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 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
"Oh, I'm quite sure of that," he returned easily. He hadn't told their mother he was expressly interested in Miss Dempsey, but he had asked about her more generally, and that had been the one noteworthy thing: she hadn't had any offers. He had wondered if that meant she was in some way opposed to the idea of marrying, but he had the sense from his conversation with her that this wasn't the case.
"Anyway, it's nothing for you to worry about," he continued with a shrug. "How are your prospects this season?"
Well at least her brother had had the sense to insure he wasn't pursuing something that would only succeed if he convinced the woman to break off a courtship. Though that never guaranteed he wouldn't still make a fool of himself. But, she decided then, was his probably not her's. She trusted him enough not to do something stupid enough to wreck her chances - the nonexistent ones, she supposed - and that was really all she could ask for.
And then she flinched.
Beatrice really had thought she'd be able to get through the whole conversation without it turning round to be about her. Every conversation in this house over the past three, no four, years had somehow always ended up about her. "I hit a man in the head with a croquet ball hard enough he told me I should look into playing... muggle baseball?"
Victor blinked, unsure what to think of this remark. It couldn't have been an auspicious start to the encounter if she'd wounded him, but Victor didn't know enough about Muggle baseball to interpret the rest of the remark. He knew vaguely that it was an American sport, but nothing else about it. He had some mild hope that perhaps the man Bea had assaulted was American, and therefore likely inconsequential in the British social scene.
"Oh, dear," he muttered all the same. "I don't suppose he said it like it was a compliment?"
"He didn't seem angry? He almost seemed... entertained?" Bea offered, unsure what else to even say when one admitted to nearly concussing someone with a croquet ball after their brother asked how their marital prospects were going. She certainly wasn't going to tell him that Mr. Morgan had been quite a distance away from the wicket she'd been aiming for. Or the playing field. "I don't think he intends to press charges or anything like that."
"Other than that? Exactly the same as the last time you asked me. It is a bit of a given that unless some miracle happens, without outside intervention, I'm going to end up a spinster. Well, at least we'll know someone will always be around to take care of Mother."
"Beatrice," Victor said, suddenly stern. It had taken years of failed seasons for their mother to even see the benefits of realism; if she heard Bea turning defeatist she would likely suffer a fit.
"You're not to give up trying," he said. "As for outside intervention... after I marry I'll see what I can do." If someone was going to arrange a match for Bea it would have to be him. Their father certainly wasn't involved enough to do it.
"I'm not saying I'm giving up," she snipped, her grip on her spoon tightening. "I'm being realistic." And logical. She'd just finished her third season and in those three years, not a single offer had been proposed to either her or Victor. And well, if anyone had sent something to their father, they might as well have not tried. Even if she still had plenty of years until she actually was a spinster (she supposed that was either a positive or negative to debuting early depending on how one looked at it.) she wasn't sure how she was going to accomplish something in another seven seasons when she hadn't had a hint of luck in the first ones where she was new and no one knew what a freak she was.
"For goodness sake, Victor! Father left because he couldn't even handle the idea of having to deal with me!"
Victor's voice was cool when he replied, because if it hadn't been he would have risked sounding angry. He had his private thoughts about why their father spent so much time abroad, especially recently, but he did not discuss them with his siblings and he didn't appreciate Bea forcing the conversation. "Don't be melodramatic. Father left to pursue his research."
"Don't be melodramatic!" Beatrice squawked, letting her spoon clatter into the remnants of her porridge. How dare he! How dare he act like she shouldn't be bothered by this. "Oh really? Do you really want to go with that? A perfectly timed trip that sees him depart just weeks before my debut?" Like she didn't spend months as a terrified sixteen-year-old little questioning her self-worth, crying herself to sleep each night, because even her own father didn't have enough belief in her to wanna stick around and witness it? That he didn't care enough to help?
"Frankly, Victor, it doesn't matter how much you try to say he didn't because everyone knows he did. Every single person in society knows that 'Virgil Daphnel has been gone for years when he should have been here doing what his son is doing' and that his trip has been three to four times longer than any of his other ones have ever been." Perfectly timed with the time Beatrice had spent out in society.
"I'm just the poor little freak who chased her father away, that's how they see me Victor. I'm not a fool."
"Beatrice, enough," Victor said emphatically. (Was this the longest he had ever heard his sister speak in one unbroken string? Perhaps). As uncomfortable as it made him to think that his sister was thinking all of this on a near-daily basis, it somehow made him even more uncomfortable that she would voice it, even in the relative safety of the family breakfast table. What man in his right mind would want to marry someone who described herself as a poor little freak? No wonder she had such trouble on the marriage market.
"There are plenty of young women with fathers who aren't actively involved in their social life," he continued. He hadn't even met Mr. Dempsey yet, so there was at least one proof that a debutante didn't need a father advocating them in order to pique the interest of a gentleman. (In fairness to Bea, Mr. Dempsey had also not fled the country, but this was splitting hairs). "There are young women who don't even have fathers, who do quite well for themselves. What you lack has nothing to do with our father." Was this perhaps too blunt, too cruel? The thought did cross Victor's mind, but her outburst warranted a strong response.
"If you really feel yourself wholly inadequate in this area, you could ask mother if she's inclined to arrange something. Otherwise," he continued, with a sharp note of dismissal in his tone, "You'll have to wait until I marry and can devote the proper time to the endeavor. And I would thank you not to refer to yourself with such crass language in the meantime."
It didn't matter that she'd been harsh to Victor (even if nothing she had said was actually against him), Beatrice had never actually expected him to be so harsh with her. It was enough that she wilted instantly, losing any fire she once had, her shoulders curling in, hands trembling, as she stared down at the table, quite unable to look her brother in the face. Maybe their father leaving was a sore subject for both of them, but to hear him outright say that Bea's bad luck with the season was entirely her own fault with no play from any sort of outside factors hurt. It physically stung to the point of tears. It felt like he'd taken the block she was standing on and ripped it out from underneath her leaving everything to cave in around her. It was hard to breathe.
"If you'll excuse me," Beatrice croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. The chair scratched loudly against the floor, echoing in the far, far to silent room. "I am going to return to my room now. If you'll let Mother know I won't be attending the ball tonight, please?"
Victor regretted what he'd said when he saw the impact it had on his sister. He watched her crumble across the table and wondered if he ought to say something to temper his words. Would anything he said at this point really have softened it, or would it just seem like he was too much of a coward to own the impact of his words?
Then she excused herself, and Victor shook his head. This was the problem. Bea could let one hurtful comment at breakfast ruin her entire day, and maybe the next several, too. She needed thicker skin and a bundle of confidence if she was going to find anyone.
"You have hours to prepare for the ball tonight," he said firmly. "See that you do."
Her whole body tightened. "I am not being hysterical," Beatrice snapped, angry enough about the whole situation that her anxiety in standing up to anyone, even her own family, had taken a backburner. "I'm angry and I'm hurt and currently experiencing a justified amout of emotions. There is a difference, Victor. Not everyone is an unfeeling jerk who has no regards for how what he says impacts others."
"Don't lash out at me because you can't accept the truth as that would mean you have to feel something for once." She moved towards the door then, she crying as she did, book acidently forgotten on the table. She realized at the door she'd forgotten it, but had the feeling watching her go back would give Victor a petty satisfaction so retained. She had other books in room and she could have a maid fetch it later. "I will not be going tonight. I will go tomorrow, but tonight is off the table unless you want me to act 'hysterical' there as well."
She was angry enough to do it, screw everything else. Mad enough to do something that would rune any chances she had just to spite Victor right now.
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