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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1891. 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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During the Victorian era, knitting became a staple of a well-bred woman. Queen Victoria is even reported to have been a fan of knitting herself. It was during this time that knitting wasn’t just restricted to plain yarn fabrics, but changed to involve bead and lace knitting. — Fallin
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A gown for a life
#33
Mrs. Bagshot and indeed, most of society, knew the members of the Prewett family, right down to the youngest members. And of course Mrs. Bagshot had felt it her duty to inform her goddaughter of connections like these. Malou had always tried to ignore the comments, there was no way she'd ever find herself even in conversation with a man like Mr. Prewett. But it seemed Malou recalled enough to place the names as Mr. Prewett's children. She smiled softly at the story, watching Mr. Prewett's face. It was clear that he loved his children. Some parents couldn't stand their children, but there was geninuine admiration in his tone and his look. It made Malou softly smile.

But then he apoligized and she turned a serious face on him, "No." Malou shook her head in disagreement, "Levity is precisely what is needed in times like these." She smiled encouragingly.

The doors he had mentioned Mezeron flattening Edleweiss with were in front of them. Malou's ankle thobbed with each step, but she was content to ignore it and focus on Mr. Prewett and the task at hand. Hopefully there would be staff inside.

Once inside the kitchen Malou looked around. There was some light, but the howling of the wind was louder again and there was no one in sight. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Where were the staff? Well if they weren't there they'd need to find supplies on their own. Malou turned to Mr. Prewett as professional as she could be after the time she had had with Mr. Prewett this evening (which it had to be said had cracked some after their tumble and injuries) and began to list the items they would need. There would be no time to brew a potion but some of the ingredients themselves would be useful.

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#34
Her dismissal of his apology turned the corners of his mouth up and Faustus resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair (as it stood there was blood caked into it, so it was best not be mussed again). Talking about his children calmed him a great deal, he realized, though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Using happier memories in times of dire situations was not all that uncommon, after all. It was impossible to cast a patronus without happy memories. Why should now be any different?

As they pushed their way through the double doors, Faustus felt a stillness fall over them. It was eerie, and he stiffened, looking to her to see if she had felt the same. Apparently so - through the dim light of what remained of the kitchen, he could see her brow creased in confusion. Perhaps everyone had gone to the ballroom and they had just missed each other.

That didn’t seem to be it at all. There was precious little time to dwell on it, as Miss Skovgaard started listing off ingredients they needed. Faustus nodded and began rummaging around high and low, slowly but quickly gathering the things they needed. It helped he had some training with potion making, but clearly, he thought as he grabbed what looked like a soggy pile of grey moss in his hand, she was the more knowledgeable of the two of them.

Skirting back to place the ingredient on the table in front of her, Faustus heaved an annoyed sigh; his dinner jacket was certainly not suited for this kind of movement. In one swift motion he doffed it and set it on the counter beside the rest of the ingredients before fetching the last one.

Before he reached the counter, Faustus paused. Something didn’t feel right. He hesitated just before her, tensed. “Do you -"

Before he could finish his question, there was a great shriek and a shattering of glass as a gust of wind surged through the kitchen. Their luck being what it had been that night, Faustus saw it a fraction of a second before it happened. “No!”

The cabinet beside them pitched forward.

Faustus lunged, shoving the healer as out of the way that he could before the cabinet fell to the floor, pinning him underneath and sending their collected ingredients flying.
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   Melody Crouch

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#35
Without question or complaint Mr. Prewett set to work, Malou felt useless as she stood next to the table, a hand placed on it to steady her while she lifted her injured foot off the ground discreetly to rest it. It was going to be a long walk back to the ballroom.

A few minutes in he discarded his jacket next to the ingredients and Malou watched the muscles of his arms as he moved, noting his broad back. She adverted her eyes when it appeared he was going to turn. It would do no good to be caught watching. And really, she was being a silly school girl. She'd seen shirtless men before. A man in a shirt should be nothing new to her. But with Mr. Prewett it was different. God help her if he ended up in her wing of the hospital ever.

The ingredents were almost most gathered when he started to say something, but the farmiliar sound of breaking glass broke him off. The next thing Malou heard was Mr. Prewett's shout of no and then she was being shoved aside, landing roughly on her side, her ankle twisting painfully in the movement. An involuntary shriek twisted from her lips as tears of pain sprung to her eyes.

Next to her there was a loud crash. She could see ingredients flying past her, the wind catching them and taking them away from her view as her eyes stared at the doorway. She couldn't see what had happened. She couldn't feel Mr. Prewett's body either - unlike the last time.

