Month XXth, 1869 — "The Castle"
Philip Rowle Elias Grimstone

It was unfortunate, Algernon thought, that it had to come to this. He, of course, didn't like that his children seemed intent on forcing his hand. He was a reasonable man--some imperfection was, if not truly tolerable, was at the very least... understandable. To a degree. And perhaps, under different circumstances, he might have respected a certain amount of spiritedness. Perhaps.

But everything had its limit, and the circumstances could not be changed. And, frankly, Algernon thought that they were well past reasonable. This was a matter of family safety, after all. He couldn't very well tempt fate and wait for another child to be permanently crippled. Or worse.

When the expected knock came at his office door, Algernon called out his permission to enter. "Philip." He nodded curtly at the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

---

The following 2 users Like Algernon Rowle's post:2 users Like Algernon Rowle's post
   Edwin Rowle, Philip Rowle

“Sir,” Philip said, in a tone so similarly curt it almost came across mocking. He couldn’t bring himself to care today. There was so little point pussyfooting around this, anyway: it was an appointment practically bound to go downhill.

(Almost a shame he hadn’t been the one half-deafened, because then he might have been able to get away without listening to whatever the lecture would be.)

Philip dropped into the chair opposite his father, doing his best to look bored and unbothered. If there was one thing he didn’t feel, it was regret for the hexing – Robin was lucky he hadn’t gotten off worse. Philip could have murdered him for it. Now his life was over at nineteen, because quidditch was out the window, all because Robert couldn’t keep his mouth shut for two bloody minutes.

---

  

---

"Do you have anything to say for your actions?" Algernon asked. He didn't think it would make any real difference, of course. If he'd thought his son was capable of any true remorse for his actions, or if he'd thought this would be a moment that would make Philip rethink the choices he wished to make, Algernon might be inclined to give him another chance. His children were imperfect people, mistakes were inevitable.

Mistakes were one thing. The potential for disaster was entirely another, and that was all Algernon saw when he looked at Philip.

---

  

“Yes,” Philip said, leaning back belligerently in his chair – unlike some of his siblings, he had never had a healthy fear of his father. (Robert was the first son, and therefore bound by expectation and duty to be the favourite... and that was a fact he was a fool to have forgotten in the moment of trusting him with anything important.) “It’s not my fault that Robin doesn’t have a spine.”

---

The following 2 users Like Philip Rowle's post:2 users Like Philip Rowle's post
   Melody Crouch, Seneca Lestrange

---

Algernon sighed, feeling suddenly terribly tired. He was at a loss, really, for how this could happen. He thought he'd done all that he could to instill a sense of duty in his children. Truly, he didn't know what he could have done differently, which brought him, inevitably, to the only logical conclusion. It wasn't Algernon's fault as a parent that they were here--it was a defect in his children. Or at least in Philip, but it wouldn't do any of them any good if Algernon let his guard down and assumed this was an isolated case.

(Miranda, of course, had been a special case, but who knew what could have been?)

His hand was already on his wand, but still Algernon said, "Is that all?" He refused to think of it as anything so dramatic as asking a condemned man for his last words--even though that was a bit of what this was.

---

The following 1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post:1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post
   Philip Rowle

Is that all? That ought to have been a warning that he had already said too much. His father wanted him to change tack, of course, make a turnabout and perhaps start pleading his case.

But he wasn’t sorry about Robin. The only thing he was sorry about was losing his chance of playing professional quidditch, because Rowle Sr. had found out from the wrong person, and found out just a few weeks too soon – because Philip had had offers, and he only had one real passion to boot, and if he had been able to bring it to their father, an action completed, a plan achieved, what would the man have done? Philip was nineteen now; his father could hardly just take him by the collar and escort him home from the pitch if he had already been publicly announced a beater. Could he?

No, because that would be an embarrassment for the family. Embarrassment struck him as one thing Algernon Rowle would not tolerate.

There was just a flicker of reservation in Philip’s eyes as he opened his mouth but weighed up his options for a split-second more. What if he gave it up this once, and grovelled? Would a pained apology, a bent knee and a hung head be enough to see Father forgive him for hexing Robin?

Maybe.

But would it be enough to placate his father about the fight and restore his hopes of quidditch? Philip wasn’t that much of an optimist, and he wasn’t an idiot.

Robert was in the Ministry. Father was in the Wizengamot. He would not allow anything less than a respectable career, that was obvious – and swinging about a bat for the next fifteen years would not have been an easy sell, even before The Incident. Philip supposed he would get his pick of dull Ministry departments instead. If he was lucky, maybe he could still swing something in the Quidditch league.

Restraint had never been his forte, though, and the thought of that was not reason enough to rein in his bitterness.

“Why, what do you want me to say?” Philip countered, undaunted, levelling an unyielding stare at his father as if he could possibly intimidate the man who had raised him. “I’m not sorry.”

---

The following 2 users Like Philip Rowle's post:2 users Like Philip Rowle's post
   Henry Berkwood, Melody Crouch

---

"No," Algernon acknowledged. "No, I don't expect you are." More's the pity, really, but at least, if nothing else, it absolved Algernon of any guilt for this. Did the hangman feel guilt for the deaths of the criminals he executed? Did the judge regret the condemned?

No. He didn't think they did. Just as he didn't think he would regret this. Raising his wand, Algernon said, "Imperio!"

---

The following 1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post:1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post
   Philip Rowle

Father sounded long-suffering, to be sure (as he often did, talking to Philip) but why did he sound so – defeated? Where was the argument, where was the lecture, where was the punishment? Why did he sound relieved, when nothing was yet resolved?

Philip’s face had just enough time to crease when his father took up his wand and pointed at him. Was he going to hex Philip half to deafness now, an ear for an ear –?

No. If Philip heard the incantation, he did not register it, because there was a feeling so intense he felt like he was flying. Like he had just been lifted out of his seat by a wave of relief: like all his problems had been swept away in the flood, and left him clean and unworried and new. Philip was – calm, and happy, and he wasn’t sure he knew what worry felt like at all, now.

He wasn’t angry anymore. He did feel sorry, and tried his best to swallow it, to digest this: he had done something wrong. He couldn’t believe he had done it, now. He had been a fool to fight Robin, a fool to do or think whatever he had, before. Philip knew this, because he felt imbued with the new blessing of his father’s forgiveness. Father had given him a second chance.

Unconsciously, he had straightened in his chair, all the tension scrubbed out of his limbs, head and shoulders and hands. His hands were on his lap now, contentedly. His eyes hadn’t left his father, save to blink against the light, but his expression now was a placid one. He felt as if he were smiling inside, like the world around him had brightened. This was fine. Everything was fine.

And Philip sat, just – waiting. Just sitting and waiting and being, entirely at peace with the world.

---

The following 1 user Likes Philip Rowle's post:1 user Likes Philip Rowle's post
   Henry Berkwood

---

Algernon breathed out a long sigh. "There now," he said. "That's much better, isn't it?" There was no guilt, just as he'd expected, though the burden he carried felt that much heavier. Philip, Algernon was convinced, would have never been capable of easing that burden. This was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east. Some people were just fundamentally broken where it counted most. This was the kindest option he could have chosen.

The family would endure. If he had to sacrifice one of his sons for the greater good, so be it. He had more children, after all.

---

The following 1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post:1 user Likes Algernon Rowle's post
   Elias Grimstone