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 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
With the same account, complete eight different threads where your character interacts with eight different usergroups. At least one must be a non-human, and one a student.
Did You Know?
Braces, or suspenders, were almost universally worn due to the high cut of men's trousers. Belts did not become common until the 1920s. — MJ
Even a year after her father's death, having people visit her at home still felt like an unspeakable luxury. She would never have dared ask someone she actually liked here, for fear of having to learn what her father thought of them and then bearing his disappointment and her own guilt in every subsequent conversation. Now she never needed to fear anyone's judgement. She may have technically shared the house with three siblings and a step-mother, but they interacted no more than was absolutely necessary; none of them would have an opinion on who she received for tea.
Technically this was a call, but only because Eamon happened to be a boy. There was a maid dutifully sat in the chair by the door, for the sake of propriety. Dru had greeted him when she entered with, "Oh, Eamon, but I do have such news," and then had proceeded to say nothing more about it while she bustled about playing hostess, serving the tea and biscuits her staff had laid out. Instead she peppered him with questions: How was he? What books was he reading? Were there new developments at work?
"Now, then," she finally said as she alighted on her seat, serving complete. "Shall I tell my news? Have I made enough conversation for you to think me a dutiful friend?"
It had been a year since Drusilla had been freed from the iron hand of her father. A year since hopes he had put away as a boy had come bubbling back as the possibility of such dreams possibly being able to become a reality presented itself. Eamon had an unfortunate tendency to read into things and he had half-convinced himself that his feelings might be returned.
He wondered at this news she had to share. Perhaps something to do with the fact she was out of mourning now? They delved into small talk and the sort of comfortable conversations one could expect from two people who had been friends for several years by now.
"Yes, please. I have been curious this entire time, I must confess," Eamon said with a chuckle as he picked up his tea to take a sip.
Dru bounced on the edge of her chair, delighted. She preferred to be the center of attention, even amongst her friends; if they minded, they mostly didn't say so to her face. And she thought she could pull it off well enough, since she was self-aware and self-effacing about her desire to stay in the spotlight. She'd earned it, anyway, after years of sticking to the shadows at home so as not to attract her father's attention. Her father's attention had been toxic even when he'd been in a good mood: it was intense, consuming. You had to give over to it entirely. He accepted nothing less.
"I have a proposal from Mr. Pettigrew," she announced. Had she told Eamon that Mr. Pettigrew had been calling lately? She couldn't recall. It had been no great secret, but she didn't remember when she'd last spoken to Eamon, and this whole thing had developed rather quickly. Mr. Pettigrew had been eyeing her for a while, she suspected, but while she had still been in half-mourning he had restricted himself to occasional conversation at parties and an even more occasional dance. Once she was back in colors he'd begun coming by the house nearly every day, with such expensive gifts that his intentions could not be misconstrued. He had proposed only two days ago; Eamon was the first person she had told besides her sister and Morrigan. And her stepmother, technically, but that had not been sharing the news so much as it had been logistical: an announcement of her imminent departure from the home. At last.
Whatever her news was, Dru sure seemed to be excited about it. He waited patiently to hear what she had to say as he took a sip of his tea. And in an instant, with just seven words, Eamons world came crashing down around him just like the tea he was now choking on. She had received a proposal from one of the Pettigrews. He didn't know which as there was a couple of them still unwed. He racked his memories and remembered that Dru had been seen speaking and dancing with Mister Pettigrew once or twice. The woman was barely out of mourning! Then again, he knew best the allure of one Drusilla Rowle.
He felt like his heart was beating in his ears and he had no idea what sort of expression was on his face at the moment. He was certainly surprised as well. He managed to stop himself from choking and wiped the tea from his face though his suit was now ruined until he could get it washed. "And did you accept?" He asked, forcing a teasing lilt into his words, as if he had not just done a comedic spit take. It was obvious that she had given her bouncy delight earlier what her answer had been.
Eamon was flattering her by asking, pretending that she was in a position to be weighing half a dozen offers of marriage and only choosing the choicest among them. Of course she thought she was quite a delightful catch, but she also had to be pragmatic about her position at present. She had lost four of her debutante years to her father's quiet tyranny, and a fifth to pretending to mourn him; she was late to wed by any accounting. At least compared to other women in her position — wealthy, pureblood, proper; bred and raised to become society wives. At this point she was of the opinion that as long as her future husband was not obviously objectionable, it was more important that he existed and was willing to wed quickly than that he was the absolute perfect man for her. And Albert Pettigrew fit the criteria.
"I did," she said with a sly smile; she could play along with Eamon's ruse that she had options here. It was a pleasant fantasy. "Which I suppose means I shall be living in Hogsmeade soon enough. He has a house in Wellingtonshire. What a change that will be from the countryside! Do you think you will ever take up somewhere like Hogsmeade?" she asked, though doubted he would. Eamon had an estate to inherit, eventually; Albert Pettigrew did not, so was required to strike up for himself where he could. But no matter; he was rich enough, had done well enough, and Dru felt she could make the most of it. She was resourceful, after all.
Eamon knew she had but her confirmation made him feel like there was a pit where his stomach ought to be. He chuckled when Dru spoke of moving to Hogsmeade. "Probably not as I do rather like my family home," Eamon answered. He liked his family for the most part and was close to most of his siblings. Though he supposed he ought to seek a secondary home for privacy. It would come in handy for some of his more private endeavors that he would rather his family not ask about. "Though I suppose there would be more privacy for myself if I were to procure a residence elsewhere."
