serendipity - r. lupin

SEVENTY ONE

"I'm worried about her, Tom," Mary said, "She shouldn't have to worry about things like this at her age."

"I agree," Thomas replied. You could tell his mind was elsewhere, his voice low and distant.

Mary's small heels clacked against the tiles and echoed through the kitchen as she paced, the noise reaching even the top of the stairs. "She certainly shouldn't have to take up such a parental role because we aren't as capable. Does it make you feel weak knowing that our daughter can do more than us to protect our family?"

"No," Thomas said. The rattle of paper suggested he was turning over the page of a newspaper.

Although she couldn't see her mothers expression, Genevieve could tell by the stop of her mothers pacing that she had grown tired. "Are you even listening?" she asked, sounding both exhausted and annoyed.

"I'm thinking," Thomas answered in that warm, whimsical voice that made Genevieve feel safe. "I'm trying to remember when it was that Genevieve became so stubborn, and if I have ever not been proud of her for it."

"You've always been proud of that girl, but she plans not to go back to school, and I don't want her to regret it."

There was a moment of silence. "I hope you know she's listening, by the way," Thomas said, nonchalant. There was humour in his voice. "Both of our daughters have a habit of earwigging."

There was a movement behind Genevieve. She turned around to see Anna, who had also sneaked out onto the landing, carefully tiptoe her way back into the bedroom. She exchanged a sly smile with Genevieve as she shut the door behind her.

Mary went silent. Her heels clacked against the tiles again, and then on the wooden floor of their hallway. Hands on hips, she looked at her daughter on the top step. Genevieve gave her an awkward tight-lipped smile and a small, pathetic wave. With a sigh, Mary clacked her way back to the kitchen, making sure to close the door behind her this time.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was late when Genevieve's bedroom door creaked open. Under her lamplight, she had been writing a letter to James. It seemed hard to explain her plans of not returning to Hogwarts on parchment. She had been midway through it when her dad walked in. He was smiling and had two mugs in his hands.

"I brought tea," Thomas announced. He placed them both down on her desk. "Don't tell your mother I've been giving you caffeine at this time of night."

"I won't," Genevieve promised, also smiling. She moved from her desk on to her bed so he could take the chair. He did. "Did mum put you up to this?"

Thomas thought for a while, but he knew what she was talking about. "Your mother believes that I have a stronger influence over you, and therefore I'm able to talk sense into you easier," he said, carefully. He didn't sound like he was stepping on eggshells around her. He sounded like he knew what he wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it.

Genevieve wrapped her hands around the mug so she would have something to do with them.  "Do you think that?"

"I have no idea," Thomas answered, honestly. "Here's the thing about being a parent — you never know if you're doing it right. You and Anastasia turned out brilliantly though," he paused. "Except when you're having thoughts about leaving school."

Genevieve took a sip from her drink. It was more on the sweet side, just like how her dad made it, but she found herself preferring it. "Nice tea," she said absentmindedly. "Good flavour. Exquisite." When her father didn't buy into her attempt at changing the conversation, she pressed her lips together. "Please don't try to persuade me to go back Dad," she begged, quietly. "I can't."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You mean you won't?"

"I have a strong reason not to," Genevieve objected. "I don't want to see a photograph of my family in the newspaper at school with the words 'MURDERED' next to it."

Thomas locked his gaze on her for a long time, his face expressionless. He took a deep breath and brushed his palm over his greying stubble on his cheeks. "I don't claim to understand your world, Genevieve," he added. "However, I am aware that you enjoy it. You'll be miserable if you stay here."

"No I won't," she argued. Even though he hadn't meant to insult her, she couldn't help but feel a little distrustful towards him after that remark. Maybe it was the truth that bothered her. "You know I love it here."

"I know you do, but that doesn't change the fact that you'll miss it all."

"So what!" Genevieve reacted angrily. Her attitude had changed, but she didn't care. "At least I'll be able to protect my family!" Her eyes welled up with tears, but they weren't from despair or rage. She didn't know why she was shedding tears; all she knew was that she needed some type of release, which she believed crying would bring.

Through solemn eyes, Thomas watched his daughter try to push down her feelings. He saw the brave façade she was putting on, when she was really just a scared little girl who didn't want to be left alone. "You shouldn't have to protect us," he said. "You're a child, not a solider."

"But I'm also a daughter," Genevieve responded emphatically. With the back of her hand, she brushed away a tear that had escaped. "And I don't want something to happen to my family, knowing I could have done more."

"You forget you have another family." Genevieve's gaze was drawn instinctively to the wall behind Thomas as she heard this. The polaroid photographs returned her stare. Thomas watched her, eyes softened. "Don't put your life on hold out of fear, Genevieve. It isn't selfish to be happy." He drank the rest of his drink and left, not before advising her to get some sleep.

Genevieve didn't even realize what she'd been up to until after Thomas had gone. She returned to her desk and attempted to resume her letter to James, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Her father's statements looked to have had an effect on her. She threw down her pen and scrunched the parchment into a ball, frustrated. It was thrown out with the other failed letter attempts in the bin.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*