Wishes for Family

Harry skids to a stop, facing down Sahara's loaded gun as she smoothly steps between them. She glares at him, lowering her gun a little to his chest and squeezing the trigger.

Harry gasps at the pain that rips through his left shoulder. He takes a knee that turns into a sit as he carefully heals his shoulder without passing out. He ignores the fingers that suddenly sneak into his hair, grasping harshly and trying to pull his face up. Harry just keeps healing until the wall comes up and he toes it hard. Then, he lets go, the wound bleeding sluggishly.

Quick as a whip, he reaches up, grasping the arm attached to the hand in his hair. He's too weak to do anything but hold it, though.

"Well, well, well," Matron's voice says, sounding all sorts of gleeful and smug. "You are interesting."

Harry gasps when he finally loses the battle to keep his head down, gritting his teeth up at Matron's smug face, "I'm going to kill you." Gene didn't need to die at all. She could have put him in the fields or as labor. There was no reason, no reason good enough to murder a kid.

Matron tsks, "Oh, honey, I sure hope you try. But for now, we need to fix you up."

Harry is pulled to his feet, weakly struggling but not getting far at all. The women around him are murmuring between themselves, motioning to Gene's corpse and Harry. The teen mourns not being able to save the mousy teen. It hurts. It hurts far more than his physical pain, as the two women flanking him haul him inside the building. Harry glances over his shoulder desperately, the outside world like a painted picture of perfection.

Then the door closes.

---

Weakened as he is, Harry doesn't make the process easy for them. He fights and struggles in his waning strength, digging his heels into the immaculate floor. Matron titters and tsks at every attempt to get away.

"Such disobedience," Matron remarks idly.

"Bite me!" Harry snaps, grunting when his arm is suddenly pinned behind him in a painful hold. Harry grits his teeth at the sharp, lacing pain, his struggles stopping altogether.

Matron nods to the woman behind Harry approvingly, "I won't do such a nasty thing. But I have something even better!" Matron primly marches away, Harry forced to follow. He jerks and stills again when it only results in more pain.

Matron enters a room full of clothes. At the far end is a door, cracked slightly but dark inside. Harry is forced inside the room and held still by a second pair of hands.

"Matron," a voice says from the door. Harry looks, as does Matron. The woman there is holding something black in her hands. "I have the collar you asked for."

Collar? Harry's mind quickly puts the pieces together as Matron smiles and steps forward to receive it. As soon as she turns to him with that same smile that morphs into smug, Harry knows that collar is meant for him.

Matron glances at the new woman, "Yanna, hold him down with the other two."

Arm be damned, Harry began struggling with renewed strength. His heart pounds with rising fear as Yanna joins the two currently trying to hold him down. "Let me go!" Harry grunts out, crying out when the back of his knee is kicked. His leg collapses and it's over a moment later, the weight of all three pinning him down easily.

Matron doesn't laugh but her smile is unbearably smug as she crouches down. A hand snakes into Harry's hair and his head is pulled up, not unlike that time in Washington. Only this time, Harry cannot get away. Weak, pained sounds escape as his body arches up enough for Matron to easily slip the collar around his neck. She almost lovingly tightens it 'til it's just on the inside of snug, something clicking into place and then pats Harry's cheek mockingly, "It fits perfectly!"

Harry tries to bite at her but their hold on him is too firm. Matron's smirk widens and then she looks up, "Let him go."

Matron stands and steps back just as Harry is released. She holds out her hand to the side, watching Harry stand as quickly as he's able. A small black thing with a large button is placed on her hand just as Harry regains his feet. The moment he lunges for her, Matron's thumb presses the button.

Harry crashes to the floor, a loud, pained sound echoing off the walls as he convulses. Something courses through his body, his muscles spasming and locking up. It's incredibly painful and even more scary, as Matron steps into his line of sight. Harry realizes, when she releases the button and the echoing sounds go away, that it was him crying out. His body instantly stops seizing and he's left trembling and gasping on the floor. He stares up at Matron with rising incredulousness.

Matron smiles angelically, "Do it again."

The sheer nerve has Harry reacting before he can think about it. He doesn't get far, the collar activating with an aggravating giggle. This time, it's over a lot sooner but Harry is no better than the first. His body feels incredibly weak and stretched, like he had done some intense exercises in thirty seconds. He lays limply on the floor, staring up with rising hatred, taking in her smug superiority and vowing to wipe it off.

Again, Matron smiles beautifically, "Again." Knowing better, Harry doesn't move. Her smile widens and she coos, "Good boy."

Consequences be damned, Harry tries to shoot to his feet but like the first two times, he ends up right back to where he started. Matron openly laughs, "You are going to be so much fun to train! But first…" Her thumb lifts and Harry gasps, unable to breathe through being shocked. "We're going to be cleaning you up!"

"Stop!" Harry snaps as hands descend on him. He tries to bite at a hand but he's smacked before he can get his teeth down. Slightly dazed, they take the opportunity to grab his arms with bruising strength. Harry kicks and tries to roll as they drag him to the far door. Harry won't make it easy for these fucking bints to get their way!

"Drop him," Matron orders. Harry's arms don't even have time to hit the floor before he's being shocked again. "It seems like we're going to do this the hard way…" Matron gives a great big fake sigh and then immediately perks back up. "What fun! Bring him."

Hands grab him again and Harry weakly struggles as they drag him back out of the room. His legs kick uselessly and his fingers dig harshly into their arms. Other than unhappy hisses, they do nothing about it. He's dragged down a few hallways and by the time they stop at a plain door in a hall full of doors, Harry has stopped struggling. His energy and magical levels are so low, he's surprised he's still awake.

Matron walks in, leaving the door wide open. The women drag Harry inside and dump him in the corner. The walls are white. The ceiling is white. The floor is white. There are no windows. The room is small and already Harry can feel the walls closing in on him. Matron's hair pops in the lack of color as she glances around in disinterest, "This will do."

Her eyes land on him when he shifts, "I hope it's good enough for someone as interesting as you are," Harry sits up slowly and gives her a scowl. Matron's smirk widens, "Oh, we are going to have so much fun, you and I."

"Fuck you," Harry snaps with a growl.

Matron titters, pressing the button. Harry's back impacts the wall as his body spasms beyond his control, "Another thing to work on. My, my, I'll have to reward Sahara for finding you. Do have a good sleep, dear boy. You'll need it."

Matron smiles beatifically and Harry feels the need to knock her white, pearly teeth right out of her face. Then, she turns on her thin heels and leaves the room, the remaining women glancing at Harry with varying sneers as they follow. The door shuts and Harry is left alone.

His hands are instantly examining the collar around his neck. His fingers explore cold plastic and leather with metal clasps. The underside is also leather, already starting to rub at the skin. Harry feels bulbous lumps along the front on the inside with his fingertips, unable to get enough of his digit in due to the snug fit. Without his finger there, they press into his skin. On the back of his neck is a small dangling thing that he quickly figures is a lock. His gut sinks in realization and the magnitude of the collar is overwhelming.

He goes to wish it off but hesitates… the Matron decided to take him when she learned of his healing abilities. If she knew about his other abilities, she would lock him up even tighter. He pulls his hand away with some effort; willingly staying in his own prison to hide the extent of his abilities is hard.

He eyes the white walls, floor, ceiling with increasing frequency. The only thing he can hear is his own breathing. There are small sounds under that, almost whimper-like that Harry is sure he's making. He can't help it, though. The walls steadily close in on him.

Exhausted, physically, magically, mentally, even emotionally, Harry eases back down to the floor and curls up tightly. He's out before he can even think about escaping.

—

Harry wakes to a crick in his neck from the collar. He winces as he sits up, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the tightness. The lack of pain draws his eyes down to the gunshot wound. The collar prevents him from looking straight down but he just brings his shoulder up. He pushes his shirt down and checks; it's healed enough to show puckered flesh. Harry is glad the bullet went all the way through, checking over his shoulder. The exit wound is in the same state of healing. With slightly renewed energy levels, Harry heals it completely, not wanting the wound to potentially get in the way of escape.

