05 April 1923
London
Ashcroft & Associates
The second floor of the office building had become predictable. Silas Crowe liked predictable.
From the cafe across the street, Silas could see into the second floor office of Ashcroft & Associates, not fully, but enough to get an idea of the inner workings. There was no sign advertising their work. No unnecessary visitors. Those that came didn’t linger. Professional. Discreet.
The perfect place for someone trying not to be noticed.
He folded his newspaper and glanced toward the building as the second story window opened. Pulling out his pocket watch, he noted the time and huffed a smirk. Same time as always. Which meant, in less than two minutes an owl would take off and Seraphina would depart for her lunch. Predictable.
Silas waited. It wasn't Seraphina he was interested in.
Same as always, a tawny owl poked its head out from the second floor window carrying a cream colored envelope bound to its leg. With a pop, Silas was on the roof blowing into the brass whistle, producing a high pitched sound too high for human ears. The charm woven into it had been designed years ago by someone who understood birds far better than people.
Seraphina Ashcroft stepped outside, locking the office door behind her. She disappeared toward Berkeley Square without so much as looking over her shoulder. No wiser to the owl no longer flying to its destination.
The owl banked, circled once, then descended onto the iron railing beside Silas. "There you are love." Flipping the envelope over, Silas smiled when he saw the recipient's name in a fancy feminine script. Miss Alice Ravenstone. " Sorry there, no letter to deliver now."
The letter disappeared inside his coat, a fresh owl treat appeared in its place. The bird accepted the reward without complaint before launching back into the grey London sky.
By the time it reached Hogwarts, it would look like the letter had fallen at some point in it’s journey. Owls were reliable, but not infallible.
Later that same day
Ravenstone Flightworks Headquarters
On the top floor of Ravenstone Flightworks' London offices, Thatcher Ravenstone was reviewing contracts when the knock came. Three measured taps. Always three.
"Come." Silas entered without ceremony, removing his gloves as he crossed the room. "She finally wrote."
Thatcher’s head slowly rose to look at Silas, wondering if he was telling the truth. It wasn’t the first time he had come with a letter for it to be the wrong recipient.
Silas placed the envelope on the polished mahogany desk, ‘Miss Alice Ravenstone’ almost glowing against the crisp cream background. Thatcher didn't need to read the handwriting to know who it belonged to.
Silas stood quietly while Thatcher broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. The room quiet, waiting for someone to speak first. Silas wasn’t stupid enough to do such a thing.
Thatcher’s eyes moved steadily across the page. Not once. Twice. A muscle clenched in his jaw. "Anything else?" His voice had taken on a dangerous, angry edge.
Silas nodded, not wasting time. "She keeps regular hours. Leaves the office around six most evenings. Takes lunch at one of the local cafes, often the one right across the street, but that is less predictable.”
Thatcher considered that. "Good. Keep following her until I tell you otherwise. If anything changes let me know. I want all letters addressed to Alice Ravenstone brought directly to me."
Silas nodded, looking at his boss from across the large desk. "What would you like done with the letter?"
Thatcher's fingers traced the edge of the parchment. His expression passive, almost bored. Typically he would have said to burn it, Today… He slipped it into the inside pocket of his robes instead. "I'll handle this one personally."
Silas understood immediately, no further questions were asked as he tipped his hat towards Thatcher and left the office.
06 April 1923
Friday, 7am
Ashcroft & Associates
Thanks to Silas, Thatcher knew exactly where to find Seraphina. Entering the office wasn’t as hard as it should have been. Greasing the palms of a few building workers got him entry for a small price.
Worth it.
There, he waited for Sera to enter. Sitting at her desk, steaming cup of hot coffee in hand, feet kicked up on her desk like he owned the room, his eyes caught hers, the second she opened the door. She looked surprised to see him.
She shouldn’t be.
The letter addressed to Alice was the only paper on the large desk. The cream color glowed against the dark mahogany wood. They stared at each other for a beat before Thatcher took a sip of his coffee and smiled. "Your handwriting hasn't changed."
The door swung open at precisely seven, the way it always did.
Seraphina stepped inside, coat still on, the grey April morning clinging to her shoulders, and stopped.
He was at her desk; feet up, coffee in hand, looking for all the world like he had been there long enough to get comfortable. Her eyes moved to the letter before they moved back to him. Cream colored parchment, her own handwriting facing up, the words she’d written catching the light from the window:
Your name was not always Alice. The name you were given at birth was chosen with great care by someone who loved you before she had any right to ask anything of you, and it was kept only as long as it could be. I do not write to disrupt your life or to make demands of you. I write only because you deserve to know that you were wanted, from the very beginning, by someone you have never had the chance to meet. If you ever wish to, I am here.
