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
Cleon had not stayed at Tycho's in a long while but it seemed his decision to do so came at a good time. Tycho had expressed a desire to not be alone since he wasn't feeling completely himself since the death of his friends father at the Sanditon Closer. That suited Cleon just fine. He adored his friends and was happy to be there for them in any way that was possible. Being serious did not overly suit either of them so he had mostly been using ridiculous methods of keeping Tycho's mind off of things. Cleon had not told Tycho anything but he also needed something kept off his mind.
Baxter's Knoll. He had dreamt of it again and he had no idea what to make of it. Did it have to do with the third anniversary of The Incident? See? This was why he had not wanted to be alone. Tycho had gone to check on his mother and now Cleons mind was wandering places he did not wish it to wander to.
Cleon's mind was blissfully taken off of it by the sound of someone at the door. He beat one of the slightly disgruntled house staff to the door and opened it to a vaguely familiar face. He was pretty sure the man had been a Hufflepuff in the year below him. Name... what was the name? It was on the top of his tongue.
"Come to see Tycho?" He asked, moving aside and moving his arm in a gesture for the man to come in as if the house were his own.
Ford had, in fact, come to see Tycho. Who else would he have been expecting to see when he knocked on Dodonus' door? To the best of his knowledge there was only one person who lived here (and one spirit, but a spirit could not properly be said to live here, and neither could they physically open the door once he'd knocked on it). Of course Ford knew that Dodonus had a staff — a house like this was already far too big for one person, and could not have been maintained without one — but this fellow didn't look like staff. He didn't have the right mannerisms and attitude, nor the livery (though if Dodonus could answer the door in a housecoat, who was to say that his butler had a uniform at all?) Staff also probably wouldn't have referred to the owner of the house as Tycho — though if anyone would have such impertinent staff members, it would have been Tycho.
But no, this wasn't a butler. When he'd moved past the initial shock of seeing someone unexpected at the door, Ford realized he recognized him from Hogwarts. Broadmoor. Definitely not a servant, but also not a relation of Dodonus unless it was through some obscure connection Ford wasn't aware of. What was he doing here? They might have just been friends, of course, but this seemed a strange hour for friends to be visiting (Ford thought from his friend's doorstep, entirely unaware of the hypocrisy of this observation). It was too early for him to be a dinner guest. Maybe he was staying here.
The idea stung slightly, though Ford wouldn't have been able to say why. Dodonus had this huge house all to himself, and he could invite anyone over that he pleased. There was no reason he ought to make Ford aware of his plans for his guest rooms. If he was even using a guest room. How long had he been here? How long was he staying? Not that it was any of Ford's business one way or another, but now he was morbidly curious. Perhaps he could find a way to bring it up in conversation naturally and figure out the answer, but for that he would first have to start the conversation.
"Yeah, I did," he agreed. He entered the house, but a little warily; his shoulders were held higher than they typically were when Dodonus welcomed him in. "Is he here?"
The other man seemed to be surprised to see him answering the door. Which was fair, really. He had likely been expecting Tycho himself or one of the staff. It didn't really occur to Cleon that he should probably not be answering the doors of his friends homes. Then again, he only did so with those he knew wouldn't care and Tycho was definitely among that number.
The name was still on the edge of his brain, just out of his grasp. Oh, if he did not have it come to mind and the man didn't end up providing a name, it was going to bug him for days. Trying to conjure up a name for the face before him was taking up most of his thoughts.
He watched the other man as he entered the house, shoulders high. "He has gone to check on his mother but should be back soon," Cleon said, utterly oblivious to any sort of awkwardness that might be in the room. He went over to the drink cart and took the liberty of pouring out two glasses of the sugary, rainbow-hued alcoholic drink Tycho had secured from some Jewell's Distillery event.
He looked back up at the other man and it finally hit him. "Greengrass! That's who you are. I recognized you but the name was just not coming to me," Cleon said with a chuckle. "I had no idea you were friends with Tycho." How had the two met? He was mildly curious now. For some reason, it never really occurred to him that his friends had lives and connections that existed beyond their association with himself.