He will escape. One way or another.

He has a little sister to get back to.

The room is as white and bland as ever. The only interruption is the dark edges of the door and the door handle. The light is bright and allows no shadows except that which Harry casts himself.

He stands, shaking out his still exhausted limbs and checks the door.

Locked.

Harry tries again and then slaps the door in frustration. Leaving his hand on the cool, featureless surface, Harry traces the edges of the door with keen eyes. The door opens outward; the hinges are on the outside of the room. Why? Stepping away, Harry studies the inside of the room again and comes to the conclusion that it was a storage room of some kind that had been repurposed. Why it was painted all white, he doesn't know but it doesn't bode well for his… stay here.

The light is too high up, even if Harry jumps. He tries, even a short sprint-like leap but even the tips of his fingers don't get close enough. He knocks on the walls with an ear to the surface but they all sound solid. He pushes his fingers into any seam or dimple. He toes the floor and then crawls around, knowing what he's doing is ultimately useless but unable to bring himself to stop. Stopping means giving up.

Harry doesn't give up.

Zoey is waiting.

—

There is no concept of time in a box.

With the light on all the time and no windows to show the sky, Harry has no way of knowing how long he's been in the room. After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, he takes a break that turns into a nap that ultimately results in waking up starving and thirsty.

And needing the bathroom something bad.

As if summoned by that very thought, the door opens, startling him. Harry jumps to his feet but the collar activates, sending him to his knees. His eyes are shut tight as he grits his teeth and groans through the pain. It lets up moment later and then hands are grabbing his arms firmly. Harry recovers too late, his wrists cuffed together. Then he's being hauled to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?" Harry rasps as they take him from the room. The explosion of color as he looks around is just a little shocking. It distracts him long enough to lose track of where they are taking him. They open a plain door, revealing a single toilet.

"Use it," one of them says and shoves him inside.

Harry catches himself on the toilet before he can bash his face into the porcelain. He's quick to use it, though.

They must have been listening because the door opens just as he finishes, "Come on. Let's go."

Harry scowls at them and raises his hands, "Can I wash my hands?"

The darker haired woman on the left nods but the blonde rolls her eyes, "Better not try anything, kid." She holds up the button and gives him a pointed look.

Shrugging, Harry approaches and allows them to grab his arms. They take him across the hall into what looks like a shower room and then shoves him into the counter at the nearest sink.

"Fucking rude," Harry hears himself mutter.

"I don't care," the brunette replies dryly. "Wash your hands."

Harry does and they grab his arms again. They lead him back out the door. As soon as they enter the doorway, Harry viciously shoves the blonde into the doorframe, her gasp of pain barely heard over the brunette's startled squeal. The blonde falls, the button slipping across the floor as Harry grapples with the brunette. He tries to overpower her but she's stronger than she looks and fights back just as hard.

"Amanda!"

Yet again, Harry is shoved away but this time he crashes to the floor in convulsions.

"You okay?"

"No, he really hurt my arm. Fucking asshole."

"Let him up. We'll drag him back and tell Matron."

"In a minute."

"Now, Jessica."

A sigh and then Harry goes boneless as the button is depressed. He jerks when his arm is grabbed again and then suffers another, longer round of electrocution.

"Just stop fighting you fucking moron."

Harry gasps as the pain stops, rolling his head around to give them a snarl, "Fuck off, ya bi-ah!" Harry's jaw snaps shut as he convulses again.

"Jessica, enough. The Matron won't like you using it so much."

A sigh and the collar deactivates, "You are such a party pooper."

"Fucking bints," Harry spits out, gasping and trembling. He gives a short scream as he's shocked, again.

"Okay! Give me that!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Harry recognizes Sahara's voice. The electricity cuts off, leaving him a shaking, gasping mess, "Uh!" Amanda stutters. "We were just-!"

"Give me the remote, Jessica. Amanda, why the fuck is he like that?"

"He… he was struggling. He shoved Jessica into the door frame and nearly got away from us."

"He struggled enough to look like that?... Fine, whatever. Just drag him, let's go."

Harry groans, his wrists being grabbed again. He's quite literally dragged back the way they came. In barely any time at all, he's being deposited back in the white room.

"Come on. You'll explain to the Matron," Sahara says and the door closes.

Harry pushes himself up and rests his back on the wall, still trembling from all the shocks he endured. Why didn't he hit them harder? He could have gotten a lot farther than a few feet. He eyes his prize for the trouble; a nice, shiny set of bracelets.

Harry huffs and tilts his head back.

Stupid.

So stupid.

—

Harry is no stranger to being hungry. Though he had eaten better at Negan and Lucille's house than he had since he woke up here, he knows this pain acutely. He can't recall a specific memory but the feeling of an empty stomach is visceral in its familiarity. Harry knows what it feels like to go days and days without food.

Harry doesn't really remember feeling so thirsty.

After a short - or long - nap, Harry woke up to a bucket in the corner. How it got there without him waking up is mind boggling. However, the meaning is clear; he won't be leaving this room any time soon.

His stomach clenches, gurgling hungrily.

Harry wonders how long he's been here.

Not more than two days, right? He doesn't know. It could have only been hours. It's impossible to tell in this white, white room. Harry decides to just keep his eyes on his clothes, instead. The dirty, muted colors seem bright with the bland background.

He's so thirsty…

—

Harry startles awake when the door opens. Swallowing is painful due to how dry his mouth and throat are.

Matron steps into the room, looking immaculate in a blue and white ensemble. He tries to sit up but he just doesn't have the energy. Matron smiles down at him, "How are we doing today, hm?"

Harry refuses to play her game. Instead, he turns his head aside and stares at the wall.

"Oh, don't be like that," Matron coos. "Would you like some water?"

Water would be heavenly and Harry is incredibly tempted. His eyes flutter at the thought… but the thought of giving into her whims makes jaw set stubbornly. He isn't afraid of dying.

"You are a tough cookie to crack," Matron muses coyly. "Very stupid, you know but I kind of like that about you. It means I get to have more fun than I thought!"

Harry wonders what went wrong for this woman to be so demented.

Matron turns, "Grab him. He's too weak to fight his cleansing now."

Two unfamiliar women come in and reach down. Harry doesn't have the energy to fight their hold as they opt to drag him.

"What are you doing?" Matron snaps. "Pick him up! I don't want his germs streaking my floor!"

Harry rolls his eyes. What a prude. Who worries about that kind of thing these days?

"Shut up," Matron snaps at Harry.

"It's a… v-verbal tic," Harry rasps, his eyes narrowed into a glare as he's hauled upright and then supported by his arms. "Can't control it."

"You will," Matron promises darkly, turning to walk out the door.

They take him from the room. His shoes drag along the floor on the way to their destination. Harry's head lolls as his eyes flick to and fro, taking in the smorgasbord of colors. Everything seems so vibrant, much more vibrant than they should be. The colors keep him distracted and in what seems like no time at all, Harry finds himself in another shower room. How many do these people need?!

"Take those filthy clothes off," Matron orders from somewhere nearby. "And the cuffs."

"Fuck-" Harry coughs. "-off. Don't." Harry tries to weakly push the hands away but he's easily overpowered. His clothes are stripped, even ripped from his body one by one, thrown carelessly into a dirty pile. The girls are grinning widely as they tear the clothes away. Harry grits his teeth into a snarl, "Stop." He even jerks his arms away when they try to remove the cuffs.

"So you do have some fight left. Goody!" Matron muses as they finish removing his clothes and the cuffs. "Get out of the way, girls."

Harry is dropped to the floor, naked from head to foot. His hands are over his genitals, trying to keep at least some of his dignity. The women move away and then cold water is sprayed over him. Harry gasps, body clenching in the cold and knocking the breath from his lungs. Some get in his mouth, making him choke. However, used to cold showers, he quickly recovers and turns his head away from the spray, enduring it because he has to.

