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
Don Juan had no illusions that he would have been invited to someone's country house for a weekend on his own merits — not the respectable kind of country weekend, anyway — but he liked weekends in the country, so he was quite content to ride his family's coattails in this case. Country parties had an atmosphere that he enjoyed — the feeling that anything could happen, because everyone here was close for a weekend and society was distant. It wasn't every weekend that something did happen — these notions of distance were a little silly, in the end, when everyone was always only a fireplace away — but there was the continual feeling that something could.
Upon arriving he had immediately wandered off on his own — yes, there were tours on offer, but the things Don Juan found interesting about an estate might not necessarily be covered in the traditional tour. No place to swim; he was disappointed. A sprawling garden, but with only a few places where one might believably be able to claim to have gotten lost. Plenty of rooms, but most of them bedrooms that had been spoken for. No conspicuously unlocked liquor cabinets. In other words: not an ideal venue for a weekend in the country. But what the house was lacking perhaps the company could make up for — he had noticed Mrs. Bythesea arriving (with, unfortunately but understandably, her husband and children in tow).
He took up a conspicuous position on the lawn on the pretense of finding some decent sporting equipment amongst their collection. He was pleased when she came out that way — though it might have been coincidence.
"Do you play croquet?" he called as she approached the lawn. He held up a croquet mallet like a trophy, as though to illustrate his question.
This could not be worse than the Castle Weekend. It did not involve her family, so this could not be worse. Seraphina had reminded herself of this repeatedly — when ensuring her youngest had everything he needed, when she immediately lost Henry to something with other gentlemen, when exchanging pleasantries with one of the Echelon-Arnosts.
But it wasn't Rowle Castle Weekend. And there were more interesting guests, accordingly — like Mr. Dempsey. Having lost Henry, and not particularly interested in tours of estates, Sera wandered outside where she could at least have some air.
She was quietly thrilled to see Dempsey outside. She smiled at him.
"I can play croquet," Sera said, sauntering over to join him. She had been better before she was Under — (she had been rather competitive, before she was Under) — but she knew the rules, and had actually still played sometimes when she was Under. She plucked up one of the mallets on the grass.
Don Juan put the mallet across his shoulders and laid both of his hands over it (to give himself an opportunity to flex without looking too arrogant about it). He observed what color she'd chosen and wondered if it was her favorite, or just the most convenient one. He hadn't picked his favorite — did he even have a favorite color? He wasn't sure he'd bothered to have opinions on colors. But he knew very little about her, which was going to make it hard to flirt with her for an entire game, so he was grasping at straws a bit trying to glean whatever he could.
"And would you like me to let you win, or not?" he teased.
Sera smiled at him, with something cheeky around the edges of her expression. "Oh, I plan on beating you fair and square," she said, "Shall we place a wager on it?" It didn't much matter who won at these things; what mattered was the sport of it, especially because Sera suspected that Mr. Dempsey would spend a significant amount of time flirting with her.
(Good. She did not get flirted with nearly often enough.)
Don Juan's eyes lit with curiosity. He tried to remember why he'd previously thought of her as boring, but couldn't come up with anything specific. Perhaps he'd just made the wrong assumption.
"What would you like to wager, Mrs. Bythesea?" he asked.
"Hmm," she voiced. Money would be boring — neither of them had to worry about it, because both of them had their own.
"Whoever wins has to acquire a bottle of wine that is not on offer from our hosts," she said; whether that meant stealing, or leaving the estate to find a bottle from a pub in the nearby village, Sera did not much care. It seemed like an adventure. "And then we have to split it."
That meant they would both have to find an additional time to slip away from the people who wanted to keep track of them — Sera, certainly, felt that it would make the evening more interesting.
"Two bottles," he egged. "And we split them both." The difference between one bottle or two wasn't material; if you were already in the way of a bottle of wine there were usually plenty to choose from. But it meant more time spent together... and it was a bit of a test, to see if how she would respond if he poked at her boundaries a bit.
