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
Once he stopped crying, Noble left the workshop and walked to the Hog's Head, unconscious of his red-rimmed eyes. He should go to The Three Broomsticks, for appearances — he should not be going to drink in the middle of the day for appearances — but what did it matter? Verity and Ford weren't talking, Grace's life wasn't what she'd wanted, Clem didn't want to marry and he couldn't tell her why it was urgent. He'd been mad at Ford for the better part of the past four months, or the better part of the last year, or since he'd found out that Ford liked men, or since their father died. He was uncomfortable in the house he'd wanted to build a life in. He'd killed people with a hurricane. There wasn't any money anymore. He was half-intimate with someone who didn't want to be emotionally close to him, and he didn't want to be emotionally close to her, either.
None of these were on their own, or together, good excuses. Noble knew that. He was also confident that he did not currently care.
This carried him on the walk from Bartonburg to High Street all the way down to the Hog's Head, where he ordered a gin and took a large gulping sip of it. He was nearly done with it, feeling it in his blood and in his limbs, and not any less angry or upset, when someone sat down next to him.
The morning energy had been leeched from her like a vacuum. She felt it in her bones, she felt it in her head, and most of all she felt it in her feet. She didn’t have enough energy to make it all the way to the Three Broomsticks down the street so the Hog’s Head would have to do. Perhaps she might hear it from matron later for visiting a less-than-reputable establishment, but at least she’d had the forethought to doff her uniform and change into civilian clothes.
Dragging herself into the pub, Tilda sat down at the bar and requested a glass of something strong. Through bleary eyes, she realized who she’d sat next to and she blinked as surprise cleared some of her fatigue. “Noble?”
Noble may not have spoken if it wasn't Tilda MacFusty. He turned to her on his barstool and blinked, then attempted something like a smile, although it was really more a brief baring of teeth than a real-looking expression. It couldn't be that odd to be in the Hog's Head this early if she was here too.
"Tilda MacFusty," Noble replied. "Fancy seeing you here."
Her first reaction was one of alarm. Eyes wide, she forgot her drink that had been place in front of her, even forgot the grueling morning that had caused her to seek out this place in the first place, and she gaped at Noble. He…well, he looked horrible. Broken even. It was a familiar expression, though, one that she’d seen on herself in the months following the dissolution of her engagement. But she didn’t want to pry, at least at first. “What happened?”
There wasn’t a need to ask him if he was alright. She already knew the answer to that question.
Noble blinked at the question. He didn't know how to begin to answer it, and so he finished his first gin and ordered a second one from the bartender before making an attempt. "Lots of long stories there," he finally said, because while they were friendly from school, he wasn't sure how much she actually wanted to know.
His oblique response should have been expected. Tilda turned her attention back to her own beverage before taking a gulp. The firewhiskey burnt a bath down her throat, one that was welcome and invigorating. In her current state, it was only half as restorative as it would be if she weren’t completely knackered. She didn’t have the energy to pry the information out of Noble - besides, how much camaraderie did they really have since school aside from being professional acquaintances? She still found herself saying, “Want to talk about it?” because she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts right now.
Noble shrugged his shoulders at her. He took another sip of gin. "Sure," he said. It was not as if not talking about it had helped him any — no, that was how he'd ended up here.
He allowed: "When we finished Hogwarts I knew exactly how I wanted my life to be."
Which was not, of course, where his life had ended up.
He’d said he was okay with it, and yet she still felt like she may have some how strong-armed him into a response. But he was his own person, and again, she didn’t feel like talking quite yet. But she also was not too far gone as to ignore that voice inside her head to make sure he was okay. Even though he clearly wasn’t. Her lips pressed together as he began. She understood exactly what he meant. “I remember that year.” She said by way of acknowledgement. “You seemed happy.”
"Yeah," Noble said, "You did, too." She'd been Head Girl, confident and smart and in-charge of the prefects. They'd both been enthusiastic about potions, and that had been the main form of their bond. Noble didn't think that any of their classmates would have expected them to be here eight years later, drunk in The Hog's Head.
Which was to say that right now, she didn’t seem happy. He wasn’t wrong. Obviously for her to end up in the Hog’s Head she’d have had to have a bad day at least; but he’d undoubtedly heard of her broken engagement to Eugene - Mr. Scamander (even to say his name to herself brought a nauseating swoop in her stomach). She knew Noble wasn’t a gossip but he didn’t live under a rock, surely.
“The things we want to work out often don’t, I suppose.” She returned, content with their conversing around each of their disastrous lives without really talking about it. She took a healthy swig of her drink. Much as the healer part of her wanted to make Noble feel better, she was feeling too worn to try and seek out those pressure points that she normally would.
"Yeah," Noble sighed again. He knew that he sounded dramatic, and that he was being dramatic, but he could not help himself. "I hope you get what you want," he said, and took a sip of gin. He hoped that she got what she wanted — because it was far, far too late for Noble to fix things for himself.
Her eyes prickled with an uncomfortable hotness. “I wouldn’t stake all your hopes on that.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, hoping the physical pain might detract from the knot tightening in her chest. Tilda rose her glass to her lips and took a swig. “I...don’t know what I want.” She responded. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she didn’t want. But they were one in the same, and she couldn’t reconcile that.
Miss MacFusty looked as if she were having feelings, and Noble had experienced so many of his own today that he didn't know how to make room for someone else's. Tentatively, he reached out and patted her shoulder. Merlin knew he'd made enough messes with his words today that he ought to avoid putting more together.
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