Going to visit his mother was a perfectly good excuse for not being here, particularly given recent events, but it didn't make Ford feel any better about Broadmoor answering the door. So he was here by himself while Tycho was out. Even Tycho wouldn't have invited him over for the afternoon and then promptly abandoned him to go pay a call on his mother — he was eccentric but not inconsiderate — which meant that Broadmoor had been here for some time, probably since at least the day before. Dodonus had never invited Ford to stay overnight... but why would he have? Ford's house was no more than a ten minute walk, so no matter how late he stayed over or how much he drank during dinner it didn't make much sense that he wouldn't be able to get himself home. Presumably this other fellow lived farther away. He could easily have come for dinner the day before, gotten too drunk to safely apparate, and decided to stay in a guest room. But if that was the case, why would he still be here, instead of going back home once he'd sobered up in the morning?
He'd been a little put out while considering these things, but transitioned to properly annoyed when the other man recognized him and said "I had no idea you were friends with Tycho." Ford wasn't sure what he was annoyed about or who he was annoyed with — probably this bloke, but maybe Tycho a little bit too, for apparently never having mentioned him in conversation even once to a friend he was close enough with to invite over for extended stays. They'd been seeing each other at least once a week since early summer, between Ford helping with the shows and visiting and running into each other at social calls. It could have come up. Arguably even should have come up, if Broadmoor was as good a friend as he was acting like he was. Not that he'd said anything specifically about it, but between answering the door of the other man's house and continually referring to him by his first name he was certainly giving the impression that the two of them were... cozy.
"We're good friends," Ford insisted, tone somewhat testy. Now, of course, he had to wonder if that was really true — if Tycho was regularly having people over and had never mentioned Broadmoor to Ford, or vice versa. Maybe they weren't really as close as Ford had presumed. That idea stung, too. He was not particularly enjoying this interaction, but he couldn't exactly leave when the other man had just poured him a drink. Not to mention that he didn't really want to leave — he wanted to know what was going on here. "How do you know him?"
Cleon was not completely oblivious. He could sense a sort of tension emanating off of the other man. He couldn't imagine why that might be. He knew quite well that Tycho's preferences were not completely tied into the fairer sex. Tycho had not mentioned having a new lover so he doubted that this was that. The other man did not usually let him stay over whenever he was in the midst of an ongoing dalliance. He had mentioned a friend who had been helping him with his shows and some other things Cleon couldn't quite remember due to having been quite drunk at the time. Was this that friend? Now he wished he could recall more of the conversation.
The tone of the other mostly just served to amuse him. He took a sip of his drink to hide his amused smile. He didn't know if it was just his imagination but Greengrass spoke like he expected Cleon to fight against the fact that Greengrass and Tycho were apparently good friends. "We met at a party a couple of years back now. We are both poets so we got into a discussion about that and the rest was history." And now the Seer was on his list of people he sweet talked into letting him stay over at their place. Never mind that his actual home was just minutes away over in North Bartonburg but that was besides the point. "And what about you? How did you meet our dear soothsayer?"
In any other circumstance, Cleon might have tried to win the other mans favour. He could always use more friends and of course, liked garnering new friends and friendly acquaintances. However, the vibe he got from the other man at the moment was that Greengrass would not currently be receptive to an obvious attempt at it.
Ford's chest tightened slightly. Of course he was a bloody poet. Under normal circumstances meeting someone who was a poet would have been intriguing and Ford would have been keen to know more, but at the moment it felt almost like a jab. It was something that Broadmoor and Tycho had in common, apparently, and Ford didn't write poetry. Even if he tried to pick it up, he was sure he wouldn't be any good. Broadmoor might as well have said the two of them were in an exclusive club and Ford wasn't invited. And the rest was history.
