The Half-blood Prince

‘Let’s just go mam.’
‘Sev, my little prince, it’s not that easy.’ Eileen whispers. ‘We have nowhere to go. I know dad gets angry sometimes, but…’ Eileen doesn’t know what to say. How do you tell your six year old son that getting beat up by his dad is better than being homeless?

‘We could go to granny and grandad?’ Severus’ dark round eyes stare up at her. He had never met his grandparents – on either side. Tobias’ father had been a drunk too. Died when he was 15. And his mother lived a soulless existence in some bedsit somewhere – Blackpool Eileen thought. Her own parents… well she had burned that bridge when she had married Tobias. He was a muggle. And poor. And they had disowned her. But she had kept a few photos of what looked like a happy childhood, tucked in an old envelope, in a little box that she kept at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. Sev had found them one day a few months ago when they’d been doing some spring cleaning, and the little boy had been fascinated. Severus looked just like her father Aadhan Prince; those deep set eyes, the irises almost as black as the pupils, and his nose was showing the signs of developing that distinctive aquiline shape. His skin was pale though, paler than her own, but not quite white like Tobias.

‘Please mam?’ Severus pleads, the tears welling up on his lower lids. Severus didn’t cry so much these days. Not at home anyway. Not in front of Tobias. That would only enrage him further.

Eileen and her son Severus are currently huddled in the outhouse; the only place in their little two up two down terrace on Spinners End that has a door which locks. Some of the houses around here now had an indoor toilet and even a bath, but not theirs.

Tobias had given up hammering on the door about ten minutes ago. At first it always made him angry when they cowered, or ran away from him, but even his beer addled brain didn’t want to make too much of a scene outside for too long. People minded their business around here, to a point, and drunk husbands who occasionally gave their wife a bit of a smack were not thin on the ground, but there was a line. A woman starts sporting regular black eyes, or the bloke starts on his kid, and there’ll be trouble.

‘What about your books Sev, and your muzzy? You don’t want to leave those behind do you?’ This was the tactic she had used last time Sev asked. He loved his books, they were a safe haven away from the harsh reality of his life, and his muzzy was a little bear she’d made him out of an old square of muslin. It was rather a weird looking thing as Eileen had never been good at either sewing or transfiguration, but Sev still clung to it at night, and kept it hidden under his pillow.

She felt sick and guilty tricking her little boy into staying here. For years she had told herself that she stayed because when Toby wasn’t drunk and angry he was warm and loving, and fun. A great dad, a loving husband. But those times had become fewer and further between. Then she had stayed because it was better than being alone. Then because really there was no other option. She had no money, she couldn’t work, anything was better than having her little boy sleep under a railway bridge in a cardboard box wasn’t it?

The first time Tobias had hit Severus, Eileen had nearly left then, but she had been stupid. She had given Tobias “one last chance”. The second time it happened, she told him that if he hurt her boy again, she would leave. That had not gone down well. Severus had spent that night alone locked in the cold, damp basement, and she had spent the night bleeding on the hearth rug.

That was the real reason she didn’t leave. She was afraid. Occasionally she would fantasise that they could leave while Tobias was at work, or down the pub, or passed out in his armchair. She had even got as far as trying to squirrel away some money in a jar. But every time she’d gotten close enough to actually doing it the fear began to creep up inside her gut like icicles. Tobias had once been a fun, sweet, young man, that made her laugh, and told her they could take on the world together. At some point he had become the villain in a horror movie. The type you couldn’t escape, no matter how quiet you were, or how far you ran.

‘Mam. It hurts.’

Eileen turns Severus slightly, and bites her lip to hold in the gasp when she sees the lines of blood staining the back of her old blouse. Tobias hated her putting Severus in her old clothes, but he’d spent the money she had put aside for clothes for their son down the pub again, so what was she supposed to do? His clothes didn’t fit the boy. Hers were a bit too big too, but she’d always been petite, so they didn’t swamp him quite so much.
‘Isn’t it enough that he’s a freak like you, without turning him into a faggot too?!’ Tobias had roared in slurred words. He kept a belt on the back of the sofa now, so that it was at hand anytime he felt like giving one of them a wallop.

