After screaming himself hoarse for an unknown but long amount of time, Harry settled down, cramped in the small space, and slightly covered in filth and cobwebs.

The cobwebs meant that the imaginary spiders crawling all over his arms from fear weren’t that imaginary at all, sending a shiver down his spine with fear.
He was indignant more than anything, sure he was scared, and claustrophobic, to the point that he could barely bring himself to breath properly, but more than all of that, the boy was angry. It was that anger that pushed the need to count, away and kept it at bay.

He couldn’t shift in fear of agitating the said spiders, and his barely healed legs were killing him, specially his calves, which have taken the worst of the burns, and now with him having forgotten to apply his prescribed balm, Harry was also in pain on top of everything else.

Things couldn’t be worse; James knew that Dad was supposed to come for Harry, Harry was locked in here with no way of escaping and he was /terrified/. He wanted his dad, the comfort and safety of his father was all he really needed then.

Not that he would get it, for all he knew his father could be in prison right now, or blackmailed by James; Harry knew James wouldn’t let this slide; he would use this to his advantage somehow, even if it meant hurting Harry to do it at some point.

A sudden wave of nausea hit him and the boy gulped, tipping his head backwards as if trying to keep the bile down from tipping over a rimmed glass. He needed to get out of here, soon, or he’ll just have to start counting again, or somehow knock himself unconscious… maybe if he slammed his head back to the wall hard enough…

He extended a hand to the door, and scratched at the lock even though he knew his attempts were futile.

“Let me out.” He called out with a croaky voice, he knew James was near, that bastard could even be sitting on the other side of this door, arms crossed with an ugly smirk on his ugly face, hearing Harry’s anguished pleas, and the boy really thought the man was depraved enough to enjoy them.

His feet had gone from prickling to numb as he called out again, and again, and again. So many times that his words turned into blurs and his voice into cries; it was starting to get unbearably hot and damp in the cupboard, and the small teen feared that the itching of his arms were those said small spiders, eager to bite into his flesh.

/
“Go away.” The small child harshly scrubbed his arms, desperate to get the small creatures off his body. They were everywhere lately, and according to his parents, spiders only ate bad boys and freaky children and they were here ‘because mommy said he was being freaky again. Would they go away if he stopped being freaky? Tears ran down his face, the child let them fall, mixing with snot, he was too /afraid/ to rub his arm across his face. What if they got there too?

Harry was /sorry/. He really was, if only he could apologize to the spiders for whatever he had done to make him freaky again he would have. He /really/ would have. It hurt when they bit him, and it felt weird when they walked across his body with their weird dangly legs, and it was /wrong/ because the five year old was /terrified/ of them, and still neither Mommy or Daddy did anything about it.

/

Harry really didn’t have any space left to reach out and scrub his arms off those nasty things like he did as a child, nor could he reach behind his neck to prevent them from sneaking in his shirt, what he could do was to hate his parents even more than he thought was possible. With every fiber of his being, he felt the hate surge through his veins, and crackle in his purple tinged fingers.

He was so sorry as a child that he thought /dying/ would make the spiders happy again, because he thought there was no way for him to stop being a freak. His parents, never really disapproved of the idea either. Now that he thought back (mainly to distract himself), even Aiden appropriated his absence more than his quiet hovering presence in the background.

By the time he was about to have a breakdown, the cupboard creaked open and an intense light engulfed his vision. Harry brought his hands up to protect his face from two things; his instincts told him it was rather the fear of going blind or being hit again. It had happened more than once when he was younger.

“Thought you might be hungry by now… are you?” James’ voice rang in his ears and the teen flipped out, flaying his arms and kicking his legs out of the cupboard and crying out in pain. His calves were /killing/ him.

James set the plate down on the ground with a sigh and extended his hand, gripping Harry’s flailing elbow before he could flinch back and pulled. Hard.
Harry pulled back just as hard, his face was now covered in sweat and tracked with dried tears, his skin had taken an irregular red hue from being in a cramped space for so long, and his bloodshot eyes were dangerously narrowed as he glared up at his /father/.

“Is this how you treat Snape, Harry?” James clicked his tongue. “Well that just won’t do now.”

Harry was forced to his feet by the man’s strong hold on his shoulders; he dizzily fought James, falling again, his eyes still not quite adjusted to the light.

