1: Trouble - Fred Weasley

8. oh daddy

[[[[tw: there is physical abuse and sensitive stuff in this chapter. take care of yourselves loves]]]]

-

why are you right when i'm so wrong? 

i'm so weak but you're so strong

everything you do is just alright 

and i can't walk away from you, baby if i tried

-

Imogen's feet landed on the familiar cobblestones with a little wobble, and she dropped her bag with an unsatisfying thud. She bent down and picked it back up, looking up at Falker manor.

It was a beautiful building, covered in autumnal ivy, it's tall, gothic windows looking out at perfectly kept gardens. Hundreds of generations of her father's predecessors had walked the glossy wood-panelled interior, which called for it's size. Along with entertaining rooms fit for lavish parties, there were fifteen bedrooms in the house. Now, only Imogen and her father lived here. The only parties that happened in recent years were her father's work mixers, which were subdued events (from which Imogen was usually forbidden, past an initial introduction to notable attendees), and the annual Falker New Year's eve party. Unfortunately, she normally had to go to those.

Imogen's scarf flapped around her face in the blustery morning, and, realising no one was coming to greet her, she started to climb the steps up to the large front doors. Walking in, the place was quiet, and immaculate. On the table by the door sat an impressive bunch of lilies from the garden. She walked west, down the corridor that lead to her father's office. A knock on the door brought forth a 'enter,' in Phineas Falker's commanding voice. Imogen did as he said.

"Ah Imogen, there you are." he said, with a small smile. He was standing behind his desk, dressed in one of his favourite purple suits. He was both tall and broad, and made for quite the commanding figure, especially now his hair was greying as it gave him an added air of wisdom.

Imogen placed her bag down gently. "Hello father."

"Nimmly!" he shouted, raising a hand. The house elf appeared at once, dressed in a flour sack. "Take Imogen's bag to her room."

Nimmly looked up at Imogen with her large watery eyes. She didn't seem happy to see her.

"Yes, master." The elf replied obediently, and with another crack, she was gone again, Imogen's bag with her. Imogen and her father regarded eachother for a moment more, alone.

His brow furrowed. "What, so now you're too good to give your father a kiss?"

Imogen swallowed. "No, father."

She hurried across the room and placed a stiff kiss on his cheek, and then retreated back to her position near the doorway.

"You've grown, Imogen. What a fine young woman you're becoming."

Imogen couldn't help but ask the question that had been on her mind since receiving his letter. "How come you needed me home?"

Phineas straightened a stack of papers on his desk. "Is a father not allowed to want to see his daughter? It's important we spend time with each other."

"Of course." Imogen agreed, chewing the inside of her cheek a little, wondering whether to finish her thought or not. "It's just, no one else really visits home during term."

Phineas gave a curious chuckle and shook his head. "I have been trying to tell you for years Imogen, but we are not like everyone else. We are Falkers. We may do things others are... unable to."