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
Morning of September 15th, 1893 — Crowdy Memorial Library Floo Site
She was released that morning by her supervisor; Enid had been towards the end of a shift when they'd gotten called to the dragons, so she had now been working for around twenty-four hours. She was not sure that she wanted to leave — there was rescue work to be done, and injured coming in every moment — but she knew her supervisor was right. She could not do her best work if she was dead on her feet.
She was directed to evacuate through the library, so to the library she went — it was hard to remember that this was a place for reading when things were so clearly set-up for evacuation. Enid was heading towards the floo when she saw him and startled.
This was not how she wanted to be seen by Nigel Yarwood. She had other people's blood on her robes, her hair was a mess, and there were scrapes on her hands. But it had been a long day and a long night, and she smiled at him, soft and hopeful. He didn't seem injured, and neither was she. "Mr. Yarwood," Enid said, quiet — it was hard to speak loudly after so long awake. "Are you also heading home to the Glen?"
Nigel had never really worked the front lines of a disaster; and certainly nothing like this. Fatigue slumped his shoulders, posture low and clearly exhausted. Ash and probably some blood covered his robes, but Nigel considered himself lucky that was the worst of it.
Well, the worst of it was the long gash in his forearm and the uncontrollable shake in his hands. Blood seeped into his dark robes, mostly unnoticeable, which was good. He wasn't injured enough to be seen by a healer, not when there were others in far worse shape and he could be seen at home.
He too had been released of responsibility for the moment on the orders of go home, clean up and get some sleep. Expected to report back in twelve hours to start damage control for the foreseeable future. Just the thought of it made him want to wretch.
Enid's voice cut through the haze as he approached the Floo and he quickly hid his arm behind his back. "En— Miss Glynn, I am, are you? Are you alright?" Merlin he hadn't even thought too much about who else he knew would be called in.
At least he looked nearly as bad as she did, even if Nigel Yarwood was still handsome when he was ash-covered and tired-looking, which felt dreadfully unfair. But there was something odd about the way he was holding himself, and Enid was sure she could figure it out if she looked at him long enough.
"Me too," she replied, "And I'm alright. Are you?" She tilted her head, trying to see behind his back without looking too obvious about it. Merlin help her if he wasn't alright!
October 2, 2023 – 10:44 PM
Last modified: October 3, 2023 – 12:47 AM by Nigel Yarwood.
Relieved that she was alright, Nigel let out an audible sigh. "Good, that's good." He didn't even want to keep himself think about anybody he knew getting hurt, especially badly.
"No worse for the wear." He lied, somewhat awkwardly. Nigel Yarwood did not possess an ounce of duplicity; he was a terrible liar, but Enid looked worse of than he did and had clearly been hard at work all night. The last thing he wanted to do was to make any more work for her. He could take care of it at home, there had to be a book somewhere in the library that would explain it for him.
"Let's go home." He offered by way of distraction, motioning with his good arm towards the hearth.
Something was off with him, even if he wouldn't admit it, Enid was sure of it. She was also determined to figure it out. This surprised her — historically, she was happy to take everything he said at face value.
"I was going to grab something to eat at Smoke & Scale before I walk to the farm," Enid said, not yet moving to head towards the floo. "Would you like to join me?" He could certainly eat at home — she probably could too — and get cleaner, faster — but Enid found herself wanting to enter some transitionary space before she took the horrors of the night home to her family.
Ahh shit. He wasn't going to get out of this easily. Enid looked like she could use the company and he hated to say no, but he could feel the blood running down his arm now and he wouldn't be able to hide it if they sat down for a meal together.
"I would love to, but I ah, have something to take care of." Nigel shifted his weight awkwardly, but didn't move his arm fast enough before he felt a couple droplets fall from his fingertips.
Enid was almost horribly disappointed — she felt it starting to build — and then she caught the falling droplets of blood splatting onto the floor. "Nigel Yarwood," she said, sounding more like Healer Enid than Crush Enid — which is to say, a tiny bit stern. "Show me your arm." (It was hard to be stern with Nigel! But she certainly couldn't let him go home bleeding on her watch — she would never forgive herself for it.)
Nigel visibly flinched at her tone, sheepishly hunching his shoulders, feeling smaller than his six-foot frame should allow for. "I'm fine," he insisted, flattening his arm out in front of him, so it didn't drip anymore. "You must be exhausted and it's minor, I can take care of it at home." Probably. Dittany right? They had to have that at home? He was sure their cook could sew it up for him in a worst case scenario.
"Please don't trouble yourself, you deserve to go home and rest." Nigel would feel guilty keeping her here any longer than she had been already. There had been so much chaos and she must have been run off her feet since arriving. His own fatigue probably didn't even compare to hers.
