|| For @wandchoosesthewizard, continued from here.
Eileen has few - one could potentially say - no memories of being held by her mother or father. It might just be a deliberate omission on her part - she had been disowned of course after refusing to make a suitable pureblood marriage, and that - along with a few other factors meant that she had rarely, if ever held her son (at least, since he left infancy). Between that - and her husband, his father - it is amazing that he has learned to comfort those who are upset. Even if it is with small (and likely sticky) hesitant hands.
Giving him a small, watery smile, she reached down to pick him up and pop him on the kitchen counter, and instead of reassuring him - she aims for distraction. “You want to help me make dinner, hmm?”
His unblinking, sunken eyes remaining impossibly wide, Severus, no more than four years old, scooted himself to the edge of the counter and idly swung his skinny legs. That hadn’t been an answer, of course - he knew things weren’t okay, Ma wasn’t okay, she was crying, but was pretending that she wasn’t!
“Yes,” the boy replied, quietly, almost timidly, “want to help!” And he did want to - as much as possible, with this and with everything else, even if he didn’t know how. It wasn’t the first time that Severus wished he was older and a little bigger - maybe he would know more then.