrew's post:
       Reuben Crouch
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    Macmillan. Howell recognized the name as being one of those prominent sorts of society people. Or something. He remembered there had been some female Macmillan that had dropped dead once. It had been over two years ago by now but it wasn't every day that someone dropped dead at an event. He was also the only one among them that Howell did not know.

    "I'm Howell Merrick. Now will you please stop looking like Ben kicked your puppy," he said in jest as he worked on dusting hay remnants off of himself. As for whose barn they were in, he hadn't a clue so all he offered was a shrug in that regard. "It can't be very far from where we were if we all ended up here." He would assume so anyway - if he could even remember where they had been before this. Howell remembered meeting up with the other men though he didn't remember how Macmillan had ended up among their number.
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    Ben hadn't really born the other man any animosity, though it was obvious he took it that way. It wasn't like he was swearing because he was angry. Ben's default was swearing, but most of the time he cared enough about what people thought to filter those more colorful words out. Right now, he was too groggy to care about applying any kind of for.

    Animosity or no, though, he couldn't help but laugh when Howell mentioned kicked puppies, finding it a very apt comparison. Howell send to be on point this morning (apparently he woke up faster than Ben) because his comment about the barn made a lot of sense, too. Ben walked over to the barn door, planning to confirm this theory. Maybe he'd recognize where they were from the surroundings, or maybe not, but they'd have to get out of her sooner or later.

    What he saw beyond the door, though, was not at all what he'd been expecting. "Maybe not," he said, raising his eyebrow. There was a building he could see, but it doesn't look like a house or a barn or anything familiar. Were they even in England any more?

    Before he could make any speculations on this front, a chicken, who had apparently been sitting on the protruding post above the barn door, flapped down more or less on top of his head. Ben flailed his arms wildly at the "attack," and ended up moving a few steps back into the barn before tripping over something and falling on his ass in that thick dirt again. At least there wasn't any water involved with the seat of his pants this time.
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    Elmer felt vastly outnumbered. Where was Lovegood? Why had he left him all alone with these... frat boy types? Elmer had only agreed to socialize somewhere outside of his and Merl's sphere because Lovegood had assured him that they'd enjoy it. Now the other bookshop owner was nowhere to be found and Elmer felt like that benched kid that his more athletic peers didn't want to play with.

    "Maybe we've all died and this is Hell," Elmer commented dramatically after Crouch was attacked by a chicken. "The ancient Greeks had a giant dog to guard the under-world, though every culture has different figures to serve to that rule." Yes, Elmer was totally suggesting that the chicken was the guardian of the underworld.
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Elmer Macmillan's post:
       Reuben Crouch
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    Fallon’s first reaction was that she was definitely regretting buying the cheapest wine if it made her head hurt this much after only two glasses.

    The second, when she’d moved her arm from acting as her pillow so she could touch the throbbing on top of her head, was that the bump there, not the wine, was probably responsible.

    The third, which properly woke her up, was that she was in a haystack. Literally, in one.

    Had her head not been so sore and dazed, she might have moved a bit sooner at the sound of muffled voices and movement, but everything was spinning inside her head. How could this have happened on just two glasses when she wasn’t an utter lightweight like her writer? Unless it hadn’t, of course. She could remember her and Eleanor calling it a night- Eleanor heading down to her ground floor room, and Fallon to her one at the very, very top of the windmill- and taking a few minutes whilst she combed out her hair stood at the window. Then what? Some shouting about rescue and a dragon? That sounded familiar. She had bumped her head on her window, she could just about recall being thrown over a shoulder, still in her nightgown, but the memories alone were pretty disjointed at the present and not helping the nauseous feeling.

    Fallon groaned a little, before kicking her foot up out of the hay so she could start to work her way free.
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    The chicken hit the ground at around the same time that Ben did, and he scrambled away from it through the dirt. This, as it turned out, was an entirely unnecessary precaution, because the chicken had no interest in continuing to attack him (and most likely hadn't had much of an investment in falling on his head in the first place) and ran, instead, off in the direction of the hay stack. Ben followed its frantic run for a moment, and saw a boot protrude from what appeared to be the middle of the haystack. This did not alarm him as much as it probably ought to have done, because since Macmillan had mentioned Lovegood, Ben just assumed that whomever was about to emerge from the center of the haystack was Orlando Lovegood. Perhaps he should have been wondering how Orlando Lovegood would have gotten under the haystack, and how all the rest of them had come to be laying on top of it, but at the moment there seemed like far more pressing issues at hand, such as where the hell were they and how did they get there, and little things like that.

    "I think I'd've remembered if we died," Ben grumbled, reaching up to grab some sort of metal thing that was hanging on the side of the barn to pull himself up to his feet again. This was probably a fairly normal barnyard device, but to Ben it looked, in all its rusted, tangled glory, like a medieval torture device (and reminded him a bit too much of the many detentions he'd earned at Hogwarts), so he let it drop back to the wall as soon as he was on his feet. Ben took a hurried step away from it, watching it suspiciously as if afraid it might jump out and entangle his arm in its metal jowls, or something.

    Glancing at Howell and Art, he added with an eyebrow raised, "I don't think we've ever died before; sounds sort of out of character for one of our nights out, doesn't it?"
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