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
It was not as though it was something with which she had a great deal of practice. Between growing up with three sisters and the Hufflepuff dormitory, the marital bedchamber had always seemed rather quiet in comparison (well, in terms of sheer numbers of people at least), but it was a quiet she enjoyed when not utterly by herself. And so, though her husband was out quite late with some sort of engagement or another (work? social? a mix of the two?), Ros had preferred to wait up, sitting in her nightclothes on the chaise in the bedroom with a book.
The candle was growing small indeed when the bedroom door opened quietly to reveal her husband, and she looked up from the pages, smiling warmly at him even as she said teasingly, "And what hour do you call this?"
The thing with Wizengamot appointments was that they were a bitch to get through in anything resembling a timely fashion, and Ross had been in the office longer than he would have liked, dictating notes to his secretary over dinner in the office. He also sent Macmillan on a quest to acquire - or have someone acquire, Ross did not particularly care - a small potted marigold, which Ross brought home with him.
Eventually he released himself and his secretary, and took the floo network home. Ross hung his coat before coming into the bedroom, still carrying the little marigold.
"Far too late," Ross said, with a sheepish grin to Roslyn. He should have known she'd still be up; she hated sleeping alone. "But with a plant?"
Beaming, Ros set aside her book, then rose to her feet to go greet her husband properly. The kiss, though, was swift and perfunctory, her attentions instead on claiming the potted marigold he had on offer.
"That will do quite nicely, I think," Ros allowed after a moment's scrutiny.
"I'm glad," Ross said, and he was, both because he had absorbed some of Ros' fondness for plants and because this way he would not have to have a conversation with Macmillan about flower quality. "And I'm sorry I'm so late. It's likely to happen again this week, I'm afraid."
Roslyn frowned at the announcement, but there was something lurking in her eyes—hopefully her husband would not notice she was up to something until it was too late.
"It feels as though you're scarcely here of late," Roslyn bemoaned with a sigh that held just a bit too much drama. Damn—she knew she was laying it on thick.
Well, the jig was up. Pity—Roslyn knew her husband would comply regardless, but it was so much easier when he felt as though he owed her.
Her sigh as she dropped the act was more bemused this time as she informed him, "I shall need you to serve as a dueling judge the first week-end in March."
She echoed her husband's laugh with a small smile, before explaining, "The Hogsmeade Witches' Institute is to host a ladies' tournament; while Mr. Kirke is certainly on our list for judges, it would do as well to get some more...illustrious names. I may," she added a little sheepishly, but without any trace of apology, "have already signed you up."
Ross' smile was wry. "And who am I to begrudge the Witches' Institute a tournament," he said, "I'll clear my calendar - when is it? And do you need any additional judges?"
"If you could coerce one or two of your colleagues," Ros answered, biting back a smile, "I do not think it would go at all amiss."
How happy he was to indulge her in her projects was one of, frankly, countless reasons that she was truly blessed to have met Justin on the occasion of her debut.
Ross chuckled. "I'll snag you an additional Prewett," he said - this seemed like the sort of thing Faustus may like. "And of course Macmillan will agree." He did not really trust Charles Macmillan, obviously, but it was hardly as if he could have nefarious purposes re: moderating duels.
"I am sure I haven't," Ros returned with a snort, flushing pleasantly at the feeling of his lips on her cheek nonetheless, "and I should hate to shock you into some sort of stroke."
Ross gave a huff of laughter at that. He took a step back from his wife, but only so that he could begin unbuttoning his cufflinks, taking off his jacket and depositing it over the back of a chair they kept in the bedroom. "Dueling schemes aside, I hope you won't be holding my lateness too far against me?"
