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.Where will you fall?
Complete a thread in which every post is precisely 1000 words. The thread must be at least ten posts long, and at least three must be your own.
Have you been well? Work keeping you busy?
I suppose "well" is a word you could use. I've found employment under Mr. Malcolm MacFusty as a research assistant—you may know him as he's close to your age. I must regretfully admit that I'm far from the Hebrides right now, though; I took part in the expedition into Irvingly and am suffering from Malaria.
Despite my attempts to keep my spirits high, the fear of meeting an early demise has persisted. I suppose those feelings—those fears—compelled me to reach out to you. I do miss St. Mungo's. And you.
I'm of the opinion that the mosquitoes that caused the malaria were conjured by the fog—it seems its warped our reality in ways that we cannot yet understand. Though I long for a friendly face, I hardly wish for you to be here now; the last thing I wish if for you to contract my illness. You're a great asset to society, whereas I'm not.
I will try not to die. If it gives you any comfort, I have not perished over the last month when my situation was far more dire and I was far more desperate. (Even more recently, when I was working with dragons. Dragons, Mr. Gladstone! Could you hardly imagine me in such a position?)
I do hope it goes soon. Despite its proximity to Hogsmeade, Irvingly is a place I never bothered to frequent during my Hogwarts years or in the time since my graduation. It seems like a dreary little village, but I suppose one could attribute that to the bleakness of the fog. I'm not sure how many will die, but there are a number of injuries.
No amount of money will ever be able to repay my debt to the MacFustys; I would offer them my salary if I could survive without it. In a world where it seems everyone is against you, it's nice to have a family—even if I cannot claim them as my own—who cares about my well-being. Perhaps with their assistance I'll be able to forge a career in magizoology (or dragonology, in this case).
I hope your family is doing well?
You can't see much distance-wise, but there are certainly some areas that allow you a better range of sight than others. My group was inside the train station when a swarm of unnatural mosquitoes appeared. We all seemed to share the oddest dream of coffins and old Egyptian symbolism only to rise at the same time, though I admit my memory from that point forward is fuzzy; I nearly fainted not a moment later.
I hope your sisters don't put too much weight on those filthy gossip rags; they're only good for ruining lives.
Regarding the malaria, let's just say I'm not sure magical people are well-adept at handling it at the current situation. It checks off all the boxes: rare, mundane, foreign, and they have no magic to cure it with. My body has proven ever-resilient—so much so that it's almost annoying. If the disease is going to linger without cure, I would much rather suffer a quick and painless death, wouldn't you? I'm getting restless but they won't let me leave.
Regarding the expedition, we've seen an odd lack of people in the infirmary since the second day. It's as if the lot has vanished—hopefully the fog-warp hasn't sucked them into oblivion. I liked at least a few of them.
You're too nice to me after all I've done. I must admit that I had few hopes that you would return my original letter, and even fewer that you would continue with regular correspondence while I'm stuck here. If my letters bother you, please know that you are not at all compelled to return them. I would understand.
It's been two days since I received your letter, and still none from the expedition have appeared. For once I'm glad that I have few friends to worry about; I've lost contact with many of my others since May.
It is a sentiment I've expressed before and must express again: I do not deserve your friendship, less so now than I ever have. It has one I have held dear since the day we've met, but it is one that I've been so selfish to hold onto in the wake of my social ruin. Though I long to resume our friendship outside or writing, I know - and I'm sure you do, too - that it cannot be done. What sort of friend would I be if I allowed you to be seen with a woman that society assumes to be no better than a street-dwelling harlot, even if she is me?