The spray ceases, "Soap him up."

"No! Get away!" Hands holding sponges descend. Harry whips out his arm but it's caught easily and held in a bruising grip as they scrub the rest of his body down. "Bleeding stop! Leave me alone!"

They get to his back and pause. Harry pants as one says, "His back…"

Matron tilts her head and makes a spin motion with her hand. Harry is forced to turn around. His face burns from being so displayed to these people, unable to cover himself or keep some dignity.

"Oh my, seems someone already tried to train you," Matron muses. "Such barbarity on a child."

Harry snorts, feeling it scrape his already raw throat. He's staring at his clenched toes as he says, "Hypocrite."

"You are not a child, so your point is moot. Finish up."

Harry feels the sponges dip too low and jerks, snapping his teeth at the nearest arm. She uses the sponge to turn his face away, very nearly getting soap in his eye.

"Oh, don't be like that," Matron coos. "Beautiful women scrubbing your body down? Isn't it a dream come true for a teenage boy?"

"Oh piss off, you bloody perv'," Harry snaps as he tries to pull away but unable to.

Matron tsks, "Such language. Move away."

Harry has a second to brace. The cold isn't nearly as shocking as the first time but he still loses his breath. The only good thing about this whole mess is the water he's getting due to their carelessness.

The water turns off moments later, leaving him shivering violently on the cold floor. He feels like a living icicle.

"That will do. Kim, get the kit. Dani, sit him up."

Harry is so cold. The moment Dani sits him up, he unthinkingly turns into her warmth, shivering even harder. He catches himself and miserably turns away. He won't seek warmth and comfort from them, no matter how much he needs it.

"Thank you, Kim. Want to help Dani?"

A second set of hands descend, holding him in place. It's entirely unneeded. Any energy Harry managed to save up was used fighting the wrong battle. He can only flinch and jerk as Matron cuts his hair and shaves his face with confident, assured strokes. He just glares at her as she works, to which she only gives him a mocking smile.

However, when Harry is sprayed down a third time, dried off and groomed, Matron's smug expression cracks the slightest. Harry doesn't know what to make of it.

"Bring him," Matron orders as she turns away.

Dignity gone, Harry is carried through the halls, still naked. Thankfully, they don't see anyone else but the experience is still a terrible one, face flushed darkly in his embarrassment.

The room they end up in is the room he was brought to the first time. The far door is open to reveal a shower room.

"Wait there," Matron points carelessly, going up to the rows and rows of pressed clothes. Harry watches with dull eyes as she chooses a few white articles. She approaches with some thrown over her arm and smiles again. Harry hates it. "Are you going to choose the hard way?"

Harry gathers his spit and it lands spectacularly on her cheek just under her eye.

Matron wipes the wet spot away primly and sighs delicately, "I like you. Nobody ever chooses the hard way." She twitches her head.

Harry is abruptly dropped and cannot contain the yelp from being shocked. He twitches on the floor for what seems like forever, eyes locked on Matron's as she gleefully watches. When she lets up, all he can do is lay there. He's at his limit. He can't fight any more today.

"Okay," Harry rasps, coughing from how raw his throat feels. His eyes roll from how exhausted he is. "Okay."

Matron tilts her head, "Good." She switches her gaze to the other girls. "Dress him."

This time Harry doesn't fight. He's not giving up; he needs energy to fight. To get energy, he needs food and water. To get food and water, he's very likely going to need to play along. The Matron is very clearly a dangerous, psychotic woman but Harry has overcome worse. He's gotten out of worse, even if he can't remember it. He can do this.

For Zoey.

Harry keeps the memory of braiding his sister's hair at the forefront of his mind as feminine hands dress him. The memory fuels his determination to get out of this mess. To escape and get back. Once dressed, he's held upright, his legs barely strong enough to hold him up. Jesus, he's seriously weak. How long was he in that room? How long have they starved him?

Matron had been flicking through the clothes with her back turned to them, so when one says, "Matron." She glances over her shoulder with a nod. Then, she double-takes, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

As Matron turns and approaches, Harry feels like she isn't looking at him… but someone else. Her eyes take on a sad downturn, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Once close enough, she reaches out and smooths the lapels of his form fitting vest, her hands sliding over his shoulders and down the loose sleeves of the dress shirt. Her eyes lock onto his face and then a frown wipes away the sadness. She shakes her head once and steps back, "You clean up nicely. I was wondering if there was a civilized boy under all that nasty grime."

What was that? Harry eyes her warily but any sign of the sadness she felt is gone, replaced by a genial smile.

The smile drops, "That nasty habit of yours will be next." She looks at Kim and Dani. "Take him back to the room."

"Yes, ma'am."

Matron clacks out of the room at a quick clip, her heels echoing back with every step. Harry is still reeling from everything to give much protest as they take him from the room.

"You guys are a great example of a thriving community," Harry drawls.

"Shut up," one replies in monotone.

"No, seriously," Harry pushes, past the point of caring. "I can definitely see this place thriving, what with punishing guys for things they haven't done yet."

"Shut the fuck up, kid," the other snaps.

Harry looks at her, taking in bright brown eyes and black hair, "I never did anything to you. Why are you hurting me like this?"

The question takes her off guard so much that she pauses, mouth open. The moment is lost when the other says, "Matron said not to listen to him. We're here."

"Of course she'd say that. She treats you guys like dogs, ordering you around like that," Harry murmurs as they set him against the wall of the white room.

"Says the one with the collar," the other snips, sounding sick of listening to him. "I'm telling Matron about this."

Harry sneers up at her and just says, "Woof."

Her pretty features turn ugly as she stands. Her leg whips out, shoe nailing his side. Harry wheezes as he leans over in pain.

"Kim!" Dani snaps, pulling Kim away. "Stop!"

"He's being an asshole!" Kim snaps back.

"And? Guys are always assholes! How are you not used to it by now?" Dani argues, pulling Kim from the room. Harry looks up and gives a mocking little wave to Kim just before she's dragged out the door.

Kim screeches and the door shuts. Harry savors his win, small and insignificant as it is.

When the pain is down to manageable levels, Harry brings his arms up to explore what they did with his hair and face. The sides of his head shaved close to the skin. The top is also short but combed forward. Harry messes it up on purpose. The full face of whiskers he had been growing out is gone, replaced by neat lines of hair on his upper lip and a patch on his chin. His pants are white, feet bare with a white dress shirt under a form fitting white vest.

He feels like a stranger in his own skin.

His stomach gurgles weakly, painfully. Harry brushes his hand over the area gently, leaning his head against the wall. He can't really manage more self comfort than that right now. The water he managed to get down helped but it wasn't nearly enough. His magic is still dangerously low, unable to recharge. He suspects his magic is being used as fast as his core can produce it to keep his organs from being damaged by the utter lack of intake. He certainly feels a drain on his reserves that just never seems to recover properly.

The door opens, his hand stopping.

Dani peeks her head in, her dark hair slipping off her shoulders to dangle in a dark sheet. Then she steps in, closing the door behind her. Her tanned skin and dark hair make her seem unreal in the white room; popping and almost too clear. She's holding a bowl of something in her hand and the button in the other, "I have some food. Are we going to have problems?"

At the prospect of food, his stomach gives a loud, pitiful snarl. Harry shakes his head. At least it's not the Matron.

As she approaches, Harry's head is filled with Knowledge. He keeps his council as she sits down next to him, crossing her legs. She sets the remote behind her, probably to keep him from tackling her for it and then mixes whatever is in the bowl. Harry makes the effort to sit up a bit more, making her tense.

"I'm just… sitting up," Harry murmurs.

She considers him, then offers the bowl. More than a little startled, Harry hesitantly takes it from her. Their fingers brush and Dani is quick to pull away.

It's a clear broth and cold. Good enough for him, he lifts the bowl straight to his face.