“L…Let go of me.” He yelled. He trashed his way out of his father’s hold, utterly disgruntled.

“There now, take it easy Harry.” The boy pulled himself up to his feet with a rough grunt and pushed his father away with as much as force as he could muster, quickly scooting away as James was trying to regain his balance.

“Easy…”

“You sick fuck! Stay away from me.” He whizzed out, still feeling the lingering effects of claustrophobia gripping his heart in his chest. His ribs closed in, in his lungs, suffocating them as Harry struggled to keep himself lucid and aware with James near.

James cocked his head. “We have to relearn a lot of things, don’t we? Would you like to go back into the cupboard again?” he asked Harry calmly and Harry nearly fainted at the idea.

“No.” he croaked out meekly, leaning away from the man, his lower back was firmly pressed against the wall.

“Then mind your tongue, hmm? I dare say Aiden has heard more than enough since you got here.” The man commented lightly, bending down to pick up the food.
Harry backed away, his hands feeling for support; if he turned and ran fast enough, he should be able to get out of the west wing and maybe then… then what?

His mind drew to a blank. There was no escape from here, he thought, running would only make things worse. Harry knew that rule by heart, running would prolong the beating, harshen the insults, it always failed to work, running didn’t save him, it further trapped him in his cage.

“Now I’m giving you food, what will you say?” his tone steadily got firmer, as he held out the food to Harry. The boy gazed back with a wild look in his eyes.
He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

The stern man nudged the plate further in his direction, a little more impatient. “Don’t mumble.” He ordered. “I can’t hear you when you mumble.”

“I’m not hungry.” His stomach was lurching into itself out of hunger; he hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday breakfast. The starvation and the stress were certainly taking its toll on his healing body. His calves, hands and chest throbbed as he shook his head; his heart was particularly clenching and unclenching in pain.

“Clearly you haven’t learnt a thing yet.” The man shook his head with disappointment. “You’ll just have to get back in there, won’t you?” Harry couldn’t fight the man as his arm was seized again, and he was thrown to the ground.

James opened the cupboard, nodding at Harry with his chin. “Get going then.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll eat it. Please.” he muttered, dreadfully eyeing the small dark space. He couldn’t go back in there by his own resolve, he couldn’t bear the thought.

“It’s too late now, you’re not hungry enough. Get in the cupboard Harry.”

“I-I-I can’t.”

Something flashed past James’s cold eyes. “I hate it when you stammer Harry. Now be a good lad and get in.” Harry, purely out of his instincts, had no choice but to do as told. He crawled through the small space. He didn’t want to get beaten; his body was on fire as it already was, and as much as he had put up his bravado, he couldn’t put it up much longer.

He got in the cupboard and the door was closed behind him, berating himself for being so stupid and stubborn and freakish, Harry buried his aching head in his knees, trying his hardest to stay in control.

James came to fetch him twice after the first encounter, every few hours from what Harry could tell, so Neither Lily or Aiden were home, or not in this side of the manor, at least. One out of those two times, the man had a plate of food with him, though he refused to let Harry have it, not even offering anymore.

By the time he was finally let out of the cupboard by his mother the /next evening/, it was dinner time, he was absolutely wrecked; his resolve had shattered after James’s third attempt to humiliate him, and he had broken down crying right in front of the man, he was in pain, hungry, and scared of the dark; exactly in a replica reality of his younger self.

Lily didn’t spare a shred of pity for Harry’s abysmal state, as he was forced to crawl out and help himself on his feet; she stood with a disgusted expression on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The woman said. Her face cold. “I warned you to get on his good side.”

They stopped by the bathroom for Harry and then shakily went to the dining room where dinner was being served. James was sitting at the head of the table this time, cheerfully talking with Aiden as the two ate and talked, like there wasn’t a thing wrong in the world.

Harry meekly limped after his mother, his head lowered and his face red and bloated from spending a whole night in a locked cupboard.

“Lily! You’re here.” James greeted his wife with a beaming smile, his expression not changing in the slightest as he caught a glimpse of his son. Harry didn’t honestly mind his ignorance either.

“Seat.” Lily ordered him and settled near Aiden. Aiden did look a bit alarmed by Harry’s state, but the wariness only flickered upon his face before it dissolved into a soft smile directed at their mother.

