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
June 5th, 1894 — Skyfall, Cambridgeshire
Before her debut
Her gown was stiff, uncomfortable, out of necessity. The dress from the coming out ball at Hogwarts the week before had been nice enough, but set aside in exchange for white silk emblazoned with small pearl-and-diamond constellations all over the skirts and bodice, a nod to her passion for astronomy that had been tied into the very fabric of the event. Not a theme, though; Iphigenia Adebayo would never allow a theme to overshadow her.
"It isn't right," she bemoaned as she sat at the vanity, trying to rearrange a wayward curl. "And it must be perfect."
Unlike her sister, there was no finishing for Ipheginia, who was to be launched straight into her first season. At first, this had inspired pride and confidence in the young witch, but weeds of anxiety had also begun to take root within her. Her family's love was guaranteed, but the esteem, respect, and pride of her father, of Ìyá? Those were not awarded half so easily.
Under normal circumstances Ife might have admonished her granddaughters for spending too much time staring in mirrors — there was a fine line between looking respectable and formidable and spiraling into vanity — but tonight was as far removed from normal circumstances as a young girl could be. Her namesake could be allowed the digression.
"Let me," she said, moving between Genia and the vanity and reaching for the curl in question. With a few deft finger moments she charmed the curl straight, then with a twist caused it to bounce back into a mirror of its original shape. She let go of the lock and left the actual arranging of it to Genia, satisfied that she would be more successful now.
"Your dance card will be full tonight whether or not your hair is perfectly quoiffed," she pointed out mildly. She did not ask whether Genia was looking forward to it, or whether she was nervous; she did not ask if there was anyone particularly she was hoping to dance with. The season was as much a business as the Adebayo Trading Company was; best to approach it as such, not with sentiment.
“But it will all be perfect,” Callista assured her sister from where she was hovering near the window, looking out on the transformed gardens. She was conscious of not crowding Genia at what was sure to be a most stressful interlude, but all the same, yearned to give her – something that was not their grandmother’s matter-of-fact practicality. “You look a marvel, Genia.” More splendid still than she had at Hogwarts’ ball, and this time she would not be part of a constellation, not needing to compete for anyone’s admiration.
She resisted the urge to fix her sister’s hair herself, feeling sure the more she fussed, the more self-conscious she would make her. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen Genia truly nervous before.
Genia had often wondered if there was anythin her Ìyá could not remedy. Thus far, she had found nothing to add to that particular list. She tucked the charmed curl neatly into place, where it remained this time, as though fearing the wrath of Ife Gbadamosi should a single strand leave its place. The debutante was satisfied it would remain thusly for as long as she needed it to.
"I am a marvel," she returned slyly to her sister, an affirmation to herself as much as it was a joke. Unlike things-that-could-not-be-remedied-by-her-grandmother, the list of Iphegenia's accomplishments was a notable one. Most importantly, though, she was an Adebayo, and while her family name did not carry the same weight in English society as the likes of Lestrange or Rowle, her family was a damn distinguished one.
"Is there anyone in particular," Genia asked of both witches, all business, "that I should ensure I make a good impression upon this evening?"
Ife frowned just slightly at the question. It wasn't the wrong question to be asking, but the answers were too few and far between for her liking. English society was a smaller world than the one she had been born into; in Africa it wasn't impossible to travel two kingdoms away for a party, especially with the aid of magic. She recalled having half a dozen suitors when she was on the social scene. She would struggle to come up with a list that long for Iphigenia, or for Callista, but not because they were any less accomplished or desirable; simply because the worthy men were fewer and farther between.
"The Lovegoods," she offered. She planned to speak to Orlando Lovegood tonight herself, not because he was a good option for either of the girls but because she suspected his favor would make a world of difference when it came to the affections of Andren Lovegood. He was a fair enough match; Quidditch was an unserious business, so not ideal, but at the very least he wasn't sporting criminals in the wings of his family like the Scrimgeours or the Echelons were. The only scandal associated with the Lovegoods was that the spinster Lovegood was foolish, and that was long enough ago now that no one talked about it anymore.
"Edwin Rowle," she continued. The youngest Rowle would probably have been a better match for Callista, but it seemed in poor taste to state as much when tonight was her youngest granddaughter's moment to shine. "And it's never a bad idea to impress a Lestrange, though I don't expect you'll find a husband there. But it's a worthwhile family to have friends in, once you're married."
“Yes, you are,” Callista echoed indulgently, taking the correction with a laugh. She quieted down at the next question, however, because Ìyá was better placed to instruct her – she had guided her too, after all – and also because their grandmother had higher standards than anyone Callista had ever known.
And, though she loved Genia dearly, she was also conscious they were – very different people. And while love was last on the list of things they were seeking out in marriages, Callista hoped their futures would both end up at least mildly happy.
“Best to spread your attentions generously, in these first weeks,” she added, as an afterthought. Politeness spoke volumes, and entertaining any one bachelor or family for too long only looked like an arrangement was on the cards, and would discourage other options. And she did not want Genia to be too quick to do anything, while she was still so young – though perhaps a small part of this was Callista’s own self-preservation? It would look worrisome if the younger sister married first; she was sure once Genia was wed, everyone would simply consider her a spinster. (Which she would not have minded, personally, if only the idea had not reeked of failure.)
And try to enjoy yourself, if you can, she thought anxiously, but did not say.
It was not a long list, and so was one easily committed to memory. It was also not a surprising one. Oh, as a third son Edwin Rowle would not be a particularly ambitious prospect for Genia, but all three families were well established in British magical society. Taiwo had long made plain his desire for his daughters to excel here, rather than back in Nigeria, and Iphigenia had never quite learned to handle disappointing others—or herself.
I will impress them all, the debutante thought to herself, a promise moreso than a voice of confidence, as she rose to her feet.
"Let us not keep them waiting any longer."
It would have been rather a more regal moment if she had not swiftly stepped on the hem of her skirts.
The idea of spreading attentions generously wasn't exactly what she would have said, had she been doling out advice; they were Adebayos, not common hussies who needed to call out to men to get their attentions. But she understood that Genia would never stoop so low; she had been raised better than that. And Callista's remark had surely been well-intentioned, however it had been phrased, so she let it slide.
"Omo omo," she said as Genia stood and then promptly stumbled. The Yoruba phrase for grandchild, but said with the same intonation as the English tsk tsk. "Patience and grace, darling, patience and grace."
It took all Callista had to swallow the temptation to laugh at the moment. Ìyá’s chiding – in a lighter tone than they often came – was enough acknowledgement of the stumble. (And it was best to get out all the mishaps in this room, Callista felt fervently, for better luck out there.)
So all she did was press Genia’s arm in amused sympathy and whisper conspiratorially in her ear, “And have fun,” as she passed her, moving to open the door for them to proceed. (Fun was not the point of the night, or of their careers as Adebayo debutantes – but she thought Genia should be afforded the luxury of it, for at least her first night.)
Advance the family. Be perfect. Have fun. Iphegenia Adebayo was a competent and confident young woman. If anyone could accomplish all of these objectives, surely it was her.
