Charming is a Victorian Era Harry Potter roleplay set primarily in the village of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the non-canon village of Irvingly. Characters of all classes, both magical and muggle — and even non-human! — are welcome.

With a member driven story line, monthly games and events, and a friendly and drama-free community focused on quality over quantity, the only thing you can be sure of is fun!
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    You have found our archive! Charming lives on here!
    02.05 One last puzzle before we depart!
    02.01 AC? What AC?
    01.26 Impending URL changes!
    01.11 I've got a bit of a reputation...
    01.06 AC underway, and a puzzle to solve!
    01.01 Happy new year! Have some announcements of varying importance.
    12.31 Enter the Winter Labyrinth if you dare!
    12.23 Professional Quidditch things...
    12.21 New stamp!
    12.20 Concerning immortality
    12.16 A heads up that the Secret Swap deadline is fast approaching!
    12.14 Introducing our new Minister of Magic!
    12.13 On the first day of Charming, Kayte gave to me...
    12.11 Some quick reminders!
    12.08 Another peek at what's to come...
    Six Years Later
    Private Thread 
    It had been seven years ago when Rufus first attended the annual Pettigrew Quidditch Holiday party. Despite it having been on the larger half of a decade since then Rufus could still remember it. Not as much as the year following it, but the memory did still exist. He'd been a sixth year then and still unsure if his skills would get him to the big time. But then again he'd been a Bixby and his father and encouraged him to attend. He'd attended with several other Gryffindor players and been awed by the spectacle. He had remembered talking to several of the team members of the Puddlemere United and his excitement at having met them but it had seemed at the time that his future was so distant. The next year though, that one Rufus could remember it as if it had been yesterday. Thom Pettigrew himself had approached Rufus with an offer that Rufus had been unable to turn down. That had been the night when he truly had made it into the job of his dreams.

    Now six years later, the event was much the same. Rufus, always one for a good party, looked for to the evening and enjoyed getting the opportunity to catch up with members of his industry. Besides, it always was a good time, even if he was to keep his eyes open for new blood - as he often referred to the students who were being recruited to Puddlemere.

    Standing to the side, Rufus held a firewhiskey in hand as he surveyed the crowd. He hadn't used his plus one, although Sloane would have loved it - she was still much to young. Despite never using his plus one to such events Rufus never seemed to have a problem finding someone to catch with. He watched the dance floor with amusement, much at ease, until someone approached him. Rufus turned and grinned as the Sponsor of his team greeted him. "Good evening, Mr. Pettigrew. Fine party this year." He complimented the man.

    @'Thom Pettigrew'

    Word Count: 340
    "Glad you think so," Thom said with a grin as he reached past his chaser and towards a passing drink tray - he had been headed for a refill of his beverage, in fact, any not for Bixby, but he certainly didn't mind the diversion. Bixby bore the distinguishing mantle of chaser least likely to be spontaneously fired and as such was always someone Thom was pleased to entertain. He'd had a devil of a time with chasers in the past few years - one's incompetence this season had seen him replaced with the recently recruited Mr. Michaud, one had gotten himself medically retired the season before that, and a third had gotten himself killed in a duel three years back. As much as Thom loved Quidditch, he had to acknowledge that those who were really adept at it did not tend to make the most consistent, reliable, and professional employees.

    Bixby, though, came from a family of reasonably well-established Quidditch stock, and if he had a habit of going out and engaging in dangerous leisure activities or putting himself in the way of rogue bludgers, Thom hadn't yet picked up on it. He was a diamond in the rough where chasers were concerned, so it had been something of a no-brainer to bring him on as a second-string player straight out of Hogwarts all those years ago.

    Speaking of which, the number of promising Hogwarts players seemed disgustingly low this year - which was what had left Thom with leisure time, as it were, to go drinking and chatting up his players in between his actual entertaining duties. "I'm not sure we couldn't have done a little better - but I don't suppose anyone minds," he acknowledged with a shrug. "And it's not as though I've a wealth of new talent this year to try and impress. The Hogwarts teams are essentially still carrying around their baby blankets."

    There is always room for improvement.” Rufus nodded conversationally at Thom’s comment about the party having gone better. During his employment for Mr. Pettigrew he had noticed concern and strive for success and aiming ever higher. Especially at the industry party. But he was inclined to agree that no one really minded. Rufus suspected that they, like him, were glad to have a limited batch of new blood to impress and recruit and instead could enjoy a pleasant evening out in polite company.

    The Hogwarts Quidditch were indeed young. His sister, Sloane, had written to him about it. He could almost feel the misery in her tone when she admitted that while other first years had made the team she had not. Rufus had responded by telling her he also hadn’t made it his first year and she knew where he was now. If she gave it time too, she’d be alright, he’d assured her.

    My sister mentioned that in her last letter. Although despite their youth I’ve heard they do have quite the talent. I suppose we’ll be lucky in a few years when they no longer have their blankets about them.

    @'thom Pettigrew'
    "If they make it so far," Thom said with an offhand shrug. He wasn't particularly inclined to feel charitably towards the young players on the team, since their presence there was causing a very real deficit of professional players for him now and in the next several years. He was not at all willing to just stomach a few bad years in the hopes that he might be able to convince one or two of the children to try out for Puddlemere. He'd had this conversation already, though, and he was perhaps less inclined than most to see the silver lining or 'look on the bright side.'

    "Young players sometimes get burnt out - or they decide to drop the team at fifth year so they can focus on some other career path," he pointed out. "Which just means that whoever takes their place will have that much less experience when they get to the point where they can be recruited."

    This was likely all far beyond the scope of what Bixby cared about - all he was hired to do was play the game, and play it well. For Thom, however, this had become something of a pet pique since the Halfbreed ban which had forced so many of the poorer students out of the school. Nothing would make him happier than to have at least half of these first and second year students foisted from the teams and replaced by more qualified talent when the prodigal students returned. First years had no business being on Quidditch teams, anyway.

    Rufus didn't think it was so much getting burned out as realizing the practicality of pursuing quidditch as a career, especially when other studies were much more practical. After all not many of his classmates had had a family like the Bixbys that would support such an endeavor from their offspring Rufus did not contradict Mr. Pettigrew, though, after all the man was the reason he was in the position he was. Instead he nodded his head.

    More reason for us to win the championship then. Show those younglings what team they really want to be on and stick it through their school years to do so.” Rufus lifted his glass in half a toast before downing the rest of the firewhiskey, the liquid traveling down his throat in a flash of heat. He gave the man a confident grin as the first swells of a new song surrounded them. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe owe Miss Harrison this dance.” He had after all remembered signing the young lady’s dance card at the beginning of the evening, if only to be polite.