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
October 2nd, 1893 — Cassius Lestrange household, Wellingtonshire
He had been fully physically recovered from the dragons for weeks now, but Cash would not count himself anywhere near emotionally recovered. He'd put silencing charms on his bedroom walls in case he started shouting in his sleep again. His mind kept drifting back to Ellory. He was sure that Adrienne was struggling — she had been injured more than he was — but he did not know how to reach her.
Continuing their dinners together on weeknights seemed like the best way to do so, at least for now.
"What is it that you wanted to discuss tonight?" Cash asked, pouring red wine into his glass. He was hoping that it was not anything too serious — he was lacking in stamina for serious conversations, lately.
Recovery from such a catastrophe had taken most of her energy for the past few weeks. The healers had fixed her up good and proper, but the weight of seeing so many people injured and feeling no agency to help combined with Asa’s death and Ari’s distress left Adrienne with little strength to do much else except rest. Olympe had been an absolute force to reckon with once they’d gotten home; there was little Adrienne could do except let her lady’s maid fuss about fluffing pillows, fixing tisanes and stoking the fire in her room.
Finally she managed to shoo Olympe away for long enough to take a walk around the house. It was a bit of an aimless task, but eventually she ended up near her husband’s suites. With her thoughts swimming through her head, she raised a hand to knock when her lady’s maid’s exclamation from down the hall drew her away and off to get ready for dinner instead.
By the time she’d sat at the table, she had made up her mind, though was wondering the best way to go about broaching the subject. “I couldn’t help but think about the relief efforts for those who are still in recovery.” She said lightly, taking a bracing sip of wine before cutting into her food.
Cash nodded at her statement. That was easy enough. He thought about it, too — it was not that his work had anything to do with it, but working in London had him so near the destruction that it was impossible to ignore. "We could probably stand to make a donation to St. Mungo's," he offered, "I've been thinking about it too, of course." That was rather mellow to have all this circumstance around their conversation, but he could not blame her for being shaken up!
“Oh yes I was thinking the same thing,” Adrienne smiled, glad that at least they seemed on the same page so far. Of course, making a donation was a far cry from asking if she might be able to study. “I think a donation would help a great deal for those poor souls.” She shifted her weight in her seat; her leg had been expertly healed, but she was still caught in the impulse to favor it. She fell silent once more, taking another sip of wine to both steel herself and perhaps give herself a bit more time to think.
“However…I have to wonder if that’s all that can be done. I..had heard of a woman who had gone into labor just as the dragons started to attack.” She focused on the plate in front of her. “She didn’t have anyone to help her and had to go it alone.”
Was he supposed to follow up about making the donation, or did that fall into her duties as a wife? Cash was not sure, and had just about decided to ask Adrienne her preference when she kept going. He wasn't sure where she was going with this, and his eyebrows drew together in neutral confusion. "I don't know that there's anything someone could have done about that," he said, "Even though it's obviously tragic." No one had been able to predict the disaster, after all — and why wasn't Adrienne making eye contact with him?
Biting her lip, she pushed her food around her plate; her mouth had gone suddenly dry and the food hard to chew and she wondered why this was harder to bring up than she originally had thought it would be. “Quite tragic,” She agreed. “I had heard of it when I was at a ball last week. She was only a block away from where I was. Had I known, I wish I could have helped her.” The mere thought of the poor woman going into labor so close with no comfort (apparently the father had perished just before she’d found out about the pregnancy), distressed Adrienne to the point where she had laid awake thinking about her. She even went as far to inquire the woman’s name and sent her flowers. Anonymous of course.
“I’ve done some training in midwifery in the past, including interning under a local midwife.” Her trainings with Miss Moony had been most effective in her education. “It made me wonder where I would be had I continued learning the subject.” Even if she couldn’t help the woman on the day of the dragon attack, it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of expecting mothers in the world.
Cash wasn't stupid; he listened to Adrienne's story, and watched her push her food around her plate. And when she continued the story, she started leading him down a path. He pressed his lips together. Cash had a feeling — when he'd picked her, he'd known that she was not quite as traditional as other upper class girls. But they'd grown up in the same circles; she knew what his answer had to be.
She had expected this response, she told herself as she paused her fiddling. Resistance was natural and besides, she was French. Refusals were always part of the bargaining process. She just had to persist. The question was how much? “Yes.” Placing down her fork she lifted her wine glass to her lips before setting it down and looking to her husband. “I know.” She couldn’t forget any bit of their conversation when they were first getting to know each other:
We shall just have to be honest with each other.
Launch myself into the throes of the Season and eventually become an ornament to society.
She had not been honest with him then. Only looking back now did she see the intricate dance their conversation had carved out for their futures. “I know…” She took another bite, looking down at her plate. “But we said we would be honest with each other. I…I thought now that we knew each other better, perhaps…”
Cash looked at his wife, quizzical. "It's not about honesty," he said, "It's about being realistic." She could not dabble in midwifery as a woman of her station; she had other responsibilities. Too many people would talk about it. Even if he agreed, what sort of midwife would allow it, when Adrienne herself would hopefully be having children sooner rather than later?
Adrienne had never been a dreamer. She had goals, certainly, and ones that she’d thought were obtainable. But it wasn’t until now that it truly hit her how much those goals — those easy-to-reach goals — had shifted into dreams. And that they had passed by her like a train trying to make up for lost time. It was that realization more than her husband’s response that startled her into silence.
Cash’s voice broke her out of her reverie. Shaking herself, Adrienne sat up, returning to her meal. “No, you’re right. I was foolish to think that would be realistic.” She muttered without hostility. She just felt tired instead, and resorted to eating the rest of her food in silence. But then: “I think I might turn in early if you don’t mind, darling.” She cast him a morose smile.
There was a part of Cash that felt he had been too harsh. Cash bit down on the inside of his lip. "Of course I don't mind," he said, returning her smile — including the morose tone to it. "And — darling," he said, feeling silly. Darling, darling.
"I know what it's like to give something up."
It wasn't anything like saving people, but — he'd given up Quidditch for her.
She smiled sadly at that. He had given something up. She knew he had, and yet she still felt the sting of rejection as she stood up. But in attempts to build a bridge again, she went to him and bent down to kiss his cheek. “I know you do,” she murmured, giving his forearm a squeeze. “And I’m sorry you had to.” Truly, she was. Perhaps she hadn’t been fully aware of how sorry she was until this moment when she was faced with the same answer, but she was sorry and that was that.
![[Image: VIzcNLA.png]](https://i.imgur.com/VIzcNLA.png)