Disclaimer: Harry Potter and it's characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Not me.
Just a random drabble, not polished at all. It's almost stream of consciousness, hehe....
Father shouts at my mother over the voice in the radio. I rest my chin on the kitchen counter next to the buzzing black device. I try to zero in on that little voice.
"...city...Chicago is burning. In other news..."
It fades in and out, riding out tremors like static waves. I wonder if you could iron out the crinkles in that voice and if you'd be able to hear a grown man when you were all done.
A pale hand slams down on top of the little radio and the broadcast cuts off with an unpleasant screech. My father is sneering down at me, beady, squinty eyes trying to see me around his large hooked nose. Sometimes I pretend I can hide from his stares if I stand directly under it, but it never really works.
"You useless little shit! Feckin get off your arse and fix dinner. Your mother's too busy screwin' around to do her effin' job!"
Some spittle falls on my face as he yells and I wince. I wipe it off and mumble, "Yessir," then pull up the stool we keep right up next to the counter especially for me. I climb on top of it and start looking for a can of baked beans from the cupboard.
I can hear my mother crying in the sitting room. I set the water running and get the beans ready to cook. I like the sound of the water--it's like talking without saying anything--so I let it run until the beans are ready.
Shutting off the fire in the stove, I take the pan of beans of the burner and bring it over to the counter. My mother is sitting there. Her eyes are red and she is staring out of the grimy kitchen window with one hand in her hair like she always does after.
I set the pan on the countertop and turn away to get some bowls but I stop when she begins to talk to me.
"Severus, child, what are you doing?"
"I'm fixing our dinner."
She laughs a quiet, wheezing laugh, which is really only two breaths of air and is almost a cough. "For Crissake, why're you doin' that for?"
"Dad said." I go and get some bowls and spoons. They still have some bits of food on them. It's quiet while I set the table, until my mother catches my wrist and says:
"Don't be silly, child. It's a mother's job to take care of her own family, innit?" She smiles at me, but her teeth are crooked like my father's and her lips are chapped. I wonder if real mums ever smiled like the ones on the tele who planted tulips and had their hair up in pretty, neat swirls.
"Mum," I say, trying to free my wrist, "I can do it myself."
She clicks her tongue and takes the last bowl from my hand and resolutely replaces it in my father's spot with a sharp clatter. She keeps her hand on the back of my neck as she sets the spoon down next to it with great care. I squirm--her hand is too warm and her skin feels like wrinkled wax paper.
She uses her hand to steer me to the counter, but I stop her before she can take the beans.
"No, dad said I got to fix dinner myself."
There's that cough-laugh again. "Severus, he didn't mean it. Now mind your mother and clear the center of the table, boy."
She moves to take the pan to the dining table but I stand in her way, I'm confused. "What do you mean, of course he meant it!"
"Child, I will not-"
"But dad said!"
So quick I can hardly tell she'd moved, she drops the pan with the baked beans and slaps me across the cheek. My head snaps to the side and my cheek stings like hell.
"He did not mean it, how many times must I tell you, you stupid, STUPID boy?!"
I do not cry, but there are baked beans all over the floor and I stare at them while I keep my head down.
Her voice cracks but she's not shaking at all, she's completely stiff and pale as the dead.
"See what you've made me do, Severus? That's our money you've gone and thrown away, do you understand? Huh?! Do you think we like living this way, Severus? DO you think we would stay in this shithole if we didn't have your ungrateful mouth to feed- YOU'RE the GODDAMN USELESS ONE! You hear--you will LOOK AT YOUR MOTHER when she is speaking to you!"
Her waxy fingers pinch my chin and force my face skywards like I'm giving thanks. She slaps me again, now around the eyes. I shut them right on time.
My mother walks away and crushes some beans beneath her slippers, turning them into ugly looking balls of red mush on the kitchen floor. My whole face is too warm now and my chest is too cold, but I notice that the air smelled like tulips where my mother had been standing.
When I've cleaned up the beans, I start up on a new can and turn up the water as high as it can go. I hear talking, then yelling, in the other room; I think it is probably the tele. Water and stove on, I hop off of my stool and turn the switch on the little black radio to "ON."
The little crinkled voice comes on again.
"...the...in...London is burning... In other news...."
-End