CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
SOBER THOUGHTS
(trigger warning: mentions of alcohol abuse and intrusive thoughts)

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FRASER WAS DRUNK BY breakfast the next morning. Freya was already sitting at the dining table beside George when her dad stumbled into the kitchen, an unconcealed bottle of Firewhiskey in his hands that Freya wasn't the only one to notice. Fred and George exchanged a grim, knowing glance. Harry and Ron seemed confused, and Hermione was looking between the father and daughter like realisation had finally dawned on her. Freya was surprised it hadn't sooner. She knew Hermione had noticed the Firewhiskey stench at the station yesterday.

Mrs Weasley was at the bleary-eyed man's side in an instant, sympathetic but unimpressed by the way he stumbled into the doorframe before slowly righting himself. She tried to take the bottle away but was brushed aside dismissively as Fraser slammed it onto the table opposite his daughter, like he was mocking her.

"Morning, everyone," he chuckled with an evident slur to his voice. No one responded but Fraser didn't seem to notice. Instead, he clumsily drew out a seat and sat down, nodding to a concerned Sirius as the man came to join him. "Hey, mate, you need a drink too?"

Sirius sighed and shook his head. "I'm good," he insisted, but there was a pained edge to his voice, a sliver of doubt that told Freya he wanted nothing more than to down the whole bottle himself. "Hey, why don't you head back to bed? You seem tired."

Fraser scoffed at that, "No kidding, mate. Didn't sleep a wink last night. You do remember what today is, right? Azkaban didn't mess with your brain that much, did it?"

"Dad," Freya began, face flushing as everyone's eyes drifted to her. "That's not--"

"It's okay, Freya," Sirius cut her off with a weak grin, but Freya noticed the way he refused to look at her. Instead, he stared at Fraser for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. "Of course I remember, Fraser," he said at last. Freya really wished the conversation would just end. It was hard enough without everyone else knowing their business too. What would she say when she couldn't avoid their questions any longer? That her dad was a lowkey drunk constantly grieving everything they'd lost? She loved Fraser, but not this version of him, the only one they saw. "And I get how you're feeling. I do. But don't take your sadness out on me."

Fraser's eyes darkened, and Sirius knew he'd said the wrong thing. In an instant, the man was towering over him, spewing profanities as Mrs Weasley attempted to usher her shocked children out of the room. Freya wanted to follow them, to go back to sleeping in George's arms, but she couldn't. Her dad needed her, even if he wasn't going to admit it, even if she didn't want him to.

"Dad, please." So she tried again, reaching for his arm as he shoved at Sirius' chest, hoping to antagonise him into a fight. "Dad, stop it."

Fraser just ignored her, pushing his friend again. "Come on, Sirius, hit me," he laughed, but Sirius' hands stayed firmly at his side. At the touch of skin on his elbow, he stumbled back suddenly, eyes still locked on the man as he snapped at Freya, "Get out of my way."

"No," she scoffed despite Mrs Weasley and Sirius' protests. Her dad had to be in there somewhere, buried deep beneath the weight of alcohol and sorrow. She'd dig to set him free, no matter what it cost her. "Dad, let's just go upstairs, yeah? You need rest."

"Marlene, I said--"

All at once, everything stopped.

Fraser's face paled as realisation struck. He started to sob, hunched over with the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. Mrs Weasley rushed over to him, forgetting her children standing in the doorway. Freya and Sirius remained frozen, the former with a blank stare on her face, the latter looking like Fraser had punched him in the gut. He quickly turned away as Freya glanced at him, head hung low like her features would suddenly change if he thought about it hard enough.

Freya wanted to scream, to lash out at her father, to curse Marlene McKinnon for being related to her at all. But she didn't, not with her dad watching her over Mrs Weasley's shoulder, and certainly not with all her friends, with George, having witnessed it all unfold.

Instead, she did the one thing she knew best. She turned on her heel, ignoring Fraser's slur of her name as she shoved past the twins, past Ron and Harry on the stairs, past Hermione and Ginny clinging to each other on the landing. She just wanted her heart to stop hammering, for Marlene's name to stop echoing in her head, taunting her again and again.

Marlene.

Marlene.

Marlene, I said...

Maybe, it would've been easier if she and Marlene traded places. If Freya died with her mother and grandparents, and Fraser got to have his sister back. At least she would've been able to help the Order. She would've made a change. What was Freya doing except existing, and causing her father -- and even people she barely knew like Sirius -- nothing but pain?

There was a knock on her door but Freya didn't answer it. Amongst the sadness and the anger, she felt embarrassed, guilty for causing such a scene. She should've checked on her dad sooner, locked up his supply of alcohol and threw away the key. Why couldn't she just do the right thing? She could've fixed this.

"Freya," a soft voice called out from the corridor. George. What did he want? "Frey, can I come in?"

No, her brain shouted, pounding warning fists against her skull. She'd seen his face when she ran upstairs. He was sad for her. She didn't want him to be. She didn't want him to feel anything when it came to the train wreck that was Freya McKinnon. He'd only get hurt too, even if she didn't mean it.

No, her brain said again, just as the 'yes' passed her lips, barely louder than a whisper. You don't deserve comfort from him.

Her brain was right. She didn't. George was good, he was a constant brightness she took for granted. But as he kneeled beside her, hugging her like he had the night before, like he had every intention of staying with her for as long as she needed him, she decided to be selfish for just a little while longer.

She clung to his shirt, the first sob falling, and stayed that way until Fraser's cries downstairs faded into silence and he locked himself back in his room to down another bottle.