Harry hesitated for only a second before he slid in his seat next to James, his legs were already troubling him from being in a cramped position for so long, and Harry took small pleasure in lifting the weight from them.

A small portion of mushy food filled the small plate that was set in front of him; there were no signs of the fancy utensils that he was forced to use last time, only a simple plastic spoon and a napkin. If this was their best attempt at making him feel pathetic, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Harry was too hungry to care that he was basically eating bland, tasteless oatmeal, out of a children’s plate, he picked up the spoon and scooped spoonful of mush after the other, quickly shoveling them down his throat, just nearly stopping himself from chocking.

He couldn’t believe this; it was only his third night here and he had been relegated to ensuing his childhood strategies; eat quickly or it’d be taken away, drink from the bathroom tap, because there might not be water, keep your head down so they wouldn’t have an excuse to punish you, hide the socks in the bathroom ‘cause you know you’ll need them.

He dropped the spoon when he felt he couldn’t eat any longer; there wasn’t much oatmeal left, only a few spoonfuls and a quarter of his goblet.

Unbeknownst to him, James was glowing with glee as he watched Harry squirming in his seat; he idly conversed with his wary wife regarding work, and entertained Aiden by asking him about his friends, things were going rather smoothly for the man, the boy had broken much sooner than he had anticipated. He couldn’t believe that all it took was a night locked in his cupboard, he had thought of the child as a stubborn sneaky brat, with a behavior reclining more towards Snape’s than his own over the years.

He was wrong, Harry Potter, for all his fuss and big boy demeanor was still the same scrawny little shit James had raised all those years ago, only now, the boy was oozing with frustration and contained magic. It was the perfect combination for an explosion given the right incentive. Or rather, the final ingredient that James needed in order to create the said explosion.

Harry dropped the plastic spoon back in his bowl when it was nearly empty, and James watched with a thoughtful expression, deciding if he should act on it or not.

“Something you need?” he finally asked, as the boy’s eyes roamed the table, narrowed to the point that they were almost closed, pruning his already mismatched skin.

“No.” Harry replied dubiously, like he was uncertain whether he should address James or not.

“Then finish your food.” Lily’s emerald eyes caught his and she shook her head, clearly warning him against making moves on the boy when Aiden was present; their last meal had really shaken him up, apparently, and Lily for her part did not want a repeat of that.

James was enjoying this too much to resist the urge though, with a playful smirk; he picked up the bottle of wine from his left and set it in front of the meek boy.
“Are you thirsty?” he nodded his chin at the wine and Harry almost glared.

“No.” Harry gritted out, a spark of defiance back in his eyes.

“James.” His wife called out in warning.

“Just an innocent question Lils,” he assuaged his wife. “Apparently substance abuse is a recurring tradition in Snape’s household. You took the hangover so well, I wonder why.” He said the last bit to Harry, almost like a compliment.

The teenage boy visibly recoiled, the spoon clenching in his hand. Aiden made a small noise from across the table, his eyes immodestly roaming the tense fight.

“I’m…”

“Aiden, you may be excused.” Their mother cut in firmly. The red head boy frowned.

“But Mom, I think I’m old enough to…” she hushed his protests.

“Do as I said, sweetheart.”

Harry lost it. “Sweetheart? So I get locked in a fucking cupboard and he’s the sweetheart?” he spat out venomously. James steeled his face, carefully noting Harry’s screwed face and his clenched hands.

He lowered his goblet down with a loud thud, drawing the boy’s angry eyes back to himself.

James leaned on the table with his elbows, his eyes narrowing threateningly. “As long as you’re waiting for Snape to come for your rescue,” he paused, watching Harry’s eyes widen in hurt and surprise. “You’re nothing more than a runt. Only runts eat off their host’s table and still act like an ungrateful vermin, that behavior is unworthy of a Potter and I had had it with you. Apologize to your mother,” he nodded at her, still watching the boy with careful eyes.

“Or it’d be the cupboard again.” he said it in a way that someone utters a trigger word, as if he expected Harry to start crying or curl onto himself.

To his mild surprise the boy defiantly held his chin up with a glare.

“It’s going to be the cupboard anyways.” Harry seethed.

