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 five threads of five posts or more where your character experiences bad luck, such as stepping in a chamberpot, losing the rings for a wedding, etc...
Did You Know?
One of the cheapest homeless shelters in Victorian London charged four pennies to sleep in a coffin. Which was... still better than sleeping upright against a rope? — Jordan / Lynn
If he was being completely honest, the situation didn't look good, but Sylvano was not in the habit of being completely honest about anything. No reason to start now.
— Sylvano Capobiancoinyou & me & the war of the endtimes
July 26th, 1890 — Lovegood House, Wellingtonshire Abraxas Crabbe
Sundays with Rex were less common than they once were, but Flora enjoyed them just the same. It was easier to have fun in the Lovegood house than her own, if only because they were allowed an ounce more of freedom under Mr. Lovegood's eye than under her mother's. Not that it mattered much—fun was becoming a foreign concept as August quickly approached, and Flora had found herself wishing to return to school some days.
On occasion parties were hosted that children could attend on High Street, but her days had become monotonous as she brushed up on her French, painted the same scene outside of her window every morning, and talked with her other friends about her Uncle Beckett's performance in the World Cup. Even in Rex's room, with a number of old board games and a household to explore for the thousandth time, it was boring.
Fortunately—or unfortunately for Flora in this case—boredom had a way of curing itself.
There was a sudden knock from the inside of Rex's closet. It was loud enough to startle her off the edge of Rex's bed, and the repetition of the same pounding thud enough to convince her that there was someone inside. She looked to Rex, half-confused and half-startled.
"What are you keeping in there?" she said, slightly accusatory in her tone.
"Don't open it!" Rex exclaimed with some panic as his cousin indicated the wardrobe.
It had been three weeks prior when he had first discovered the creature inside. A bright boy, Rex had swiftly puzzled out what it was. Much to his embarrassment, though, he had not yet been able to properly repel the creature and, indeed, had convinced Uncle Andren (who had come hastily when the boy had screamed at the sight of his dead mother on his bedroom floor) to leave the wardrobe in the room until Rex was capable of handling the creature.
A disappointing three weeks, to say the least.
Still, the Hufflepuff was not entirely sure how to broach the topic with his cousin—and indeed, one of his closest friends— particularly as he often worried Flora was a better student than he was. Instead, he just stared wild-eyed at the Slytherin.
Flora stared at Rex incredulously. So he had been keeping something in there—intentionally!
"What's in there?" she asked. She'd never taken Rex for neither a coward nor a glutton for punishment, but there was something in his tone that suggested just that. She would rather sleep in the gardens than sleep in a room where something lurking just out of reach.
"A project?" Flora asked, staring at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head. "What sort of project requires you to keep something in a trunk that's likely to keep you up all night?" And what did Andren Lovegood have to do with it? (And why would him knowing make her any less concerned? She was more offended that he hadn't told her.)
A boggart. Flora actually laughed—loud and borderline obnoxious, full of disbelief.
"Why in the world are you keeping a boggart in your bedroom, Rex?" she asked, giving him an exasperated yet affectionate look. How silly of him to keep something so easily banished by one of the house staff. "Why don't you just ask your Uncle Andren to get rid of it? Or Uncle Orlando?"
(At least she now knew it wasn't something dangerous. She eyed the trunk, considering opening it just to see what form it took in front of Rex. She'd never considered his greatest fears, not could she pinpoint her own.)
"I can get rid of it myself!" the boy protested quickly, defensively, before amending rather more sheepishly, "or at least, I will be able to. I, er, haven't had much luck so far."
There were any number of people in the house who could take care of it, but to the Hufflepuff, this posed a learning opportunity. They would be starting their third year in the autumn—would it not be splendid if he mastered handling a boggart before he came across it in their classes?
"Why don't we rid of it together?" she suggested, both in doubt of his ability to do it himself and eager to catch a glimpse of a boggart for the first time. They were said to take the form of one's worst fear, but Flora could not imagine what could possibly scare her. A dead toad? An evil wizard? Knowing that it was a boggart would at least make it far less scary, she postulated.
The boy faltered, not overly enthused by the idea of having hi cousin see his...limited ability, or the form that the creature elected to take when faced with him. Still, Rex knew his cousin's stubbornness ran even deeper than his own love of quidditch, and so there would be very little for it but to let Flora have her way.
"I suppose, but surely there's something else you'd rather do?" he offered lamely, a last-ditch effort.
There was nothing she would rather do, and that was apparent as Flora dug into her own dress pockets in search of her wand.
"We will have plenty to do once the creature is banished," she responded finally, colorful sparks flying out of her cypress wand's tip as she playfully waved it around. "Will you do the honor, Rex?" She looked back towards the chest, a conspiratorial grin on her face.
Rex gave a quiet, resigned sigh as he moved to the wardrobe with trepidation, pausing a moment before flinging the door open and taking as big a step backward as he could manage without stumbling.
Whatever preconceived notions Flora had about boggarts were thrown out the window as the creature emerged from the wardrobe. She stepped back in fear and clutched Rex's shoulder as if he could offer any comfort and protection. The creature approached them and slowly shifted into a sight that Flora had hoped to never see again: the mangled corpose of one Mrs. Whitledge, only she looked more like a traditional muggle zombie than any normal corpse. Her eyes were all white and her skin was scabbed and rotting. It—the creature, not Mrs. Whitledge, Flora tried to remind herself—let out a groan that sent a shiver down Flora's spine.
"Wait... Wait," Flora breathed shakily, suddenly regretting her decision and wishing for nothing else than to go five minutes back in time to change her mind. She gripped her wand tightly, but suddenly had lost all ability to use it.
"Flora what is that?" Rex asked his cousin bewildered, grabbing her hand—for her comfort or his, the Hufflepuff wasn't entirely sure. This was not his nightmare, no, but it was certainly not pleasant sight. What was more, the form the boggart had taken had just the barest hint of familiarity, adding to the boy's unease.
There was no right answer to give, but she also had no time to explain. Flora's heart leapt in her heart as the corpse took a step closer, and driven by fear Flora latched onto Rex's hand and positioned herself halfway behind him as if he could provide protection.
It was infrequently that Flora thought about the deceased Mrs. Whitledge. She tried to absolve herself from guilt, reminding herself that the carriage had done it, not her, and that it had been so foggy out that they could not have possibly seen the woman walking by. But then, of course, there was the truth: she had hidden the secret and let the Whitledges mourn their grandmother without having a culprit identified. She took the secret for her mother, who had never mentioned it since then. Nobody knew.
Nobody expect Rex, now.
"Mrs. Whitledge," she rasped, feeling the tension in her face rise until tears were brimming in her eyes. She didn't know what to do—Merlin she needed to know what to do. "The spell, Rexy. What's the spell?" She squeezed her wand again.
