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.
    Scarlet Letters
    Open Thread 
    Nov 6th; Ministry lift.

    Walt felt undeniably conspicuous walking in to work that morning, but he was trying to tell himself that was stupid. It wasn't as though anyone he worked with was ignorant of his connection to the Ministerial candidate Brownhill, so the addition of a unobtrusive pin on his lapel that morning wasn't telling anyone anything they didn't already know. In fact, given that everyone already knew his wife was running for Minister, it might have been more conspicuous if he hadn't worn a pin to work, after Eleanora's campaign team had plastered the dispensary boxes all over Hogsmeade the day before.

    Still. He felt like the pin was larger than it was, heavier than it was, flashier than it was. He couldn't shake the feeling that everyone's eyes had landed on it as he'd passed people in the atrium, and that those who he hadn't caught looking had been making a conscious effort not to look at it. That was stupid, and almost certainly his imagination, but he was debating whether he could get away with unpinning it and pocketing it when he got to the lift, and relieving himself of the burden for the rest of the day. He'd just have to remember to pin it back on before he got home to Ellie (if she even was home, and not out on another campaign run-around).

    As he waited for the lift doors to close, he'd more or less decided to take it off--until he heard someone call to hold the door. Merlin. So close--but he couldn't remove the pin while someone was in the lift watching, because that would be conspicuous, and he couldn't think of any other likely areas between the elevator and his office. Would his employees remark on its absence if he smuggled it off on a trip to the lavatory before lunch? Probably not out loud, but they'd notice, all the same.

    Whoever this person was that he was holding the lift for, he resented them already. But it was all for the best--he was making this out to be more than it was, and probably very few people had even noticed the campaign pin--and he was being supportive, anyway. He ought to forget he'd even considered taking it off.

    "Morning," he said with forced amiability as the second rider reached the doors and he was able to stop holding them open. Had they noticed the pin? (You're being stupid, don't be stupid) "Which floor?"

    It was one of the few mornings that Albert had woken without any passing mention of the election. He usually picked up the Daily Prophet on the way to work to see the latest candidate news plastered across the front page, but today was not one of those mornings. Instead, his reminder of the election came when he was faced with the husband of one of the female candidates.

    Albert had no personal connection to Mr. Brownhill other than that they were both ministry employees. Albert worked with the lawyers (including one of the other candidates, Justus Pilliwickle), and Mr. Brownhill was the head of the Muggle Liaison Office (in Albert's opinion, the most pathetic of the offices). Mr. Brownhill was older and of a totally different social class, leading the two to never cross paths except for his casual knowledge that the other man existed. It helped that his memory was jogged by the silly pin — obviously one designed by a woman for a woman's campaign.

    "Good morning, Mr. Brownhill," he responded cordially, taking his place in the lift. "Level two, please. Magical Law Enforcement." The lawyer stood in silence for a few moments, when his curiosity alone caused him to speak another word to the man.

    "So your wife has decided to run for minister?" His question was accompanied with a raise of a brow, for Albert couldn't figure out what had prompted a woman with no political experience to run for the highest office in their world.
    Walt pushed the appropriate button and told himself that he was imagining the incredulity he sensed in the younger man's tone. It seemed to Walt that the way he'd greeted him had been a little strange, but that was silly, wasn't it? He was just being paranoid about a very small pin that most people probably wouldn't even notice and imagining ghosts where there were none. Alternatively, maybe that was just some peculiar was Mr. Pettigrew had of speaking. Walt hardly knew the lawyer well, so he supposed anything was possible, on that front. Had the two even spoken before? They probably had, since Walt had been working at the Ministry more or less his whole life and had met most of the other employees there at least in passing, but their conversations in the past had almost certainly consisted of nothing other than greetings in hallways. It wasn't as though his office, working with Muggles, necessitated the involvement of magical lawyers. At least, not if they were doing it right.

    He'd almost managed to convince himself to put it out of mind and just enjoy the brief moment of respite afforded by the elevator ride when the other man interrupted the silence. Walt swallowed, but kept his face impassive. A strained look, however fleeting, would certainly be interpreted as being related to his feelings about his wife's campaign, not his feelings about being bombarded with politics in an elevator. Besides, he was wearing her pin, which meant in a roundabout way he had more or less invited this kind of inquiry upon his head. He could hardly scowl at it when it inevitably came up.

    "She is," he said, a touch defensively. He didn't like the way the question had been phrased. Your wife has decided, as though Walt had no agency in this situation at all, as though Ellie hadn't even consulted him prior to announcing her intentions. Which she hadn't, but that wasn't public knowledge, and Walt would go to any length he thought necessary to keep it from becoming so. "She's far more qualified than you might think," he added, knowing that for those unfamiliar with her career as an author (which was most people, despite the fact that she'd become very well known in certain circles and had never failed to bring in a hefty sum from her book releases), the fact that she was a woman was often the only bit of information they thought they needed to know in order to judge her aptitude.

    More qualified. Albert thought organizing charity events and writing silly books made one no more qualified for the highest office in the magical community than a common shop manager, but it was nice to know that her husband was supportive. "She's an authoress," he commented in response to the man. "Someone said something about feminist propaganda, but I'd hardly like to believe they were telling the truth." Perhaps some people would believe writing such content made them viable in the Minister's race, but many—especially devout conservatives—would see it as a disqualifier.
    Walt had to try his hardest not to visible bristle at the word feminist. Whatever he thought about women's rights (which he was generally very supportive of), he could not help but dislike that particular word, and the associations it often carried for the people who used it. When wealthy pricks like Mr. Pettigrew said feminist, they probably imagined militant wild women running rampant through the streets and accosting strangers and bursting into private carriages in order to tell men off, and Walt hardly wanted anyone to think that his wife was involved in anything like that.

    "People do tend to talk rather loosely about things they know nothing about," he said, a little stiffly.