Trigger Warning
This thread depicts mild but, to some, disturbing instances of physical correction of a minor. Please read at your discretion. Saturday, April 23, 1921
Burke Townhouse, Mayfair
12:04 PM
Alone at last.
Her father sent word ahead that he would be collecting her and had picked her up promptly at noon. The man had been nothing if not polite, even amicable to her head of house as he saw them off, then had grown eerily silent. He hadn’t said anything, save the name of his townhouse when they got to the floo station, but his malice was loud.
Each time her lips parted to protest, the words lodged themselves stubbornly in the back of her throat, refusing to come out and be the one to break the unnerving stillness that followed them into the home in a blaze of green fire.
The sitting room remained as it was on her last visit, not a cushion out of place. Already, she could feel the emptiness of the house, the walls echoing with silent warning that he had gotten her away from everyone for reasons she would soon be uncomfortably acquainted with.
Verdict is in | everybody's
GUILTY
Wordlessly, Roger nudged her out of the room and up the stairs with brisk steps that left her stumbling in front. Across the narrow hall, the master bedroom occupied the entire left wall. Further down was Lucy’s room and the stairwell to the third floor. Before hitting that intricately etched cedar door, another door stood ajar, giving glimpses into a room bordered with bookshelves and old family photos dulled to grey and fading with the passage of time.
It swung open at their approach, opening them up to a room his daughter had only ever been invited into once: his study. The atmosphere was austere with a hint of tobacco from the man’s cigars, wood polish, old paper and the gentle profusion of sandalwood. The surface of his desk was as he had left it: documents piled neatly at both ends, a cache of quills and an inkwell within easy arm’s reach, but nothing else.
The air was stale from months of the windows being clamped shut, almost suffocating as it hit against his nostrils.
Behind them, the door struck its frame, slamming shut with a thunderous bang that echoed throughout the townhouse.
His hand that had rested at her neck, with little more than a few gentle guiding squeezes all the way from Hogwarts Castle, tightened suddenly as Roger shoved his daughter into the centre of the study. The small girl went staggering forward from the force of his thrust, barely managing to catch herself as she collided with the sturdy and imposing mahogany desk upon which he’d signed many deals.
A click sounded back at the door, informing her without the need for looking, that her father had locked them in.
The Victorian floorboards groaned dully, giving away the man’s every footfall.
Closer.
Her hands that had been splayed against the desk’s surface curled into fists as she eased herself straight.
She’d known what she was doing when she sent the howler…s. Benji had done everything he could to change her mind, trying to have her think it over and come up with a better plan—a better form of resistance that was subtle…underhanded…and unsatisfying. He didn’t understand. What her father had done demanded an answer, and it couldn’t be a silent one. Rae didn’t want the appearance of peace; she didn’t want to give even the vaguest implications of compliance and surrender.
Men like him were everywhere, and they only ever grew worse under such schemes.
Her father, her jailor – it mattered little to the girl who so fiercely guarded her autonomy. She didn’t need to win the war; she needed only make it difficult enough to bring him to the level of frustration that he provoked within her.
If she couldn’t know peace, then neither could he.
She sucked in a breath. Rae steeled herself as she spun around to face the man to whom she had already poured out her ire in the form of enchanted mail.
Their eyes locked, twin gazes reflecting each other; one impassive and unreadable but with burning coals beneath, the other defiant and unyielding in the face of its end. A second passed, a breath exchanged between the pair. The tension rose sharply, hanging onto the edge in anticipatory dread. She’d been here before, a thousand times at least. Small, powerless, the figure of her oppression looming large over her with eyes that never saw her, only the problem.
What a problem she’d become.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the next, her lips parting as her courage slowly returned.
He was swift.
SMACK!
The sound hit against the panelled windows before echoing back to her. A fire blazed at her cheek, her eyes moistening from the sting. A metallic taste spread outward across her tongue, pouring from the split he’d created at the corner of her lip. Along her jawline, that fire spread. The world went still. Inside her ear came a sharp ringing that further disoriented her.
By the time her vision focused, he was already on her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and yanking her toward him.
Verdict is in | everybody's
GUILTY
“You had the fucking nerve to send me a howler?”
Once unreadable eyes suddenly blazed with rage that had been hidden. His daughter tugged against his hold in a futile effort to get him off her, but his fist clenched tighter, creating deep wrinkles by the collar of her shirt. Her fingers were frantic in their efforts, trying to pry him off.