"No!" Dani says suddenly, her hand on his wrist. It feels like a brand, fire hot and dry. She hisses, taking her hand back. "Holy fuck, you're cold."

Harry lowers the bowl, "I just got sprayed down like a dog."

Dani winces, "Oh, right."

Harry lifts the bowl again and Dani waves her hands instead of grabbing him, "Wait! Wait!"

Annoyed, Harry lowers it again, "Not to be rude but I haven't eaten in ages. Let me eat. Or drink."

"You have to sip," she ignores him completely. "You'll throw it back up. Sip."

"Whatever," Harry replies, sipping at the cold broth. It's heavenly. He swirls it around, enjoying the taste for as long as he could but sooner than later, he can't hold back from swallowing. It goes down nicely and then his stomach is demanding more.

Careful be damned, he's hungry.

He gulps down the rest, magic easing the nausea in favor of digesting the nutrients. There isn't much but it's far better than nothing. Dani had been trying to talk him down but Harry was done listening. He lowers the empty bowl and burps, licking his lips.

Dani pulls a face, "Gross. Excuse you."

Harry looks at her and hands the bowl back, "Now you want to use manners?"

She takes the bowl and pauses, sighing, "I guess we… I deserve that."

Harry hums noncommittally, "Did I do something to deserve it?"

Dani scowls, her eyes downcast as she scoots away. Harry's hand whips out and brushes her leg, the little magical reserve he had wiped out instantly. Dani startles with a squeal but Harry's eyes roll up and he passes out.

—

Harry wakes in a world of pain.

It stops with a, "Good. You're awake."

Harry opens his eyes and meets the Matron's steely gaze. Her lip twitches and she presses the button. Harry yelps as he's shocked.

"I'm training that out of you, one way or another," Matron announces in a detached tone.

It's barely a couple of seconds later when Harry receives another shock.

"One way…" Another shock. "Or another." Harry can't help the groans at each shock. Over and over. Bare seconds apart he's being zapped until he gathers enough sense of mind to snap his jaw shut. The tip of his tongue smarts from the close shave.

Matron pauses for a long moment and then says, "Good. You're learning. At least you're not completely stupid."

Harry slips and relaxes his jaw, receiving a jolt bare seconds later. He focuses on keeping his mouth shut.

It's hard.

Harry knows he mumbles quite frequently without realizing but the amount of times Matron presses the button when he sincerely thought he wasn't is incredibly jarring. Is he actually mumbling or is she punishing him under the guise of training?

"Stop!" Harry snaps, receiving another shock. "I can't fuck-ah!" Another shock.

"Language," Matron says primly.

"I can't help it!" Harry cries out, spasming from another shock.

"You will," Matron says, dark and unyielding. Unhinged. She shocks him again.

When the Matron leaves, Harry is left shaking on the floor of the white, white room. The bright light sears his sensitive eyes and tries to roll over but he can't seem to coordinate his limbs. He just closes his eyes and thinks about braiding Zoey's curly, curly hair.

—

Dani comes back in at some point. Harry comes out of his memories to receive the spoon filled with cold broth. He can't help but stare at her; she's so vibrant. She literally pops off the whiteness behind her. Dani purses her lips and says nothing.

She leaves and Harry dips back into his memories.

—

Time and time again, Matron comes back to the white room. Harry isn't sure of any time frame. However, regardless of how little control he has over his verbal tic, Harry does learn. Slowly, the time between shocks gets longer and longer.

Dani continues to come in, looking more and more conflicted as she feeds him, though what good it does, Harry doesn't know. All of his magic is being used to keep his body alive through the torture its going through. She's just prolonging his torment at this rate.

That knowledge doesn't stop him from staring, though. It makes Dani uncomfortable at times and Harry tries his best to look at anything else but it’s hard. The room is white, his clothes are white, his skin white… his eyes almost water, looking at her, even though she wears dark colors. He physically cannot take his eyes away sometimes, so starved for something other than white.

After a particularly brutal training session, the cutting remarks Matron is so fond of still ringing in Harry's head, Dani makes another appearance. She looks hesitant, closing the door. She doesn't even have the button anymore, Harry far too emaciated and weak to put up any kind of fight.

As usual, he can't help staring. There is a bright yellow bandana tied around her neck that his eyes keep landing on. His eyes water at the intense color, so radiant. He had forgotten how bright yellow can be. Dani feeds him a spoon and then asks out of nowhere, "What did you do?"

Harry just looks at her but his eyes inevitably fall back on the yellow.

She frowns in thought, offering another spoon but Harry keeps his lips shut. Dani falters and then sighs and sets the bowl aside, "That first day I fed you. What did you do?"

"Why?" Harry rasps quietly. Why is she bringing it up now, after all this time? How long has it even been?

Dani lays her hand on her ankle, his eyes follow the movement, "I broke my ankle as a kid and it didn't heal right. It's hurt for as long as I can remember but now it doesn't. Why?"

Harry returns his eyes to her and decides he doesn’t feel like giving her an answer. His eyes drop to the broth. Dani follows his gaze and then says, "No, answer my question."

Sick of people demanding things from him, Harry growls out, "Fuck off."

Taken aback, Dani huffs with a scowl and stands, grabbing the bowl, "Then starve."

She goes to leave and Harry quips to her back, "So just another Tuesday, then?"

Dani pauses but leaves anyway, the door clicking shut behind her. Harry huffs in tired amusement, shaking his head. He stares at the white walls, mentally retreating from the room.

Zoey smiles over her shoulder and then sits straight. Harry digs his fingers into the strands-

—

"I healed you," Harry rasps out of nowhere before the spoon can get to his mouth. He's staring at her, like he usually does; he can't help it. Dani pops. She's used to it by now. She’s wearing a pink scarf this time. Pink is such a soft color.

Dani pauses, taken aback.

"That's what I do," Harry continues after swallowing; his throat is always raw after a session. He never has the spare energy to directly heal it. "I heal people."

Dani gives a small head shake, eyelids fluttering in thought as she offers him the spoonful, "So… you healed my ankle?"

Harry is getting sick of broth but takes it anyway, "Yeah."

"Why?"

Why do people keep asking him that? "How long have I been here?" Harry asks instead. He ignores the spoonful, intent on getting an answer instead.

Dani hesitates, "... We're not allowed to tell you anything."

"Have a good rest of your day, Dani," Harry rasps in response and turns his head away. He hears her gasp in surprise.

"How do you know my name?"

Harry keeps his council. Surprising her like that, having the upper hand for once felt more invigorating than the broth.

"Hey, I asked you-"

The door opens. Dani shifts and so does Harry, opening his eyes to take in the Matron. She does not look happy, her eyes taking in the scene with a tightening jaw. "Why are you still here?"

"Matron!" Dani says, standing quickly. She takes the bowl with her and holds it anxiously, "S-sorry, it's hard to tell time in here. My apologies."

"Get out," Matron snaps. Dani jerks forward and eases out of the door without touching anyone. Harry's eyes are no longer following her, though. His eyes are riveted to the red of Matron's mane of hair. He doesn't want to look at her but is physically unable to. Her hair is so bright. Matron looks down at him and her face softens for a moment.

Harry is getting whiplash from the conflicting signs.

Moment gone, Matron hardens, "You will heal her. When you do, you will be fed better."

It takes a second for Harry to respond, having to focus beyond how red her hair is to chuckle out, "I don't even have enough to heal myself. Good luck!" Harry heaves a coughing laugh.

Matron steps closer and takes a knee, reaching out to grasp his chin in a severe, bruising hold. She forces him to look her in the eyes; they are a clear, bright green and full of unbridled rage, "If you don't heal her, I will find another mousy teen and kill that one in front of you. Think you could muster the will to heal that one in time?"

Harry knows she's fully capable of it. He stares back into her eyes and sees that he will not win this war of wills. While she has all the power, Harry will never win against her. For the first time, Harry forces his eyes to lower. He hates himself for giving in. It grinds against everything that he is.

