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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    10.17 Election 1887 campaign ledgers are up!
    10.16 Kayte's changed her (Charming) face!
    10.10 Congrats to September's PW winners Olive and Miri!
    10.03 An update on the Hogwarts ban...
    10.01 It's now October~
    09.30 The AC Approaches
    09.24 We have new Wenches!
    09.24 A wild election deadline appears!
    09.14 Witch Weekly needs more Wenches!
    09.10 Hags have hired!
    09.05 Hags are Hiring & Update your CML Entries
    09.04 Congratulations to Lynn and Bree for winning August's PW!
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    5 October, 1887.

    After having received the letter from the stranger the day before, Topaz had been quietly stewing with emotion. She was angry--not at the stranger, but at the world, she supposed, for not having the answers she needed. She had just survived her second string of full moons, though survived was a loose term. Her body was laced with scars that, if the stranger was to be believed, wouldn't go away. There had to be a better way to handle this, and Topaz was going to find out what it was.

    Her tutor hadn't come so far that week. That had been her father's doing, to give her days to recuperate in between the full moons and time to rest the day afterwards, but now she was full of a restless sort of energy. She'd barely allowed the man to get settled in to the study and get the appropriate books opened to go over her homework from the weekend before the words burst forth, a declaration that she'd known she was going to deliver since she'd penned her response to the stranger this morning.

    "Mr. Forfang," she said with uncharacteristic boldness. It wasn't that she was particularly timid around the older man, since he'd been so nice to her so far, but rather that she was hardly so confident and forceful in any conversation--but today was different. Today she was determined. "I want to learn about werewolves."

    @Marlowe Forfang @Annabelle Scrimgeour

    He had actually managed to secure the position as Miss Topaz Urquart's tutor — with the help of her and her father, of course. He'd dug up some old (and still very accurate) textbooks from the library, but he'd also purchased a few new things he thought she might enjoy looking through. He wanted to keep his interests in werewolves on the down-low until she was comfortable enough with him, but it seemed she was the one asking them today!

    "Werewolves, eh?" he teased, pulling open a copy of the Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. "I won't lie — these books are likely to tell you how dangerous they are. Would you prefer a lesson with a more ... liberal stance?" And by liberal, he meant how werewolves were innocent victims rather than big, scary monsters who deserved to be captured and held prisoners.
    "Yes," Topaz agreed, after only a moment's deliberation. She knew the sorts of things she wanted to know, but she didn't want to come right out and ask because she was worried that Mr. Forfang would tell her that it couldn't be done, or that no one knew the answers, and that would be the end of it. The stranger who had written her letters had seemed to think there weren't any answers, and he or she didn't seem perturbed by that. Topaz wasn't willing to just let sleeping dogs lie, as it were, though, when her entire future hung in the balance.

    "I already know how dangerous werewolves can be," she pointed out, with a stubborn frown.

    Good. He always hated talking about werewolves in the same discriminatory fashion that the old geezers at the Wizengamot did. He wanted werewolves to become understood by the masses — something he could only make come true by learning to understand werewolves himself.

    "Werewolves are infected by lycanthropy though I imagine you already know that. It's a disease without a cure — yet, at least," he said, offering the younger girl a comforting smile. "The most tragic part of lycanthropy is the fact that they're unable to keep their human mind during the transformation, causing them to act without human rationale," he continued.
    Topaz pursed her lips when Mr. Forfang started with the very basics. She was a bit frustrated to have to feel as though she was wasting time by backtracking when obviously she knew what the word 'lycanthropy' meant! She'd known that even before the events this summer. If she complained, though, she was worried that he'd be angry with her (not that she had ever seen Mr. Forfang angry with her or anyone, yet) or that he'd want to move on to a different topic and she'd lose her chance. So instead, she listened for the openings in what he was saying.

