favorite crime [h.s]

sixty three

little glimpse into harry's childhood

tw! domestic abuse,violence (for harry's pov)

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SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

Harry

When I count to ten, everything will be back to normal. One... two... three... four... five⎯ another plate crashes downstairs in the kitchen. I flinch harshly beneath the bedsheets. Even the stupid pillow can't dull the noises. I press the soft material harder against my ears, curling up into a ball like it's going to save me or some shit.

Is Scarlett going to help me if I call her?

I start counting again. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven⎯ I hear mom screaming downstairs, and I can't hide any longer. Also, that was a new record.

I throw the blankets off of me and storm to the door. The rock sitting on my chest gets heavier the closer I get to the horrific noises coming from downstairs. I can't bear them anymore. They're everywhere, all the time. Engraved in my brain, they follow me around all day long.

My feet walking down the staircase cause the wood to squeak. I cringe with every step I take, pinching my eyes shut. It feels better not to look fear straight into the eyes. Walking downstairs, I know exactly what consequences will face me and the regret I will feel in a few minutes.

Peeking into the living room, I discover mom laying on the floor with dad on top of her, throwing punches at her face. I feel sick at the sight like I'm about to fucking throw up.

The kitchen is a mess; it's going to take a while to clean up afterwards.

Stepping past the broken pieces on the floor, I grab the first thing I see. A knife. I know I'm too much of a pussy to use it.

Dad can't see me when I approach them silently, but my mom does. She mouths, "No" or "Go," to me. It makes no difference in this situation.

I ignore her and raise the knife above my dad's back, pinching my eyes shut like I'm in pain. I can fucking do this. For my mom. But with every second passing, seconds in which I didn't attempt to kill him, my doubts arise, and the chances lower of me actually attempting it.

"Harry, no!" she yells, and my eyes snap open.

What?

Why would she do that?

I was about to save her.

My dad turns around after discovering that I'm here. I hide the knife behind my back, shrinking to the floor and mentally throwing the bedsheets over my head.

"What are you doing, boy?" I have his full attention now, something that I always want to avoid.

"Nothing," I defend, walking backwards away from him.

"Show me what's behind your back."

I shake my head, holding onto the knife for dear life. I have no idea what to do next. He's already caught me. It's not going to end well for me.

"Go to your room, Harry," my mom tells me, an urgency in her voice like she's scared. Of course, she's scared, I am too.

"Shut the hell up!" he snaps at her. I glare harder at him, sending daggers through my eyes.

I throw the knife on the floor in front of me, dropping my head so I don't have to watch his reaction. I shouldn't have come here, I should've stayed in my room. I should've called Scarlett and snuck out with her, I want her.