It’d been reckless to write, but over the past two months she had bid her time, waiting and conducting legitimate Ashcroft business from the very desk Thatcher had taken over. She’d been careful during that time, keeping a safe distance from him and from their daughter, catching only glimpses that cost her more than she let herself acknowledge. She’d been patient and methodical, and once that patience had finally reached its limit was when she had written this one letter.
Two months, and he’d retrieved it in less than a day.
Sera understood, in the space of that single breath in which she spotted him at her desk, what it meant. She’d been watched. She wasn’t used to being watched. He had mapped her routine, her movements, and intercepted her owl somewhere between the window in her office and Hogwarts. He had been more prepared for her than she had given him credit for.
She closed the door behind her. Quietly. Then she looked at him. “You’ve been busy,” she commented, crossing her arms over her chest.
Thatcher watched her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth curling up just a tad. She'd figured it out faster than he'd expected. Most people would have questioned the owl. Wondered if it had been blown off course, if the weather had turned, if Hogwarts had misplaced the post.
Not Seraphina.
One look at the letter on the desk and she'd reached the correct conclusion.
"You've always been observant." He said, setting the coffee cup down on her desk. "One of the things I admired about you."
His eyes moved slowly to the letter sitting between them, his fingers resting against the edge, tapping it almost absentmindedly. "I'll admit, I expected something... different."
He unfolded the letter again, though he'd already memorized every word.
"'Your name was not always Alice.'" His voice remained calm, conversational. "'You deserve to know that you were wanted from the very beginning.'”
A humorless smile crossed his face. "Beautifully written," he said with mock enthusiasm. “And manipulative.”
Folding the letter back up, Thatcher leaned back comfortably in her chair, like he regularly did business in the office.
"I've often wondered what sort of woman you would be, after seventeen years of guilt." His gaze swept across the office. The shelves. The desk. The carefully organized room. "I had imagined someone far less... patient. Less put together. But then, patience has never been your weakness."
Standing, Thatcher moved with the grace of a panther to the front of the desk. His arms crossed as he leaned up against the desk looking at the woman. "Tell me, Seraphina..." His voice softened, almost curious. "Did you genuinely believe a letter like this would simply arrive on Alice's bedside table without me knowing?"
He chuckled quietly. "You assume that while at school she is beyond my reach. As a rule, I don’t allow complications to affect my family. And you, Seraphina, are a complication."
His blue eyes settled on hers again. "Alice is exactly where she is supposed to be. She has a future. A family name. A position in society. Prospects that families spend generations trying to build."
He gestured vaguely toward the intercepted letter. "And then you arrive. Not because you have anything to offer her..."
His eyes hardened. "...but because you feel entitled to something. I'll save you the trouble of writing another." He said, holding up the envelope. “This was never going to reach her. The next one won't either. Every owl you send, every attempt you make. I will know and I will stop it.”
Holding his wand to the letter, with no words spoken the parchment went up in flames.
Sera watched Thatcher evenly, showing no outward reaction to his words even though they did affect her. But throughout her life, after her stint hiding from her family in the arms of the man before her, she had learned that it was best to hide her emotions. She’d feel whatever she wanted after he left.
And he would leave.
A younger, less disciplined Seraphina Ashcroft would have jumped across the desk at him, attempting to wring the asshole’s neck. Especially when he began reciting her letter back to her. She bit her tongue, shifting her weight to the other foot, tilting her head up a bit. Holding her head up high was important, no matter how she felt inside.
Thatcher stood and moved around her desk, crossing his arms to lean against it. She remained near the door and didn’t cross the room to reclaim her desk. She also did not flinch from the flames as she watched it burn her one outreach attempt to her daughter. She just looked at him, her face patient and cold.
How could she ever have thought she could love him? She’d been so dumb when she was younger.
Sera let silence fill the room. Not because she didn’t know what to say, but to try to gain control of the situation. This Thatcher was much different than the one from the gala. He’d been taken off guard by her presence. Not anymore.
“You burned my owls. You had me watched for two months. You came here yourself at seven in the morning and sat at my desk.” Sera listed off the things he had kept himself busy with since she made her presence known in London. “That is not the behavior of a man who isn’t worried, Thatcher.”
Sera tilted her head slightly, her eyes sparkling a bit as a smirk crossed her lips.
“I wrote one letter. You burned it, the way you burn everything that inconveniences you. And yet – here you are. Making threats because you are worried. And I fear it isn’t for our daughter. It is for you and for your name. Is that right?”
For the first time since entering the office, Thatcher gave a genuine smile. Not because she amused him, but because she was so close to understanding his motives. Yet, she still managed to miss the point entirely.
"You still think this is about me." He shook his head once.
Turning away from her, Thatcher stood in front of the window overlooking the London street below. A pair of businessmen hurried along the sidewalk, coats pulled closed against the morning chill. London moved on, unaware that two people upstairs were deciding the future of a young woman who had no idea that either of them cared.