“Me?” he challenged, ignoring her efforts as he gave her a rough shake. “You don’t know your place! You don’t know how to conduct yourself with your betters!”
He struck her again, releasing her to stumble away that time.
“Do I look like one of your fucking ‘mates’ to you? Some dirt smudged on my face maybe?—Answer me!”
She flinched before she could force herself not to, pressing herself against the edge of the desk in a vain effort to go through it. He wouldn't be letting her go.
“Does anything I have on look like it came out of your Salvation Army bins?”
Her lips clamped themselves shut, speechless in the face of his fury. It only served to make him angrier.
“Little girl, you will answer me when I speak to you,” he said, snatching at her again. This time, Ruth managed to wiggle herself free, scrambling atop and over the desk before he could get hold of her again.
“No!” She screamed bitterly.
He accio-ed her back across the desk. It sent the documents flying in all directions, scattering them along the floor. The magic left her limbs flying, dragging her by the front of her shirt that found its new resting place in the palm of his hand.
“No what?” he demanded, leaning in to level their gazes.
“Get off me!” Rae shrieked, her hands reaching out to claw and hit at any part of him she could get to. Her father hoisted her effortlessly into the air to shake her again, and her feet set to work immediately. They kicked and flailed widely, making contact a few times. Dirt stains appeared along his well-tailored pants in the shape of small feet. One stain rose as high as the end of his white-collared shirt, just an inch above where it folded into the belt at his lower abdomen.
He dropped her, drawing in a deep breath when he saw the stains.
The subtle increase in his breathing brought some little comfort to the girl whose own chest now heaved from strain. He was covered in dirt, her dirt, and was less put together than when they’d first entered. Composed as he pretended to be, she’d rattled him. Not the end of the war, but a small battle she could claim for herself. Rae had managed to rile her father enough for it to matter.
He reached for her; she shoved at his hand.
“Don’t touch me!”
Her father lunged; she swerved, crashing into the standing lamp and sending it shattering against the floor. Her father huffed his exasperation, shoving aside a small armchair that usually seated guests. Rae screamed, her eyes darting in all directions in search of an escape. One presented itself, and she scrambled over he dislodged armchair trying to get there. The door might have been locked, but the window might not have been. A fall from the first floor wouldn’t kill her. Merlin knew she’d suffered worse in Quidditch.
At the window, her hands clamped down, trying to hoist the frame upward while the sound of shuffling persisted behind her.
It wouldn’t budge, not easily. Hard as the girl pried, the window’s panel proved resistant, moving only by the smallest degree with each tug as if stuck on rusted hinges. She swore beneath her breath, tugging harder. Just as the window gave way, she was yanked by her shoulder back to the centre of the room.
Her father bent her at a near 90-degree angle against the desk, her back pressed into the wood with one strong hand pinning her there by her throat. Rae clawed at his hands, trying to at least loosen them if she couldn’t remove them, but Roger tightened his grip, proving the only point he needed to. She kicked blindly, choking from the diminished oxygen. The man was wise enough to angle himself to the side where her feet couldn’t reach unless she twisted herself further into his vice-like grip.
She coughed and wheezed, her body thrashing its protest.
His responded with unshakeable firmness.
Verdict is in | everybody's
GUILTY
“Let this be the last time we have to have this conversation,” he warned, his eyes narrowing as he leaned into her. “Am I clear?”
Her silence was her violence, her resistance the only tool that remained, but it too crumbled as her head began to spin from the lack of air.
“Am I clear?” he barked.
“Okay!” she choked out.
“Okay, WHAT?”
“…S—Sir…”
A shuffle came from the other side of the door.
“Roger? Roger, are you in there?” The doorknob rattled impatiently, filling the new silence for a second or two before going still. There was a huff. “What are you doing in there? Come see what the children and I got for you.”
His grip loosened, but his fingers remained curled at her neck a moment longer. With a deep and long-suffering sigh, he straightened and made his way to the door. Roger opened it a crack. It was enough for his wife to get her foot in and pry it a little wider. She craned her neck around him, trying to see what he might have been up to. For the fraction of a second, his daughter’s dark eyes met the woman’s green. She must've looked a sight, propped up by her elbows atop a desk, her curls flying wildly and her clothing dishevelled.