Fear gripped her as she pushed herself up to sitting and turned to face what had happened. The window was gone and the wall that held it seemed to be swaying. Or perhaps that was a trick of her eyes, because it wasn't the window or the wall that captured her attention. It was the large wooden cabinet next to her, with Mr. Prewett under it.

Malou's body was suddenly cold, she didn't even hear the gasp that escaped her lips. Instead she was moving on her knees to him, "Mr. Prewett!" The strangled cry that escaped her lips surely the loudest she had ever been. "Mr. Prewett?" She was almost crying, an edge of unfarmiliar hysteria creeping into her. Was that blood she saw? Fruitlessly she pushed at the cabinet, desperate to get him out, to check his injuries, to make sure he was still - no she wasn't going to think that.
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   Melody Crouch

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#36
Faustus had been in situations before when his person had been at risk - it was the hazard that came with being an auror. But it didn’t make the pain any less prevalent, particularly when one was being crushed by a heavy cabinet. Pain split through his side and he heard a strangled shout of agony. His own. The cabinet, filled with ingredients and glass jars, had not only fallen on top of him but the glass had most certainly shattered everywhere. He could feel something digging into his ribs, as if it were pawing for uncertain gold.

He could hear her screams too. Over everything - his own shout of pain, the howling wind tearing through the kitchen - he could hear the panic in her voice. But he had been trapped in such a way that he couldn’t rotate towards her at all. Any attempts to take a breath were impeded by the cabinet. What’s more was that his wand had been in his coat pocket. Not that he could even muster the breath to summon it if he wanted to.

Stars exploded before his vision and Faustus fought the urge to pass out, only managing one rattling breath.

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#37
The cabinet didn't move, instead it stayed stubbornly there, her arms and then the weight of her body pushing against it did nothing. Under the fabric of her gown she could feel something biting through fabric, scratching at the increasing preassure she put on it - likely a shard of glass. The pain brought her a bit more back to herself. She couldn't panic. She had to collect herself, there was no way she could help in this state. She took a deep breathe and let it out and then by some miracle found her reticule with her wand still dangling from her wrist.

With shaking fingers Malou pointed the wand at the cabinet. She didn't trust her ability at nonverbal magic at the moment. Her voice wobbled with the incantation, "Wingardum levoisa." But muscle memory helped her do the wandwork. The cabinet rose slightly under her direction, and worried about the shaking of her hands, she moved it just out of the way of Mr. Prewett and let it and her wand drop.

Then she was crawling toward him, shards of glass biting into her hands. She didn't care. All she cared about was making sure he was alive. He was facing away from her so Malou pulled him by the shoulder, making sure to turn him so his back landed on knees and not the glass surrounding them and reached for his chest. Her hand lingered against the warmth of him as she counted the rises and falls, the heart pumping under her hand. Relief, deep and strong, surged through her and tears formed in her eyes again. She would not cry. Not, because there was blood and a large splinter from a shelf in the cabinet was impeded in his side. She had to find bandages before she remove it. It'd have to be bound first.

Desperately, Malou looked around, his coat was gone with the wind and her hems were stuck under her, his shirt sleeves wouldn't provide enough fabric. It would have to do. Hands still shaking Malou was worried about using magic to cut through his sleeve, she didn't want to cut too deep and harm him further. Instead she grabbed a piece of glass and puckered the fabric away from him and cut it away from his skin. The sound of fabric ripping was lost to the storm that was trying to surround them.
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   Melody Crouch

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#38
Through the slowly descending darkness he heard an incantation muttered; felt as if a great weight had lifted off of him and then felt something - soft? - under his back. As if that weren’t enough, her attempts to right his position had shifted the splinter of shelf in his side, and his eyes opened. Immediately he grimaced, his body involuntarily convulsing at the intrusion in his side. Vision cleared enough for him to gather that the softness he was lying on was her.

But her gaze was on his side, and he followed it to see how bad it was. It was then that he realized the sleeve of his arm had been torn off and she was attempting to bind the wound. ”Well, I suppose that’ll have to do, seeing as we don’t have my cloak left.” He quipped, looking back up to her, his voice quiet as he tried to breathe through the wound in his side.

As his vision cleared even more, she came into focus and he saw just how intense she was concentrating on his side. Her forehead was creased with worry, her large blue eyes glassy. And perhaps it was the wind stinging them, but Faustus swore he could see tears gathering in her eyes. But perhaps it was a trick of the light instead. Likely, he gathered, seeing as they’d really only had a proper conversation once before this.