This was unhealthy; he ought to go home. Ford didn't even know why he was feeling so upset, but it couldn't be good to stand here having a conversation with a stranger in this state of mind. He ought to say his goodbyes and try to catch Dodonus at home another time, and next time maybe write first to ensure he'd be home and not in the middle of entertaining other handsome young poets for days on end. Having given himself this very good advice, however, Ford immediately disregarded it and retrieved the drink Broadmoor had poured for him, which was currently an odd shade of dark green. He raised it to his lips and took a sip while he tried to think of how to phrase the story of how he'd met Tycho so that it sounded interesting. It actually was interesting, in Ford's opinion, but he was hypersensitive to the idea that Broadmoor might not think so, and he wanted to avoid the other man's disdain (again, he couldn't have said why). Would Broadmoor dismiss Tycho's show as strange and eccentric? Most people would, which was why Ford hadn't brought it up to his family when he'd started helping with it.
This drink tasted distinctly like grass. Ford nearly choked getting it down, but tried not to let on because choking on a sip of liquor was definitely in the realm of things someone could make fun of him for, and he didn't want to give Broadmoor any excuse to make fun of him. He wanted water but supposed the next best thing was to wait until the drink changed color and try again. "Well, Tycho likes to say I nearly arrested him," Ford said, trying to keep his tone casual. This was the first time he had called Dodonus Tycho out loud, but he certainly wasn't going to default to the more formal reference if Broadmoor was so casual about using the other man's first name. "But it's not quite so dramatic as that."
Cleon wondered for a moment if the man was going to take his offering or decide to make his leave since the man of the house was not even here. He smiled as Greengrass took the drink instead. He took a sip of his own drink before swirling it in his hand as he waited for it to change color and thus, flavoring. The green coloring tasted like grass with a bit of sugar mixed in and he was not particularly fond of it.
He was glad he had just swallowed the liquid in his mouth because he might have choked from the abrupt laughter that the answer given provided him with. It rang familiar to him as well. Tycho had definitely spoken about this to him but he just had not made an effort to commit the details to memory.
"I think he told me about this," Cleon said, making an effort to remember more of the details. "Something about his ghostly friend not being allowed to spy on muggles?" It didn't really occur to him that it might be a tad insulting to the man in question to have Cleon not even bothered to have remembered these details. Then again, he had never really thought that it might come up again.
That wasn't exactly how Ford would have described it, but it sounded like precisely the way Dodonus would have related the story. This pleased him, because it was a sign that at least Tycho had said something about him, and the detailed being muddled might just as well have occurred in Dodonus' telling as in Broadmoor's remembering of the story. It was reaffirming to hear that he'd come up in conversation on at least one occasion, particularly since Ford couldn't recall Broadmoor ever having done so. Then again, if Tycho had talked about him in general terms and not assigned him a specific name, Ford probably wouldn't have taken much notice. He could have been talking about my poet friend or something like that every time they met and Ford wouldn't have thought twice about it. He was only so conscious of it now because he'd stumbled across the fact that Broadmoor sometimes slept here with no context with which to make sense of it.
"That's right. He also likes to say I put Williams out of a job," Ford said with a half-smile. He still didn't know that he was very keen on Broadmoor being here, but he could put on a passable facade of friendliness (hopefully, anyway; he hadn't ever had the best of poker faces). "But I don't really think that's possible when he wasn't paying him in the first place."
Set by Lady!
November 6, 2021 – 11:27 PM
Last modified: November 6, 2021 – 11:27 PM by Cleon Broadmoor.
Cleon could sense that the other man seemed to be appeased by the fact that Tycho had mentioned him to Cleon. Well, that was an interesting reaction. Now his curiosity was increased the smallest bit. Just what was the friendship between his friend and Greengrass? It was not any of his business but Cleon hardly cared about that. He was mostly a selfish creature and had no shame in that fact.
"What I believe I can glean from this is that you are a Spirit Department fellow? Is that a fun department?" He couldn't imagine why the Ministry might need a whole department devoted to spirits but then again, they also had one for relocating house elves. "I hear that there will be an event coming up." He had every intention of attending as well, having marked it down into his social calendar.