Sera considered, her eyes crinkling up at the corners at his grin — she stuck her gloved hand out for him to shake, as if they were two businessmen. "You have a deal," she said, tone bright.
Don Juan grinned triumphantly and reached to take her hand. He shook it first, strong and firm like a man he was trying to impress... then he held it still for a moment, drew it closer, and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. "Deal," he murmured.
He turned to retrieve a croquet ball and kicked it out onto the lawn. "I'll have the hoops set in a wink," he said, and just for fun, punctuated the sentence with a wink of his own.
A pleasant shiver went up her arm at the brush of his lips against her glove — Sera really needed to stop reading erotica, it was making her too much of a romantic.
While he set up the hoops, she leaned against her mallet; it was for dramatic effect rather than a real need. When Dempsey finished, Sera winked back at him. "Ladies go first," she said, straightening up and moving to hit her first ball.
As it turned out Don Juan didn't make an excellent showing at croquet, at least not at first. He hadn't played in a while and was rusty... and he spent most of his time between shots watching her rather than planning his next one. Win or lose she had offered to see him later to share wine — his curiosity was awash with others things they might be sharing.
Fifteen minutes in and three points down he recalled the stakes they were playing for and decided he would like to win; the idea of making her steal the wine for them was appealing. It meant her having more invested in the meeting before it happened — less likely to let her conscious get the better of her and keep her by her husband's side. So he took the time to actually line up his next shot properly, and managed to knock her ball into the weeds before sending his own through the next hoop. Only down two now, and she'd spend at least two turns getting her ball back on the lawn, he imagined. He grinned at her. "Looks like my luck is changing."
The first few turns, Sera thought she had him — even with her rusty skills. She was feeling rather confident until Mr. Dempsey knocked her ball into the patch of rough weeds; she laughed, her surprise coming out as joy.
"Looks like it," Sera said, with a shrug to convey fair enough. He'd been holding out on her! She went to retrieve her ball, but her swing only succeeded in getting it out of the weeds and back onto more manicured lawn. She was cooked.
Don Juan had gotten through the next hoop by the time she got her ball back to the greenery, and he was liking his odds for the rest of the game. He had a good angle on the next one — he'd probably be able to get two hoops in one turn if he hit it straight and hard. The angle on hers was awful, but she was being a good sport about it.
"I seem to recall you found my choice of wine left something to be desired last time," he pointed out playfully. "At least you'll have an opportunity to correct that." Perhaps this was premature teasing — he hadn't won yet.
Sera laughed again; there was nothing else to do, when she was being made fun of. "We'll see about that," she teased, and swung for her ball — it bounced off the edge of one of the posts. She'd made a good shot, and she was pleased it had gotten so close — but she was certainly going to lose.
She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to seal the deal.
She really wasn't bad at this game, he observed as her latest shot bounced off the edge of the hoop she was aiming for. He'd been lucky to have a chance to knock her off the lawn; without that she probably would have beaten him. (This made his upcoming victory all the sweeter; he savored it as he lined up his next shot).
Through the last two hoops, and now with the lead. Don Juan wore a wolfish grin through her next turn, knowing that when he was next up there was nothing left to do but drive the ball back to center and win the game. He took his last shot and strode across the lawn behind the ball, plucking it up the moment after it had finished its roll.
"Where should I meet you?" he asked, then playfully continued, "I can bring the glasses if you like. For the sake of chivalry."
"Oh, I'm sure you're very chivalrous," Sera said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes — his reputation preceded him. But she would take the glasses, and obviously his lack of chivalry did not particularly matter to her, because — here she was, having lost at croquet.
She considered their meeting place. "There's a study on the third floor — second door on the left when you head up the stairs," she said. She'd seen it, when she and Henry were moving into the room at the back of the hall for the weekend. "If that is acceptable to you?"
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