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 1896. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Complete five threads of five posts or more where your character experiences bad luck, such as stepping in a chamberpot, losing the rings for a wedding, etc...
Did You Know?
One of the cheapest homeless shelters in Victorian London charged four pennies to sleep in a coffin. Which was... still better than sleeping upright against a rope? — Jordan / Lynn
If he was being completely honest, the situation didn't look good, but Sylvano was not in the habit of being completely honest about anything. No reason to start now.
— Sylvano Capobiancoinyou & me & the war of the endtimes
December 28th, 1895 — a small town outside Belfast
Ford was impossible to get Christmas gifts for, because what did you buy someone who had saved your life twice? Sometimes Cash thought about just giving Ford money, but that would require revealing that he'd known about the Greengrass financial issues for years, and it also felt vaguely — garish. So instead he'd settled on a nice — meaning expensive, but also soft — scarf and a paid evening outing to a haunted house.
They could only do a half day, now that they were married, and parents, but the outing would get them back late and maybe they would even see ghosts.
"We'll have the place to ourselves," Cash said, on the walk up to the stone mansion from the pub they'd flooed into. "Just like old times, hm?"
When Cash had told him about this, Ford hadn't been sure what to say. He supposed he was touched, that Cash had thought so deeply about it and done all the planning to make it happen... he was touched, and though there was something tingling in the back of his brain about recollections of such an early hour in their friendship, he couldn't focus on it long enough to make anything of it. He was too exhausted to over-analyze, with the baby. Or rather, with the anxiety about the baby; she had become less needy over time, herself, but somehow the amount of time and energy he spent fretting over her had not lessened.
He smiled softly at the remark about old times. "It'll be quiet," he remarked. Compared to the Greengrass house, at least, and probably compared to Cash's too. "Unless it's not, of course."
"Should be more puzzle-loud than wizard ghosts loud, at the very least," Cash returned, mirroring Ford's soft smile. He really hoped there wasn't anything magic going on here — if there was, Ford would have to do work about it, and that was distinctly not the point of their overnight.
The mansion loomed up the road; old, and stony, and with ivy crawling up the outer wall. Cash shivered, which he chalked up to the brisk weather, because even though the building did look rather haunted from the outside it could not actually be.
Puzzles were good. Cash liked puzzles, and Ford liked ghosts. On the other hand, maybe nothing would happen — no real ghosts and no fake ones, no Muggles causing strange bumps or playing screams recorded on a victrola. In that case they would have a few hours just to themselves, to talk. That felt a little terrifying. When was the last time Ford had been alone with anyone that long? It wasn't that it was a problem to talk to Cash, but he wondered if he was capable of carrying a conversation that long with anyone. Did he have anything to talk about that wasn't just... glum and self-pitying? Had he done anything interesting in the past six months?
"The ivy's a nice touch," he said. "Feels a little like a fairy story." Except in a fairy story it would probably be a cottage, and set back farther from the road. This one was looming large, and probably at least twice the size of the Greengrass house, though it was hard to tell from only the front how big it really was.
"Now fairies would be fun," Cash said, tone a smidge crooked. He didn't know how to deal with fairies, as he didn't often encounter them — he suspected Ford didn't, either. They would be different.
When they were a few yards away, the big wooden door to the mansion swung open. It had to have been rigged, because there was no one on the other side. He looked at Ford, raised an eyebrow, and took quick, long steps up to the entrance.
Cash stepped inside, looking around. "Not very dusty," he assessed, which generally meant that people had been here at some point recently. That made sense, even if it was the smallest bit disappointing — this was a tourist trap, so he ought not to have expected full haunted house authenticity.
It was a relief that the door swung open - this was not going to become an impromptu three hour discourse. Ford did not have to find ways to be interesting.
"Ghosts don't make things dusty," he pointed out, a little glib. Of course Cash knew that, and Ford knew what he meant; that if this place were really haunted, it would not be so often trafficked by people who wore physical boots. Ford surveyed the front door, then reached out to swing it one way then another. It glided easily enough; it felt heavy, but not unreasonably so for a door of its size, and there weren't any sticking points like he might have expected if it had been hastily rigged to open. It presumably was rigged, but he could admire the craftsmanship; the mechanism wasn't obvious. Was it possible to pull a door this heavy with magnets in the floor, or something like that? Maybe, but he was hardly going to pull up the floorboards on the front porch to investigate. He closed the door gently behind them. "Did you get the story of this place? Supposed story."
