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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    01.11 I've got a bit of a reputation...
    01.06 AC underway, and a puzzle to solve!
    01.01 Happy new year! Have some announcements of varying importance.
    12.31 Enter the Winter Labyrinth if you dare!
    12.23 Professional Quidditch things...
    12.21 New stamp!
    12.20 Concerning immortality
    12.16 A heads up that the Secret Swap deadline is fast approaching!
    12.14 Introducing our new Minister of Magic!
    12.13 On the first day of Charming, Kayte gave to me...
    12.11 Some quick reminders!
    12.08 Another peek at what's to come...
    12.05 It's election day! OOC, at least.
    12.04 We have our PW winners for November!
    12.02 New Skins! In less exciting news, the AC is underway.
    11.27 AC Saturday and election next week!
    11.21 A glimpse at post-move changes.
    11.13 This news is not at all big. Do not bother with it.
    You think it's easy, feeling queasy?
    Private Thread 
    1st November
    the night after the full moon

    For the first time in her adult life Morwenna was actually rather glad that she in fact was not getting any younger. Enduring this monthly horror was bad enough but at least she could cling onto the idea that she might be dead soon – to be an afflicted youth like young Mr Williams was a nightmare she didn’t think she could endure. Slumping into work on a Tuesday morning had been bad enough at the best of times, especially when Mason had been young and restless in the night, but having spent a night chained up in her own cellar, apparently gnawing at the chains and her own wrists given how sore both her arms and jaw were this morning – well, that was a very particular kind of grim reality.

    Settling into her office with an exhausted slump Morwenna hoped her secretary would have the good sense to simply bring her tea without her having to exert the energy to ask. It seemed like far too much effort but at the same time she wasn’t entirely sure she could get through the day without it. She didn’t think she could even begin to work without it and were Mr Flint not occupied with his Ministerial ambitions, and were he inclined to actually run his department, then Morwenna would have been tempted to go home and pretend to have the flu.

    Perhaps she could lock the door and have a nap underneath her desk?

    A knock came at the door before she could think through her terrible plan to make the rest of the department think she was going entirely insane and Morwenna nearly cried. Was it too much to ask to be left alone when she felt this godawful?

    “Come in,” she croaked. Coughed. Cleared her throat. Maybe she did have the flu? “Come in,” she called out in a clearer voice. Whoever it was better have tea with them.

    @Kieran Abernathy
    @Cassius Lestrange
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set
    He wasn't getting a lot of sleep anyways, because the election had him running around everywhere for the Prophet, so Kieran had looked like shit even before the full moon. Now he looked - worse. The red chain marks on his wrists, under the sleeves of his coat. The bruises and cuts on his ankles and abdomen from thrashing about. The deep ache in his bones. The strong desire to crawl under a rock and never wake up. But if he skipped work during the election Pengloss would definitely have his bollocks (or, you know, fire him) so here Kieran was. 

    Of course he would be sent to the department that oversaw the Werewolf Capture Unit. Of course. Kieran was only sure that this could end terribly - he'd get caught, or see T, or something. Something terrible was going to happen. That was what happened, in these situations. 

    He was pretty much ready to die when the secretary told him that he could go in to meet Mrs. Skeeter. Kieran knocked on the door and, once he heard the croaked 'come in,' stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him and Kieran blinked at her.

    Mrs. Skeeter looked, somehow, shittier than he felt. That couldn't be possible.

    "Thank you for agreeing to see me," Kieran said in his scratchy voice, eyeing her curiously. 
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Kieran Abernathy's post:
       Morwenna Skeeter
    [Image: wa6ko0.png]
    soph made my things! <3
    [Image: 2njvb5x.gif]
    Oh buggeration yes, she had agreed to this hadn’t she? Flint had asked her and, as usual, she had agreed and then immediately forgotten as the hundred other things she needed to do collided with the full moon and inevitably fell out of her mind. Perhaps it was age too? She was feeling older than ever before and her recent burst of research into werewolves had implied that she, like the rest of her new kind, did age more dramatically – the one good side of the recent spate of attacks being that it was seen as a perfectly normal thing for her to be brushing up on the details – but suffice to say the knowledge that rapid aging was the norm now had not exactly filled her with glee.

    “It’s my pleasure,” she said with a tight smile she regretted the moment she felt her lips crack. It wasn’t even that cold yet but then she had spent the night on a cold cellar floor rather than in bed like she ought to have been so the sudden taste of copper in her mouth was not unexpected either.

    “Can I offer you some tea?” She looked at him, for the first time, at a range close enough for her eyes to actually focus and was startled to find somebody who looked as bad as her. If anything he looked more ragged about his person but was considerably younger so she expected she was still winning the blue ribbon for looking like the living dead and that was including the actual vampires she knew dwelled in the caves. And anybody who had celebrated Halloween with a little more abandon than she had last night.

