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+------ Thread: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher (/showthread.php?tid=1320)
Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-07-2026
Wednesday, 6 June 1923
Late morning
Blackthorn Hall, North Yorkshire
Late morning
Blackthorn Hall, North Yorkshire
The apparition landing was quiet. Alice had chosen a spot at the edge of the grounds, far enough from the house that nobody would hear the crack of it. She’d done this before, the leaving part at least. Coming back in daylight was new.
The house was awake. She moved quickly across the grounds, her hair pinned back hastily, her dress from last night creased in ways that no amount of smoothing would fix. She looked, she knew, like someone who had not slept at home.
And her head was killing her.
The back entrance. Quieter. Less likely to run into anyone.
Alice eased the door open and stepped into the hallway, listening. Silence. From everywhere.
She allowed herself one small breath of relief and started toward the stairs, her shoes in her hand so her footsteps would be quieter.
She noticed nothing as she approached the front room, having to pass it to get to the stairs. The smell of cigarette smoke is what hit her first. She breathed in, knowing what it meant, but continued in an attempt to appear more stealthy than she knew she really was.
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Thatcher Ravenstone - 10-07-2026
Thatcher Ravenstone sat alone in his usual armchair, the living room darkened by heavy curtains shutting out the mid morning light.
A cup of coffee sat beside him on the small table, no longer warm. His breakfast was untouched on a silver tray. Toast cold. Eggs barely disturbed. The only movement came from the Daily Prophet held in his hands.
A cigarette burned between two fingers, smoke floating lazily to the ceiling. He hadn't moved. Not since breakfast. Not since he'd opened the paper.
The moving photograph replayed over and over. Alice laughing. Obviously drunk. A young wizard's hands wrapped around her waist. His daughter's dress lifted over her head before she climbed onto the bar. Strangers clapping. Excited to see his daughter flaunt her body.
Flash. The kiss. Flash. The dancing. Flash.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the newspaper, the parchment crinkling under his fist.
Years spent building the Ravenstone name into something untouchable. Ministry contracts. Business partnerships. Political alliances. Marriage negotiations.
Everything reduced to gossip beside an advertisement for hair tonic.
He hadn't shouted. He hadn't thrown the paper across the room. He hadn't stormed out in search of her. Anger was expensive and would only cause a larger media circus. This needed to be quiet. Contained. Managed.
So he finished his coffee, lit another cigarette and waited.
The quiet footsteps in the hallway reached him before she came into view. Shoes in hand. Trying not to be heard. Without looking up from the newspaper, Thatcher spoke.
"You're late."
His voice was calm. Almost casual. The kind of tone he would use to talk about quarterly profits, not the public humiliation of an entire family.
Thatcher lowered the paper, folded it once in half, then again, and then again. He set it beside his unfinished breakfast, finally lifting his eyes to her.
His gaze looked over every detail of his daughter. The wrinkled dress. The lazily pinned hair. The shoes hanging from her hand. She was clearly exhausted. Obviously, she had an eventful night.
For several seconds, he stared at her. Then, in the same calm, measured voice, he spoke again.
"Come here." It wasn't a request. It was an expectation. One she better obey.
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-07-2026
“You’re late.”
The voice made her stomach drop. Her father. She knew it was him before he spoke because of the cigarette smoke, but having definitive proof that he was there, that she was caught…
Alice looked at the stairs. She’d been three steps away from making it safely. She would have been past the doorway, and on her way to her bath to soak in the glory of the previous night.
When Alice turned, she saw her father’s silhouette sitting in the darkened room. He folded the paper and set it on the tray next to his untouched breakfast.
“Come here.”
Just how long had he been sitting? Waiting?
She could see the paper from where she stood: the photograph that was moving and replaying over and over. Her on the bar. Her dress gone. Mateo’s hands at her waist.
Alice’s mouth went dry.
She looked from the paper to him, hesitant to move closer. She stepped into the room and then stopped.
“Father.”
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Thatcher Ravenstone - 10-08-2026
“Father.”
Thatcher grunted, as he took another puff on his cigarette.
Alice stopped several feet away. Too far. Thatcher looked at her for another long moment before giving the smallest shake of his head.
"Closer."
When she didn't immediately move, he let out a quiet sigh. His wand appeared in his hand with ease.
"Locomotor." He sounded bored when the word left his lips. As if he had more important things to be dealing with.
Alice's feet lifted from the floor before she had the chance to move. Drifting forward through the room, shoes still in one hand, he stopped her, just in front of the armchair opposite him. Giving his wand another sharp flick, Alice was deposited into the chair, with a quiet woosh.