    She wasn't usually the type to ask questions. She'd never done it at Hogwarts, and had been shy about even raising her hand to answer questions, preferring to let other students do that unless they were really fumbling. Her habit was to scribble down questions in the margins of her notes and go look them up herself, after class, and when that failed she'd rather ask a friend for advice than go straight back to the teacher, always feeling as though she'd be inconveniencing the adults or showcasing her own stupidity by asking anything. This was different, though, because this was stuff she needed to know, and it wasn't anything she'd be able to look up on her own after he'd gone. It wasn't as though her father had been keen to go out and buy every book on lycanthropy every written, after she'd been attacked, and Topaz was feeling the lack of the Hogwarts library rather keenly.

    "Yet," she agreed resolutely. "Why did you say 'disease' and not 'curse'? Does it work like a Muggle disease?" she asked, tilting her head at him. "How long has lycanthropy existed? Where did it come from? And why can't they keep their human minds? What happens to it? Where does it go?"

    Questions were good, he decided. He hoped that through their lessons he'd be able to gain some insight that would allow him to come to conclusions that would in turn be used to answer more of her questions, but for now he could continue answering everything she wished to know without any trouble coming to him.

    "It's said that a werewolf's bite does act like a disease. It enters and infects the bloodstream," he responded. "A curse would involve the use of magic, and the only thing magical about a werewolf bite seems to be the werewolf itself," he continued on.

    "Lycanthrophy has been mentioned countless times throughout history, dating back to ancient times. There have been surprisingly few studies over the past centuries — witches and wizards haven't yet deciphered how to get close enough to them without getting themselves injured. There are few known methods to disable a werewolf without fatally injuring them.

    "I wish I could answer the last question. I've always suspected that there's some quality to the disease the prevents the human thought process from occurring properly during their transformation — a blockage of sorts. Just like how certain drugs can be used to impair judgment, there must be something impairing judgment there," he finished.
    Topaz quieted, thinking over the answers that he'd given her. The language he was using wasn't the sort she was used to hearing from her professors back at Hogwarts, but instead filled with little uncertainties. It's said, seems to be, I've always suspected. This was not the sort of thing that came from a well-researched and established field, she realized, which was disheartening--but what Mr. Forfang was giving her was better than anything she could come up with on her own.

    Topaz had no experience with any sort of drugs, nor could she remember what the actual night of the full moon was like, which made it impossible for her to make any sort of comparison. Why didn't she remember the full moons? Was it like she was unconscious the whole time, even though her body was clearly moving, or was there something that happened that made her block out those memories before she'd finished coming out of her transformation? And how was she supposed to make any progress in figuring out how to make the scars stop if she couldn't remember her own nights and no one else was keen to get too close to a werewolf to observe? Someone had to be the expert, if there were answers to be found, and if she couldn't remember what happened each night, it seemed rather unlikely that that person was destined to be her.

    "Does anyone know why they don't remember it?" she asked pensively. If only that hurdle could be overcome, maybe they could get somewhere.

    The disappointment on her face was obvious to Marlowe, and he wished that he could give her more certain answers. He had never met a real 'werewolf professional' — it just showed how little research was put into the creatures! He swore that he would one day have all the answers to Miss Urquart's questions.

    "Sadly, there have been so few comprehensive studies. Most people — even risky researchers — have been afraid to get so close to werewolves when they're in their - er - wolfy state. The repercussions of getting bitten are heavy." Most people weren't willing to risk a life of ostracization from society to get a few journal notes on the behaviors of werewolves, especially when their beloved families would be affected as well.
    Topaz flushed at his response. He must have really thought she was stupid, or at least very young and very silly. Of course she wasn't suggesting that people needed to go right up and play around with werewolves during the full moons. Of course that was dangerous. But surely, there must have been something? There must have been some way to do it--to get the answers that she so desperately wanted. Figuring out why she couldn't remember the full moon nights wasn't even the thing she really wanted to know, but only a small stepping stone along the path. If no one had yet overcome even that hurdle, where could she possibly go from here?

    "Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her shoes. "I know."

    The repercussions of getting bitten are heavy. Who knew better than she did?