Ford worked in the Spirit Division, but he didn't mind his office being promoted in casual conversation — and he didn't know that anyone outside the Ministry really understood the difference, anyway. It certainly wasn't a very poetic distinction, so he didn't plan to bring it up. That left the issue of which question he did want to respond to, either of which had potential pitfalls. He wasn't sure he wanted to describe his work as 'fun' to a stranger (not that Broadmoor was a stranger — they'd been near enough at Hogwarts that prior to this afternoon Ford might have described him as an acquaintance, but seeing him in unexpected circumstances had recast him in Ford's mind as very strangerly indeed). Would it be better to be perceived as someone with a serious career? He didn't want to be written off, and he didn't know which avenue was more likely to lead to Broadmoor dismissing him. That itself was only a problem if he was close enough to Tycho that he would be able to in turn persuade Tycho that Ford's career was ridiculous, but at the present moment Ford hadn't collected enough information about their relationship to know. It was better not to take chances.
The question about the upcoming dance was perhaps more innocuous, but Ford wasn't sure how to handle that one, either. Should he speak highly of it in the hopes that Broadmoor would come, or dismissively in the hopes that he wouldn't? Dodonus wasn't likely to be there, given recent events. Did Ford want to potentially have a whole conversation with Broadmoor at a ball when Tycho wasn't there? What he wanted at the moment was for Tycho to return home — he thought he would be able to glean more information from seeing the way they interacted (and, potentially, the way Tycho reacted to seeing Broadmoor and Ford having a conversation together — or was he thinking too far into this?) than he would from just talking to Broadmoor in isolation. He had no control over when Tycho would return, however, and only the vaguest notion of when he would — soon had been Broadmoor's only pronunciation on the subject. In the meantime, conversation with Broadmoor was the best that he had to go on.
"We plan them a few times a year, since the spirits themselves can't really handle the logistics unless they have living relations to deal with the money and everything," Ford explained. "Have you been to one before?" This was a rather meager information grab, but it was something; Ford knew Tycho had been to at least one, and probably more since he lived with Williams. If it was Broadmoor's scene as well, that was another piece Ford could plug into the puzzle when trying to figure out what was going on between the two of them.
Admittedly, if one were to ask Cleon Broadmoor about the industry, he would not have much inkling beyond the surface information such as 'aurors catch hardened criminals' and the like. He definitely had also never paid much heed to the Spirit Division before. "I have never been to one but I heard the last one was quite interesting with a hunt complete with ghost dogs." That sounded rather amazing and he was displeased he had missed it.
"I enjoy a good party and with Tycho in mourning, I thought I would attend in his stead and report back any juicy tidbits." A ghost party would probably be interesting, right? He hoped so or it would be a waste of his time to have attended.
Broadmoor's answer set Ford on edge again. For one thing, he didn't have particularly fond memories of the midnight hunt himself. It hadn't been approved by the Spirit Division, and when the foxes, hounds, and horses had been released into the night streets it hadn't been a particularly pleasant surprise. Ford had been trudging through the streets of Hogsmeade hunting down stray ghost dogs long after he would have preferred to be in bed, given that he had work the next morning and the social season had still been in full swing at the time. Not to mention that the living residents of Hogsmeade had been unfairly terrorized. He recalled one woman who he'd helped who seemed to have nearly fainted after being pursued by a hound, and Barnaby Wye had ended up in Verity's bedroom, of all places, after being thrown from his horse. If Broadmoor was hoping for a repeat performance, he was bound to be disappointed — all of the parties involved in procuring the animals and planning the last one had been uninvited from the upcoming fete. Though with ghosts, that might not be saying much... if they didn't have an invitation, there was nothing to stop them from floating in through the wall instead of the door.
Ford's feelings about the midnight ride aside, however, he still didn't like that Broadmoor was implying. Why would Tycho need Broadmoor to report back to him when he could have used Ford for the same purpose? Ford was obviously going to be there, and he thought he knew Tycho well enough to know what sorts of things he would think were interesting and worth reporting back about. Better yet, why not have Williams do it? Williams lived here, and had known Tycho a long time, and the upcoming mixer was actually for him. (Well, actually, it was the Living and Dead Mixer; by that logic Broadmoor was no less reasonable a choice than Williams in the end).
"There aren't likely to be animals at this one," Ford said in a measured tone. "Hopefully that doesn't put you off the idea too much." Or hopefully it did; he still hadn't decided whether or not he wanted Broadmoor to come.
