Broken Feathers || Marauders Era

{13} Confrontation

"I don't know what it is you're doing, but it needs to stop."

I froze midway through flipping the page of an astronomy book, glancing up to see my father looming over the back of my chair with a familiar frown on his face. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said dismissively. 

A year ago I wouldn't have dared to talk to him like that, but if he didn't respect me enough to tell me the truth, why should I respect him? 

"Freya," he warned.

"What?" I snapped. 

"This self-destructive act needs to stop." 

"It's not a self-destructive act." 

"It is," he said firmly. 

"It's not," I insisted. 

"It is, my dear," he said, his voice softening, "And it needs to stop before you pass the point of no return." 

"Why? So I don't ruin your reputation?" I replied scathingly. 

"So you don't ruin your life. Your grades are slipping. You're getting in trouble. You're getting in with a bad crowd. You're not even trying anymore."

"Why? Why bother trying if I'm never going to reap the rewards?"

"You will, Freya. Your mother almost made it thirty-"

"And did she achieve everything she wanted out of life?" I countered, "Was she at the place she wanted to be in her career? Did she have a family that she got to see grow and flourish?"

"Well..."

"Exactly. She was married for, what, two years? She had a one-year-old daughter who she never got to see grow up. I looked into her career as well, for the record. She was primed for a big promotion right before it happened. She got so close, only for it all to be ripped away. I. Don't. Want. That."

"Freya, it could all be ripped away at any moment despite that."

"'Could'. Exactly. For other people, it's a maybe, or a possibility. For me, it's a definite. I'm not going to make it to thirty, Dad. I'm not. Chances are, you'll see exactly what happened to Mum happen to me too."

"Darling..."

"No, you can't tell me that it's all going to be okay, Dad. I am twelve, now. If I follow the same path as her, I have about sixteen years of my life left. What am I supposed to do with that information? I'm in school, I can't do anything. Do you know what it's like to know when your life is going to end?"

"It's not like you're going to die."

"Except it is. You said it yourself."

"I didn't... I didn't mean it." 

"You did, Dad. And even if you hadn't, it was implied, and it would have been the conclusion I came to anyway," I said shakily, "I have sixteen years left. Do you know what it's like to be told that at twelve?" 

"I - no." 

"Exactly." 

"Freya, you can't just give up," he implored.

"I'm not, Dad. I'm trying to live while I still can."

He sighed heavily, dropping down into the seat opposite me. But before he could say anything, someone cleared their throat. My eyes widened and I twisted in my seat to see the librarian standing, arms crossed, at the edge of the aisle closest to us. She was staring at us - or rather, glaring.