I'm just biding my time. I will get out. I will find Zoey.

"Good boy," Matron suddenly coos, her grip softening by half. Then, she pats his cheek with her other hand and disengages. Harry doesn't have to look up to know she looks unbearably smug.

"Get in here," Matron snaps out.

Harry doesn't look up. When the bloody arm of some girl he's never met is held out in front of him, Harry places his hand over the gunshot wound and heals it, unconcerned about the severe drain on his magical core. If he dies, then at least he is out of this hell. If he lives…

Well, he'll deal with it.

—

When Harry wakes, he's still in the room.

There's a thin blanket on top of him.

He's sore and stiff and has no idea how long he's been out for. Taking himself in, he knows it's long enough for them to take him out of the room for a shower; his dirty, smelly clothes have been replaced with a fresh set. Harry feels his head and knows they groomed him as well.

He messes up his hair.

He investigates the blanket. It's white and bland but something other than hard, hard floors and walls.

The door opens and Dani pops her head in, her face lighting up when she sees him. She steps in and says, "You're finally awake!"

Harry doesn't reply. Dani doesn't seem to be expecting one, as she pops down in front of him. A peek at the bowl in her hand shows oatmeal. Oatmeal is better than broth.

His eyes return to her face as she offers him a spoonful. Harry takes it, chewing carefully and enjoying every moment of oatmeal goodness before swallowing. He asks, "How long have I been out?"

"Three days or so," Dani replies distractedly, offering him another spoon.

After eating that one, he asks, "Is that girl okay?"

Dani pauses, not expecting that question, "... Yeah, she's fine. She keeps showing off her scar to everyone." Dani offers another spoonful. She seems deep in thought about something.

"How long have I been here?" Harry asks in her distraction.

"A month or so?" Dani answers as she comes back to herself. She pauses again, taking on a distinctly embarrassed look, "... I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"I won't tell if you don't," Harry quips with a small smirk.

Dani scowls, "Tell me how you know my name. And why you healed me."

Harry musters a shrug, "I picked it up after my… shower," his lip curls on the term and Dani looks guilty. "And I don't need a reason to heal someone."

Dani looks even more troubled at that, "So you just-anyone?"

Harry nods, "It's not my place to decide who gets healed and who doesn't."

Dani shakes her head, "Of course, it is!"

"Why?" Harry asks her, again taking her off guard. "Just because I happen to have healing powers doesn't mean I get to play God and decide the fates of people I don't even know."

Like the Matron… is unsaid between them.

"I need to go," Dani says. Harry eyes the bowl and relaxes when he sees nothing left. He watches her stand and go to the door.

"People don't deserve punishment for something they haven't done yet," Harry says as she leaves. He sees the door pause… but ultimately closes. Harry hopes he gave her something to think about.

He does; fourweeks. A month of… lessons and degrading treatment. Four weeks of wearing the collar. Four weeks since he's seen his sister. A month. Such a short period of time from an outside point of view but in this room… with its walls… and whiteness… he felt like it's been far… far longer. He hates the way the room makes everyone that comes in seem unreal and vivid.

He hates this place. He hates the Matron.

He… doesn't hate Dani but he sure isn't impressed with her either.

Harry leans his head back against the wall and takes in his thin wrist and arm. He hadn't paid much attention to his body since getting here, more concerned with… well, everything else. The thinness he bears now is just as alien as the clothes are. He feels… weak, in a way he hadn't felt since coming here. He doesn't even feel like Harry… he feels like he's stepping into someone else's clothes. Someone that most definitely isn't him.

Harry had taken over the body of a Harry that had turned to violence to regain control over his life, like how he, himself, had turned to magic. He had always been strong enough to fight to protect those he loved. He had been prepared for any enemy… at least, he had thought so.

Somehow, a psychotic female leader of a community wasn't something he expected.

Harry had been prepared for a male in that role. He's certainly paying for that oversight. He won't do it again, that's for sure.

—

Armed with better knowledge, Harry is able to keep a rough track of the days thereafter. Matron comes in once a day and so does Dani. When during the day, Harry doesn't know. But he figures it's the best way he has of tracking the days.

It's roughly a week and a half of hard lessons and silence from Dani that Matron is finally happy with his progress.

"Good!" She chirps, after more than an hour of silence between them. "We can move on, now. So much better without that mumbling nonsense, don't you think?"

Harry says nothing.

Matron continues, unconcerned, "Yes, I thought so, too. You've been so fun to train. I don't get to use the shock collar often, you see. I prefer a more hands on approach to things."

Harry internally rolls his eyes.

"First, you'll be cleaned," Matron decides idly as she stares down at him, thumb ready on the button. "You smell ghastly. Then obedience training-" obedience training?! "-begins. What fun, don't you think!?" She asks rhetorically, patting her inner wrist gently in her excitement. She has a wide, pleased grin on her face.

No, not really.

Harry yelps as he's zapped. Matron tsks, "Maybe in a few days. Still need some remedial training for that awful habit."

Harry rolls his eyes and gets another shock for his trouble.

—

Harry gets no food and no visit from Dani.

The walls press in on him in the long, long, looooong meaningless hours thereafter. Harry naps and waits and naps and waits, waiting for something, anything, to happen. The silence bears down on him, a physical force on the crown of his head, pushing his face ever closer to the floor.

Then, the door opens.

Matron steps in and Harry's eyes water from how vibrant her hair is. He can't move his eyes from the bright curls. It seems so alien in the whiteness of the Room.

"How are we today, hm?" Matron asks and Harry's ears ring from the sound.

Harry opens his mouth but pauses. He closes it slowly and lowers his eyes, the simple action harder than he thought. Matron left him completely alone for so long for one reason only. A punishment. This was a test to see if he still has any fight. Harry doesn't know if he does, anymore. Not with this woman. Not right now.

"Good boy," Matron coos. It sends shivers of revulsion through him that he doesn't dare show. "Time for your cleanse."

Dani comes in, with another girl Harry has never met. He doesn't even flinch as they reach down and grab his arms. Dani has her eyes averted, for the first time seeming uncomfortable with how he’s being treated. They haul him up and take him from the room.

The de-clothing and shower are the same as the first. Harry finds himself numb to the embarrassment now, keeping his head lowered as they dry and clothe him. Shave and cut. Harry feels like a doll.

Again, Matron's countenance cracks when she comes near. She sprays a mild cologne on his neck and sniffs delicately, then smiles with her eyes closed, "Very good, Trent." Her eyes open and she flinches, ever so slightly.

Trent?

Matron's icy demeanor swarms over, "Bring him."

—

The room Matron led them to was filled with dog toys. Harry eyes the floor with growing dread as the women drop him. Matron clacks by on her heels, sounding pleased, "Time for obedience training! Ladies," Matron glances up and then waves them away delicately. "You may go."

They leave.

Matron points to a dog toy at her foot and says, "Pick it up."

Harry stares at her uncomprehendingly.

Matron grins and presses the button. Harry jerks at the zap. Matron points back at her foot and demands, "Pick it up."

Harry forces himself to stand. His legs shake, unsteady and jelly-like as he makes his way towards her. Not fast enough, it seems. Her lip curls into another smile and a press to the button has Harry crashing to the floor.

"I don't have all day," Matron croons in a fake impatient tone. "Pick. It. Up."

Harry pushes himself to his feet, swallowing down the instinctive snarl and nearly staggers. He catches himself, somehow, and manages to get to the dog toy. He bends and grabs it, pulling it up to give to the Matron. Harry carefully keeps his eyes averted.

She grabs it with a, "Good boy," and throws it across the room. "Now, go get it."

Harry's hands clench. The collar activates, sending him to his knees. Matron's voice is cold and hard, "Keep fighting it, boy. The more you fight, the more I get to torment you. Please don't give in, this is most enjoyable."