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#39
Somehow Malou managed to get the sleeve cut away from him. The fabric flapped in the wind around them but she managed to keep a hand on it, picking up her wand to assist. When she had finished she put her wand in the reticule and shifted so she was kneeling on it. It wouldn't do to lose her wand in this madness.

Even though it had been mere moments Malou felt as if time were moving slowly. She breathed in and out as calmly as she could to steady herself as she would at the hospital. Her hands weren't completely steady, but they were determined as she grabbed the shrapnel from the cabinet and pulled at it, ignoring the small slivers of splinters that bit into her hands. It was nothing compared to what Mr. Prewett was suffering, she could only send up a silent prayer that Mr. Prewett was unconscious for it.

For the second time that evening blood coated her hands as she quickly began to bind the wound. She definitely didn't have enough but she was going to have to make it work.

The sound of Mr. Prewett's voice startled her from her task, her body jerking in response and tightening the knot of the bandages while her heart seemed to leap in response. Her gaze turned to him, looking over his face for additional injuries. "Does anything else hurt?" Probably everything, but she could only hope he hadn't broken a bone or ribs. She didn't have a regrow potion. At this point they'd be lucky to find anything to serve as bandages.

Around them the walls creaked and groaned in the wind, the windows had shattered and the wind blew in, water poured in from the rain soaking into the tumbled debris around the kitchen. But Malou's focus was centered entirely on the man in her lap, the man who she was determined she would save.

[Image: FLXUg8.png]
An amazing MJ set
#40
Perhaps he should have spoken a bit softer, he mused, reaching up his good hand to steady her as she broke concentration. Merlin, her expression was so crinkled with worry, it nearly made him chuckle. He attempted to shift his weight - it couldn't have been comfortable for her to have all his weight on her lap - but let out a hiss of pain as he did so. "My ribs." He responded, though that was rather obvious. Though the splinter was out, his side was still throbbing. It was going to be rather a difficult task getting back to the ballroom, what with his injury and her ankle —

The events preceding the cabinet falling on him came crashing back to him and he moved to sit up, casting her a concerned look as he clutched at his side. "I pushed you." He said, his eyes full of regret. "I'm so sorry Miss Skovgard, please forgive me; are you okay?" In his panic, he hadn't attempted to be gentle, there hadn't been any time. But that should have excused that he'd shoved her quite hard out of the way, likely doing more damage to her sore ankle again and impeding their (rather already failed) mission in the process.

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#41
Malou frowned, her gentle fingers probing his ribs, checking for additional injury. "Possible fracture." She wished her quiet voice held the same decisiveness it would in the hospital, but instead it was as quiet as it was when at society events.

Her eyes met his, noting that they were expressive, showing emotion almost as much as his words indicated it. "Don't apologize." Her voice was gentle as her hand paused and rested lightly on his chest, forgetting to continue him for injuries. "You protected me." A soft blush colored her cheeks and her words were even softer. It had been so long since someone protected her. In their ways Fallon and her godmother did, but they had never taken a cabinet for her. No one since her parents had protected her so wholly and now this man who she had only briefly talked to was willing to shove her out of an incoming disaster and get hurt himself. Whatever injury she may have sustained from the incident would hardly be noting because had she been the one stuck under the cabinet she was quite certain she would not have made it. Emotion made it hard to swallow and she found herself looking down at his throat unable to look in his eyes.

To distract from her own embarrassment, she focused on his last words. "I don't know." She took a moment focusing on herself for the first time since the incident. Her ankle throbbed worse and was at an odd angle, likely broken, there were scratches from glass over her palms that bled and mingled with his blood as they stung, and there was something sticking into her knee, a shard of glass she was sure. "Better than you." She attempted a joke, but her words broke and in her normally quiet tone it did not seem like a joke at all.

[Image: FLXUg8.png]
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#42
Her diagnosis seemed accurate judging by his past experiences with fractured ribs. It wasn't the first time Faustus had gotten crushed by a nearly immovable object, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last as long as he remained Head Auror. There was a pause as Faustus took her in: the blush on her cheeks and her averted eyes. For one horrible moment, his mind ran with his worries and he thought she might be concealing her true thoughts. After all, he hadn't been delicate when pushing her out of harm's way, and he'd met plenty a civilian who had not reacted well to an inevitable injury sustained in the process of preventing greater casualties. But those emotions usually contained anger, whereas Miss Skovgaard...was hard to read. Faustus was tempted to take it further but thought it best to leave it alone. He hardly knew her after all, and she didn't seem a deceptive woman. It was easy having worked in stealth and deception to search for it in others, but Faustus had to remind himself through this panic that Miss Skovgaard was hardly a suspect. So why was he so worried she thought the worst of him?

