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
December 23rd, 1890 - Harriet Prewett's Christmas Party
Escaping Antigone Lestrange made her real desire for being here - finding Mr. Prewett so that he would eventually love and marry her, etc. - even more pressing. If she was spotted with one of the very eligible Prewett bachelors, then some of the actually-purebloodded bitches would be horribly jealous of her, and the thought was particularly appealing.
It only took her one round of the room - during which she refilled her wine - to spot him. After a moment she was assured that it was Mr. Quidditch Prewett, not Mr. Journalist Prewett, and Camilla walked up to him without putting much thought as to anyone else he might have been speaking to.
"Mr. Prewett," Camilla said, smiling. She brought her glass of mulled wine to her lips and took a sip.
Having had a bit of pre-festivities fun with some friends, Fitzroy Prewett was in excellent spirits when he arrived (a bit tardy) to his mother's fete. Christmas was a time to celebrate, after all, and this particular wizard was celebrating his newfound skill of delegation that had left progressively more of his responsibilities in the lap isntead of his assistant head. And why shouldn't he? The Quidditch World Cup had been a mess that had left two of his friends sad and tedious, and saddled the typically fun-loving gentleman with far too much serious work for his liking. Add to that that his mother seemed to have redoubled her matchmaking efforts, and Fitz was indeed deserving of a good time.
Or so he had expected. Instead, his mother had swiftly introduced him to a Miss Something Unremarkable, who immediately launched so aggressively into a soliloquy about her favourite breed of lapdog (a papillon, if you were wondering; Fitz most assuredly was not) and their merits. Even under typical circumstances, Miss Camilla Zabini would have been a welcome sight—attractive, poised, enjoyable company—but in this particular moment, she was something of an oasis in the desert.
"Miss Zabini, yes," Fitzroy returned, flashing the debutante his trademark smile. "Please pardon my oversight—I had simply lost track of time with my companion here! Miss... it was so lovely making your acquaintance, but I fear I have promised Miss Zabini the next dance."
He left the dog-loving debutante no room to reply, instead moving his arm to Miss Zabini's elbow that he might swiftly steer her away.
Miss - was certainly going to hold this against her at the next ball, but Camilla found that she did not particularly care. Miss - was too fixated on dogs to provide good company for anyone, so really she was doing Mr. Prewett a favor and no one ought to hold it against her.
She wound her arm with Mr. Prewett's; they headed towards the dance floor. "Your mother throws an excellent party," she began.
"Her guest list, however, could use some improvement," he replied with a chuckle as they arrived on the dance floor. His right hand moved to clasp her own as his left found purchase in the small of her back, perhaps a bit lower than was taught by dancing instructors. As the musicians struck up their melody, he began to waltz his partner about the floor.
"Though your inclusion, Miss Zabini, is of course always a welcome one—I only wish you had been part of our company at dinner, for there were perilously few ladies present."
There was a small electric thrill on the skin under her dress where Mr. Prewett was touching the small of her back. "Well, I'm delighted to be here," Camilla said agreeably, "And I can imagine that to be the case - my family's dinner had an unfortunate lack of gentlemen." Her steps with Mr. Prewett were graceful and careful; Camilla was, among other things, a detail-oriented dancer.
"Family dinner?" Fitzroy inquired, momentarily confused. "My apologies for not being clearer—I find events such as this are oft better prefaced by a dinner of like-minded sorts, those who know how to have an engaging time."
Camilla would have flushed had her complexion been more prone to flushing. "My mistake, Mr. Prewett," she said, shyly, "Perhaps next time your mother can be prevailed upon to invite more ladies, then."
"If I thought it appropriate, Miss Zabini, I should have invited you myself—but I did not expect Mrs. Zabini the sort to be so...lenient with the young ladies under her charge," Fitzroy answered, chuckling in spite of himself.
Then again, Miss Zabini must be coming up upon her fourth or fifth season soon—doubtless the elder Zabinis would not have protested unless they knew it was Fitz himself doing the inviting. It was a shame, really, that she had remained on the shelf so long in spite of the company she provided—as the thought came to him, Fitz looked over his partner's shoulder, searching for the glare of some gentleman or another whose dance he might have stolen.
Camilla laughed lightly at Mr. Prewett's comment. "No, I suspect not," she said, although she would have been put out if Calliope had stopped her from coming to the Prewetts' even as she saw the reasoning. This was an opportunity to flirt, though - a well-planted one, and maybe she could be a little more forward with Mr. Prewett (who was not entirely proper) than with other men? "Perhaps another setting sometime, hm?"
Seeing no such gentleman, Fitz returned his attentions to the woman at hand.
"Now Miss Zabini, you really must provide examples," he teased, "lest I allow my imagination to run off with me. I believe I am right in thinking, for example, that some sort of winter swim in Hogsmeade's Black Lake would not be a setting to your liking?"
"No, certainly not," Camilla said, with a smirk. "But I can be found at most of the parties this winter - well, those that are fun and have agreeable company, of course."
"Well," Camilla said, "I had thought that was implied. But yes, Mr. Prewett." Fitzroy Prewett was handsome and flirted with her and played Quidditch - all of these were ideal traits in a conversation partner.
"One must never make assumptions," Fitzroy countered, pulling her a fraction closer on a turn. "Assumptions can lead one into all sorts of trouble—some fun, but some a bit less so," the wizard added with the boyish grin of someone who had, indeed, found himself in varying types of trouble over his three decades.
Camilla grinned as Mr. Prewett pulled her closer; after her conversation with Antigone Lestrange, she was mostly just delighted that he was flirting with her.
"Do correct assumptions lead to trouble of the fun sort?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.
![[Image: KWQb2uI.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/KWQb2uI.jpg)