She'd made him flinch! Enid flushed pink, feeling guilty. But even that could not entirely stop her. She stepped closer, and very carefully put her hands on Nigel Yarwood's arm to get a look at the gash. "I'm not going to rest knowing you're bleeding," she said quietly. She looked up at him.
"It'll take me ten minutes," she said. Even if he could take care of it himself, she was sure it would take longer for him to heal himself — and the outcome would probably be worse. "If you really think it's too much trouble, you can get me back by eating breakfast with me?" she tried, putting on her most charming smile.
The blush on Enid's cheeks was mirrored in Nigel's and he reluctantly held out his arm for her to get a better look at, pulling up the blood-soaked sleeve for her to see the cut that ran pretty much from wrist to elbow. If she really thought it would only take her ten minutes, he supposed he really didn't have a good excuse not to let her take care of it. Likely it would take him that long to locate a book and twice as long to get the right materials, Merlin help him if he needed to brew something.
Alright, she was right.
"I will buy you breakfast." He agreed with a sheepish sort of smile. "But only if you're sure it'll be quick, I really don't want to put you out." It didn't look too deep and most of the bleeding had already stopped. It wasn't even from anything heroic; some debris had fallen on him, the remnants of someone's railing no doubt, and in an effort to shield his head, had thrown the arm up. Fortunately nobody else had been around, as the chunk of wall that came down a few feet from him certainly would have killed someone.
"You have a deal," Enid said — as if she would ever disagree with any plan that had Nigel Yarwood buying her breakfast. While the library had been reorganized extensively during the day, there were still tables around — she gestured to one of them. "Let's sit down for a few," Enid said, "And — roll up your sleeve." Seeing as they had grown up in a very small village together, Enid thought she had probably seen Nigel's forearm before, but this felt much more intimate. Intimate, and also very not-intimate, as it was her job. She was not sure how to feel about it.
She trotted over to the table and sat down, pulling her bag off her shoulder and setting it on her lap. "I probably have the right ingredients right here," Enid said with a wry smile.
Nigel followed directions without complaint, shrugging out of his jacket and rolling up the sleeve as far as he could. The sleeve of his once-white shirt was soaked through and he knew this one was beyond saving. He felt like he should just throw everything out, himself included, at the moment.
Sitting across from her made him feel awkward again, shoulders hunched as he extended his arm for her to look at in a better light. It stung, but fortunately wasn't too deep, just long. "I appreciate it, truly." He said as he watched her look through her bag. He would make it up to her with breakfast, to start at the very least.
Enid plucked the vial of essence of dittany out of her bag. "I wouldn't be a healer if I didn't like healing," she joked, smiling at him. It was odd to think of Nigel Yarwood as silly — but he was certainly being silly, with how much he wanted to accommodate her this morning. Of course that didn't help her crush any — she just found it charming.
"How did it happen?" Enid asked. It wasn't a very deep cut — but she ought to make sure he was not at risk for infection before she started tooling around with his injury.
Nigel ducked his head a little, passing her another sheepish smile in return. It wasn't anything major, he hadn't been doing anything of significance, just checking an alley to see if anyone was hiding. "Falling debris of some kind," he admitted with a little shrug. Better his forearm than his head though. That would have certainly been a bigger problem.
"A piece of wrought iron, I think." The slice was pretty clean, not too jagged, so he hoped that meant it would heal faster. Enid undoubtedly knew what she was doing, he wasn't worried about that, but he still felt bad for making her day that much longer.
Wrought iron. It could have been worse, but it could have been better. Enid pulled her wand out of her pocket. "You'll want to stop by in a week," she said, "So I can make sure it's healing right. You can just come to the farm, though, not the hospital." Later she would certainly regret offering Nigel Yarwood a visit to her home!, but right now it seemed like an irresistible idea — some intimacy born of this tragedy.
She tapped her wand against his forearm and muttered a spell, watching as his skin glowed for a second. "That's to ward off any infection," she said. "Now I'm going to apply the dittany — it'll sting a bit, is that alright?"
Nigel found himself nodding along, somewhat mesmerized by watching Enid work on his arm. "Right, a week, easy enough." He was relieved she could take care of it at the Glen, so he didn't have to go to the hospital. It was nothing personal for her, the hospital just always gave him a lingering sense of unease that he didn't like very much.
"Ready," he confirmed, gritting his teeth a little bit, trying to contain the hiss that threatened to come out as the dittany hit his skin. Nigel had been inured a lot as a kid and somewhat in his line of work, but he never quite got used to the magical or traditional medicinal methods of healing. Hopefully Enid wouldn't think any less of him for it.
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