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.
Complete a thread started and set every month for twelve consecutive months. Each thread must have at least ten posts, and at least three must be your own.
Did You Know?
Did you know? Jewelry of jet was the haute jewelry of the Victorian era. — Fallin
February 22, 1894* — Wildflowers Florist & Gifts; London
Cleon had very much been in need of cheering up after not being able to outrun his mother. She always seemed to lure him in eventually. So he and Tycho had hit London for lunch. Or more accurately, he had weaseled his way into convincing Tycho to treat him to a lunch. Tychos mood had been rather stormy so it had ended up being a case of Cleon cheering his friend up and providing some distraction. He had some idea of what was stuck in Tycho's craw, he had spotted a rather familiar name in the Daily Prophet and had heard the rumours.
Walking by one of the flower shops with Tycho, Cleon groaned when he remembered that his mother had demanded he bring a bouquet to family dinner later that week. It was pretty obvious she planned to ambush him with another debutante. Tycho opted for going on home rather than coming into the shop - something about getting a bad feeling - so Cleon gave him a quick hug goodbye outside the flower shop before heading into it whilst the other poet apparated away.
What he had not been expecting was to almost immediately clap eyes onto Mister Fortitude Greengrass himself. "Greengrass! I understand congratulations are in order," Cleon said with a smile that was obviously fake but with an affected tone that made it sound like he was fond of the other.
Wedding-related errands were never much fun, even if talking to Miss Potts was one of the less painful ones of the bunch. Seeing Tycho through the window had almost cheered him up — he had an idea of finishing up quickly and dashing out the door to wave him down, and maybe being able to get a meal together on the excuse of serendipity. Then he saw who Ty was with. Then he saw Ty hug him.
It was nothing, he was sure, because Tycho wouldn't have moved on so quickly. Not when Ford wasn't even actually married yet, and not when he was still trying to take every opportunity for stolen moments that he could. So it was certainly nothing, but it still stung, as though he'd taken Ty's gift and now he was the one seeing visions of the future. Maybe not Cleon Broadmoor, but someone, someday. It might happen just like this: Ford doing something mundane that he didn't want to do and seeing just a glimpse of Ty through a window and wondering, wondering, wondering.
He was in a bad mood when he left Wildflowers.
"Yes," he snapped. "They are, and I'm ecstatic." His tone certainly did not sound it.
Well, someone was touchy. "You sure sound it," Cleon said with a touch of sarcasm. "Well, congratulations. I wish you a lifetime of the happiness you deserve." He didn't think he would ever be fond of Greengrass and he had long had the feeling that the sentiment was mutual. Well, that didn't bother him any. He didn't know if he believed the whole thing about a coat closet or whatever the rumours had said but it was hard to really fathom what had happened. The end result was the same: the man was getting married. "Is your blushing bride with you?"
Ford did not miss the emphasis on the word deserve. It might have just been Broadmoor being a snippy twit, but for just a moment Ford had to wonder if Tycho had said anything about the situation, before they'd hugged (ugh). Of course Tycho wouldn't have done that, but — it would be really bloody bad for Ford if Cleon Broadmoor knew more than he was supposed to.
"She has a name," he said, less because he felt at all defensive of Miss Farley and more because he would probably have picked any fight he possibly could with Broadmoor at the moment. (What had he been doing with Tycho anyway? Did they often hang about each other like that while Ford was busy with work and family responsibilities and everything else that the two of them never had to worry about?)
"Oh, my apologies. Is your dear Miss Farley with you?" It did not seem it. He had assumed Greengrass was here doing wedding things but that was not the only reason one might get flowers. He was here, after all, and he was certainly not getting married. Nor would he ever, if he was being quite honest. "When is the happy day? Has it been set?" He really was genuinely curious about that.
Broadmoor managed to make her name sound even worse than the phrase blushing bride. Ford was sure he had done it on purpose; no one could be this annoying accidentally. As Broadmoor continued Ford presumed (probably irrationally) that he was asking this question to be obnoxious, as well. He probably already knew the answer from his conversation with Tycho, if they'd been talking about Ford (which he was now half-convinced they had been). Ford had told Ty the date as soon as it had been set, because it bounded out the remainder of their relationship. (But, he thought darkly, perhaps it hadn't mattered when it came to the exclusivity of that relationship. Ugh!)
"Next month," he said. "I wouldn't hold your breath for an invitation."