Eileen stares at the wounds on her little boy’s back, crouched next to the toilet in this dirty little outbuilding and struggles to hold back the tears. How had this become her life? How had she failed so badly. Failed her son so badly.
‘Mam? Mam…’ Sev’s little voice is scared, but clear over her gasping sobs. ‘It’s ok mam, it don’t hurt that bad. We can go in. I’ll help you make the corned beef thing for dad and he’ll be happy then and not hit us no more.’
Eileen looks at her brave little boy, and gathers him up into her arms.
‘No. We’re not going in. Everything’s gonna be ok little prince.’ She whispers. Her heart is racing, and she thinks she might have completely taken leave of her senses, because if he catches them, it’s going to be bad. So bad. Maybe he’ll even kill them. But she lets herself go a bit mad, because this is it. If she doesn’t take her boy and go right now, she never will. She knows that with a piercing clarity like a bolt of lightning. And he might kill them both anyway. Even if not physically, then mentally.

She hasn’t got a penny on her. No clothes except what they are wearing. Not even a coat. Her wand, that she had kept so well hidden all these years is inside the house too. But if she went back in that house, even if they waited till Tobias went out, so they could grab a few things, they would not be coming out again. Spinners End would be their grave one way or another.
‘Stay behind me.’ She whispers, slowly pulling back the large bolt as quietly as possible. It squeaks and groans, but there is no noise from the other side. She opens the door a crack and peers out. The little yard is empty, apart from the single clothes line, and the weeds pushing up through the cracks. She stares at the single sash window at the back of the house, a mere two or three meters away. It’s dim inside, and the windows are grimed, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone watching.

Eileen slowly opens the door fully, then crouches and scoops her son into her arms, and hurries to the back gate. The bolt here is even stiffer, noisier. It’s rusty and the gate is stiff from expanding in the rain. This is the moment in the movie when the bad guy comes. Tobias used to love taking her to the movies. He thought it was such great fun to show her something more marvellous than magic. Something muggles could do better. Tobias liked horror films. Or he liked the way that Eileen would scream and bury her face into his chest at the scary scenes.

The bolt slides back with a snap and Eileen whips her head around, half expecting to see Tobias’ large frame towering over them. But it isn’t. The back door doesn’t fly open, there is no shadow in the window. Maybe he had passed out drunk. Please let him have passed out, she prays to any gods that might be listening, to Merlin, to Morgana, to Helga and Rowena, Persephone, Artemis, Kali, and slips out of the back gate. She holds Severus close to her and hurries along the ginnel behind the houses, her tired old leather shoes slapping on the cobble stones.

There was one hope. One plan, that was not really a plan because she had never allowed herself to properly contemplate it, but it was all she had. It takes half an hour to walk to the temple. Severus is small for his age, but then so is Eileen. He knows his mother is struggling to carry him, and he tries to tell her he can walk three times, but Eileen daren’t stop even to put him down. Every step of the way she expects Tobias to grab her shoulder, or step out in front of them. She crosses the road twice to avoid people they know, in case one of them mention something to Tobias. Mary, whose husband Bill worked with Toby at the mill before it closed. Mr Tompkins, who always had to stop and chat, and tell everybody everyone else’s business. Severus is slipping from her arms, and her back and arms are aching by the time they get there.

The building is made from red brick, and a metal arch with unusual lettering and colourful bunting leads the way to a side entrance. Eileen climbs the steps, eventually allowing her son to slide down and walk, though she grips his hand almost tight enough to hurt, and pulls open the heavy fire door. Inside is just like any community centre or village hall. Neutral walls with pinboards adorned with a patchwork of fliers advertising different events; coarse, hard wearing carpets; the distant echoing chatter of voices. Eileen hovers, unsure what to do now, but still riding on the adrenaline (or madness) of her sudden flight.