Her admission made his stomach drop - another reaction of his that left him perplexed - and Faustus drew his gaze towards her hand. That was when he realized her hand rested on his chest, her other in her lap. There were easily visible splinters of wood and glass embedded in her hands. Reaching out gently, Faustus looked up to her, checking her expression to make sure his actions weren't taken out of context, and he took her free hand in his, turning it over to get a better look. He was no healer, but there had been times when first aid had to be administered immediately and there was no time to wait for healers, so he wasn't completely ignorant to some small healing spells.

Gently, Faustus ran his thumb over some of the more extremely minor cuts on her palm, sealing them as best he could. He daren't touch any of the larger ones, or those with glass embedded in them. Not without his wand. He glanced around in search of his jacket, praying it hadn't been blown too far away in the chaos. The wind was still howling outside, blowing occasional gusts of wind into the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, a fluttering caught his attention, and he noticed his jacket had only been thrown to the other side of the room. Summoning it was easy enough, though it came to him in a rather haphazard fashion. Riffling through it, Faustus mercifully saw his wand tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

Thank Merlin it hadn't been blown away.

He looked to her now, searching her expression for what he was about to say. "I think we need to ascertain if your ankle can be bound." He said levelly, knowing what his words would mean for her. But there was absolutely no way they would be able to get back to the ballroom in time with his side and her potentially broken ankle. "Please...trust me."

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#43
His hands were warm and gentle as they took her hand, his face a mixture of concern and concentration as he began to heal her. Malou felt her throat thicken as he did so. It had been almost a decade since she had been treated with such gentleness, since someone had healed her injuries. She had never truly thought about it, about how she had tried to stay out of situations where someone would need to take care of her, or how the tenderness she had once received was gone. Her father healing a skinned knee, her mother hugging her close after a nightmare, all of those memories she had refused to think about, left them behind as she determined a path for herself, a lonely determined climb. Mr. Prewett's gentleness, his kindness, it reminded her of that soft pasture path she had walked as a young girl, the paths of possibility branching off endlessly. There was no way she could thank him for the small kindness, to let him know how much it touched her, so instead she gave him a small watery smile, willing the tears in her eyes to go away and the blush to die down - it didn't. "Thank you." She murmured.

Malou swallowed, not because of the fact that he would need her to lift her skirts above her ankles, but because of the thought of the pain that would come. She nodded and met his gaze, "I trust you." And she did. More than she should for a man she didn't know. But he was kind, her was thoughtful, he'd helped her - and he'd protected her. How could she not trust him?

[Image: FLXUg8.png]
An amazing MJ set
#44
Relief bloomed in his chest as she agreed, and Faustus gave her a small reassuring smile. Focusing on her palms first, he gently removed the larger pieces embedded in her hands before pointing his wand at her hand and muttering, "Terego." The cuts on her hand sealed up neatly, only leaving small traces of blood in the creases of her palm, which he ran a thumb over to wipe away.

Next came the harder part. Setting down his wand, Faustus met her gaze again and nodded reassuringly before taking her ankle gingerly in his hands. In his inspection, he saw something poking out from her dress, a small pool of blood around it. A glass shard had embedded itself in her knee. Merlin, she'd barely said a word about that. Faustus made a mental note to look at that that after they'd seen to her ankle.

It helped that she was wearing stockings, so he wasn't touching bare skin, but he still tried to work quickly and efficiently. He could only do so much, however, as his side was still throbbing. There was precious little they could do about a puncture in his side though. The adrenaline from making sure she hadn't been severely injured was fading and it was getting harder to keep his posture upright as he investigated her ankle for any sprains.

Supporting her leg with one hand, he gently ran his fingers along the curves of her ankle. It didn't take a healer to know that it was most definitely broken - one side was significantly more swollen than the other. He grimaced apologetically at her, picking up his wand. The spell was simple enough and he was confident in his capabilities to mend a simple broken bone, but it wouldn't be comfortable. Pointing his wand, he said, "Episkey."

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#45
Before she knew it her hands were healed and he was gently rubbing the last of the blood away. It was odd for someone to heal her when she was so use to it the other way. It was... comforting. The warmth of his hands disappeared as he focused his attention on her ankle and suddenly her hands felt cold. But instead of focusing on that she shifted her legs out from under her and extended them for him to see.