Lily stood and went over Aiden’s chair, her face tense and her shoulders straightened with tension.

“Aiden…” she grasped his shoulder to prompt him off his chair but James shook his head.

“No Lily,” the man protested firmly. “I think Aiden should stay.” He glanced back at his older son.

“Harry’s rather vocal when he’s around.” He said. It was the truth, the boy’s timid and frightened manner vanished the moment there was a third party involved in the situation. James felt as if Aiden was Harry’s fail safe, he knew that the man couldn’t do much to hurt him in his presence, but was also foolishly unaware that the punishment would be ensued later either way.

Lily let go of her son’s shoulders and stared at her husband in confusion.

“I don’t see why…” James cut her off.

“Snape was going to kidnap him. He wanted to break into our house. ” Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up, as if she couldn’t believe James was serious. Both well knew that the act was impossible and the potion master had no way of breaking and entering into their mansion.

“That’s what our dear son told me yesterday,” Harry’s head hung and his hands clawed his wrinkled pants. “I’ve been dying to know Harry, care to elaborate?”
The younger boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat across the table, watching the exchange with sick fascination and fear, Lily’s arms were tightened around her chest, she jerked a head towards her youngest son in warning as Aiden’s mouth opened. Aiden sunk back in his seat.

“You already knew he wouldn’t leave me alone.” Harry said quietly.

“I told you how I felt about your mumbling.”

Harry ignored the chastising tone. “He will come and get me, and he’ll throw your sorry ass in Azkaban.”

Lily scoffed, smiling, like she couldn’t hide her amusement any longer. “And how would he accomplish that?” she asked in a mocking tone. The boy quivered and stared at her with disgust.

“I don’t care.” He said. “Not as long as I’m free. You already knew that.”

“How would I?”

“Why else would you lock me in a cupboard? I’m not five anymore.” He threw James’ earlier words right back at him, but the man was hardly affected. He had nothing to explain to the boy.

“When was he going to come to kidnap you?” James pressed. “Or better yet, how did he even fathom that he could get past the gates? Is he that arrogant?” Harry’s eyes hardened , and his hands went slack on his lap.

“Answer me Harry.” James ordered.

“No.” Harry snapped back without a flinch.

The effect’s worn off. James realized. As soon as Snape was mentioned, something seemed to awaken within the boy, and all of a sudden, that meek behavior he displayed yesterday when he was forced back and out of the cupboard was gone.

The chair screeched as it was pushed away from the table, and the older man stood with a hard glare. “You know what I’m capable of. Staying a night in the cupboard is far from what you were used to.” He threatened.

Harry’s posture faltered. “I’m not saying anything.” He said slowly.

“You’ll talk.” Lily assured him.

“Everyone talks eventually.” Her husband continued. “It’s only a matter of time Harry; just know that your dear /father/ is going to be the one hanging out with Dementors, not me.” He said smugly. “The report I’m about to send tonight won’t be much of help either… attempted trespassing, breaking a court order, these are really serious crimes.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he leaned down closer to Harry when the boy refused to answer.

“You’re blackmailing me.” The teen stated. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You won’t.” James admitted.

“You are going to help me write that report. Your dear father might have violated the law, we cannot let that slip now, can we?”

“I won’t, I will never do that.”

“Not without a bit of motivation you won’t.” James confirmed, turning his head to look at his younger son. “Aiden, you can leave now.”

***

Harry was still seating in the dining room when Aiden and Lily were excused.

The dinner table was left on itself, and no house elf rushed in to clean up the mess, leaving Harry to believe that it was mainly to distress the green eyed teen into submitting. Harry dropped his chin down, rubbing his sore legs with numb fingers as he reeled.

James said he would be back soon, closing the double doors as he went, leaving Harry here all by himself.

Harry surged to his feet out of restlessness and limped to the high windows; he needed to do something, he didn’t care if this was James’ twisted idea of a test, he wanted to get out of this locked room. He needed to /breathe/.

He snuck past the heavy blood red curtains and faced the closed windows. Not all of them could be opened, but Harry knew that at least two of them could, problem was; he didn’t remember which.

Chewing on his lower lip, the young boy reached the dust coated handle on his tiptoes and hissed in pain. His muscles were really put to test these past few days, and Harry was almost too scared to think what would happen to him if he never recovered.

