Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Her questions would have to be specific for his signaling to work. That Ezra was able to nod was something at least, progress in whatever vague direction she was working towards. She didn't believe herself capable of breaking the curse entirely, but perhaps if she learned enough of it she might be able to find someone who could free him. And then -
And then, maybe if her efforts were proven in results, she might one day be forgiven.
The notebook she'd offered him held all of her questions and so without another thought further she wandlessly summoned it back. Rosalie would leave it up to him at the end of her allotted ten minutes if he'd prefer to keep it or not. She then turned to a seemingly random page, scribbled a note with a suddenly summoned self-inking quill before returning her eyes to him. "Does anyone else in your family suffer from this curse?" It felt like a rather obvious ask, for each of his siblings had varying degrees of odd behaviors, but Rosalie didn't feel confident enough to leave anything up to chance. There was a significant difference between the curse being specific to him and it traveling through his bloodlines.
He was confused when she summoned back the notebook, until she opened it up and asked a question. She'd prepared for this meeting, sketching out exactly what she wanted to say. Maybe she'd even been hoping that he would write all the answers down instead of having to resort to just nodding while she asked them. She'd come prepared. He didn't know exactly how he felt about that, but he felt it strongly. It had him a little off balance, despite not having moved in minutes. Rosalie had hunted down some kind of odd magic that he'd never encountered before, and she had used it to have a conversation with a memory of him, and through that she'd learned more than he ever thought she would know about his family's curse. She'd learned about the curse, and she'd taken time to research what she'd learned, filled an entire dog-earred notebook with questions, and then she'd come to his room in the middle of the night to ambush him with an interrogation. She had done all of that for his sake, presumably — and all since Halloween, since he'd chased her out of the closet with a line about how she ought to have no trouble replacing him. He'd been livid leaving that night, to the point where he had almost written her to give her all the mementos he had in his drawer — all the things he'd bought for her prior to their wedding and never had the chance to show her. He hadn't wanted them any more, and thought they might hurt her, and at the time those two had seemed like a good enough reason to send them — but by the next morning his anger had dimmed to a dull glow and he hadn't had the energy to trek it all down to the post office and rent an owl.
In any case, he had been more than ready to cut all ties, and she was apparently off building bridges behind his back. Seeking out memories of him. And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that? He didn't know, so he stayed still where he was and clenched the sheets around his waist inside his fists and wished he knew definitively whether this was a dream. He nodded to her question, though he really didn't know. He felt uncomfortable sharing this, as though he were sharing secrets, even though he hadn't really said anything at all... then a thought struck him and he blurted, "It wouldn't have hurt you."
~~~ but I'm stuck trying not to come off crazy ~~~
The quill froze in her hand as he spoke. She'd been right in her assumption that someone else in his family was affected, she had even readied her next few questions: do your parents suffer from it? Your grandparents? Rosalie felt strongly that if they could narrow down the generation that began the curse then they might be able to find the right chord to break it. The struggle then was if the curse stretched back as far as those living could remember, but all her thoughts of its origin came to a screeching halt when he said, I enjoy hurting you.
It had to be another lie, and yet the four words were enough to have her look sharply from him.
They hadn't parted on amicable terms, there was no reason for Ezra to not find enjoyment out of hurting her. It was a thought she often struggled with when trying to sleep. Ezra had been trying to hurt her that night in the closet, and he'd succeeded. Just as he'd succeeded at the Coming Out Ball and every other time they'd talked since she left him. Rosalie gripped the quill tighter. It was the curse, it wasn't necessarily him.
(But what if it was?)
"I - I think that was the curse." Rosalie said quietly, still not looking at him. Her confidence was visibly shaken now, and still she had to find a way to press on. Her head turned back to him, her normally clear eyes stormy in the dim light. "I'm going to ask another question now, if that's okay?"
Ezra knew he hadn't gotten through to her correctly as soon as she looked up at him and he clocked her expression. He could have railed at the universe for that. It felt so unfair — and what had he, or any of them, ever done to deserve this curse? It wasn't even the shadows he minded, at least not right now, but if they were all going to be cursed why couldn't it have left his tongue alone? The worst part was that he didn't even know what it was he'd said, so he couldn't tell her she was right or try to backtrack it.
"I don't want to do this," he said again, more pleading this time. He didn't think he could keep himself from speaking entirely, if she was going to ask questions like this, but if he couldn't keep from speaking then it was only a matter of time before she heard something she didn't want to sit around and stomach. Whatever she'd just heard had clearly affected her. Didn't she already hate him enough for one lifetime? Couldn't they stop?
"I see what you're trying to do, here," he said. "But you can't break it. You can't fix me. If it was that easy I would have figured it out before I met you. And you're probably — not hearing any of this, are you?"
~~~ but I'm stuck trying not to come off crazy ~~~
His refusal came too soon after the hurtful words for her to have any prayer of naively believing he hadn't meant them. She would have continued on regardless, ignored the grief his words caused her, if it meant helping him even marginally. But, she'd also promised that she would leave if he asked, and Rosalie wouldn't force him to have an obviously sensitive conversation if he didn't want to.
She closed her notebook with a nod. "Okay." It wasn't fair of him to give up, to send her away when she felt close to answers. It wasn't fair that she never had the chance to help him until it was too late. Rosalie stood from the chair and shouldered her satchel. "I'm sorry to have intruded on you like this. Would you like me to leave my notes?"
"I —" Ezra started, but he didn't know what he'd been about to say. Maybe about to beg her not to go — even though he'd as good as told her to he'd felt a jolt of panic when she rose to her feet. Maybe to say thank you for trying, at least, or maybe to apologize. Whatever it was died in his throat as she continued, asking if he wanted to keep her notes.
His eyes as he met hers were pained. He didn't want her notes. He'd been through all of this as a younger man, trying to figure out what to do about the curse while managing the symptoms however he could, and he was sure whatever she'd been able to do would only be retracing his old steps. He still felt a heaviness in his chest about her having done all this investigating on his sake, but he didn't have much faith that she would have turned over stones he hadn't. He didn't want her notes because he had already given up, but he didn't know how to say that.
"Alright," he agreed.
~~~ but I'm stuck trying not to come off crazy ~~~
Again, Rosalie nodded. She could still remember the important pages in her stacks of books to reference again easily enough. The more obscure ones would take her time to hunt down again, but if Ezra was unwilling to work with her than what choice did she have? She was too new to this reality to merely abandon it, regardless of whatever his personal feelings about it were.
She floated the book back to him, too uncertain of herself to consider approaching even now. There was so much she wanted to say to him, endless apologies and heartbroken asks, that the air between them now felt as tense as it had that first Valentine's Day. Rosalie's nails dug into her palms again, this time slicing through the usually thick skin there with ease. She barely flinched at the sudden pain, the only indication of it being the way her brows furrowed for a split second.
"I'll be going then." Rosalie said before turning to move towards the door.
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