    “Or perhaps a pepper-up potion?” She added with a twist of her lips, hoping there was a flu going round the youth she could make a jest of. “I know the feeling believe me.”
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set
    Kieran had never met Mrs. Skeeter before, but he doubted that this was normal for her. In his experience, which had been broadening ever since he started working for the Prophet, upper-level Ministry employees did not often look like walking corpses. Of course, under normal circumstances he would have tried to look better while meeting her, so Kieran supposed that he had no room to speak of, here.

    Besides: she was a danger. He was in a department directly responsible for him, and the sooner he was out of here the better off he would be. Especially if any of the werewolf capture unit members were puttering about - Merlin forbid he look like a wispy mess of a person around any of them. 

    "Tea would be lovely, Mrs. Skeeter," Kieran said in his scratchy voice, "Something's going around the Prophet offices."  Seeing how hard they were all working it was a plausible excuse, as long as she didn't see him next full moon. What a clusterfuck. 
    [Image: wa6ko0.png]
    soph made my things! <3
    [Image: 2njvb5x.gif]
    Quite apart from looking deeply unwell the young man also looked ill-at-ease to her, which she put down to his being a reporter at the Ministry. They were seldom welcomed with open arms at the best of times but the surprise of Mr Urquart’s resignation and the tensions that always emerged when an election was called were making things more uncomfortable than ever at the Ministry and outsiders were always treated with suspicion. She had wondered in the past why somebody who was not already part of their organisation would even bother to run for Minister of Magic given the obstacles they would have to overcome but then she wasn’t accounting for hubris.

    With any luck Mr Ross would prevail and Urquart’s good works, and ability to be authoritative without being an arse, could be continued. If the women of the Ministry could vote – and the fact that they couldn’t despite actually working here – Morwenna was quite confident Ross would be their choice.

    “Well I expect we’ll be hit soon enough,” she said conversationally, waving at her secretary to bring them drinks and regretting it the moment her sleeve fell back – she had lost a lot of weight she couldn’t afford to lose lately and everything hung off her now – and the bright red raw indents on her wrist were displayed. She froze. What the fuck kind of excuse was she supposed to come up with to explain that?
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Morwenna Skeeter's post:
       Ophelia Dippet
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set
    Kieran eyed her. He was trying to navigate the gap between small talk and interview - the point at which he started scribbling things down and hoping his subject told the truth. A lot of reporting was just getting people to talk to you, and it wasn't so hard once you got going, but getting started was the trouble. Common ground was usually a good place to start, but what sort of common ground did he have with a middle-aged Ministry employee?

    Her sleeve pushed up to reveal angry red marks, the sort that came from chains, the sort he was wearing on his wrists. Kieran's face paled. There were only two plausible explanations for that, he thought: either Morwenna Skeeter was into some horribly weird sexual activity, or Morwenna Skeeter was afflicted with lycanthropy. Both would explain the look on her face. Both were equally unlikely.

    "Mr. Pengloss wanted me to ask you about the - uh - the Werewolf Capture Unit," Kieran stammered. With a strong pounding sense that this is stupid, he reached over to his left sleeve and pushed it up, revealing the red marks and the web of scars. 
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Kieran Abernathy's post:
       Ophelia Dippet
    [Image: wa6ko0.png]
    soph made my things! <3
    [Image: 2njvb5x.gif]
    For a long still moment Morwenna stared at his mangled wrists like a woman frozen in time, blood thundering in her ears as she tried to put together the pieces in front of her in a way that didn’t create the most obvious picture in the world. She mangled the image, attempted to mentally smash it to pieces and reassemble them in a less panic-inducing mosaic but there was not getting around it – there was something in front of her that might be entirely innocuous but Morwenna knew in her waters, with the instinct that had told her she was carrying a son, that she would outlast Maxwell eventually, and that no, Miss Simpson, she was quite alright for baked goods thank you very much, that this was not a coincidence she could dismiss like an especially useless member of the Werewolf Capture Unit.

    Although really, would she dismiss them now? Incompetence would suit her much better after all.

    Not the issue in hand. Another time perhaps. It was certainly something to consider the next time she looked at the division and consider a reshuffle of manpower.

    “Ah yes, werewolves. They have been rather en vogue of late haven’t they?” She licked her lips and found the remnants of crackled and chewed flesh from the night before and knew if she carried on then she would end up with blood all over her mouth and looking, if possible, even more corpse-like. She tried to swallow instead but her dry throat refused to cooperate and she achieved nothing more than making her throat feel more clogged and unpleasant that it had before. “They have certainly been giving me more headaches than I care to think about these days.”
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set
    En vogue. Kieran snorted. He suspected that he would have found that funny even if he wasn't afflicted with lycanthropy himself, and he tugged his sleeve back down to cover up his raw wrists once more. It wouldn't do to have the office secretary come back and think that Pengloss was keeping him chained up in the basement, or - whatever. 