Those words make Harry angry. He tries to attack her but his swing goes wide as he's electrocuted. Back on the floor, Matron steps closer and leans over him, seeming larger than life and much more terrifying, "I will break you."

Harry stares up at her and believes it.

—

Harry is moved to a different room.

This one is slightly bigger. It has his white blanket and a pillow. The door has a small metal pet door and there is a pail in the corner. The walls are white but the floor is textured and detailed. Harry gets lost in the patterns, eyes riveted to the earthen tones and shades. It's like a feast on his eyes, so used to white, white, white.

The pet door opens and a dismembered hand deposits a sandwich on the floor. Harry crawls to the food just as a plastic cup of water is placed inside as well. Then the door closes and Harry descends on the real food.

The sandwich only has cheese but the bread itself is divine. His stomach rumbles ominously but magic sweeps in to sooth the nausea, digesting the excess directly into energy. His trembling eases as he polishes off the sandwich and drinks the whole cup of water at once. He has to focus to hold everything down, covering his mouth with the back of his hand but eventually the nausea calms back down.

Harry can feel his magical levels recharging; slowly, but rising. It feels better than it should, his body craving the missed magic dearly. He's definitely not used to being drained like this for extended periods of time.

Harry lays down, pulling his blanket over himself and marvelling at the pillow. It's like a cloud, supporting his head just so-

—

Matron comes randomly. Sometimes for training, sometimes for him to heal someone. The wounds are never life-threatening but why wait weeks for them to heal when Harry can do it in minutes? Any magical reserve he managed to build in between is obliterated. Any hopes for escape, even using his magical abilities, are carefully folded and tucked away so he can’t lose it. He can’t lose it.

Harry is still fed once a day and uses that to tell time. By the way of the food, two more weeks have passed. Matron's training sessions were held closer to thirty times. Harry has been woken up in several ways, some violent, some shocking. He's cleaned every few days.

He tries to be good and he gets better food. An apple, once and a few berries another time. Harry also gets a bottle of water to sustain him the rest of the day.

Two… three? Four? Who knows? Days ago, Harry had enough. Matron's mocking, sharp tongue hit too close to home and Harry snapped. For his disobedience, Matron had him put back in the White Room. Total isolation.

Harry hates this room.

He's going crazy in this room.

White. White everywhere. White here. White there. White. White.

And silence.

The walls close in, closer and closer. Harry feels like the walls are squeezing the air right of the room. The silence rings so loudly.

The door opens.

Harry scrambles to his knees as Matron steps in. Harry's eyes are instantly riveted to her hair, so vibrant and alien. He barely sees her smile as she asks, "How are we today?"

"I'm sorry, Matron," Harry blurts out, wanting out of this room. He's willing to say anything to get out. Anything.

She tilts her head, lips twitching, "For what?"

"For…" Harry pauses. His stomach sinks and he forces himself to say, "... Disobeying."

They are just words. They are just words.

Harry tries to believe it.

Matron hums, "Will you be a good boy from now on?"

Harry nods, his neck and shoulders stiff from how much he doesn't want to. His eyes flutter with the strain of holding back. He doesn't want to be in this room anymore.

"Good boy," Matron coos. Harry feels an unexpected surge of warmth from the praise and then brutally squashes it. He will not feel good from anything this woman says to him. He's biding his time. He is not a good boy.

Zoey is waiting for me!

"Let's test this. Come along."

Harry gets to his feet, eager to get out. Matron leads him at a quick clip, fully expecting him to keep up. She has no guards and her back is turned. Harry turns it over in his head…

… then ducks his face down.

It's not worth trying.

—

Harry tries to block out Matron's smug smile as she closes the door behind him.

"Pick it up."

—

Harry has given up trying to track the time.

One day, after an exhausting training session, he is led back to his room. He's almost happy to see the door, knowing he will be free of the Matron's presence for even a few hours. He longs to curl up with his blanket and pillow and sleep.

Only-

"Matron!"

Matron stops, half turning in agitation that turns into concern. Harry steps out of the way as she stomps passed him, "Sahara, what's wrong?"

Harry peeks at the exchange, trying to seem small and unimportant. Sahara is bloody, though-Harry focuses, none of it's hers.

"The run went wrong. We were ambushed," Sahara reports, looking scared out of her mind. She had been crying; tear tracks clear on her ashen face.

"What?" Matron snaps, sounding infuriated. "Where?"

Sahara opens her mouth but Matron cuts her off, "Nevermind. How many survivors?"

Sahara starts sobbing, "Two."

"What?" Matron demands in a shrill tone, her air of superiority dropped in favor of fury. "How?!"

Sahara drops to her knees and sobs, shaking her head. At the far end, someone pops their head in, "Matron, the girls-"

Matron waves them off and looks at Harry, "Come."

Harry follows, passing Sahara as she breaks down on the floor. She turns her head and peeks up at him. Her eye is dry. The moment is brief; a second and it's gone. Harry ponders what he saw in that one second.

Down a short hall and around a corner, a large room comes into view. It's mostly empty but for the two bloody, unmoving girls on the floor. The girl that peeked her head in stands guard over their bodies.

Harry doesn't have to be prompted; as soon as he clears the door, he's hurrying over to them. He drops to his knees and reaches out-

Harry pauses, marveling at the healing wounds he isn't touching. His hand hovers inches over the skin as it knits back together. The drain is small and he didn't even have a chance to wish. He’s always knocked for a loop when he’s healed before, so he’s never noticed anything before. When did this happen?

When he turns to the second girl and begins to heal her, he notices the wounds are in non-lethal areas. They aren't terribly deep and none of them did a lot of damage internally. It's odd… she must be a very lucky girl, then, to have missed what should have been her death.

Finished, Harry sways a little but is able to stand. Without thinking about it, Harry returns to Matron's side, eyes down.

"Good boy," Matron coos, cold hand touching Harry's cheek. It's the first positive touch Harry's had from her without some method of control behind it. He leans into it without meaning to. Harry catches himself when she turns away, disgusted with his response. He will not seek comfort from her.

He catches the eye of the girl and then looks down, unable to meet her gaze. He instead watches Matron kneel down next to the girls. One is awake, speaking in quiet tones with the Matron. The other remains unconscious. What happened, he doesn't know but something is weird.

Matron looks up at her, "Take him back to his room. I'll deal with this mess. Send Sahara to me as well."

Harry remains docile as the girl receives the remote and then gestures at him. He goes, head low, still berating himself for that moment of weakness. When she gets close enough, Harry senses another life growing within her. She's not showing yet, probably isn't even aware of it.

Harry precedes her out of the room and down the hall.

Sahara is where they left her but Dani has since joined her. They are wrapped up in each other, faces close. They both look over and Sahara looks pleadingly over Harry's shoulder. Then, she relaxes as the girl behind Harry says, "Matron would like to speak to you."

Sahara and Dani part, their hands remaining connected until Sahara steps too far. Harry steps aside for Sahara to pass. She reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder. Harry jerks from the unexpected contact, cringing inwards and away from her hand. Dani blinks in shock.

"Sahara!" The blonde girl hisses.

"I just-" Sahara sighs harshly. Harry tries to remember how to breathe, shocked at his reaction to a simple touch. "Nevermind. I'm going."

Dani looks like she wants to follow but instead sends Harry a glance and then retreats back down the hall.

The blonde sighs and begins following Dani. Harry keeps his head lowered and arms tight to his body as the girl leads him to his door. Harry reaches out and opens it himself for the first time, escaping into his room with some degree of relief-

-only to stop short at the sight of the massive dog on his blanket.

"Ah, shit," The girl gasps and shuts the door lightning quick. Harry half turns to look, resigned to being stuck in the same room with what could be a killer dog going by her reaction. He hears her swearing on the other side. Harry takes in the massive dog as it takes him in. A large nose is sniffing the air delicately and the huge tail starts thumping softly. The coat is glossy and well groomed. It sits up, revealing it's bigger than he was expecting. Harry swallows heavily as he eases his way to the farthest corner of the room.