His fingers dragged down the dust stained glasses and left marks, but the boy didn’t care, he rustled behind the curtains, frantically trying each window for an exit, and sneaking nervous glances over his shoulders in fear of getting caught.

He wasn’t running away, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Not only he could never get out of the manor, but James had dirt on him and his father, and Harry would rather die or be abandoned again than to see his father in Azkaban.

This was all, his fault, if he had stayed in his room that night, if he stayed and /listened/, then none of this would have happened.

Harry stifled another hiss as his finger got caught at the sharpened edge of the handle; he sucked in a painful breath and lowered his bleeding finger with a wince.
“Dammit.” He cursed softly, rubbing his finger against the hem of his shirt to get rid of the blood.

There was no point, all of the windows were sealed shut, even though Harry knew that there was a way out, either they were bolted shut with age and lack of care or James had charmed them to stay that way. He would be staying here until his fate was decided.

Harry returned to his cushioned seat and waited for James, sufficiently ignoring the pain radiating from his body and his stinging finger.

The doors were unlocked and James strode in the dining room with both of his hands occupied. A long roll of parchment was in his right hand, and snuggled under his left arm was what made Harry flinch back.

Rabitty.

“Look what I found in your trunk son.” James indulgently smiled at the plushy. “Now I know why you were so restless last night.” Harry’s heart sank and he sagged down against the seat.

“You looked through my trunk.”

James’ face broke into a grin. “Isn’t this just wonderful? He looks like a good stuffed toy, I’ll admit that. He’s a decent secret keeper too.” He pulled out the small crumpled piece of paper that Harry knew well. His list of happiness.

“You have got to be joking.” Harry said, eyes darting back and forth between the roll of parchment and his plushy.

“That depends on whether you found my little prank in your room or not.” James said. “Innocent until proven guilty, right?” the man winked. Harry’s stomach churned.

“You’ll what? Destroy Rab… the toy just to blackmail me into reporting my dad?” The boy snorted in disbelief.

He loved Rabitty, he really did, but he didn’t love a stuffed toy more than he loved his father. The two weren’t even comparable. Harry didn’t know what James had in mind with the toy, but there was no way Harry would choose that over his family. Maybe this was another sick game.

“What? You want to trade his life for my dad’s?” Harry said with a nonchalant chuckle, yet couldn’t suppress the small ting of hurt stabbing his guts at the thought.

James grinned back, the kind of grin that sent shivers up the child’s spine and nodded.

“No, not me. You are my guest of honor tonight.” He passed a kitchen knife into Harry’s hands and sat next to him, turning the chair so he was facing the nervous boy.

“You want me to stab Rabitty. It’s a stuffed animal.”

James didn’t answer; he set the parchment by Harry’s left hand and laid Rabitty on the table between Harry’s raised arms, equipped with a blunt kitchen knife.

“Now, I’ve already filled the report for you, so all you need to do is take this quill,” the man drew a long quill from his robe pocket. “And write every single detail you remember Snape mentioning in his plan.”

“Or what?”

James nodded at the rabbit and Harry gulped. “Gut him.” the man waved off nonchalantly.

Harry scoffed. “Gut a stuffed rabbit, wow.” He savagely drew the rabbit forward but James caught his hand.

“Are you sure, you don’t need more time to think Harry?” the man asked almost kindly, eyes scrutinizing the boy sadly, startling Harry with how sincere and apologetic they looked. “You just have to write a short summary, that’s all.”

Harry wrenched his hand away, the one with the kitchen knife.

“Yes.” He hissed. “I’m sure.” So the man wanted to see Harry murder his childhood friend. It wasn’t easy but it was far from a mighty sacrifice. It clenched his heart a little, to see the innocent rabbit prone on the table. It was cruel, but the comparisons between the options were almost painfully stretched.

Just as Harry’s hand was close to Rabitty again his father gripped his wrist in a painful hold.

“Not like this.” The man informed him coldly.

Titling his head in confusion, Harry watched as his father took out his wand and drew circles with the tip around Rabitty’s head, murmuring an incantation under his breath.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked when the rabbit’s head jolted up twice on the table. Unknowingly Harry’s hand tightened around the blunt knife, causing his cut finger to open and flood small beads of blood over the handle.

