The Last Stand

When Inky, our withered old House Elf, magicked the plates away, I knew I'd run out of time. I got up quietly and ran to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I quickly grabbed a pillowcase I'd stuffed with various items; spare changes of clothes, pocket money I'd diligently collected over the years and hidden in a fake book, some texts and tomes, a bit of food in the form of sweets and candy, and of course a map of London and a list of the bus routes I could use to get into the city.

Then, I opened my window and tossed it out. It landed in the bushes, but no one was around to notice. I was about to flee out the window myself when the door was practically blown off its hinges with a deafening bang, and father stormed in, face red with anger and drunkenness.

"You're coming with me!" he snarled, grabbing my arm and dragging me away to his 'office.' It was really just a room he sat and brooded in, but I wasn't in a position to argue his choice of name for it. I couldn't even fight him off physically!

I tried to break free, but I was too small and weak to do so, and he kicked the door to his office open and tossed me in. In the background, I heard mother screeching at him to stop, and he turned around to yell at her.

I took the moment he was distracted and urgently uttered a single word. "Inky!"

The old House Elf popped in over to me, looking sad. "Yes, Young Master Error?"

His cutesy nickname for me filled with me disgust as it always did, and I glared at him as I gave him a single command. "Plan B, Inky."

The House Elf's eyes widened, but he bowed his head and popped away. Thankfully, father hadn't noticed, too busy screaming at mother. Eventually he grew fed up with her hysterics, and slammed the door shut. Then, he drew his wand, and cast a Silencing charm over the room. Now, no one could hear us, and we couldn't hear them.

I swallowed nervously, and stayed on the floor, not daring to get up. It didn't keep me safe as I'd hoped as father kicked me in the stomach as he stomped over to his chair. Erroneous sat down in it heavily, glaring at me darkly as I gasped for air.

"Today is the last day you'll be a problem for me," he declared. "You won't darken our home with your foul unnaturalness any longer."

"Father, please, whatever it is you're going to do to me, don't!" I managed to plead. "I'll leave! I can work with mother's family in the potion industry! Not every potion needs a wand to be brewed! Or maybe-!"

He cut me off with a Stinging Hex to the face and I howled in pain. The only saving grace was that he'd missed my eyes. The last time he'd hit me there, I'd been blind for a few days until mother's potions healed the damage.

"No," he said darkly. "No, you do not get to beg. You are a disgrace to this family, and I will not let you ruin our good name!"

"What good name?!" I snapped back, anger and hate boiling over and eroding my sense of self-preservation. "You're a Death Eater! You're lower than dirt! You ruined the family's name years ago when you sucked that bald snake's dick!"

"HOW DARE YOU?!" Erroneous roared, jumping up out of his seat with murder in his bloodshot eyes. He hit me with a few hexes and at the same time kicked me repeatedly, calling me every filthy derogative name he could think of.

I couldn't do anything but lie there and take it. But he quickly ran out of steam, his years of heavy drinking doing him no favors, and when he was done he dropped back into his chair, panting heavily with a red-going-on-purple face and looking down at me with a crazed expression in his eyes.

For a moment, I feared he might curse me to death then and there, but instead, he hollered for Inky.

"How may Inky serve master?" the House Elf asked in a wavering voice.

"Fetch me a drink!" Erroneous snarled, and there was a series of pops. A couple seconds later, and the old servant of the house passed my father a bottle of gin he'd brought, as requested.

Instead of thanking the House Elf, Erroneous hit him over the head with a glancing blow with the bottle, sending the poor elf sprawling.

"Do it faster next time, you lazy shit!" my father snarled. He then tore the cork out with his teeth and guzzled the alcohol straight from the source, his lips clamped around the neck.

He drained half of it before he put it down, gasping for air. The evil look in his eyes hadn't lessened at all, though he did look slightly unfocused.

"Now, you listen here, you little shit," he snarled at me. "You're nothing. NOTHING! The only thing you're good for is as meat."

He then gave me a dark, terrifying grin. "I've been in contact with some hags in Knockturn Alley. They'll pay a pretty sum for a fresh and tender morsel like you!"

I stared up at him, horrified and disgust, and he just laughed. "Yeah… Yeah! That's the best thing a Squib like you is good for!"