SLOTH
Title: acedia
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence and abuse
Word Count: 297
In a dim, dark house in an industrial town in the north of England, a grubby young boy sat at the table and stared at the empty bowl in front of him.
Behind him, in the gloom beside an empty fireplace, a woman lay crying quietly. Every broken sob grated in the boy's ears. He longed to do something - anything - to make it stop, but he knew she wouldn't allow it. Knew that whatever powers he possessed, whatever strange knowledge or uncanny abilities he could call upon, she could do twice, thrice as well - and that she wouldn't. Mustn't. Or the beatings would start again, and worse. And that if he did anything, his mother would suffer for it.
The back door lay broken on the path outside, destroyed when his father had stormed out. The night's darkling was creeping into the kitchen, hiding the pathetic traces of dinner where it had been thrown to the floor. The thin broth had already soaked through the floorboards, and despite the hunger that was eating away at him from the inside, the boy did not try to rescue the few pieces of vegetable remaining. Instead he stared into the bowl, and tried not to cry.
It took another few minutes before the woman rose and moved over to her son. One eye swollen shut, her mouth bruised, she sat and took her son's hand in hers. "Could you stand it, Severus," she said, "if we ... the charity kitchen ... "
"There's nothing else for dinner" he stated in a monotone. "He won't work, there's no money, and he won't let you create anything. We have no choice - but I do." He paused, then looked her full in the face.
"I won't be like him."