Rabitty arched and writhed on the table and then fell with a soft ‘thud’. Harry watched with rounded eyes as the rabbit’s legs kicked out and its nose wrinkled as it shook his head.

“What…”

“Say hi to your childhood friend, son. Isn’t it nice to finally see him move?” momentarily forgetting his position, Harry shakily extended a hand, his fingers hovering over Rabitty’s stomach. His head whipped around to meet James’ gaze with a strangled cry and an agape mouth.

“Oh, he isn’t actually alive.” The older man assured him, lowering his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I just thought you might want to…see him one last time.”

Did he want Harry to disembowel him? Harry thought indignantly. To stab this rabbit?! Harry’s eyes flickered back to the squeaking stuffed toy and he dropped the knife in his hands, cramming his fisted hand to his mouth to stifle his cries as he glanced back and forth between his dad and Rabitty.

He was shaking so hard that the chair was shifting with him. It was alive. Harry swore it was alive, its legs were kicking and it was making noises.

“No. you cannot be serious.”

James drew away, his hands held up in surrender. “I gave you a choice. It’s not too late.”

“I can’t do this. You cannot make me do this! It’s alive!” his hands shook and his breaths came out in pants.

James pushed the quill forward. “I’m not making you do anything, Harry. You have a choice. It’s an easy choice.” He reminded the boy softly, his eyes truly glittering with pity.

All it took was another curious sniff from his worn plush animal and tears flowed down his cheeks.

“Please.” he pleaded, crying softly. “I’ll do anything.”

He couldn’t do it. He would rather kill himself than pick up that knife and stab his beloved stuffed animal with it. For all intent and purpose, that toy was alive and Harry had grown up with it. Harry had slept with it; Harry spoke with it and spoke on its behalf for years. It was one thing to disembowel a stuffed animal. It was another thing if it was alive, moving and squeaking on a table.

James’s hand gently tugged his, bending his fingers to open, he picked up the blunt kitchen knife and pressed it into Harry’s palm.

That’s why it was blunt. Harry realized numbly. James wasn’t about to make this easy for him.

“Will you take the quill now, Harry?” James asked meekly. His hand still holding the knife in place.

“No. I can’t.”

“Then you know what to do.” The older man gently coaxed his hand over Rabitty and Harry sobbed, weakly fighting the firm grip on his hands.

“I cannot! Please!” Rabitty kicked its legs again and Harry closed his eyes, sending a fresh flow of tears down his face.

“You don’t have to do it Harry.” His father said quickly, pressing Harry to his shoulder in a half embrace. “You’ll be safe from Snape, I promise you.” He vowed swiftly. “Just take the quill.”

It was just an object, Harry tried to tell himself. It couldn’t understand pain, it wasn’t alive. James said so himself. But no matter how hard Harry tried, the voice is his head wasn’t convincing at all.

With closed eyes, Harry closed his hand around the knife and brought it over Rabitty, shaking.

Rabitty gave a shrill squeak as the knife grew closer and Harry dropped the weapon away.

“I can’t do it.” He sobbed.

James was getting impatient; he painfully pressed the knife back in his cut hand, he then directed Harry’s clenched hand above his toy, causing the boy to sob louder and harder than before.

“You’ll either do it.” The man’s nails dug in his hand. “Or you won’t!” Rabitty struggled as if trying to escape but for some reason couldn’t move. Harry couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t pump enough blood around his body, and he had to count. He had to count.

“ONE!” the blunt side of the knife didn’t easily embed itself on the struggling rabbit and James actually had to stab him with more force while guiding Harry’s hand.

The boy was so petrified that he could barely blink, he couldn’t look away from the horrific scene taking place; James’s chest was pressing behind him and he was too close, still embracing Harry with his other arm.

“I can’t help you anymore now; you have to do the rest yourself.” James said softly as the knife was firmly fixed in the rabbit’s stomach. All blood drained from Harry’s face as James let go of his hand, and he could finally see the knife. There was no blood, of course there wasn’t, but the sounds that Rabitty made, made Harry wish for death.

“One...” he mumbled.

He couldn’t focus, his hand was tightly around the knife and he couldn’t let go. If he did, not only James would be angrier with him, but he would also be forced to sell his father out. Tell James about the coin and their failed plan, and then watch as James sent the official report.

