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
Ford nodded eagerly. Since his argument with Cash a month before the Lestrange/Selwyn wedding Ford had felt as though Cash's marriage was something of a black box — a space into which he couldn't see and didn't have any rights to ask about. It was surprising but gratifying to hear that there was at least one aspect of it he found relatable.
He took another drink. "My brother is the only one who knows about the coatroom," he said. Cash probably assumed that it wasn't something Ford had told many people, but just in case it needed saying. "Well, Noble and —" Tycho, but he hadn't told Cash about Tycho and it was pointless to do so now. He shifted his weight. "— whoever she's told."
Talking about the coatroom was more comfortable. Cash rolled his shoulders out in a stretch. "Do you think she's told anyone?" he asked. "I mean — I wouldn't, if I were her." He didn't understand much about being a debutante — but it didn't seem like telling people about this would go very well for her.
Ford glanced at Cash, then off to the side. He didn't know whether Miss Farley was likely to have told anyone (because he didn't really know her, did he?) but he had run through a few scenarios in his head. If she had been in the coatroom with someone she actually liked prior to his arrival, Ford assumed she would have told them — or maybe wouldn't have had to tell them, because they would have already known more about what had happened that night than he did. He could imagine that one of the things Miss Farley or her parents were doing in the day and a half between the coatroom and when Mr. Farley had arrived in his parlor to make demands might have been trying to find that bloke and make demands, and that he had refused — or else there was some other thing that prevented him, and Ford had been the last remaining option. But there was a chance that she hadn't been having an exceptionally good night even before Ford showed up — she was undressed and alone, and even in the moment he'd thought it strange that whoever had undressed her would have abandoned her before even helping her lace her corset back up. And in that case, no, he didn't imagine she would have told anyone — but he also didn't imagine she'd be keen on the idea of a wedding night.
"Depends what happened before I got there, I guess," he said. Contemplating this made him uncomfortable and he had so far decided to try not to think about it, since there was nothing he could do about it, so he had little intention of dwelling on it now. He took a hefty drink. "But yeah, probably not."
The coat room may have been more comfortable for Cash, but it didn't seem to be making Ford any more comfortable. Cash sipped his drink thoughtfully and leaned back, trying to figure out another avenue of conversation for the pair of them. He settled on, "What are you doing for your Honeymoon?"
Honeymoons were still on topic, but at least slightly different.
Ford wrinkled his nose. "Sanditon, for a week," he answered. It was her father's suggestion, probably because it was easy and cheap to book a last-minute stay at the Sanditon this time of year. No travel arrangements to speak of when they could floo over after the wedding, so the only expense was room and board for the week. "It felt weird to ask for more than a week off work for — you know, something neither of us actually want to do," he continued. He didn't know if he was outright dreading it at this point, but he was certainly anxious about spending so much time alone with someone he hardly knew, and he was sure that she was feeling similarly. That, and he couldn't afford to take more time off of work. He couldn't really afford to take a week off of work, but it would have been suspicious to take any less, given the story they were trying to sell everyone.
The Sanditon wasn't bad, but Cash also had never gone there before the summer. For a wedding like this — a wedding where the groom was secretly broke, but also one where they were getting married because of scandal — he thought it made sense. "Maybe it'll be nice," Cash attempted, hoping to cheer Ford at least slightly. "To spend time together."
"Yeah," Ford agreed, noncommittal. He was starting to feel the alcohol they'd had so far tonight, because usually he would have at least paused to consider before adding, "It'll make it easier to keep up the charade afterwards, anyway. If she moved straight in I'm sure one of my sisters would have the whole thing figured out in a week." He might or might not actually enjoy getting to know her — that depended on what she was like — but whether he enjoyed it or not he would at least emerge from the week better armed with knowledge about the woman he was allegedly in love with.
Ford was clearly feeling morose. Cash stretched one leg out to nudge Ford's knee with his foot. He didn't know what to say. He could not tell Ford that it was going to be alright, because Cash was not sure that it would be.
"We should play a drinking game," he said, in a tone that was helpful. "Never have I ever."
Drinking games conceptually felt fairly childish, and Ford didn't know that he'd played one since before his father had died. But it was typical for men to go do silly childish things right before they married, he supposed; traditional. And maybe Cash was trying to cheer him up.
"Alright," he agreed. He straightened out the leg that Cash had nudged with his foot so that he could return the gesture, a soft contact devoid of particular meaning. "You go first. I think I remember how to play."
Now he had to come up with something — whenever Cash played this game, which he had mostly done as a teenager, he'd always had an easier time coming up with things he had done than things he hadn't done. So his first question was a soft toss of the Quaffle, he knew: "Never have I ever lived in Bartonburg."
Ford rolled his eyes. "Come on," he complained, without real feeling, and took a drink. Never have I ever wanted to live in Bartonburg was the first counter that occurred to him, but that was far too honest... and it seemed unlikely Cash had ever wanted to live here, either.
"Never have I ever played Quidditch, then," he announced, in a two can play at this sort of tone. He didn't know what this was that they were playing at — getting drunk as quickly as possible?
Cash shrugged in an expression of fair enough. He took a sip of his drink. He needed to try harder. "Never have I ever had sex in the club," Cash said, tone blasé — they might as well make a game of it.
(He hadn't had sex in the club, although he had once slept in a room there tangled with Eli, a moment of intense intimacy — Cash felt wistful. He missed him. He took an optional sip of his drink.)
Ford wrinkled his nose. "Oh, give me some credit," he said, faux-offended, as though he would never have considered it when really the only thing that had prevented him was that Macnair had never suggested it. During his relationship with Macnair Ford had been eager enough and naive enough that he would have done pretty much anything in exchange for an affectionate smile and some romantic turns of phrase. He wasn't really so much better these days, but he and Tycho had never been members of the same club, so. (They had slept together in the woods at the edge of Padmore Park once, which in hindsight had been monumentally reckless, but which Ford still remembered with a stir of fondness. There had been snow on the ground — an added layer of stupidity, because if anyone had found them there would have been no reasonable excuse for being even partially undressed).
"Never have I ever..." He moved his fingers on the edge of his glass, making it twist back and forth slightly as he considered what to say next. "...used any illegal spells?" This seemed like something that Cash conceivably might have done, but also not a cheap shot that Ford already knew about — and something that could, possibly, have an interesting story attached to it. (This was a hard game to play with Cash, of all people; Ford knew he had a lot of stories that were not well-suited to being shared over drinks).
Cash considered that, then shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Illegal portkey," he offered, as a shorthand explanation. It was close enough to counting. Beyond that — the memory charms, the Unbreakable vow, all of it. He had been on the other end of illegal magic often enough that he thought it counted.
Perhaps it was that which inspired his next statement, delivered flippantly.
Illegal portkeys were such a stereotypical rich kid answer, immediately calling to mind the stories Ford heard about the ill-advised adventures people from Excalibur went on. He was in this frame of mind when Cash continued, and the abrupt change of tone gave him whiplash.
He looked at Cash a second, feeling like he ought to say something. He opened his mouth, but words did not arrive. Eventually he took a hefty drink.
"There's loving and there's forgiving," he said after a moment, abandoning the pretense of the game. "I love lots of people that I won't forgive."
Cash smiled; he was sort of grimly delighted to have bested Ford. "Still," Cash said, "You love him." Cash would never forgive Lucius, obviously — but that had never seemed like something Lucius would be concerned with. He was unlikely to be concerned about love, either.
