1: Trouble - Fred Weasley

8. oh daddy

Imogen said nothing.

"Nimmly is preparing lunch for us. It should be ready in an hour or so. You can go and settle into your bedroom in the mean time."

Imogen had nodded, ready to leave when he spoke again, another biting chuckle ringing through his words. "That is, if you remember which one is yours. I seem to recall you spent very few nights in it over summer."

Imogen pressed her mouth into a smile. "I'll try to remember, thanks father."

"It's thank you, not thanks," he scolded.

He sat back at his desk, not looking up as she left. Imogen closed the door behind her silently, carefully putting it back into position, and she took a deep breath once she was walking down the polished hallway, her footsteps echoing around her. She made her way back to the bunch of pretty lillies and began to ascend the ornate staircase. Her room was the fourth door on the right, opening right onto the landing. A sign she'd made when she was thirteen still hung upon the door - 'Imogen Odette Falker, knock before entering'. Imogen did not knock.

Inside, her bed was made, the covers tucked tightly into the side of the large bedframe. Her bag sat on top of it, and Imogen frowned. Notably missing from the arrangement was her favourite patchwork quilt. It was the quilt her mother had made her when she was a child. She tore the covers out of their neatly tucked display, thinking it might be underneath the duvet, but all she found was the white undersheet.  Flinging the covers back, she dropped to her knees and peered under the bed, but found nothing. Back on her feet, there was nothing in her chest of drawers except clothes she'd grown out of. In a last ditch attempt, she moved to the wardrobe and opened the doors.

Out of the wardrobe, still wearing his purple suit, stepped Phineas Falker. Imogen jumped, and then laughed slightly, clutching her heart.

"Merlin father, what the hell are you-"

But with that his murderous eyes had locked with hers and his outstretched hands wrapped around her throat with such force that she was knocked to the ground, and looming over her, his weight crushing, he began to choke her.

"I killed your useless mother. And now, I will kill you," he spat.

Imogen clutched at her throat, at his strong hands, flailing. Was this why he'd brought her home? To kill her like this? Why not get it over and done with in the study? Why hide in the wardrobe?

"Father, please..." her lips said, no sound coming out.

But Phineas Falker was not the type of man to hide in a wardrobe. Imogen grasped at her pocket and mercifully her fingertips found her wand.

"Ridikkulus!" she tried to say, and it was enough. Her father instantly transformed into a small blackcurrant jelly.

Gasping madly, she scuttled away from it, watching it wobble in place. She began to cough, and then retch, as tears streamed down her face and her heart thrummed in her stomach. After she was quite sure he was staying as a jelly, she scooped it up, her hand shaking, and flung it out of the window. It shattered into a thousand purple crumbs on the cobblestones.

"Fuck," she croaked. "Fuuuck. Boggart."

She stared at the wardrobe, her wand out, and spied the patchwork quilt folded neatly on the top shelf. "Just a stupid boggart."

After smoothing the patchwork quilt out on the bed, she lay back on it, her breath shuddering. By the time she was heading downstairs to lunch, she'd used her basic healing spells to rid herself of the bruising, but there was nothing to be done about her hoarse voice.

"Have you been smoking or something?" her father demanded, whilst Nimmly piled salmon onto his plate.

"No, no I'm just... I'm a bit ill." she said, unable to look him in the eye.