Dad could get in trouble, haven’t he caused enough trouble for him already? Harry thought numbly. Why hadn’t he burnt that night? Why hadn’t he been trampled to death just so he wouldn’t be here now?

James’s other hand squeezed his arm. “Harry, you need to do it. It’s too late to choose now.” He nodded at the knife, but Harry couldn’t hear him. He could stich the animal back together again later, he reasoned with himself. There was no reason to feel distressed.

Stifled, frightened, inhumane whimpers escaped from Rabitty’s closed mouth, causing Harry to hyperventilate in sync with the whimpers. James was talking to him, softly, but the boy couldn’t see. He was busy counting.

What number was he? Eight? Ten? One? Just in case, Harry started from one again.

One. He was a murderer. He was killing his childhood friend, the same one he snuggled up with when Dad was away. The same plushy he dragged along everywhere until he felt too ashamed to do so anymore. The one he secretly talked to while adamantly believing that toys didn’t talk back.

“Harry, move the knife.” The green eyed teen did as he was told and slowly, painstakingly, forced the blunt knife to the side, unraveling old lumps of cotton. Harry didn’t know why, but for some reason, he was imagining gore and blood and innards flowing out and staining his hands and was mildly surprised when nothing happened.

It didn’t make the act any less sickening though, and Harry hated himself for doing it. For being weak enough to be assured by James’ voice and painfully ignoring his rabbit’s calls for mercy, its kicking legs and flailing arms. There would be blood on his hands regardless of Rabitty’s lack of existence.

One... shouldn’t he be at five now at least?

Just in case, Harry started at one again. He didn’t want to miss a single detail.

One. It was over, but Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. Tears flowed down his cheeks without him feeling a thing, and his breathing was excruciatingly hitched, drowning out the agitated noises coming from Rabitty and the disgustingly soft tone James was using.

“Put the knife away now son.” A hand came to his vision and eased the knife from his hands, as if on cue, suddenly Rabitty dropped back on the table. Unmoving and dead. Not dead, Harry mentally shook his head, just, lifeless.

He looked into James’s concerned eyes and then back at his hands, still bended around an invisible knife hovering above a stuffed toy’s tummy.
If Dad was here, Harry thought, he would have truly seen how dead Rabitty was then than it had ever been before. If he saw the mutated plushy then he would believe Harry when he told him that Rabitty couldn’t talk back.

That, toys weren’t alive.

He took out the cotton lumps one by one, piling them next to the toy’s head as he slowly cried. Some part of him was disgruntled by the intense emotions, while the other part chanted ‘It’s Rabitty, and it was moving and it was squealing and Harry was a horrible person.’

With James’ hands clasped around his, Harry was forced to pick up the knife again and cut off the limbs, adding to the pile of cotton lumps one limb after the other. He let James direct his hands and take care of the job for him and only responded when he was ordered to remove the fillings.

When the stomach was hollowed and there was only a rabbit’s head left on the table, he turned to James. The man drew him in a hug and let the boy cry to his heart’s content.

Harry was broken. he felt as if he was torn apart, as if he couldn't tell the difference between this nightmare and reality.

Letting sobs take over, Harry buried his face into the man’s neck, repeating incoherent numbers under his breath over and over again. James said nothing and the boy was fine with it; he just imagined that the warm hands rubbing his back were his dad’s, that the calming light whispers near his ear was his father’s reassuring voice and everything was alright.

With Great care, James picked him up and got him out of the dining room, briskly striding to the hunted wing where he sat with Harry in the kitchen until the boy was calm and coherent enough to get into the cupboard. This time, without a complaint.

Later that night, as he was still in the cupboard, cramped and scared and in pain, Harry realized that James would stop at nothing to get what he wanted; that this was only the tip of an iceberg.

But what did James want from him? And was Harry willing to give him what he desired when the time came?

It didn’t matter, Harry decided groggily. He just had to keep on protecting his dad at all costs. Just like tonight.

He would stay here as long as it took to make sure that Dad was living his life happily with Janet and their baby. Dad would move on eventually, he thought, he had to. The sooner he stopped fighting, the sooner James would stop torturing him.

With those dark thoughts swirling in his mind, Harry finally slipped into a restless sleep. Cramped in a cupboard with the spiders.