The other young man might as well write the things he was thinking or feeling right across his forehead, Cleon felt. He was not a particularly empathetic man but even he felt like he had a decent read on the current feelings running through the other man. It was probably rather unfortunate then that this was mostly just serving to entertain Cleon. Tycho would likely run him off for a bit for causing problems with Greengrass but that was hardly his problem. Cleon would just hop off to his next lily pad for a couple of days. Tycho never held a grunge anyway.
But what was the current thing that had set off Greengrass from being rather pleasant back to being the mildly put off that he had been at the beginning of this interaction? He did not think Greengrass to be so petty that he would care that Tycho had other friends (then again, maybe he was. It wasn't like Cleon knew him all too well.). Was it any implication that they were closer than Greengrass could ever be? Was it the thought that perhaps Cleon and Tycho were lovers? The last bit was risky though since you could never be sure and could ruin his friends friendship with this man beyond even his worst intentions.
"Oh, what a bore," Cleon said in response to the fact that there was unlikely to be any animals at the party. "It will not put me off, though. I find the idea rather charming. Do any famous ghosts tend to turn up?" He belatedly realized he had not even asked if Berenice was going. Oh well, he would find out soon enough. The ghost girl tended to go where she pleased as far as Cleon was aware.
"Some," Ford answered. In a typical conversation he might have used this as an opportunity to launch into an animated history of the most prominent ghosts who had attended the last ball, since he did like spirits, and their stories, and talking about them to other people. In this instance, however, he was a little reticent to share details. He didn't want Broadmoor to think that he was enjoying his company too much, and... well, he didn't want to accidentally start enjoying Broadmoor's company, which might happen if he got off track talking about famous ghosts. "But you might not recognize them. That's the thing about a lot of famous ghosts. People remember their names from books or stories or whatnot, but when they meet them they don't realize who they're talking to. They don't look the way people expect them to, I suppose."
There was a slight tendency among people, both living and dead, to view history as merely a particular variety of fiction, at least when it came to creating mental images of the people they were reading or hearing about. Even when there was a picture printed right on the facing page, prominent historical ghosts often went unrecognized. Or at least, that was the story according to one spirit Ford was well acquainted with, who had half a chapter dedicated to him in the first year Hogwarts textbook for History of Magic, and yet was often asked to introduce himself twice or thrice before anyone made the connection.
Set by Lady!
November 17, 2021 – 9:39 PM
Last modified: November 17, 2021 – 9:40 PM by Cleon Broadmoor.
Cleon resisted the urge to scoff. Was this Greengrass's subtle way of telling him to not bother coming to this party? Well, that just made it all the more enticing. Especially considering he had already marked down that he would be attending. Not that he put much importance in actually following his social calendar but in this instance, he would. "That must be rather offending to some of the ghosts but I am sure I will manage just fine," he said jovially, getting a mildly sadistic sort of enjoyment out of the fact that Greengrass might possibly not want him there in the first place.
"Besides, it might be another chance for us to get to know one another a little better. With our Seer in common, I think we could be great friends!" He doubted it considering he had not exactly been vibing well with the man almost throughout their entire encounter but he was a fan of saying pretty things. And he would not have it relayed to Tycho that he had not been all that nice to Greengrass if the other man was the sort to tattle.
Ford was nearly certain that Broadmoor was saying that just to annoy him, but he had to grit his teeth at the comment all the same. He didn't know why he was letting the other man get to him this much — and he didn't know why it was so easy. It wasn't as though Broadmoor had actually said or done anything particularly egregious. And Tycho was allowed to have other friends. Even close friends. Even friends who stayed over for days at a time and answered the door when Tycho was out.
He ought not to just stay here drinking with him — this was only putting him more on edge, and Ford was on edge enough. He had plenty of stressors in his life at present without taking an unhealthily keen interest in Dodonus' love life.
"I'm sure," he agreed with a thin smile that belied the fact he didn't really think so in the slightest. "But for now maybe I'll leave you be. I can call on Tycho another time."
Calling on Tycho seemed so formal compared to spending the night, but Ford was sure if he tried to pretend he was invited over more often than he was, it would be obvious he was lying.