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IT WAS NIGHTFALL BY the time Freya gained the courage to leave her room again. She managed to convince George to join the others around lunch, when his stomach rumbled loud enough for both of them to hear, and then she was alone with her thoughts. She found a picture of Estelle and Marlene in her trunk, sobbed for hours at her aunt's smiling face, pretending to be asleep every time Mrs Weasley poked her head into the room to check on her. Nothing Freya said or did made her feel any better. It was a tortuous cycle. First, she was angry, then guilty because she felt angry over someone she loved dying. Then came the anger for her guilt, and she was back at the beginning again.

She longed for sleep to take her, but sleep was not so kind this time. It left her in the land of the living, forced her to drown in emotion like her father drowned in alcoholic substances. There came a point where she couldn't stand it anymore, where it felt like the walls were closing in and Marlene's name started echoing again. So she forced herself up onto her feet and out into the corridor. No one was around, but it felt like they were peering at her through open doorways, judging her for the tear stains on her face and the hollow feeling in her chest. She wondered what Mrs Weasley would say if she asked to go for a walk around the block. However, before she could even think to ask her, Sirius was appearing on the staircase just as Freya moved to head down it.

"Oh. You're awake," he stated, though both of them knew she had not been sleeping.

"Yeah, I am," she said simply, arms folded over her torso.

For a moment, they stood in silence. Sirius looked apologetic, Freya like a bird with clipped wings. She wanted to run, but her feet remained rooted in place as Sirius sighed and took a step closer. "Look, about earlier, and your dad..."

"It doesn't matter," she cut in quickly. "He's always like this on her birthday."

Sirius' lips pursed at the admittance. "But that doesn't excuse what he called you. It was clear that it upset you."

Freya laughed. She hadn't meant to, but the sound fell past her lips before she could hold it back and smother it. Sirius blinked in surprise but said nothing, just waiting for her to formulate the right words. Finally, she sighed, her smile fading, "I'm fine, Sirius. He'll be okay tomorrow and we'll just move on." That might've been true, but then they'd hit the next important date, and Fraser would fall apart again, leaving Freya to pick up the pieces.

"Freya, that's not--"

"Healthy?" she finished for him. "I know. But he's never going to get over it, and I'm never going to be Marlene or my mother, so what am I supposed to do?"

There was a sudden shift in the air as a floorboard creaked behind them. Sirius' eyes flitted past her, and without even having to turn, Freya knew who was there. The man before her gave a grim nod before turning on his heel, leaving Fraser alone with his daughter. She knew he heard what she said, but she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry about it.

"Freya, can we talk?" he asked after several seconds of silence.

She didn't want to. She wanted to forget about her walk, to head back to her room and hide until it came time for Hogwarts to return, but her dad looked so lost, and even when pushed to the edge, Freya would always want to help him find himself again. So she nodded, wordlessly following him into an empty room just in case any of the Weasleys wanted to come upstairs. It was bad enough that they'd witnessed his breakdown at breakfast. Freya would feel even worse if they interrupted this too.

"I know you're angry with me," he began the moment he closed the door. He still reeked of alcohol but he seemed somewhat sober now. There was a certain sharpness to his eyes that hadn't been there before, one foot planted in reality and the other in his sister's grave. He was glancing between her and a tapestry of a family tree on the wall, but Freya refused to meet his stare head-on. "And you have every right to be..."

Freya sighed. "I'm not angry, dad," she insisted. She was deep down, but she didn't want to push the knife in further. "I'm just tired. And I miss mum... and Marlene."

Fraser swallowed thickly at the mention of his sister's name. There were times where Freya would catch him watching her like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, like his little sister was playing chess with him or going back off to Hogwarts. Sure, he'd never called her Marlene before, but she always secretly had a feeling that she was all he saw her as. Now more than ever, with him looking so startled, she knew that some part of it was true.

"Dad..."

"Yes?" he prompted when she went quiet. "Freya?"

"You do know I'm not your sister, right?" she said, avoiding his eyes at the sudden hitch of breath. "I'm not... you just... I'm not Marlene. And I don't... I don't care that you called me that today -- well, I do, but there's no changing it. I just... She and I are two completely different people. And we're always going to be. But sometimes, it feels like you and everyone else want me to be like her, and are disappointed that I'm not."

For a moment, Fraser was quiet, and Freya feared how he would respond. She shouldn't have said that. How stupid could she be? He'd never be the same with her again. There would always be this... distance they couldn't erase, growing wider with each day Marlene stayed dead and she remained alive.

"I don't need you to be your mother or Marlene," he said at last, prompting Freya to look up in surprise. He looked angry, but not at her. At himself? At everyone who put them in this position? She wasn't sure. "I need you to be you."

For once, she couldn't tell if he was lying. But when he came over to hug her, she didn't fight him. And when he left her alone, she didn't crumble, even when her feet toed the line that would send her over that edge.

Maybe she'd never know if he meant it, if Fraser McKinnon was okay with losing everything for his daughter. But for just a moment, Freya allowed herself to foolishly cling to it, to be content with herself and every bit about her that failed where Marlene McKinnon never would.

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A/N: Okay, so I know this is a lot. But I've been alluding to Fraser's struggles for a while now, and I felt it was important to acknowledge them properly on the date I chose for Marlene's birthday. What you read here is not healthy, and both Fraser and Freya are aware of it. But it's going to be a while before Fraser gets help and before Freya realises her worth outside of her aunt's legacy. I hope you guys are willing to stick around for it, because I sure am excited to write it. Let me know what you thought of this chapter? Thanks for reading!