‘Sat sri akaal.’ A young man in a turban greets her. He has a kind face, but the reality of what she is doing is threatening to overwhelm her.
‘Hello.’ She manages to say. ‘Um, I… is Sharan here?’ She had met Sharan a year ago when her family had taken over the post office down on Chesterfield Road. Eileen didn’t talk to people these days unless she had to, but Sharan had always said hello when she came in to cash their dole cheque, and she never looked at Eileen with disdain like old Mrs Warmley had. Then a couple of months ago Eileen had gone in with a black eye. She’d done her best to cover it up, and wore her hair hanging over her face. Sharan didn’t say anything about it, but Eileen could tell she’d seen it. The following week Sharan had told her that if she ever needed anything to come down to the Gurdwara, and ask for her. Eileen had thanked her, with no intention of ever taking her up on the offer. But here she was.

If Eileen had been a good catholic white girl she would not have gone. Even if she’d wanted to, she would not have known that she would be welcomed there. But Eileen was not white. Her parents were of Indian descent to varying degrees, and though they were not religious, the Princes knew about the “old faiths” and had taught their daughter about Sikhism, and Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and even a little about Christianity, though that was viewed in a rather negative light. Eileen had always thought that of all of them Sikhism was the most appealing. They believed in equality and justice, and always helped those in need, no matter their creed or religion.

‘Ah, you must be looking for Sharan Talwar.’ The young man says, glancing down at the boy clinging tight to his mother’s leg. ‘Wait here one moment please.’ He goes off and speaks to someone in Punjabi a little further down the hall, then comes back and ushers them to a small room. ‘Sharan will be down soon, can I get you anything to eat or drink?’ He asks.
‘No, thank you.’ Eileen responds. She suddenly feels too aware of how shabby they must look. The blood on Severus’ blouse must be obvious, and she has no idea what bruises she might be sporting. The young man doesn’t mention it though, and instead encourages them to sit. A few minutes later Sharan appears, with her usual friendly smile, and the young man politely departs.

‘I’m glad you came.’ Sharan says. ‘How about we have some tea, and then we can get you cleaned up.’ Eileen can only nod, and follow the woman up some stairs to another room with a desk, and some padded stackable chairs, and a little kitchenette. Sharan makes tea, and then gets out a first aid kit.
‘Hello, Severus isn’t it?’ She addresses the boy for the first time, after giving him a cup of orange squash and a little biscuit with grains of sugar on top. ‘That is a good, strong name. Is it ok if I look at your back?’ She asks, glancing at Eileen too, for her permission. Eileen nods again, and Severus copies his mother.

The salve the nice lady uses isn’t as good as his mother’s one. It stings more and doesn’t seem to immediately do much, but mam hasn’t been able to make her special salve for a while because dad don’t like it when she makes her potions, and the lady is gentle, and afterwards she shows him to a corner where there’s some toys and books. Severus sits on a little plastic chair and reads a book about a snake that steals mangoes. He doesn’t know what a mango is but it looks delicious. There aren’t many words, and it’s a bit babyish, but it’s written in both English, and some other language that has beautiful curly lettering that’s all joined up at the top. After he has read it in English, he looks back through and tries to pick out what the letters are in this strange script.

‘You do not need to be embarrassed or ashamed.’ Sharan tells Eileen, as she tends to the cut on her face where Tobias had hit her so hard he had broken the skin. ‘I have helped lots of women like you, and it is not your fault. Your husband should be the one who is ashamed.’

