Her focus was so narrow that, while she noticed little elements in Fletcher’s behavior, she did not think on them. All that mattered was preventing what had happened this morning from ever happening again. It hadn’t happened in years, and that had lulled her slightly, but this morning showed that none of her siblings were truly safe so long as her father lived.
Inside the house, it was quiet. There had always been more people living there when she had been there. But the sounds of her sisters – the happy sounds, the sad sounds, the muffled attempts to keep pain hidden – were gone. Nor did she hear Tibby, but the mere fact that he was there spoke to his status as a prisoner. And Cerise had written that his wand had been broken.
As silent as house elves, Felixa led the way toward her father’s study, as that was where he most likely was. She used no magic to guide her way, as that would have revealed a presence in the house. The doors were closed, but Felixa opened them quietly just enough for them to slip in one at a time.
He sat with his back to the door, a scotch in one hand. There was the smallest of changes in his posture, but Felixa knew he was aware of someone else being in the room. Samuel Abaddon took a sip of the whiskey calmly as she recognized the movement of grabbing his wand.
Silently, Felixa disarmed him, catching the wand and breaking it in two. It was a serious act from her, just as serious as what was going to happen to him. But the wand had stayed loyal to her father through all those years, all those actions, and it was no more. Its judgment. Its justice.
There was no shout, no instant outrage. The man turned around and laughed when he saw her – and when he saw Fletcher. “You will have to make me a new wand,” he sneered, disgust in his eyes every time he looked at Fletcher, “for the moment, you will give me his. A poof has no need for a wand.”
“You have gone senile in the last few years, father, if you think I will do anything of the sort,” Felixa replied as she moved closer. There was a strange push at her mind that felt vaguely familiar, but she disliked it and forced it away. “You remember the last time I lived here, don’t you?” she asked rhetorically as she moved in closer, “You remember how you told me each and every day I would be the well-behaved daughter you wanted, that you would forge me into it – that you would rack my body in pain until I submitted and learned my lesson.”
“Crucio!” the witch cast, and the spell caught the man unaware – surprised. She continued until he began to scream – not a small scream, a loud uncontrolled scream. She released the spell. “You tortured me for hours without break, until I could not even scream,” she told him, “You tortured me for day after day – not as punishment, not for anything I did, but to punish Tibby – to force him back under your thumb. Your tortured Veritas and Aureliana to bring him back.” Her eyes were full of anger and as hard as a blade.
”Crucio!” she cast again, calmly standing there for a full five minutes before releasing him. “You lost control of me and of them. You didn’t even see it. I provoked you, each day, so that my screams resonated through this entire house, not theirs. Three months, for three months, you did your worst, and I walked away once they were safe.”
She laughed a cold laugh, “But they will never be safe so long as you live. Crucio!”