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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

Where will you fall?

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“Got the morbs” was Victorian slang for a temporary melancholia — Dante
In a panic sort of reaction, she shut the door but neglected to make sure she was on the other side of it.
the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

Can't Say for Sure
April 29th, 1892 - Muggle Liaison Office
@Gwynedd Oakby

Fisk had been out half the day yesterday working on the same incident in which Jesse had then been elbow deep in paperwork for until late last night. It was never good when muggles were involved. Everything was ten times harder to cover up and to confiscate and then he had to get the Liaison Office involved and generally it was a bit of a nightmare. This is why he enjoyed Hogsmeade and Irvingly so much. London was a mixed bag and he always seemed to spend most of his time putting out fires there.

Intent on dropping this paperwork off in the Muggle Liaison Office, Jesse rather thought he might need a third cup of coffee. He needed to stop staying up so late, but with Fallon away still, he was getting antsy and anxious and sleep was hard to come by. Thankfully her letters arrived with enough frequency to assure him she was still alright, but he wanted her home. Of course seeing Delilah again had been a nice distraction, an easy old friend to spend some time with, but he still wanted his wife back.

The office seemed mostly deserted upon his arrival, so Jesse made his way to Oakby's office and knocked on the door. "I've finished the paperwork about the indecent in Hyde Park yesterday." Multiple children floating away in large, seemingly impenetrable bubbles was a problem after all.

[Image: 3HhBWO.png]
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The day had not started well. Ned had woken up to a loud row between Idris and her grandmother. Then, before even properly having breakfast, he'd been promptly informed—not asked—that his presence was required at some ridiculous dinner party over the weekend. It could've been assumed that at his age a man would’ve been able to spend his free time as he wished, but apparently not. He’d escaped the chaos at home to the office, only to learn that there'd been stories in the penny press that morning about floating children. Brilliant. Just—brilliant.

Obviously, the DMLE had been wrong when they'd assured him that the previous day's incident in Hyde Park had been brought under control. Someone was now going around, caliming to be in possession of paraphernalia that still floated. No respectable muggle paper had picked up on the story yet, thank Merlin, but despite their unsavouriness penny papers had a much wider readership than Ned would've liked. So, he had had to send almost all his people out, to scramble to contain the story before it got any more traction. There had been a lot of grumbling. As if any of it was somehow his fault.

A knock startled Ned from his morose thoughts, and he looked up from the newspaper he'd been scanning at his desk. When it was Hatchitt’s familiar form that appeared in the doorway he wasn’t at all surprised—the head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad must’ve gotten the bad news as well. The man looked a bit haggard, no doubt due to the added stress from this spectacular skrew-up. Ned suspected he himself probably appeared on edge as well, even worse for the wear than usual.

Hatchitt,” he said as a greeting, frowning. “I’d rather not have that before this whole mess is figured out.” Ned motioned at the file. In all honesty, paperwork (or even extra paperwork) hardly bothered him, but making corrections to previously submitted reports was something truly abhorrent. “My people are trying to find out who's been contacted and what exactly has been said. The obliviators are on it when needed, obviously." He grimaced. "But it’s not good. Do you have any idea what could've gone wrong?"
Jess could easily sympathize with how much of a headache this was turning out to be. It had to be hard for Oakby, having to relay the information through the proper channels, trying to keep the muggles unaware, making sure the Obliviators did their part. "This is just my part," Jess had seen to the paperwork himself. "Found the source. Wee lad, only about six, muggleborn. Big shock there." Jess had handled the investigation from the get-go, sending out a couple of his best to handle the bubbles and wayward children.

"I believe the Obliviators have taken care of their part and I've made a case file for future incidents." He knew the end of his part would likely only be the start of Oakby's, which Jess did not envy, but all of the information was in there. "Apparently the lad had seen big bubbles at the traveling circus recently and wanted to recreate the event." It was pretty inventive if Jess had to say so himself. Thankfully it wasn't physically destructive, which was what he dealt with more often than he'd like to. That was also hard to cover up. Large bubbles were common enough, and a trick of the light could be blamed for anything seen inside, certainly.

[Image: 3HhBWO.png]
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That’s not—I’m not talking about Hyde Park.” Ned frowned. Had Hatchitt not heard, after all? Grabbing the muggle newspaper he’d been reading, Ned rose from his desk and strode to the door to show it to the other man. “This came out today.” A small article in the lower left corner of the front page, titled ‘Amazing mystery of indestructible soap bubble’ in bold lettering, contained a brief interview of a man claiming his umbrella was caught inside a floating bubble. The text, as was the way of the more scandalous muggle press, was flowery and bombastic and much too close to the truth. At least there weren’t any illustrations.

It looks like you had a runaway. Did no-one tell you?” Ned pursed his lips, both unable and unwilling to mask his frustration. The DMLE’s concept of 'need-to-know' remained as out of touch with the realities of other departments as ever, then. He glanced at Hatchitt, about to continue, but something in the other man’s expression stopped him. Ned wouldn’t have called them friends, by any stretch of imagination, but enough years spent working together had made him at least half-proficient in reading Jesse Hatchitt. Today, the man really looked tired—and, for once, Ned found emphasising easy. It had been a long, long week.

Well. At least one of them could get home on time that day. Ned suppressed a resigned sigh and offered: “The DMLE says they’re on it, though, so you should be in the clear.” Realising that his dry tone made it obvious what he thought of the odds for that particular promise coming true, he cleared his throat and nodded again at the file. “Just—I’d rather you hang on to that until they’ve confirmed that the clean-up is done.” He glanced at the newspaper he was holding again, visibly dismayed. "These things never happen on Mondays, do they? It always has to be a Friday."

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