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.
With the same account, complete eight different threads where your character interacts with eight different usergroups. At least one must be a non-human, and one a student.
Did You Know?
Braces, or suspenders, were almost universally worn due to the high cut of men's trousers. Belts did not become common until the 1920s. — MJ
Kieran was worried. When he wasn't in the Prophet office he was in the Augurey, sketching feverishly twisted portraits. The most frequent recurring character was Ishmael, because he could not feel comfortable drawing werewolves but was thinking, constantly, about other non-humans. He was moderating his drinking at a level of awareness that felt annoying, but was not having many sober days since the fourteenth — he could not abide the nausea sobriety brought him when his nerves were this fried.
He was like Jude's shadow, at the Augurey, always hovering a bit behind him when they were both there — and trying to keep a rigid awareness of the people around them who he did not already know.
Kieran watched the blond man with the cane watch him for several minutes before he nudged Jude with his elbow. But unable to contain himself, he added in a loud tone directed to the stranger — "Can I help you?"
This was the reporter who'd written about his aunt? He was scruffy and unkempt... and those glasses of his weren't doing him any favors. Barnabas had gotten himself seated nearby, along with a drink that had thus far, gone untouched. Instead, he'd spent the last few minutes glaring over the glass at Mr. Kieran Abernathy. The very gall of this man!
It appeared he'd been noticed, despite his attempts at being discreet. It was now or never then. "You're who they've trusted to report the news accurately?" He shot back in disbelief.
If Kieran just made it through the next full moon unscathed, they might be through the worst of it – but it depended which way the furore went, if they could push it somewhere progressive. Jude didn’t think his nerves would start to settle until then; and of course Kieran’s couldn’t, given the precarious state of things. But it would be worth it, if something changed for the better; it would have to be worth it, for Morwenna Skeeter’s sake.
The Augurey was usually one of the safest places they had, but Kieran wasn’t wrong in that quiet nudge – Jude followed his gaze – the man had been glowering, and made no pretence of hiding it. If they weren’t being watched, Jude might have touched Kieran’s arm in reassurance; as it was, he only chimed in (hoping this wouldn’t deteriorate into a duel or brawl or worse, if some anti-werewolf bigot had come skulking around) swiftly with: “And you are?”
The man looked almost familiar, in fact, though Jude hadn’t yet managed to place him – but hopefully it was only from his Slytherin schooldays or society, and not from the Ministry.
The blond's tone was hostile, and Kieran straightened up in his seat. An unexpected feeling of relief flooded his chest. Finally, someone wanted to fight with him. He knew that he ought to let Jude handle this, but he already had little intention of resisting — a verbal spat could be a good outlet for his nerves.
"Do you have a problem with my reporting?" Kieran said snidely.
Barnabas' eyes flicked toward the blonde as he was addressed. He looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't enough for him to pay any mind at present. He completely ignored his question, instead turning his attention back to the reporter as another, more relevant question was tossed his way. "I certainly do," He said angrily, "You took complete advantage of a mourning woman–she'd just lost her only son! Apparently you couldn't stop for two seconds to consider that perhaps, she wasn't entirely in her right mind and the article should never have been written? Much less published!"
The other man was too trained on Kieran, on the reporter to blame, and Jude had to resist leaping to his defence too fiercely, because – if anyone should keep the conversation in check here, it realistically ought to be him. (And the man had gone straight for the facet of this that would only make Kieran feel worse about this, feel responsible, and guilty that it hadn’t been him – Jude was sure of this, because he felt that guilt too.)
His shoulders stiffened with the effort of keeping a civil tone. “No one else could have made that choice for her,” Jude said, as calmly as he could, “and she sounded in her right mind to me.” Perhaps slightly more frenzied in Kieran’s account of their interview, but in the final article, in everything she said, and why she felt at liberty to go public now, she sounded entirely reasonable. And she had been a werewolf long enough to have thought the consequences through.
Kieran did not remember his life as the wolf, but in this moment he felt as if he imagined it inside — he wanted to raise his hackles, bare his teeth. Instead he pressed his flat palms to the table, suppressing the guilt that rose in his chest unbidden. It was lucky that Jude spoke first, because it gave Kieran a moment to try and get a handle on his conscience and his temper both.
"I've known Mrs. Skeeter for a long time," Kieran said, voice crackling with irritation, "She gave that interview in full possession of her own will and her own mind."
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