Her feet touched the floor, and her body relaxed into the chair as the magic released her. If she made a move to leave, he would use other means to keep her where he wanted her.
She was now close enough to hear every word and close enough for Thatcher to see every change in expression that crossed her face.
He rested his wand across one knee, reached for his cigarette, and took a slow drag. The silence stretched on, neither excited to start this conversation.
Finally, he nodded toward the folded newspaper resting on the tray. "Tell me, daughter" he said, emphasizing the last word, "which part of this do you regret?"
Thatcher made himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and resting his ankle on his opposite knee as though this were nothing more than another business meeting. As his blue eyes met Alice’s brown, the anger that was brewing could be seen. He was barely holding it at bay.
”And who. The. Fuck. Is the man in the picture?”
OOC: Power Play approved by Alice
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-08-2026
Alice wasn’t surprised when her father used magic on her. She wasn’t surprised that he brought her closer to him and sat her in the chair across from him. She did relax into the chair, mostly because she was exhausted from being out all night and getting little to no sleep at Mateo’s.
She glanced at the newspaper when he nodded towards it, asking which part she regretted.
Alice seriously considered the question, not answering. Did she regret being with Mateo? No. Did she regret the overindulgence in whiskey? Also no. Did she regret taking off her dress and dancing on the bar? No. She’d enjoyed the attention, if she were honest.
Her regrets though? The headache that came with the hangover wasn’t great. And being back in Blackthorn was just as bad if not worse. Sitting in this room with the man who had destroyed her sister’s life was even worse. The man who had hidden her true identity.
”And who. The. Fuck. Is the man in the picture?”
She had something he didn’t have. He didn’t have Mateo Wesley’s name. He wouldn’t get Mateo Wesley’s name. Mateo was her secret, and a precious one at that. Her father was dangerous. There was no way in hell she was going to let him hurt him.
Her brown eyes remained focused on her father’s blue. She could feel his anger radiating off of him in waves. The corner of her mouth turned up a bit in a slight smirk.
“Which part do I regret?” she asked again, ready to play his game. “Is coming back.”
She would not answer his second question.
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Thatcher Ravenstone - 10-11-2026
Thatcher stared at her. She sat there, almost smiling. He noticed, his jaw tightened. For several seconds, he said nothing.
The cigarette burned quietly between his fingers.
"Coming back. That's what you regret?"
He repeated the words, almost as if he couldn’t comprehend. A humorless smile touched his mouth. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. The wand remained balanced across his fingers.
"Not the drinking. Not the intoxication."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the photograph. "Not the public spectacle. Not removing your dress in front of half of London. And now, the entire wizarding community." He said, waving his hand towards the paper.
His eyes returned to her. Fire heating behind the blue. Each word was delivered evenly. Which made the anger brewing worse.
Thatcher took another drag from his cigarette. "You come home looking like a common barmaid, refuse to answer a simple question, and think this is amusing."
His nostrils flared slightly. "You have always had a talent for making a situation worse, Alice."
He leaned back again, becoming noticeably still.
"But we’ll get to you in a second. Right now, I want to discuss the man who thought he had the right to put his hands on my daughter.”
His blue eyes hardened. ”A daughter, might I add, that is betrothed to another man. So I'll ask you once more."
Tapping his cigarette against the ashtray.
"Who is he?"
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-11-2026
"Coming back. That's what you regret?"
Alice watched her father evenly, doing her best to keep her face blank. The goal was to get away from him as soon as she could. She really wanted to bathe and sleep.
"Not the drinking. Not the intoxication. Not the public spectacle. Not removing your dress in front of half of London. And now, the entire wizarding community."
As he responded, speaking about the things she’d done, she couldn’t help but to feel like maybe she had gone too far. But she really didn’t regret it. She’d loved going back to Mateo’s after the dancehall. She loved it at his flat. If she could go back and just not return home this morning, she’d do that in a heartbeat.
His eyes were full of absolute rage, though his voice was strangely even.
"You come home looking like a common barmaid, refuse to answer a simple question, and think this is amusing. You have always had a talent for making a situation worse, Alice."
There was a time when that comment, about making situations worse, would hurt her. But something changed. Her whole life, she’d tried to be perfect for her father. She knew what the expectations were for her, especially as the oldest.
"But we’ll get to you in a second. Right now, I want to discuss the man who thought he had the right to put his hands on my daughter. A daughter, might I add, that is betrothed to another man. So I'll ask you once more. Who is he?"
Alice watched her father, her eyes meeting his calmly. She knew who it was, of course, but he didn’t have to know. And while she thought her father was pathetic in general, she knew that he had the means to find anyone he tried to.
Mateo’s name would remain a secret.