"I'm crushed," Cleon said, not even bothering to conceal how deadpan he was delivering his words. He didn't know why he got such a kick out of antagonizing Greengrass aside from how amusing the others reactions were. It had been that way even before the man up and decided to fondle some girl in a coat room or whatever it was society was saying had happened. He wasn't too sure what he personally believed nor did it really matter.
"That is so soon! I suppose true love can make one want to be wed as soon as possible." That much, at least, he meant whether he thought it true of this particular engaged pair or not. Not that he had personally ever been in love nor had he ever really had a desire for it. From what he had observed, it only brought pain to his ilk. Thanks, society.
Ford caught himself grinding his teeth and made a concerted effort to stop. Broadmoor was trying to antagonize him, whether because he was cozying up to Tycho and trying to assert his claim or just because he was an obnoxious shit in general. Either way, he shouldn't give him the satisfaction of being able to do it so easily.
"I'll pass along your good wishes to my fiancee," he said, though Broadmoor had never asked him to and Ford hadn't the slightest intention of following through anyway. It was just something to say that didn't require him to respond to the remark about true love.
"Now, if that's all—?" he asked, with an arch of his eyebrow that said he very much expected it to be all.
"Please do so, I am sure she is a delight if she managed to convince you to the altar," Cleon said. Poor girl. Bound by matrimony to this lout. For all he knew though, they really had fallen in love. It wasn't like Tycho had said anything himself about this engagement. Being in love with his fiancee was not the vibe he got though.
"Indeed. I'd ask you to lunch but I just came from having one with a mutual friend of ours and I now have business with the florist." Of course, he didn't really mean it. He mainly wondered what the reaction would be. It was a petty jab but Greengrass had such a way of making him feel petty.
Ford felt a little stuck by this remark, because what he really wanted to do was to respond to the jab about lunch with Tycho (Broadmoor had to know, Ford thought, because this blow was too well-aimed for someone who only thought the pair of them were friends). He wanted to tell Broadmoor that he didn't scare Ford, because Ford knew Ty in a way that Broadmoor didn't and never would. He wanted to tell him he knew all the things Ty most liked to eat and the way he sometimes tapped his fork against the edge of a plate when he was distracted thinking about something, and had Broadmoor noticed that during lunch? He wanted to convey that even if Broadmoor and Ty hugged in the street, even if they slept together, it still wouldn't be what Ford and Tycho had. What they had was more than just hookups and sex and jokes over lunch, more even than sharing secrets or commiserating, if that was what they'd been doing just now, and Broadmoor was never going to have it no matter how much time he spent circling Ty like a vulture after Ford tied the knot.
But he couldn't say any of that.
"She is," he said weakly instead. Miss Farley was the only safe conversation topic, even if he wasn't really talking about her at all. "She's — sweet and creative and funny in a way that other people don't recognize and so smart and — and you wouldn't understand." So stay away from him.
Cleon chuckled as Ford praised his wife. But he had a feeling they were both not actually talking about Miss Farley. "How wonderful for you. I can't imagine letting someone of such caliber go so I can see why you are so excited to marry her." Though in reality Greengrass seemed as exited as Cleon did when being ambushed by a mother approved debutante.
Ford had never thrown a punch in his life, but this remark drove him dangerously close. His hand curled into a fist at his side and his arm tensed. That stupid chuckle, the smug look on Broadmoor's face — if he did hit him Ford imagined he could replace it with one of shock at least for a minute, but that wasn't really good enough. What he really wanted to do was claw those stupid sparkling eyes out of his head, or strangle him. But obviously he couldn't do anything — it wouldn't actually help, and the last thing they needed were more rumors. Fucking hell.
But at least if he hit Broadmoor it would prevent him from causing a different kind of scene, because the other thing Ford wanted to do at the moment was curl into a ball and sob.
"You're a bloody git," he swore, and turned on his heel to flee the conversation before he did something he would regret.
Cleon could sense a tension in the air. Well, there had been tension the whole time but it crackled a bit more now in his mind. Cleons smug look became even smugger. He had gotten under the others skin. If he was going to be hit, that wouldn't be so good but it would be worth it, he decided.
"Well, I never," Cleon said in faux shock as he clutched his nonexistent pearls. Then he laughed and headed into the florists, feeling quite content at the small chaos he had wrought. Tycho was likely going to give him an earful or hit him himself if he heard about what had happened but he could deal with that.
