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 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Noble could not know this for sure, but they were well into the evening now, and there had never been any signs that the wedding wouldn't happen. Mrs. Daffodil Grimstone. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but he also wasn't over her — and the thought of her marrying someone else rankled. There were too many people in his house, always, so he fled to the garden with a tea mug full of wine, and was leaning against the fence. He decided to people watch when he drank the wine from the mug.
The people watching lasted in silence until he saw a familiar-looking blonde woman walking by. "Miss Hunniford," Noble said, mild — if she wasn't going to stop, he would not stop her.
The wedding itself was a lovely event, whimsical and fairy-esque in a way Rosalie had once dreamed of having for herself. And, had Ezra not been there asking but it doesn't change anything, does it? Rosalie might've been able to stomach the festivities for longer. But, the closer the meal drew the more she felt as though she might puke. And so after transfiguring a stolen bottle of champagne to be small enough to fit into her pocket, she had begun the walk back to her parents.
She saw him before he greeted her and nearly kept walking after a quick wave. Except — he'd been so charming last time. Charming and handsome and passionate about subjects she was already fascinated by. Rosalie stopped on the opposite side of the garden gate. "Evening, Mr. Greengrass. Are you standing in for a gargoyle?" She teased, for he seemed to be keeping watch over the street and garden.
Noble smiled at Miss Hunniford's teasing, although the expression was a bit forced — he had to work to make it reach his eyes. "It's important for a man to have hobbies, Miss Hunniford," he replied in an easygoing tone. "Have you never tried gargoyling yourself?"
He had her attention, now. He just was not sure what to do with it now that he had it, so maybe he ought to start with riffing. He took a sip of wine out of his mug.
"No, I'm generally too impatient to sit so still." Rosalie admitted with a small shrug. She was smiling too, if only for the afforded distraction from her evening. "If I had a book I could perhaps sit long enough, but that wouldn't make me a very good gargoyle."
"You don't look like a gargoyle, either," Noble said — a little forward, but he didn't see any harm in it. What was the point of being worried about his reputation now? Ford was married, his wife was ruined. Daff was married, officially closing the door on everything Noble had ever thought he wanted.
Even with their romantic connection long over — it stung. He'd closed the door, mostly for his family, and now he did not see how the Greengrasses were ever going to escape their debt with even the girls intact.
So he could flirt with the pretty blonde healer.
"I'm not really sitting still," he added. And as an explanation: "People-watching."
The compliment caught her offguard, for Rosalie couldn't remember someone other than Ezra being both bold and memorable enough to do so. "Grey isn't really my color," Rosalie agreed with a short laugh.
She eyed the relatively quiet street then. More than half of Bartonburg was seemingly at the wedding she'd just left; there couldn't have been many people to watch. Still, anything was better than going home and being interrogated by her parents. "Do you mind if I join you? You could add people watching to the list of things you're to teach me."
She took up a spot next to him, though in doing so she was careful enough to ensure her arms and skirts wouldn't accidentally brush him. Any passerby might note their friendliness, but none could claim anything improper was happening behind the garden gate.
Mug wine explained the darker liquid she'd caught sight of earlier. "That would be great." She said appreciatively. This would ordinarily be the time where she'd offer to share the champagne in her pocket, but Rosalie didn't know how to discuss the wedding without her mood souring dramatically.
Pressing on, she asked in an equally low tone, "is mug wine different from glass wine?"
Noble tapped his temple with the index finger of his free hand, conspiratorial. "It's like glass wine," he said, "But the neighbors can't tell." (Maybe it was time for him to be less concerned with what the neighbors all thought — after all, as he'd told Daff a few weeks ago, things were bad. Maybe they would understand him drinking in the garden.)
"I can get you a mug," he added, "If you like. I keep them in the workshop. For tea, normally."
The garden at her aunt's home boasted high walls on all sides; Rosalie never thought twice about stepping outside with her glass before. But, she was also almost a spinster now that she wrecked all their plans, so her neighbors likely already had negative opinions of her. Mr. Greengrass was smart to be considerate of their opinions, something Rosalie now felt a bit embarrassed for not having considered more when she asked to join him.
"Sure, yeah. Then again - are you brewing anything interesting?" The workshop was at least out of prying eyes.
Noble took a step back from the fence. "Yeah," he said, "You can take a look at an antidote I'm working on." He smiled at her, wry — his expression was more genuine this time. "Let me know if I'm messing anything up." It was perhaps a little sketchy of his client to be seeking antidotes outside of the hospital, but they paid very well and it wasn't Noble's job to figure out if something illegal was going on. (Especially not when he was a person who dabbled in illegalities himself.)
He led the way from the gate to his workshop, unlocked the door with a flick of his wand, and held it open for her. "After you, Miss Hunniford," Noble said.
"An antidote?" Rosalie echoed, more surprised than she ought to have been that Mr. Greengrass would be brewing something usually reserved for hospitals. She considered inquiring further on their short walk to the workshop, especially as some antidotes were notoriously delicate to brew without multiple people attending to them. However, by the time a thought out question came to mind they were already walking through the threshold.
"Thank you," she murmured as she passed him. The last time Rosalie was here she couldn't help but look around the space with a sense of awe. This time, she was more interested in watching him. "I meant to write after my last visit - the potions I bought were incredibly helpful in my research." She said while waiting for him to head towards either the antidote or the mug wine.
Noble let the door to the workshop close most of the way behind him. "I like brewing antidotes," he said softly, "I don't often get the opportunity to." His cauldron, the highest-quality item he owned, was simmering on an enchanted flame. He didn't move to show it to her more directly; he opened the drawer of the bench and pulled out the wine bottle and a mug.
Noble poured Miss Hunniford a glass — maybe a little more than a glass, given that it was in a mug — and held it out to her, an offering.
"They're an interesting challenge." She agreed before taking a sip from her mug. The wine was more bitter than the ones she usually preferred, though not enough for her to make any signs of displeasure. "My first year saw many night shifts of monitoring brewing antidotes." Too many if she was being honest with herself.
She moved towards the cauldron then, careful not to disturb it or the supplies nearby. It was obvious how important his career was to him, she could tell based off the look of the cauldron alone. "Did you ever consider healing?" She asked once she had looked from the bubbling liquid back towards him.
Noble grinned at her, crooked, but took a sip from his mug before answering. "Oh, always," he said, lowering the mug. "But I like the independence that potioneering offers."
Really, he hadn't thought about being a healer until he and Henrietta had accidentally killed her mother and caused the Sanditon hurricane. Now, Noble had a sense that he owed people — the people who had died, certainly. But he also had a sense that he was, deep down, actually a terrible person — and that if he was going to deserve something he wanted, he needed to put some good back, first.
But he liked potioneering. That was another way to help people. And they couldn't afford the pay cut he'd take when he was in training. So he'd never verbalized the desire in a way that would have resulted in actually planning to act on it.
His smile was a nicer one than the one he'd offered outside, Rosalie couldn't help stop herself from returning it. "I do envy your ability to make your own schedule." She then confessed after another sip of her wine. The late nights were hard to get through sometimes, she was a morning bird by nature.
"And your workshop, of course." She added only a second later.