Bealocwealm
Junior Member
London -- 1707.
Queen Anne remains on the throne in her fifth year ruling, but it is now the throne of a unified Great Britain, rather than of the separate countries which make it up. The change seems to many purely cosmetic, a facade of unity and strength without underlying meaning or significance.
In the very same country, but among its now-hidden wizarding class, there is another upheaval -- the foundation of the British Ministry of Magic. Replacing a set of councils which stood before, this formalized, even modernized official body is seen as -- well. Purely cosmetic. A bit of a joke, with little relevance, surely something that cannot last. A club of posh witches and wizards pushing quills.
The Statute of Magical Secrecy has been in place for fifteen years now as a matter of international law. Muggle society is quickly forgetting, while wizarding society moves on, erecting higher and higher magical barriers for their own protection.
And yet there are inevitable cracks in the barriers -- young witches and wizards who expose their abilities, adults breaching the Statute with fantastical pets and impossible structures -- primarily in pursuit of the first, before they come to harm, in step a small group of this newly-founded Minstry, affectionately named "gallows cats".
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A rainy day; a crowded street. Rumours -- and listening to these rumours, a young vagrant of a muggle, dressed in patchy, ragged clothes of brown, with a thick blue scarf wrapped round his neck. Known among some of the street children, dubbed none-too-creatively as "scarf boy". He, too, had at least a little gossip surrounding him, though heard usually at the lower levels of society.
"Scarf boy's kinda weird. Like he don't know how to look at you."
"I was gonna go down to beg on Wimpole street but Scarf Boy held me back, he was all funny and serious about it too. I figure maybe the beak was round there."
"I swear I saw him on a roof the other day? I don't know how the hell he coulda got up there..."
But it wasn't these rumours Scarf Boy seemed much interested in -- the slightest breath of magical doings he heeded with rapt attention. And it was easier when you knew -- at least a few -- of the words to listen for. He mulled through the crowd without purpose, sidling and weaving between people -- to hear them speak unguarded.
Queen Anne remains on the throne in her fifth year ruling, but it is now the throne of a unified Great Britain, rather than of the separate countries which make it up. The change seems to many purely cosmetic, a facade of unity and strength without underlying meaning or significance.
In the very same country, but among its now-hidden wizarding class, there is another upheaval -- the foundation of the British Ministry of Magic. Replacing a set of councils which stood before, this formalized, even modernized official body is seen as -- well. Purely cosmetic. A bit of a joke, with little relevance, surely something that cannot last. A club of posh witches and wizards pushing quills.
The Statute of Magical Secrecy has been in place for fifteen years now as a matter of international law. Muggle society is quickly forgetting, while wizarding society moves on, erecting higher and higher magical barriers for their own protection.
And yet there are inevitable cracks in the barriers -- young witches and wizards who expose their abilities, adults breaching the Statute with fantastical pets and impossible structures -- primarily in pursuit of the first, before they come to harm, in step a small group of this newly-founded Minstry, affectionately named "gallows cats".
___________________________________
A rainy day; a crowded street. Rumours -- and listening to these rumours, a young vagrant of a muggle, dressed in patchy, ragged clothes of brown, with a thick blue scarf wrapped round his neck. Known among some of the street children, dubbed none-too-creatively as "scarf boy". He, too, had at least a little gossip surrounding him, though heard usually at the lower levels of society.
"Scarf boy's kinda weird. Like he don't know how to look at you."
"I was gonna go down to beg on Wimpole street but Scarf Boy held me back, he was all funny and serious about it too. I figure maybe the beak was round there."
"I swear I saw him on a roof the other day? I don't know how the hell he coulda got up there..."
But it wasn't these rumours Scarf Boy seemed much interested in -- the slightest breath of magical doings he heeded with rapt attention. And it was easier when you knew -- at least a few -- of the words to listen for. He mulled through the crowd without purpose, sidling and weaving between people -- to hear them speak unguarded.