“I have no idea,” she said, glancing at the image. She missed him already. She looked back at her father. “I’d had a lot to drink, and he was there.”
She held his gaze and did not flinch.
“I didn’t get his name.”
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Thatcher Ravenstone - 10-16-2026
Thatcher stared at her. He didn't believe her. Not for a second. It was in her eyes. Alice had always been a terrible liar when she was younger. She had improved with age, but not enough to fool him.
He took another slow drag from his cigarette. “You didn't get his name.” He repeated, nodding his head. For several seconds, he simply watched her.
”Interesting.” Then his gaze dropped to the photograph again. The young man's hands around her waist. Alice's smile. The way she had looked completely comfortable with him.
He tapped the cigarette against the ashtray. “You spend the night with him, but can’t remember his name. So in all the time you spent together, names were left out of the conversation. What exactly were you doing Alice? Please, enlighten me.”
Thatcher leaned back in the chair, studying his daughter, as if she were a broom that wouldn’t fly. Nothing she said could be trusted.
“Very well. While the article is rather vague, there is enough to go off of. You see… I know people Alice. People that will have no trouble finding this man.”
His wand remained resting across his knee. His eyes on her. One last drag of his cigarette brought the burning end close to his finger. Instead of stubbing it out in the ash tray, he took the burning bud and brought it down right on the face of the mystery man.
“I don't particularly care whether you remember his name. He will be found and dealt with.” His blue eyes settled back on hers. “I care that someone has become important enough to you that you are willing to lie to me about him.”
The secrecy would not be tolerated.
Thatcher had built an entire life around knowing things other people thought they could keep hidden. Names. Addresses. Connections. Debts. Weaknesses. And now his daughter was sitting three feet away, looking him directly in the eye, and deliberately keeping something from him.
His jaw tightened.
”You leave me no other choice. You are seventeen, legally able to marry. So you will.”
Thatcher got up from his chair, looming over her. Straightening his suit jacket, checking his cuff links, keeping his eyes away from the brown eyes that belonged to Seraphina.
Stuart Pritchard, the son of his Ministry contact Alistair Pritchard, was on board with the arrangement. He would benefit greatly. Climbing the ranks of the professional quidditch circuit was difficult, but having the best broom manufacturer as your future father in law, who also had a penchant for altering brooms to help those who paid the most… Well, even the most mediocre of players would be unstoppable.
”The wedding announcement will go out next week. You will see Stuart again at your engagement party, and this time, you will be pleasant. You will be Mrs. Alice Pritchard by the end of the summer.”
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-17-2026
Alice’s mouth was dry. She noticed this as her father stared at her, knowing that he didn’t believe her. She’d never been a great liar, he’d usually been able to read her. Why had she tried now? To protect Mateo, her – what even was he? She wasn’t seeing anyone else, but she was promised to be married to someone else.
“You didn’t get his name. Interesting.”
It was obvious in the photographs that she knew who he was, very well. She clenched her jaws shut.
“You spend the night with him, but can’t remember his name. So in all the time you spent together, names were left out of the conversation. What exactly were you doing Alice? Please, enlighten me.”
Alice forced herself to relax her jaw. He’d be able to tell she was tense.
“Dancing,” she said evenly. “That’s what I was doing.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t look away. Her head pounded.
“Very well. While the article is rather vague, there is enough to go off of. You see… I know people Alice. People that will have no trouble finding this man.”
She knew this. While she didn’t think her father was very smart, he did have connections. She had never been entirely sure what kind of connections he had, but… Her brown eyes watched as he pressed his spent cigarette on the photograph of Mateo’s face.
Her jaw tightened again, just briefly, before she relaxed it again.
“He will be found and dealt with.”
She felt something cold move through her at that. Mateo’s face flashed behind her eyes: his grin, the book on the table. She filed it somewhere her father couldn’t see and kept her face perfectly still. How long did they have before Mateo was identified?
”You leave me no other choice. You are seventeen, legally able to marry. So you will.”
Alice’s eyes widened, ever so slightly, not expecting the turn of topics. Most arranged marriages happened after graduation. That’s what was happening to Tilly and Dragon. But this? She wasn’t stupid. She turned eighteen in September. She wouldn’t be seventeen for much longer.
Then he stood. She watched him straighten his jacket, check his cufflinks, and felt the weight of what was coming before he said it.
”The wedding announcement will go out next week. You will see Stuart again at your engagement party, and this time, you will be pleasant. You will be Mrs. Alice Pritchard by the end of the summer.”
The panic arrived quietly, like it usually did for her. Contained, underneath, pressed flat against her ribs where it couldn’t show. Stuart Pritchard. End of summer. The words moved through her like cold water and she sat with her hands folded in her lap. Her face gave him absolutely nothing.