"My name survived the Prophet. It survived a Ministry investigation, gossip, and it will survive you.” Turning back to face her, arms crossed over his chest, his posture and wide stance made him look larger and more foreboding than he truly was.
"No, Seraphina, this isn’t about preserving my reputation,” his voice almost casual now.
"It is about preserving order. Alice has obligations. A future already arranged. Families have already been spoken to, agreements have been made. Assets aligned.” Each word landed with as much emotion as a business meeting about broom production. No one would guess that he was discussing the life of his eldest daughter.
"You see a daughter. A young girl that you want to embrace and coddle. I see the next generation of Ravenstones. Those,” he said, smiling and pointing a finger at Seraphina. ”Are not the same things.”
Silence settled over the office. Thatcher’s head tipping to the side to take in the woman that once held a spot in his heart. There was nothing now except contempt. ”You think that writing Alice letters is a way to reconnect. A kindness. It’s neither. What is it really? Selfish.” He paused, hoping to see anger in her eyes.
"You are asking her to question the only life she has ever known because it eases your conscience. I won't permit it." he took a step closer to where Sera stood near the door. As he grew closer, he towered over the petit woman.
"I've already watched one daughter become... unusable. Everleigh was a tragedy, I've learned from it.” There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice. The word hung in the room. His eyes never left Seraphina's.
"I have no intention of allowing Alice to make the same mistake. If she fulfills her obligations…” He gave a slight shrug, his demeanor taking on a lightness. ”...she'll have a life most woman would envy. If she doesn't..." Silence. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t backtrack or add details. He didn’t need to. The silence went on long enough for Sera to hear the implication without him ever speaking it aloud.
Finally, he smiled. A small, controlled upturn of his lips. His face took on an almost pleasant mask. ”So, I suggest you stop thinking like a mother. You surrendered that privilege the day you left her on my doorstep.. And start thinking like someone who understands exactly what will happen if she continues to interfere.”
The man before her spoke, and all the while Seraphina’s brain ingested everything he said. She didn’t trust him, even though her ability said that he was telling the truth. Or perhaps he only believed it was the truth. But the man that she had left their daughter with almost two decades ago had changed.
Or maybe, she thought, this had always been him and she had been too young and stupid to realize it. Honestly at the time, any man was better than the arrangement her father had set up for her.
She looked up at Thatcher Ravenstone, unwilling to back down despite how much he towered over her. She was used to feeling small, which was one reason it was so important to her that she remain in control.
"I've already watched one daughter become... unusable. Everleigh was a tragedy, I've learned from it. "I have no intention of allowing Alice to make the same mistake. If she fulfills her obligations, she'll have a life most women would envy. If she doesn't...”
Sera’s head tilted up, her eyes narrowing very slightly at his implication. A threat. A real threat. The man before her was absolutely mad if he thought she would let him do any harm to Luminița.
“Unusable,” Sera commented when Thatcher was finally done listening to himself speak. She said nothing else for a long moment, just looked up at him with the stillness of someone who had heard something she would not forget.
Then she moved past him toward the other door in the room. The office was tiny, it did not take her long to get there. She stopped and let her hand rest on the door knob, her fingers gripping the metal tightly.
She was shaken. She had to make an exit. Thatcher had made himself perfectly clear and Sera… she had other things to do. Damage control, of sorts.
“You described our daughter the way my father described me,” she said quietly, without turning around. She was swallowing down an emotional response that would happen in private, not under his watchful eye so he could gloat. Her eyes burned. Her voice had been slightly strained.
“I suggest you see yourself out. I will not be long.” Seraphina finally turned the knob and stepped into the washroom, shutting the door behind her without waiting for his response. She could see his smirk, almost feel the rush of adrenaline he was feeling from having ‘won’ this confrontation.
All the while, Sera leaned against the bathroom door, her eyes squeezed shut as she willed herself to not break down until she heard the office door shut behind him.
“Unusable,” she parroted. He simply shrugged, looking almost bored.
The word hung between them. Then his expression hardened once more. "You should consider returning to Romania. London is a remarkably dangerous place for people who become inconvenient."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Crossing to the door on the other side of the room, Thatcher’s eyes tracked her every move. Waiting for a twitch of her hand, reaching for her wand. It didn’t come. Smart of her, if she had chosen violence, it would have ended badly for her.
“I suggest you see yourself out. I will not be long.”
Thatcher chuckled darkly. He was being dismissed. His hand finally turned the knob. Before opening the door, Thatcher glanced over his shoulder one final time.
"Stay away from Alice. If she lives the life I've built for her, she'll never know hardship." His smile returned, thin and cold. "If you convince her otherwise..."
He gave the smallest shrug. "...well."
No explanation. None was necessary. The door opened, without another word, Thatcher Ravenstone walked out of Ashcroft & Associates as though he'd just concluded another successful business meeting. The office fell quiet behind him. The scent of his coffee still lingered in the room as the door closed softly behind him.
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