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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  • 1887
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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.
    Down To The Wire
    Private Thread 
    Even though at the time he couldn't think of anything else he could say to Antigone, their last conversation had ended on a rather... unfulfilling note. He was sure that she wasn't satisfied with the conclusion, and he wasn't either, but unless he had some clear idea of what more he wanted from her, he certainly wasn't going to initiate another argument. Over the past week, however, he'd been continuously expecting her to come and find him. Perhaps she'd come to the study with a petulant demand, which seemed in character for her when she didn't think she'd get her way. Perhaps she'd realize that she had no power in this situation and join him for dinner with some sort of mewling supplication. Something. Anything.

    Nothing. For a week. He'd been putting off actually dealing with the infants because he kept expecting something, but the longer this was drawn out the more it seemed as though Antigone wasn't planning on confronting him at all. It had occurred to him the day before that maybe she thought by ignoring him and the conversation they'd had she could call his bluff - and the idea that Antigone might think he was bluffing had spurred him into action.

    It wasn't difficult to arrange it. Maybe if the children had been old enough to talk and to reason for themselves there might have been some difficulties, but he had encountered none. By the time Antigone would be dragged down to the nursery for her maternal visit that day, one twin was nowhere to be found. Tiberius didn't even really know which twin. Not that it mattered.

    He had thought surely, after that, she would have said something - but she still seemed to be avoiding him, to the point where she didn't make an appearance at dinner. She'd probably requested to have it brought to her room, he imagined, but he didn't bother to ask the servants lest they take his question as a sign that he was worried about her health, or something, and say as much to his wife. The last thing he wanted at the moment was for Antigone to get the impression that he was thinking about her and wondering what she was doing all the time, even though that was more or less exactly what had occupied his thoughts over the past week.

    The lack of company at dinner had left him irate. He tried to ignore it and go about his routine of spending time in the study and then eventually retiring to bed, but he was too distracted to focus on the book he'd been midway through (more animagus studies; the damned things never ended, and even though he had never been seriously interested in it he had once told Antigone that he was, and was loathe to give up on something his wife knew him to be pursuing). He'd turned the problem over in his mind before finally landing on something that vaguely resembled a solution. His dignity wouldn't allow him to approach her for the sake of initiating a dialogue, but there was one particular time of day when any husband could solicit his wife's company without evoking any notions of particular emotional attachment.

    Tiberius hadn't visited Antigone at night since her birthday. There wasn't any point in continuing his visits while she was pregnant (aside from that one rather mortifying night, which he thought both of them would rather forget), and there certainly hadn't been any point to it afterwards. It wasn't as though she could object to his presence there, though, and it would certainly force her to talk to him.

    So he locked the study and headed towards her bedroom. He wasn't particularly looking forward to the act itself, though he assumed that to keep up the charade of his visit he'd need to go through with it. He still didn't know exactly what had happened to her, down there, and the chances that it would be painful to her (which wasn't much of a concern) or uncomfortable to him (a more significant factor) seemed high, but it was a price he was willing to pay to force her to show her hand on this particular subject.

    Tiberius rapped lightly on her door but did not wait for a response before he entered. "Good evening," he said, then headed towards the vanity where he usually laid his clothes when he got undressed. No need to mince words about why he'd come.
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    She probably couldn't avoid him for the rest of her life, but for now avoiding Tiberius was the easiest makeshift solution. Of course then he went ahead and actually killed one of the twins and nursing a grudge became near constant fuming. She had nearly approached him as soon as she found out what he had done but she had thankfully made the wise decision to sequester herself instead. Decision making while furious was never likely to go well, but it went a lot better for Tig than decision making while furious around Tiberius. It had taken convincing herself that he might think she really cared about the children to stop herself from confronting him.

    It really had nothing to do with the children but his blatant disregard for her opinions and seemingly existence in general was really the crux of it. The immediate aftermath of that thing she had borne and then again when he'd spoken of protecting her and having no intention of killing her, she'd thought she'd won some agency with him but no, apparently she still counted for nothing, Not to mention she had lost considerable respect for him needlessly killing one of the children because of potential bad luck.

    In her avoidance of him, she could at least be satisfied that the intent seemed mutual as he hadn't sought her out either, not that this was terribly surprising. That is, until he suddenly appeared in her room. He hadn't visited her in this manner since before she'd revealed she was expecting, at least she didn't count her birthday considering he'd been behaving far too strangely to consider it anything but a bizarre anomaly. Compared to her usual interest in performing her wifely duties, she was rating well into subzero numbers tonight and had absolutely no intention of letting him anywhere near her.

    "Go away, I'm bleeding," she announced with notable hostility over the top of the book she was reading from the comfort of her bed. She wasn't actually bleeding, in fact, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of that annoyance in at least twelve months. This did not concern her and because it was of such little interest to her and no one had told her as much, she had no idea it had anything to do with her fertility woes.
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  
    [-] The following 1 user Likes Antigone Lestrange's post:
       Tiberius Lestrange

    The blunt retort from his wife stopped Tiberius momentarily in his tracks. During the entire course of their marriage, he had never insisted on staying if she was in the middle of that time of month. He wasn't sure whether it actually prevented pregnancy, but it seemed like it probably would have, which made the act meaningless. The idea of having to work through blood was utterly unappealing, as well, and it would certainly make a mess of everything were he to try. He was hesitant to just leave now, though, because he'd made a point of coming to try and talk to her. It wasn't as though he could keep up the charade of being here for sex, though, if he did stay.

