nineteen – harry
“Mummy!” Harry squealed happily when he heard their front door opening and he rushed to it, immediately circling his arms around his mother’s soft waist. He looked up and was met with a frown; something that rarely appeared on his mum’s face, but had began making itself more prominent by the years. “Mummy?”
“Harry dear, please let go of me,” she murmured, not daring to look into his eyes, “Your father is going to come home from work tired and I must prepare him dinner before he returns. Go to the backyard and be ready when Father comes home.” Without questioning it, Harry quickly grabbed the Bible from the small, wooden table in the middle of their kitchen and went through the small door that lead to the small yard behind their shack, sat down on the wild grass and began rereading the beginning of the book, which seemed more like a story to him rather than history of his family’s religion. His father had insisted on him learning by heart each chapter, however the small boy never managed to do as his father wished.
It was also quite a painful experience for him; his eyes always felt tired when he tried to read more than one page, his head would ache, and the one time he told his father about it, he slapped Mother across her cheek and ordered her to bathe him in holy water from the church – which hurt even more, even thought his mother’s hands were as soft as silk. After that, Harry had decided to never talk about it ever again.
“He that committeth sin is of the devil; for the devil sinneth from the beginning. For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil,” Harry read to himself, wincing when an acute pain shot through his head. Father would always blame sickness to Satan, but Harry couldn’t understand why that man would make his throat itchy and his eyes droopy whenever he read the Bible. It just did not make sense.
The familiar sound of the door startled the five-year-old as he stumbled on his feet, throwing the Bible from his knees and rushing inside their shack, standing in the kitchen right next to his mother as his Father entered with his sister by his side. Harry always admired Gemma; how she was the only one who could tame their father’s animalistic behavior, how he would let her wear some of his trousers, even though they were too short for her and females weren’t supposed to wear clothes designed for males. Apparently that rule only applied to Mother and ever other female in the world, except from his sister.
He would also bring her wherever he went; even though his father already had a son, he enjoyed treating Gemma like one as well, completely neglecting Harry and leaving him with his mother, whom he had grown extremely fond of. Harry’s mummy was soft and sweet, like the summer sun across his skin or the sweet pastries she would occasionally make when Father wasn’t home to scold her for spending valuable sugar and eggs.
“What is going on here?” Father growled, eyeing mother and son from the head to the toes. “Is dinner ready?”
“As you asked, sir.” Mother replied bashfully, her stare locked on her toes. Harry noticed that Father always made his mummy call him ‘sir’, but Gemma was never asked to use such terminology.
“Stop standing like this,” Father snarled, pushing Harry’s shoulder, trying to make his stand the way he wanted, “You’re showing your ass too much, you’re too plump. People have been talking about you, saying that we’re not really poor, seeing how much weight you’ve gained, they’re accusing me of stealing the factory’s products, and I will not tolerate such rumors going around about me, woman!” he turned to Mother, “Stop feeding him so much, Lord.”
“He’s just a child, sir,” Mother tried to excuse Harry’s weight, since the boy was just a little bit more healthy-looking than the rest of his age, but his ribs would still show at his sides and his cheeks were hollow, “He needs to eat to grow up into a strong man just like you.”
“Fat children are rich children,” Father continued talking, and Harry flushed in embarrassment, sucking in his non-existent stomach pudge, “We might be poor, but we do not steal, so you either feed him once a day or none at all!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table, “Harry, go to the backyard, no dinner for you!”
“Father,” Gemma tried to interfere.
“He’s just a child!” Mother screamed, bringing Harry into her arms before the poor boy could run for his life in the backyard, and Harry instantly felt safe, “He will eat whenever he’s hungry!”
“And then he will do whatever he wants whenever he wants to,” Father shouted, “You must have mistaken who you’re talking to, woman. The decision are made by me, and I choose when Harry is hungry or not, do you understand?” with that, he firmly grabbed Harry by his hair, pushing his face up and slapping his cheek.
Harry did not react, since it was something common to happen in their household “’M sorry,” he murmured, earning another slap.
“You will learn to speak like a man,” Father said again, “And not whisper. And I didn’t hear a ‘sir’ at the end of your sentence.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Harry spoke up again, and the smallest of smiles appeared on his father’s face, “I will speak more like a man from now on.”
His mother and sister watched from behind, his sister remaining emotionless and his mother holding back tears. She felt, as mother, that she was slowly loosing her little baby, her little blossom; her husband had soon taken Gemma from her hands, raising her to be more of a ‘man’ than a ‘woman’, and she wouldn’t let that happen for her Harry as well, she couldn’t lose another child to the hands of that man.
“Dinner is ready, sir,” she reminded her husband, who looked up with a face of disgust, as if she was interrupting him.
“Gemma and I are going to eat,” Father announced, “You and Harry can wait outside until we finish, Harry’s done for today with his food.”
And so mother and son stayed in the backyard all afternoon, watching the sun go down until the sky had turned dark blue. She didn’t push him to read any more; she knew how much it bored him and how it made him sleepy; she made sure to keep him in her arms, hands in front of his stomach that constantly ached for food, but she was ordered not to give him any, and had to obey her husband like the good wife she was.
And Harry, her little flower, never made a sound; just slowly fell asleep against his chest, like a little baby.
a little bit small, but i just wanted to give you a little bit of background info to what harry's life was before liam found him :3
obviously this is a flashback soo....
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