But she was silent momentarily. Alice knew she had no choice. Not in this moment. Alarm bells were sounding in her head. RUN! was the only thought she had. But she couldn’t run. Not now.
Alice looked up at her father. He was pure evil. She’d known it for a while now, but this…
Mrs. Alice Pritchard by the end of summer. If this happened, what would happen to Hogwarts? What did that future even mean for her?
“Yes, Father,” she said, her voice tight but even. She didn’t trust herself to say anything else.
Married. By the end of summer. Before September.
Alice felt like she might be sick.
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Thatcher Ravenstone - 10-18-2026
”Dancing.”
Thatcher huffed. They did a fair bit more than dancing, that’s for sure.
He didn’t want to think about it. He wouldn’t think about it. In the end, it didn’t matter, since soon enough she would be married and no longer his problem.
“Yes, Father.”
For once she kept her attitude to herself, and did as she was told. He knew the cooperation wouldn’t last. Thatcher watched her for a long moment before giving her a single nod. There was no apology, no tears, no pleading. Just acceptance.
It was the first sensible decision she had made in weeks.
He knew her submission had nothing to do with respect. Self preservation was a powerful thing. If she fell in line, her life would be a lot easier. If she insisted on resisting, he would remove every comfort she still possessed.
Eventually, she would learn that some decisions were not hers to make. In his mind, the matter was already settled.
Alistar and Stuart Pritchard would receive an owl this afternoon. The contracts would be changed to move the wedding forward. Invitations would be drafted. The announcement would run in the Prophet before the end of the week.
By September, Alice Ravenstone would no longer exist.
Mrs. Alice Pritchard would be the respectable, presentable wife she was required to be. And, someone else’s responsibility.
“You will spend the remainder of the summer at Blackthorn Hall."
His eyes settled on her. "You will not leave these grounds without my permission. You will not owl your friends. You will not receive visitors. You will receive etiquette training weekly."
He stood, his eyes remained on his daughter. Nothing but contempt could be seen in his eyes. "And if this man is foolish enough to contact you..." He picked up the newspaper from the table, folded it neatly one final time. "...I'll know."
He stepped toward the door, opening it before looking back over his shoulder. "You may go upstairs."
RE: Blackthorn Hall :: fracture :: Thatcher - Alice Ravenstone - 10-18-2026
Alice looked up at her father with disdain.
“You will spend the remainder of the summer at Blackthorn Hall. You will not leave these grounds without my permission. You will not owl your friends. You will not receive visitors. You will receive etiquette training weekly. And if this man is foolish enough to contact you… I'll know."
She sat, still, but ready to escape.
“You may go upstairs.”
Alice stood.
She held her shoes in her hand and walked to the door, not looking at him. She saw the folded newspaper. Thought about the cigarette burn where Mateo’s face should be. She moved past him and then up the stairs, holding herself together the best she could.
One step in front of the other. Her hand ran along the banister as she moved closer to the privacy of her room.
She moved quietly, hardly making a sound at all. It wasn’t until she reached her room, entered, and carefully shut the door that her composure broke.
Alice leaned her back against the door and stood momentarily while her thoughts caught up with her reality. She dropped her shoes, and they landed with a thud.
Mrs. Alice Pritchard. By the end of summer.
The words kept swirling around in her head. She pushed off the door and went to the window. The moors stretched out grey and wide and indifferent. Her father was downstairs arranging her life with the efficiency that he arranged business contracts.
She couldn’t leave today. Alice knew that without having to think about it. He would be home all day. Sending owls. Making arrangements. Watching.
She thought back to dancing with Mateo the night before. The way that he looked at her when she took her dress off in the dancehall. The way that he kissed her later, her hands in his hair when they got back to his flat.
Alice could go nowhere. But she wouldn’t be staying. She’d bide her time. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she should have a chance.
She moved to her dresser and pulled out clean clothes, and went to draw herself a bath. Something practical. Something she could do right then that wasn’t falling apart.
She turned eighteen in September. The timing was perfect. She could legally get married now. Images of the life she could have if she stayed flashed through her thoughts. Unhappily married to Stuart Pritchard. He wasn’t the worst but he was no Mateo Wesley.
The thought of him, whatever he was to her, drew a slight smile to her lips. But he was now in trouble. She’d been very careful to keep him out of her life, and out of danger. Thatcher Ravenstone now knew his face. And he knew people.
Leaving wasn’t only to preserve her future, but to save his life which was now in danger.
She lowered herself into the tub, a knot forming in her stomach as she sank beneath the water.