They spend the night at the temple, in a little room that seems to have been put aside for just this purpose. There is a small fold out bed, and a cot, and lots of warm blankets. Eileen is afraid at first. Though logically she knows Tobias could not possibly know where they are, she cannot help picturing how infuriated he will be when he discovers they are gone. But as darkness falls the temple becomes lively with many visitors coming to worship or just to socialise after work, and a small group of women come and introduce themselves as the Khalsa. They wear blue robes, and white turbans, and all carry long curved swords slung on their hips. Severus’ eyes widen in wonder, and he looks almost happy for the first time that day. The Khalsa say they will stay and guard them all night, and Eileen cannot begin to feel worthy of such honoured treatment.

Sharan, Eileen, and Severus and the three Khalsa women sit around a desk together and share platters of rice and lentils, and curried potatoes, and chapatis. The gently spiced, fragrant lentils make Eileen think of home. Not Spinners End; the Prince Manor where she grew up. Her mother used to make lentils like this. Sev seems to like them too, even though he’s never had spicy food before. For the first time in months – perhaps years – her son goes to sleep with a belly full of food, and Eileen allows herself to think, for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, she has done the right thing.

The feeling doesn’t last. Eileen lays awake for a long time, and in the morning comes the inevitable question.

‘Is there anywhere you can go?’

Sharan tells her that if not, they have a network of families who can put them up until Eileen can find a job, or there’s a women’s shelter in Manchester she can ring and see if they have any spaces. She declines Sharan’s first offer. They cannot stay in Cokeworth. The shelter… well that could be an option, though Eileen is still trying to process the reality that she would need such a place. The little niggling thought that they could still go back keeps trying to assert itself. Maybe Tobias would still be asleep; maybe he wouldn’t have noticed they had gone; maybe it would be better that way, he would probably leave them alone for a while now, and sometimes he was even sort of nice for a few days after. They could go back, make a proper plan, collect some things, and save up some money… but then she looks at Severus. They have been provided with clean clothes, and Sev is wearing a yellow t-shirt with brown stripes, but underneath she knows there are still lacerations from Toby’s belt.

There is one other place. It’s a long shot. They may get turned away at the gate, which would be hurtful and humiliating, but Eileen had begun to lose her pride somewhere around the third beating, and feels little shame now at the thought of begging. Perhaps they would at least take Sev. He is their grandson, and though he may not be a pureblood, he was the last of the Prince line, and that had to mean something right?

While Severus reads quietly in the corner again, Sharan helps Eileen pack up a few things. Even though she knew of the compassion of Sikhs, she is still overwhelmed by their generosity. They are given another clean set of clothes each, a toothbrush and soap, a few medical supplies, and a teddy bear for Severus, which he eyes cautiously, but thankfully doesn’t comment on. Sev could be a bit abrupt sometimes, and people often considered him rude. Eileen thought it was just that he was introverted, and because of their circumstances had not had much chance to socialise yet.

They are also given two parathas stuffed with potatoes and cauliflower, wrapped up in foil to keep them fresh, and a little envelope containing four pounds. It will be enough for their bus fare to Lincoln, as well as a little extra in case they need it. Eileen would like to refuse, but they really do need it. She thanks Sharan profusely instead, and determines to send some money back when (if) she can. Severus is clinging to a book he has found to teach Punjabi to small children, and Sharan lets him keep that too.

‘Dhanvaad.’ Eileen says, recalling the thanks from her mother’s lessons, and presses her palms together in front of her.
Sharan raises her brows, then puts her own hands together.
‘You are most welcome Eileen.’ She says with a smile.

They are driven to the bus station in the centre of Cokeworth by a middle aged man called Himmat Singh in his dark green Morris Minor, and Eileen buys their tickets with Severus still clinging to her leg.

Then they are sitting on the firm vinyl seats, and the engine is humming a low growl, and the shops are slipping past them, and the large detached houses that line the main road out of town, and then there are hedges and fields and hills and trees, and a wide two lane road that cuts through the countryside, and shiny cars are racing past them on the right.

