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
It was harder to have built-in hobbies when one was no longer at Hogwarts; Lester was trying to find some additional ones, especially for when Sloane was at the zoo. This was what brought him to the new imaginarium. It was, to his understanding, sort of like a circus. So that meant it would probably be fun, right?
Except then everything was — wolf-themed. Lester took his seat and furrowed his eyebrows. "Is this not a bit — much?" he asked the person next to him, under his breath.
Idris had come to the Diggory Imaginarium because it was something different. She enjoyed balls as much as the next debutante, but it was nice to mix things up every now and then. She wasn't sure how she felt about it yet, if only because she wasn't sure how the animals were being treated. Well, hopefully.
She turned her head slightly as the man next to her addressed her, eyebrow raising in mild amusement. "Well, it's certainly... thematic," Idris murmured as she scanned the decor. "But if you're going to so something something, you might as well fully commit. Half done things rarely make an impression." Ball themes, for one. If they were done well they were breathtaking, but those who picked a theme and only half committed were always looked down upon.
Her gaze flicked back to him "You’re not afraid of a few wolves, are you?"
"No," Lester answered, feeling defensive about it. He wasn't scared of fake werewolves. He was — maybe a bit scared of real ones, but that was absolutely justified, he thought.
"I just thought this would be more like a circus, is all." He didn't find werewolves particularly funny.
Idris couldn't help but grin. She didn't bother trying to hide it because it was amusing how quickly he'd retorted about not being scared. He should be, if only because werewolves were terrifying creatures. Idris sure hoped she never came across one.
Instead of needling him though, Idris turned her attention back toward the performance. "I think a clown would be fun to see. Or a lion tamer." She'd heard stories about the latter in America, but that place seemed like a lot less tame in general so Idris wasn't entirely shocked to hear someone in America decided it was a good idea to stick their own head inside a lion's mouth.
Lester was a little relieved that she hadn't immediately poked more fun of him; his shoulders slumped a smidge with the lack of pressure. "Do you think they have tigers?" he asked; Lester was fond of tigers, and would love to see them do tricks. "And acrobats are always interesting."
Idris quickly glanced at her father who was nodding off next to her. Apparently the circus wasn't his thing, but she was enjoying herself, and in the end that was all that matter. Her attention was drawn back to the other beside her. "Well, why don't we go see?" About the tigers, of course. The wolves were becoming a bit of a bore.
Was a debutante asking him if he wanted to break into the backstage of the circus? Lester blinked at her, a little visibly baffled, and then almost immediately decided that he ought to be at least half as brave as she was. To do otherwise seemed to be giving up some vital part of masculinity. "Alright," Lester agreed, "Let's."
Idris's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. Perhaps she shouldn't actually be doing something so brash and careless, but then again it wasn't like Idris was entirely worried about marrying any time soon. Whatever mistakes she made would be forgotten when (or if) she was ready to settle down. She nodded and gathered her skirts in her hands before she excused herself, working her way out of the seat and into the aisle.
With that, she turned toward the part of the tent that was hidden from them, walking with a purpose so no one would think she was up to something terrible. She didn’t look back to see if he followed—of course he would. Her heart was hammering inside her chest as she moved the fabric aside and slipped through it before anyone could say otherwise. Here, she waited for the man to join her.
Lester watched her for a second, a little baffled that this was all happening, and then stood up and walked after her. He kept his stride purposeful — you could get away with almost anything if you were walking somewhere like you were supposed to be there — but tried not to look like he was following her. This was an unlikely place for someone to get into trouble because of all the people, or so Lester thought, but they were going somewhere that they were not supposed to be.
He slipped through the fabric and found himself alone with her in the back of the tent. "Any tigers yet?" Lester whispered. In their immediate area, all he could see was a variety of costumes.
Perhaps if Idris had actually thought this through, she would have realized that disappearing into a tent with a strange boy she didn’t even know the name of was not the smartest idea she’d ever had. There were a lot of people around them and all it would take was one of them to look away from the show and see her disappear, followed by him. It seemed like the boy was taking his time following her down, which was probably a good thing – maybe it was just a coincidence that they had left at the same time.
(She wouldn’t call this avoiding a chaperone because maybe if her father was paying her any sort of attention, which included sparing her a glance every so often instead of being enchanted by the show, he would have realized that she was leaving, or would come find once it dawned on him that she probably wasn’t coming back any time soon.)
But, before she could change her mind, Idris found herself alone with him. She turned toward him and offered him a smile before she shrugged. “I don’t see any here, but I think the animals would be further back.” Idris tipped her head, although before she stepped further into the tent, she offered him a smile and said, “Idris Oakby.” Without waiting for much of an answer, the witch stepped forward further into the tent, her breath catching in her throat the further she went in; she really didn’t want to be caught.
“Did you hear that?” Idris whispered, glancing at her companion from the corner of her eye.
Given that he was very occasionally hazarding a pinkie touch with Sisse, Lester probably ought to have been more cautious — but most of their caution was for Sisse, not for him. Most of his family had done so well at achieving respectable love-marriages that Lester didn't think his mother would really mind if he got in a bit of trouble — — but he was not in any position to try to offer stability to Sisse right now.
And it wasn't like they were up to anything chaotic back here, either.
He followed her into the tent, and stood on his toes at the low rumble he heard. "Lester Hatchitt," he offered back to her, even though she did not seem particularly interested in his name. He still ought to offer it. "I did — back there, I think." Lester pointed at a wall of crates that was hiding another walkable-row of the tent.
“Mr. Hatchitt,” Idris found herself repeating, briefly turning to look at him as he spoke, although she was already turning her attention back to the crates as he began to speak again. She should say it was nice to meet him, although right now they had better things to do than have formal introductions. Maybe if she saw him at a ball, Idris might go out of her way to say hello to him again before indulging in small talk.
“Let’s go,” Idris whispered, creeping closer to the crates he had pointed out. She tried to pull the crate out of the way, but it proved heavier than she thought it would be. It gave way, at least, enough for her (and all of the godforsaken layers of clothing society decided she should wear) to slip through. She waited for Mr. Hatchitt, turning around to ensure he was coming. (Although if he chickened out, she was going ahead either way.)
“I feel like we should have put on one of the costumes, to blend in.” Idris admitted with a small laugh,as she stepped toward the side as she heard a few people (or things, animals perhaps?) milling about ahead of them.
Lester squeezed into the space that Miss Oakby had cleared; he had to nudge the crate slightly more, because he was significantly taller than she was. But he made it, and followed her lead, moving to the side and ducking slightly. "I always thought I'd make a good clown," he joked, as they hid. In the cracks between some of the crates, Lester could see that some of the people walking by had riding crops in their hands, the kind one would use for animals.
"I think they came from where the animals are," Lester guessed, once they'd passed out of the tent. "Let's go."
He was, in a classic move for many of his adventures, becoming significantly less nervous the further they got into it.
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