Harry choked, the air caught in his throat bearing down on his insides like a vice. It crushed any word he could speak before he could even think it. It smothered his resolve and crippled his fierce persona. It made the tiny stilt he clung to wither into nothingness, until all that was left was for him to fall. He crumpled, eyes watering against his will, expression settled into a grimace as he weakly fought off the coming wave of emotion. It was a tide that had been threatening to sweep him away for years, and he had never dared let it because he never felt safe.
It was a testament to his trust in Jane, the way he barely managed to ease to his knees before completely giving in to everything that was eating at him, flayed open by words he didn’t even know he needed to hear, assuaged of a fear that had always lived in some dark corner of his troubled mind. He hunched forward, arms around himself, dropping his head to hide his shame as tears fell hot and fast down his cheeks.
“Ye dinnae ken,” he whimpered, fingers tight around his biceps as if that might hold him together. “Ah’ve hur’ people, lass. Killed ‘em. Gutted ‘em in cold blood an’ ah didnae care. Ah walked all ov’r ‘em. Made ‘em scared. Ah...” He hated it. And he hated that even now, his father kept his mouth shut, trapping Harry under the threat of a shining hook.