Francine was not easily stirred. She found none of it alarming, not alarming enough to pull her from the good mood she’d returned to the house with.
The woman averted her gaze, taking him by the face and giving him a sweet kiss. “Amelia and I had the best time—Edith came along, too. Roger complained about being the only boy there. You’ll have to come with us next time, if only so he doesn’t fuss so much—what’s happened to your face?” She ran her thumb lightly against his cheek, concerned about the thin red lines there.
“I’m a little busy, Francine,” he interjected briskly. “Let the children know I’ll come see them in a bit. Their sister is here. The first one to grumble will be sleeping outside tonight.” He stepped back, nudging her foot from the threshold. “That includes you. Give me a moment. I won’t be much longer.”
He nudged the door shut, a more composed man when he turned to look at his daughter again.
“Get down from there,” he said, his tone once again mild and disinterested. His transaction was complete, and he saw no need to linger.
Rae watched him carefully as she climbed down. For the first time, she saw the lines Francine had questioned. A flicker of something warm settled in her chest at the realisation she’d left a mark: two parallel lines. It wouldn’t topple him, but it might make him give any plans at scuffling with her again a few extra moments of thought.
Later, when her adrenaline faded and her heart no longer beat so fiercely, Rae would let herself feel her small victory. For now, her mind still raced a mile a minute, her eyes never leaving the man who’d shown his hand even more so than he had during her visit during the winter break.
Back on her feet, Rae watched him flick his wand to set his office back to right before moving by her to take his place in the large, luxuriant chair that sat behind his desk. He never invited her to sit, never told her a thing to do, and it left her feeling open and exposed. The girl didn’t know what to do with her hands or how much she could shuffle her feet. Her back ached from the way she’d been slammed into the desk, and the faintest pangs of pain still hummed along her jaw.
She sucked in her lower lip. The blood had stopped pouring, but the split remained raw.
“Why do you look like that?” He leaned forward, hands steepled as his dark gaze washed over her, appraising her as if she were a new acquisition.
Rae knew what he meant. She didn’t answer.
“I thought I’d been very clear when I put you back on the ship that I didn’t want to see you in this manner again.” His eyes rose back to hers when they’d had their fill. “Am I a joke to you? Are you amused? Has this afternoon fulfilled whatever girlish fantasies you might still be clinging to?”
Silence.
Verdict is in | everybody's
GUILTY
His eyes narrowed, his fingers tensing in place. Had she learned nothing?
“…No sir…”
His fingers relaxed. Roger sucked in a small breath.
“Then what is this? Do you have any idea what you look like?” He scoffed, derision dripping freely in even his most minute movements. Her father let her reflect on his question, in the meantime reaching into his drawer and pulling out for himself a cigar. In the new silence, he lit it with the tip of his wand then eased back in his seat. He waved his hand lightly, the thin wisps of smoke dancing in coils and swirls as they rose.
“Do you enjoy living with that mother of yours—that Dragomir woman?”
She hesitated, unsure she wanted to carry on this line of conversation. Remaining in silence suited her best, but the terror of the earlier moment still gripped her, her instincts for survival overwhelming her desire to defy. “I do—”
“Then start fucking acting like it.” He wouldn’t let her finish, already moving on to his next point. “Act like you can be trusted to remain an ocean away without descending into degeneracy that I then have to fix every time my feet land on British soil. I don’t like exhausting ventures, Ruth. Not when the solution is so simple. If she remains a bad influence, it seems only sensible to remove you from that influence.”
His daughter bit back the whimper that tried to break free, a soft, strangled sound all that she allowed and only because it couldn’t be suppressed.
“The next time you have me drop my business, board a boat and come over here because you’ve forgotten how to conduct yourself,” he took a slow drag of the cigar, letting the smoke billow slowly out his mouth and nostrils. “I’ll pack everything up. You are not your own, and you will remember that.”
“You can’t—”
“We’re beyond that, Ruth. I think I’ve made it very clear what I can and can’t do. If you’d like to see for yourself, you’re welcome to, but I assure you, it’ll be a costly lesson.”
He waved her away dismissively. “Go get yourself cleaned, then greet your siblings and your mother. Francine wants to take the children to the matinee in an hour. You’ll be attending.”
They were not requests.
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