"Uhhh! Um! Don't worry!" Comes the girl's dismembered voice. "I-I'm going to get the Matron. Just wait! Okay?"

Harry doesn't have the breath to say okay.

Harry freezes entirely when the dog stands up. On all fours, the dog is humongous. Easily big enough to pin Harry down and take a giant chomp out of his neck. The dark part of his mind conjures the images and it scares Harry even more. He presses himself into the wall, scarcely breathing as the dog stretches his neck out with an oowoo.

Harry starts, beginning to hyperventilate.

The dog whines, tilting its head and then giving a yap. Harry jerks into the wall, now not breathing at all as the dog eases forward to sniff at his knee. It sniffs and then sneezes, tongue licking the surface of its nose as it looks up.

It whines.

The sound pierces Harry's terror. He pauses, confused, staring down at the dog as it begins to vibrate in barely contained emotion. It's tail is wagging harder and harder. Harry stiffly holds out his hand; if the dog ends up being violent… well, he'll deal with it.

The dog stills entirely at the offered hand. It sniffs around his fingers almost delicately, stock still.

It sneezes.

Harry jerks his hand back to himself but the dog undergoes a transformation…into a puppy. It yaps and barks, body language happy and joyful. It rolls around the floor like a great big hairy snake. Harry smiles at the sight.

The dog stops and then approaches again. This time, Harry eases himself to the floor and holds out his hand. The dog deposits its snout on his hand and groans when the fingers dig into fur. Harry smiles again, the motion feeling foreign on his face. The dog groans and noses into Harry's lap.

By the time the door opens and a harried Matron steps in, Harry is completely buried under the dog's weight. It's a good, warm weight. Harry hasn't been this warm in ages.

"Terrence!"

The dog reacts to the name but flops back down. Harry's heart picks up at the threat in Matron's voice.

"Terrence!" Matron calls again, sounding angrier.

Harry pushes at the dog halfheartedly, not really wanting it to go but more wary of the Matron. She has no problem torturing a teenager. A dog doesn't seem that far off.

Terrence groans but again, doesn't move.

"Terrence, you filthy, stupid mongrel!" Matron snaps.

Terrence lifts its head and growls at her.

"Yes, I'm talking about you!" Matron growls herself. "Get out of this room! Now!"

Terrence makes an unimpressed growly yowl sound and buries its face in Harry's stomach.

"You fucking-!" Matron spits, making Harry jerk. She must be so angry. She makes a sound that's similar to Zoey's fed up sound, hands clawed and chest heaving. Her eyes narrow in on Harry and she spits, "If you harm that dog, I'll train you into being one!"

Harry doesn't have a chance to reply. Matron steps out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. The walls rattle with her fury. Harry cringes in on himself, eyes shut against the terror of her anger. Then, she's gone, the room silent once again.

Only, not silent. The dog, Terrence, looks at the door and makes an equally unimpressed warble. Then, it lifts its head all the way back and looks at Harry upside down with such a weird look on its snout-face that Harry cracks.

For the first time in… ages, Harry laughs.

It felt freeing.

—

Harry is already awake when Matron steps in.

The teen scrambles to his feet and steps away from Terrence. The big, shaggy dog is having none of it and immediately pads over to sit at his feet. Matron's face twists in anger at the sight.

"Can't believe that fucking mongrel likes some runt like you," Matron says, though her tone is sad. Her eyes land on Harry and she offers, "He was my son's dog."

Harry doesn't know what to make of that information.

"Come," Matron says in lieu of anything else.

Harry does, Terrence's claws clicking on the floor as he follows.

Matron stops just outside the door and when Terrence goes to follow, Matron tries to stop him. Harry has to work doubly hard to keep his amusement to himself as the leader of the community argues and loses to a dog. Terrence has many kinds of unimpressed sounds that he aims at the Matron and even the other guards are having a hard time keeping their giggles suppressed.

"Fine!" Matron finally snaps, throwing her hands up. "Fucking-Urgh!" She shoots daggers at Harry with her eyes and turns to leave.

Harry smiles down at Terrence, blink-quick and then follows. He feels comforted at having the big dog at his side.

Matron takes a different path than all the times before. Harry faithfully follows the red-haired leader down a few halls and to a door. When opened, the door leads down, down, down. The staircase twists out of sight.

"Go," Matron snips shortly.

Harry glances at her and then nods hesitantly. He steps down, following the stairs as it twists. The door closes but there is a weak light coming up from somewhere down below. Terrence is right by Harry's side, so when the teen encounters a wall of sheer agony before he gets to the bottom, it's only the large dog's bulk that saves Harry's knees from buckling. As it is, Harry doesn't know what he walking into until he steps off the stairs.

The room is large. There is a line of cages at the far end, currently home to a man each. The one on the end is empty. There is a large, bloodstained table in the middle of the room, emitting a frankly rank smell and the other walls are packed with blades and tools caked in dark viscera. This room… Harry suddenly knows, acutely, how lucky he is that the Matron decided to collar him instead of… this. The amount of agony in the room threatens to steal the breath from Harry every time he inhales. It presses down on his psyche not unlike the Matron when he lies helpless on the floor and she's standing over him. Pure evil visits this room, in the form of a tall red head.

Matron cannot be allowed to continue this.

"Come along," Matron snaps her fingers at him as she walks by.

Harry feels like heavy shackles cover his ankles as he moves to follow. It’s a challenge to pick up each foot and place it in front of the other. Thankfully, Terrence is pressing into Harry’s side. It makes the trip bearable.

There are six cages in all. The end one is empty; five emaciated men lay prone, backs cut open and crusty. The sight makes Harry’s stomach turn and he claps a hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up on Matron’s shoes. As much as the thought of sullying the heels tempts him, Harry wants to avoid going to the White Room.

“Heal them,” Matron demands shortly, crossing her arms.

Harry shakes his head before he can think better of it, “I can’t.”

“What did you say?” Matron hisses, turning on him. Her hand raises, holding the button.

Harry cringes into himself and puts his hands up in supplication, “M-Matron, I mean n-no disrespect! My abilities only work a certain way!” Terrence growls, snapping the Matron out of her anger. She eyes him with disdain as she regains herself.

Matron calms but remains coiled, ready to strike in a moment, “Explain it to me then.”

“Ev-veryone has a...a-a will to live. I can s-sense that, if I’m c-close enough,” Harry hopes she accepts the explanation. He can’t imagine how she would prove him wrong. She’d probably have a hell of a time trying, though. “My abilities only work if you want to live.”

Matron follows every word closely and, as luck would have it, seems to believe him, “So, you’re saying… that they all want to die?”

Dread pools in Harry’s gut as he nods hesitantly.

Matron’s face brightens in an instant and she claps the inside of her wrist a few times in excitement, “Oh goodie. I can get more now!”

Harry’s stomach turns something bad.

Matron produces a knife and examines it closely. Harry goes to take a step back but Matron pins him with her eyes. She narrows them, tilting her head and then hands over the knife, hilt first. Shocked, Harry reaches out automatically to receive it.

“You come at me with that,” Matron warns softly, eyes sharp and lethal. “And you’ll join them.”

Harry’s mouth twists at the threat. He eyes the knife and realizes what she intends for him to do just as she orders, “Kill them.”

Harry’s hand tightens on the handle and the Matron raises her hand up, button on casual display. How can she do this to him? What is her game? The teen glances at the closest man and Knowledge fills his head. Anger curls in his chest. Harry drops the knife on the floor and rasps, “I don’t need a knife.”

Before the Matron can do or say anything, Harry steps into the first cell. The smell is putrid and foul; a great deal from the pail in the corner but most of it wafting off the poor man’s body. Whiffs of rot can be detected under the smell of feces and urine. The wounds themselves weep green pus and while the man sweats, he does not tremble. Harry Knows the man’s body is too weak to shiver.