    "I can only imagine," Kieran said, although they both knew the headache rather well. He felt a sudden flash of guilt once more - after all, he was part of the reason why the RC&MC was so afflicted with werewolves. Not that Kieran cared for the likes of Flint; if Flint was Minister of Magic his life would become considerably more difficult or at least more annoying when he listened to Jude complain. But this woman, the assistant head, this possible-werewolf. She looked significantly worse for wear and he could not be helping.

    "Has Flint mentioned changing anything about WCU policy?" Kieran blurted, "Mr. Flint, I mean." 
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Kieran Abernathy's post:
       Morwenna Skeeter
    [Image: wa6ko0.png]
    soph made my things! <3
    [Image: 2njvb5x.gif]
    If Flint had done a single thing about the werewolves, whether it was as dramatic as changing the policy, or as simple as expressing an opinion about them in passing conversation, then Morwenna had made it her business of late to be aware of them. One never knew whether the community at large would go mad and vote him in as the Minister of Magic, at which point his policies would be a greater cause for concern and Morwenna was determined not to be surprised by them if the time came.

    If being the operative word. Personally Morwenna was hoping for his hubris to get the better of him sooner rather than later, but that was wishful thinking with her run of luck of late.

    “Not as of yet,” she said cautiously. His red-raw wrists, a mirror of her own, were certainly very suggestive but if she was wrong and he really was just a journalist looking for information on the department then she certainly didn’t want to blot her copybook by being the one to give him everything without question. On the other hand, or wrist as it were, the direction of the young man’s interest was rather suggestive.

    “At least not to me,” she added without attempting to conceal the bitterness in her voice. If he did tell her anything it was usually an order and the day he confided in her she knew it would be the end of the world – most of what she knew was either from the Prophet, in which case this young man would know as much as she did, or from office gossip, which was sketchy at best. “Of course it will be at the forefront of anybody’s policies if and when they come into office. It is a very dangerous time for werewolves these days regardless of who becomes the Minister.”

    She met his eye and smiled a sad, wry smile as she deliberately wrapped a protective hand around her own cotton-covered wrist.

    “I cannot help but sympathise with their plight.”
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set
    Possible lycanthropy aside, Kieran was here for his job, and the bitterness in Mrs. Skeeter's voice surprised him. Clearly she didn't like Flint, which didn't bode well for Flint's success at the job. He mapped this out in his head, committed to exploring it, but didn't write anything down - he didn't want to spook the assistant head. Especially not if she was a werewolf.

    Kieran nodded. "It's impossible not to, with people like - Miss Urquart," he said, stumbling a little on the name. Guilty conscience catching his tongue, he supposed. "I have to say I'm surprised that Flint hasn't proposed any changes to you, even if he hasn't announced them to the public yet."

    "Clearly current WCU policy isn't working, after all," Key added.
    [Image: wa6ko0.png]
    soph made my things! <3
    [Image: 2njvb5x.gif]
    Had it ever really worked? She had been doing her research of late and there had never exactly been a great time to be a werewolf: hunted and hated throughout history it had made for truly depressing reading and she had spent most of her life enforcing this policy which gave her a faintly queasy feeling inside that was nothing to do with the lingering effects of the full moon. If she could cut the affliction from herself then she would, but she couldn't, and so... so what? What else could do she but carry on as she always had? Mr Flint would surely notice if she went against the policy of the entire department and, by extension, the rest of the Ministry.

    Even if they didn't know what she was they would mark her out as a radical and any hope of easing the laws would evaporate. Poor Miss Urquart and others like her, like Mr Williams, like Mr Abernathy here, and her - even the beast that had attacked her in the summer - would have no chance. Perhaps she was a radical after all? A secret one. A stealth one.

    "They are, to my mind, policies that should things change after the election," she said, choosing her words carefully. "We would certainly consider revising."

    Tapping her fingers idly on the desk as she watched him scribble notes, wondered what words he would put in her mouth and whether they would harm her superior's chances in the election and whether she much cared about that. Hopefully he would create a pseudonym for her.

    "Perhaps you would consider coming back after the election? I may have a more interesting view-point to put to you then."
    As of May 1887 Morwenna walks with a limp and a cane. Acquaintances and family might have also noticed that gurl is looking unwell af.
    [Image: Morwenna_SIG_by_Bee.png]
    bury me with this Bee set