Neglect

After her father's words, she began eating less. Seeing that her father made no effort to stop her, or to tell her that it was unhealthy she continued, believing that she was indeed too big for her age. 

Severus’s distance and abuse only further led her to believe that she was something bad her father had to deal with. 

His snapping had become much more frequent – to the point that she was used to it. His random hits and slaps were also slowly becoming something normal for her.  

Minny never visited, as never did Moony. She was sad and often wondered about it, but never dared to ask. “Courage. Wasn’t that what Gryffindor was about? I want to go to Hogwarts so badly. But I’m sure I wouldn’t be Gryffindor. I’m not that brave.”  

She wondered, over her poor bowl of cereal, her grey eyes dreamingly staring up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen.  

“Well, Ravenclaw was the smart people, so maybe I could be in it? Or Huffle-”  

Her train of thoughts was broken by heavy steps from upstairs. She immediately straightened up and began slowly eating, her gaze locked on the table cloth, which was a dull dark green, with lace trimming the edges. In her thoughts, it could no way be her father who picked the clothes. Her mother probably, seeing as this cloth hasn’t been changed in years. She wasn’t allowed to stain it in any way.  

In the kitchen came none other than her father, his hair looking even greasier than yesterday. “Gosh, does he even wash it?” She thought, lifting a spoon of cereal to her lips. 

“I’m going to class. Don’t wait for me. I might sleep there.” His cold voice rang in her ears, like an unpleasant nail screeching against the whiteboard. Not that she had ever heard of it, but she could imagine it. 

“Okay.” She replied, keeping her voice unemotional, and making sure it was not too quiet to be considered mumbling, but not too loud to be considered disrespectful. The 1st of September had happened yesterday, a Monday, so she guessed he'd be away all week. 

When the whole of his stature was enveloped by the forest outside their house, she realised that it would be the first time he stayed over at Hogwarts. “Weird. Usually, he’s too bothered by the annoying students to stay after class.”   She internally mocked her father's words.  

She stood on a stool, to be able to reach the sink. She washed her bowl and spoon, because without question if she left it in the sink, she’d get a slap in the face or something else from her dear father. 

As lunchtime neared, she found herself growing hungry. Walking into the kitchen, she opened the fridge, wanting to see if there would be any leftovers. But as if father had planned it and chucked all the leftovers with him, leaving only uncooked food in there.  

She closed it and momentarily was dumbfounded. She moved to a cupboard, which she knew held only raw pasta, rice, and other ‘dry stuff’, as she called it. She closed it. 

She tried the bread cupboard. Her father’s wine and liquor cabinet. But nothing. No food. 

She got a foolish idea. A very foolish idea if it ended up with her burning the house, but she tried it nonetheless.  

Finding an old cookbook, she turned the page to her favourite, simple mashed potatoes. But she decided that it would be smarter to just boil some potatoes and mash them afterward with a fork. 

She set up a stool, which she wouldn’t fall off, and got her pot. She placed it over the stovetop. “Does this go on here or in a different place?” She wondered, seeing as the cooktops on which she was supposed to put the pot on, were all different. 

She glanced at the open cookbook for “very tasty and airy - dream mashed potatoes”. “Who even makes up these names?” She let out an unimpressed scoff. “Really. Who hires the people making those titles.” Maybe she was getting petty, as her father usually did, but she didn’t want to admit to it. 

She read through the recipe, trying to find a clue on which thing she should put the pot on. “What is it even calle- Aha! A cooktop!” She smiled in victory, finding the paragraph holding her needed information. 

The paragraph read - “Using the medium cooktop, turn the burner on high and bring the water to boil-” 

“You have to boil water beforehand?” She thought, astonished. She groans, bringing the pot into the sink to pour water into it. Once she has a reasonable amount in, in her opinion, she places to pot on a middle-enough cooktop. “It looks middle to me.” She thought, turning the burner too high. From what she read; the water had to boil until “air bubbles appeared in the water”. She put the lid on and waited. But soon the lid grew foggy and she couldn’t see the said air bubbles. 

Taking the lid off, she immediately threw it in the sink, grasping her hair, the skin hot. “Oh, I really had to burn myself?” She whined in her head. Then seeing the air bubbles, she remembered the potatoes. 

Frantically she got out 3 from a bucket underneath the sink and quickly washed them until they were clean enough. She lets out a breath in relief, relieved that she hadn’t managed to burn the house down. 

The recipe said - “The potatoes should boil for around 10 minutes, but do check them with a knife or any other sharp kitchen utensil to see if they are soft enough.” 

10 minutes later she pokes one potato with a knife. It’s soft. So, he stabs the potato and lets it boil for a minute or two since it was a little hard in the middle. A couple minutes later she turns the stove off.  

Browsing through the continents of cupboards, she can’t find her father’s cooking mittens. “Does he hate me or something? Probably.” She fishes out two kitchen towels and uses them to hold the pot handles while pouring the water out.  

Trying the potatoes she figures out what she forgot. The seasoning. 

For dinner, she went the safe way and ate a sandwich, and washed the pot. 

Her father didn’t return even the next day. This time she prepared the potatoes beforehand and did everything correctly, remembering the seasoning. She also cut the skin off the potatoes, cutting into her own skin in turn.  

“Well,” She thought, eating her portion of potatoes, “at least I know how to cook.” And that will come in very handy in the future.