His warm fingers, so recently healing her palms so capably, gently nudge her skirts up. Malou found herself solely attentive to the gentle warmth as his fingers grazed her. Always the healer, she had thought nothing of touching an injured man, but never once had a man touched anything beyond an arm or a hand. Her breath caught as her stomach seemed to leap over, until -

A hiss of pain escaped her lips as he touched her ankle, definitely broken. He knew it too judging by the look her gave her. She steeled herself as he picked up his wand. She had healed plenty of bones but never had had to have one of her own healed. Turned out it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience. Malou grit her lips against the cry of surprise, refusing to be anything less than strong in this. A snap into place and the worst of the pain was gone, leaving being bruised swollen flesh, tender, but not broken. "Thank you." It seemed to be the only thing she could say to him at the moment, but she did genuinely mean it.
#46
He'd known the sensation of mending a broken bone, as it'd been done to him on several occasions thus far. But it didn't prevent him from flinching at her cry of pain when he'd mended her ankle. "I do apologize," He said softly, casting her a reassuring smile as he put some gentle pressure on her ankle to test that it had healed properly. She should only be just slightly sore and perhaps a little bruised. "But I hope that helps. I'm certain you could have done a better job, but needs must." There were reasons that female healers wore robes as opposed to dresses like the ones debutantes wore to balls. Mobility in the line of work was key, and the same applied to Ministry workers.

Now that her ankle was seen to, Faustus looked to her knee where there was a rather nasty shard of glass embedded in it. This was the hard part. He could ask her permission to take it out and mend it, same as her hand or ankle. But its location added an extra layer of impropriety, one that he did not take lightly; nor was he comfortable with asking her. There was a possibility he could take the glass out and she could mend her own leg while he turned around. But they ran into the issue of mobility again and the fact that (despite her - well both of their - disheveled appearances) she was still in a ball gown.

There was nothing to it - "There's the matter of your leg, Miss Skovgaard," He started, still unsure of how to proceed. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes to save her from any embarrassment. "I - erm - it would be easier for you to walk if we healed it. Are you able to do so without any assistance?" Merlin help him. He did his best to not insert himself into any part of that sentence. But if she needed help, there was really only one answer as to who could do so.

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#47
"You do not give yourself enough credit." Malou's gentle voice reassured him as she twisted her ankle around feeling for any additional pain. She would certainly be able to walk on it.

Her knee. She stared at the rather large shard of glass that had managed to bury through her skirts and winced. Of course she could handle that, but his ribs were more of a priority. She expected he would fight her though and it would be quick matter of a few charms. "Yes." She pulled the glass from her knee and then her blush deepened as she realized she would have to lift her skirts up scandalously high. She couldnt meet Mr. Prewtt's gaze to even ask him to turn around, but she didnt have to. He had already turned around.

Malou pushed her skirts up and cursed her stockings. With shaking fingers she grabbed the garter and then peeled the blood soaked stockings down. The cut was deep, but not enough that she thought it had done much damage. She set about to healing it. With a sigh she slipped her shoe off then pulled off her stocking to bind the wound. It would be cleaner then petticoats after all. Finally the wound was wrapped, her garter slipped back onto her leg, her shoe on, her skirts down. She was just putting her wand in her reticule when she start, "you can turn-"

There was the sound of wood screaming and then choas. Wind and rain invaded the space and half the kitchen's roof was torn off in the storm.

[Image: FLXUg8.png]
An amazing MJ set
#48
Over the increasing howling of the wind, he wasn't able to hear much of what she was doing as his back was turned. He took advantage of this moment to don his jacket again and tuck his wand back in his pockets. It was a bit of a difficult task seeing as his side was rather screaming at him from the wound, but he managed, grimacing as he finally put his arm through.

As he adjusted the collar (really what was the point, he looked an absolute mess?), he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and a chill went down his spine. Looking up, he saw a faint rippling in the -- ceiling?! He heard her voice just as he turned around with a stricken expression on his face.

The sound of the building screaming shook through the air and they were soon engulfed in wind and rain. Reflexively, Faustus threw up an arm to shield his eyes. He briefly caught a glimpse of Miss Skovgaard before his eyes shifted to the open window where more movement had caught his eye. Given the darkness of the night, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust - the fireball that had once floated lazily beside them had long since extinguished. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was coming toward them. A massive wave.

There was little time to brace themselves as the wave came up from the shore as if pulled by the hand of a god tucking the land in for sleep. It crashed into the now half-open room, hitting the both of them with the force of a horde of Erumpets.

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