The large paper bag which contains all of their worldly possessions, that were not even theirs until this morning, is crumpled in Eileen’s taught, bony fingers, and Severus is just staring. Staring out of the window at a world which up to now he has only seen one tiny, shady corner of.

He doesn’t speak until the houses and mills of Cokeworth are far behind them.
‘Where we going mam?’ He asks at last.
‘Granny and Grandad’s.’ Eileen whispers with a frown.
Severus’ black eyes brighten until he sees the look on his mother’s face.
‘But Sev, I don’t know if we can stay there. They might not want to see me.’ She tries to keep her voice strong, tries not to reveal the fact that she is terrified, and she doesn’t know what they will do if her parents won’t even speak to her. They might have enough money for a bus ticket to Manchester, or back to Cokeworth. But neither of those options are very appealing.

Severus doesn’t ask his mother why his grandparents might not want to see her. Sometimes people don’t like each other. Lots of people don’t like Severus, because he is small and dirty, and he wears girls clothes. He doesn’t understand why they are girls clothes just because they have flowers on them. Mrs Wilmington at the bakery was always going on about her family, and how this niece, or that cousin had gotten themselves in a right old pickle, but that you have to put up with it don’t you cause they’re family. Severus knew that wasn’t true. Not for everyone. Just look at his dad. Plus life isn’t fair, he knows that already.

When they pass Nottingham, Eileen gets out the stuffed flatbread and breaks off a little bit for Sev. She tries to eat some herself too, but her stomach feels like it’s tied in a knot. When they arrive in Lincoln Eileen holds onto Severus with one hand, and the paper bag in the other and tries to decipher the bus timetables.
‘Can I help you dear?’ An old lady in a long woollen coat and hat covered in fabric flowers asks.
‘Um, I’m trying to get to Cherry Morton.’ Eileen almost whispers with a dry throat.
‘Oh yes, you’ll want the 5a then. Go round t’other side of bus station and cross the road. There’s a stop outside the M&S.’
Eileen thanks the lady and pulls Severus along close to her.

They have to wait half an hour for the little rusty old bus that says “5a Kirby Green via Branston” on the front. Eileen buys a single ticket to the village of Cherry Morton for three shillings and sixpence, feeling that buying a return ticket would be admitting defeat before having tried.

From the bus stop in the village they have to walk along the lane a little way to reach the Manor. Eileen’s heart is racing – or perhaps not beating at all, she can’t quite tell. She feels sick and light headed, and her limbs have all gone numb.

The gates are closed and rusted, and beyond them the once well manicured gardens are overgrown with weeds. She had not even considered that her parents might have moved away – or died. If she had been on her own she probably would have just sat down in the mud at this point and wept. But she couldn’t do that. Severus is looking up at her with those round eyes of his. Deep and dark like two long tunnels. She had been a terrible mother to him. She had not protected and nurtured her son as she should have, but she was all he had, all he knew, and he still looked at her as though she had all the answers to the world’s problems. They had come all this way. She had to at least try.

Eileen places a hand on the gate and pushes. It swings slowly inward with a screeching groan, and then their feet are crunching in the weed covered gravel towards the front door. Prince Manor is a modest home by most pureblood wizarding standards. A neat Georgian manor house with two plain columns either side of the wide front door, and three large windows on either side. The perfectly symmetrical rectangular building was once painted a smart ivory white, but it is now dirty and yellowing, and the white paintwork on the window frames is peeling, as is the sensible black paint on the front door. There is a single large brass door knob in the centre, above which a knocker in the shape of a prowling tiger is the only decorative embellishment. Her mother had always hated that knocker; said it was kitsch and gaudy. Her father disagreed, and insisted they have some small reference to their heritage.

She raises an arm that feels almost detached from her body and taps the knocker. For a long moment there is no sound. Eileen grips Severus’ little hand in her own and holds her breath, muttering silent prayers to the universe.

Then there is a shuffling, and a lock clicks back, and the door groans open.

‘Elina?’