    It didn't occur to him until after an awkward silent moment that the fact of her bleeding might be, in fact, a very good sign. Tiberius knew more about women's anatomy than he ever cared to, and certainly more than Antigone did. He'd had to explain to her what the blood even was, the first time it had happened. He'd done much more extensive research on the subject, as well, in preparation for that disastrous birthday visit. He didn't know anything about the internal workings in that area, but he certainly had more knowledge of the exterior functions than any self-respecting Victorian man might have come across casually. He knew, anyway, that there was a link between women who bled and women who were capable of getting pregnant, and since he'd begun thinking of Antigone as someone who belonged quite firmly outside of the second category, he hadn't expected to encounter her in the first.

    "That's ... good, isn't it?" he said, uncertainty creeping into his voice at the last phrase. His understanding of the situation might be skewed. Maybe all women who could have children bled, but not all women who bled could have children - though if that was the case, he wasn't sure why he expected Antigone to be able to enlighten him on that count. He could consult a specialized healer on the matter, he supposed, but he didn't really want to invite another medical examination of his wife - anyone knowing the truth about how she had recovered was one more person who could be rightly suspicious when Tiberius inevitably showed up with a new son, down the line.
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    "Not for you it isn't." She couldn't understand why he might think it was a good thing and was too short on patience with him to bother giving it more thought than that. "Good night," she barked from the book she had never lowered nor really removed her eyes from. She wasn't even reading now but she wanted to give the impression that she didn't deign to give him her fullest attention.

    While she seemed focused on her book, she was in fact watching him in her periphery for that telltale motion that would indicate his leaving. It was just a shame that she couldn't use the same excuse whenever she pleased as he'd surely start to wonder why she was looking so well for someone who had apparently been hemorrhaging non-stop for months. He'd likely catch on eventually anyway that the maid wasn't being burdened by an endless supply of bloody rags.
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  

    Tiberius really had nothing to say in argument or response to that. He hadn't even really been that eager to go to her bed before she'd made her announcement, so he couldn't even claim to be properly disappointed. He certainly didn't want to make any continued advances now that he had that particular bit of intelligence, but he also didn't want to make his true purpose plain. He could only imagine the damage that might be done to their relationship if she thought he was actually inclined to care about what she thought, especially to the point of seeking her out to gauge her reaction.

    But he also didn't want to just leave.

    "Fine," he said with a little huff of breath, reaching to rebutton the cuffs of his shirt where he'd started to undress. "But you're feeling alright? Er - normal, I suppose."
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    "What do you care?" she murmured irritably, just loud enough that she thought he'd be able to catch it. Her grip on the book tightened and the urge to throw it at him presented itself. It was infuriating that he thought he could behave as though he wasn't the object of her intense loathing, as though everything was fine and he hadn't completely ignored her wishes as though they didn't matter, as though he hadn't been insulting and incredibly disappointing and all kinds of irritating to make her wish he would drop dead.

    "Stop trying to talk to me and get out," she added savagely. If that didn't rile him she would add yet more disappointment to her current estimation of him. However, if he lingered to express his anger she'd find that incredibly annoying too. Annoying, but not disappointing which would be infinitely worse.
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  

    Her next question genuinely irritated him. Why did he care? Tiberius thought that he had made his interest in her life and health rather obvious, over the recent months. He'd jumped through hoops to get her back from the brink of death that spring (although it was his fault she was there in the first place, but she didn't know that) and then, more recently, he'd spent hours pacing while the healers tried to bring her back from the verge of succumbing to the strains of labor. Tiberius did not pace for things of no consequence.

    "Because I've been bending over backwards to try and keep you alive," he snapped irritably. "Excuse me for minding if you die after all that. Someone ought to be taking a proactive interest in your health, since it apparently doesn't interest you."
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    Tig was finally annoyed enough that she lost what remained of her patience for the pretense of reading. Snapping the book shut so that it made a loud 'smack' as the pages met, she dropped it to her lap and leaned across it. "Oh have you?" she snapped, her face flushing as her temper got the better of her. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid, the only reason you want me in good health is to make sure you can pass off your bastards as legitimate!"

    Rather than expel her rage so she could then calm down again, it seemed only to be growing worse. "You don't care about anything but heirs! Don't pretend otherwise, you're a filthy liar and there aren't words to describe just how much I despise you." She fell silent again but that tight knot of anger in her chest wasn't subsiding as she had expected which made it incredibly difficult for her to remain silent.
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  

    Tiberius tensed, but tried to make a conscious effort not to snap back at her. This was, he recognized, what he'd wanted; to gauge her reaction to the disappearance of one of their daughters today. She may have been refusing to address it directly, but this probably was a fairly accurate representation of how she was feeling. He oughtn't to allow her temper to arouse his, and he oughtn't to react to the word bastard. This was like an experiment, he told himself. An experiment in human emotions, which were by and large a foreign concept to him.

    "Is this about the girl?" he asked coolly.
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    His cavalier attitude only pissed her off more. It felt to her like she was yelling into a void of nothingness for all that he was taking her seriously. Why keep yelling if he wasn't going to listen?

    "Just get out," she growled through gritted teeth, "I've had enough of you."
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  

    It seemed the answer was yes, for all that she hadn't said as much.

    "Did you change your mind?" he asked, rather cruelly. "You decided you cared which one stayed?"
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    He wasn't leaving. If he had she supposed it would have been nothing short of a miracle, it would have meant that he'd actually listened to her and respected her wishes.

    Quietly seething, Tig shoved the book roughly off of her lap and threw back the bed sheets. As she slipped out of bed, she shot him a filthy look. "The only person I changed my mind about was you." Once her feet hit the floor she stormed off towards the door. "If you won't get out of my sight then I'll put you out of it."
    DECEMBER 19TH, 1887 | OUTFIT | @Tiberius Lestrange  

    "Fine," he snapped, but without any real irritation. He wasn't invested enough in the conversation to stop her from storming out; he felt he had his answer.
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