Harry kneels in the grime of the cell, feeling Terrence brushing up along his back and holds his hand over the middle of the man’s back. His magic doesn’t react but something does. The man inhales, deep and clear; when he exhales, it’s slow and steady, wafts of silvery light leaving his open mouth to gather over Harry’s now overturned palm. As the last breath leaves his lungs, so does the man’s soul, coalescing into the same glowing light Jimmy’s had been.

It’s beautiful.

The smokey orb of light suddenly floats away from Harry at a slight upward angle and disappears. A shimmer-

“Well?”

Harry snaps back to attention and looks at her, “He’s gone.” He stands, his legs feeling weak for a second until Terrence leans in to support him. Harry buries his fingers into the dog’s fur to draw comfort. What did he do?

Matron waves him out. Harry is glad to escape the tiny, ugly space. The misery in the walls were beginning to press in on him. The weight of what he did chips away at him. Matron half crouches near the head and presses two fingers on the man’s neck to check. Her eyes take on a suspiciously bright gleam as she looks up at him, “So you don’t. Next one.”

Bravado gone, Harry shakes his head. He can feel his lips tremble, the need to cry suddenly nearly overwhelming.

“Oh, what’s the matter, little boy?” Matron croons mockingly as she steps out of the cell. “Not man enough to take matters into your own hands?”

Harry whips his head up and glares at her with righteous fury, “I’m not you.”

Matron’s fine control cracks. Her eyes widen and her face pales several impressive shades, mouth dropping open. She is suddenly looking beyond him, at something- or someone else. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes as she stutters shakily, “T-Trent...I-”

Confused, Harry tilts his head, “Trent?” Who is this Trent she keeps mentioning?

It’s the wrong thing to do.

Matron shakes her head and regains her faculties with staggering efficiency. The next moment, Harry is on the floor, body seizing from the collar. The cries echoing off the walls are, for once, not the unfortunate men in the cells but from Harry himself. His agony adds another fine layer of torment and agony to the film of evil covering the walls. Terrence is sniffing around him but gets shocked himself. Then there is barking and growling.

“Fucking mongrel,” Matron snaps as she lets go of the button. Harry goes boneless, shaking from the extra long shock. “Oh, you are lucky, mutt. You are so fucking lucky you were his dog. I would have skinned you alive and mounted your fur at the foot of my bed and I would have loved to step on you every god damn morning.” The Matron sounds unhinged, panting as she threatens the dog growling right back at her. Terrence is standing over Harry’s helpless body, stiff and threatening all on his own. “Get up!”

Harry pushes himself to his feet, needing to move Terrence’s bulk to do so. The humongous dog stays in constant contact with him, fur against clothes or skin without an inch of space. Harry is more grateful to the dog than he can portray. Matron walks to a nearby table, ripping a small drawer out nearly all the way. Then, she turns with gun in hand. Harry raises his arms, Terrence moving in front of him as if to take the bullet instead but Matron turns the weapon on the helpless men in the cages.

Four bangs!

Four dead men.

Harry can see the shimmer of Death as it collects the souls. He feels numb to it.

“Get upstairs!” Matron snaps at him, the gun still smoking a little.

Harry is quick to listen. His heart pounds as he scrambles up the stairs, the hallway a welcome sight after descending into that hell. Terrence is right at his side every moment. Matron closes and locks the door, then, “Go!”

Matron’s wrath can be felt even from the few feet distance between them. His defiance and Terrence’s defense have unhinged whatever control the woman had over her impulses. Harry takes the path back to his room but Matron directs him to the White Room instead with a click of her gun.

Harry’s heart pounds as he traces the path back to that room. His gut swoops when it comes into view. As he forces his feet towards the door, Dani appears around the corner. So taken aback at seeing her, Harry blurts out, “Dani?”

She looks at him in surprise.

There is a bang! right next to Harry’s ear. He jerks away, into the wall, ears ringing. He can feel Terrence leaning into him so hard, he’s pinned to the wall. Shock descends as Harry watches Dani’s body slowly fall to the floor. Numbness sets in as she gives him her own shocked look, hand falling away from her bloody stomach.

At the corner, two more woman come in. One he recognizes as Kim. The other is Sahara. Kim rushes for Dani’s body but Sahara follows the line of events straight to the Matron, whom is still holding the smoking gun. Her face is white, eyes wide in horrified shock.

Harry snaps out of his shock a little, making a move to go to Dani. “Dani!” Harry tries to call out but he can’t hear himself. He needs to save her! But Matron is faster. She opens the door and shoves Harry inside. The teen is too weak and in shock to even try to stop her. The door closes and Harry is alone.

No Terrence. No Dani.

Alone.

Harry’s breathing picks up as he scrabbles back to the door and pounds on it, “Hey! No! Let me out!” He can’t even hear himself yelling. He hits the door even harder, desperate to get out; not only out but out there. Dani needs his help! “Hey! I need to help her! Please-!”

The door doesn’t open.Harry pounds on the door again but the collar activates, sending him to his knees. His face presses into the door as electricity courses through his body, lighting every nerve on fire. It just goes on and on, his twitching moving him to the floor. When it feels like his brain is about to leak out his ears, the collar stops.

Harry passes out.

---

Harry wakes, finding himself in the exact same position. He’s starving; he doesn’t know how long he’s been out but that is a good indicator that it’s been some time. His neck has a nasty crick in it that he eases out with his magic. He doesn’t have the reserves to take the rest of the pain away, so he lives with a sore neck. The teen pulls himself up against the wall wearily and shuts his eyes to the white.

So much white.

How long has he been here?

Even trying to think about it makes his head hurt. Harry’s chest aches as he remembers braiding Zoey’s hair. Its about the only thing that brings him comfort, after rough sessions and long, long… long silences.

Why did Harry fight? What was he thinking? It was so stupid to go against the Matron. Why did he question her-

No… he’s-… he’s supposed to.

Harry shakes his head, hand coming up to cover his face. His other hand comes up and he covers his entire face in them. After a long, bracing moment, he scrubs his face harshly, inhaling abruptly as he moves his hands back to interlock behind his head. He exhales slowly, feeling much more centered than a few minutes ago.

He just needs to wait. The Matron won’t let him die. Harry is sure the psychotic woman intends on keeping him for a long time. His gut swoops at the thought of being under her heel for years and-

-what if he has?

No. Harry shakes his head, not noticing his body suddenly starting to rock.

He can’t have been here more than a year. There is no way. He can’t have been here anywhere close to a year. Sure, he lost track of the days a...long time ago but… that doesn’t mean-not a year-

No, he denies to himself vehemently. He definitely hasn’t been here more than… a few months. If that.

Maybe?

Harry rocks harder, lost in mindless circles, hand steadily tightening on his hair. His breathing picks up. He opens his eyes and closes them again, hissing.

White.

So much white.

The walls feel like they are too close. He hears nothing. Sees nothing. The blackness of his lids hide the encroaching darkness-

---

Harry’s hand is on his collar before he’s even fully awake.

Eyes rolling as he opens them, Harry has a hard time focusing. Another shock jolts him into awareness. His stomach complains weakly as Harry sits up, limbs shaking with bone deep exhaustion.

“About time,” Matron snaps, sounding irate. “Stand up.”

Harry shakes his head, knowing he’s far too weak to even attempt to stand. The resulting shock barely phases him, he’s so out of it.

“Get. Up.”

Harry sighs as he attempts to wrangle his legs under himself. It doesn’t go well; he collapses to the floor and coughs harshly, blood splattering the floor. His throat feels so raw that the blood he swallows stings on the way down.

Matron sighs in aggravation, “Fuck sakes.” She opens the door and leaves.

Harry doesn’t try to sit back up. He stares forlornly at the still open door, his gut turning to lead. Freedom stares him down and… he’s too weak to take it.

The teen slumps into the floor. He’s never going to escape.

Harry closes his eyes and turns his head.

---

Harry comes to, feeling like he’s laying on a cloud.

He raises his hand but it stops short, the feeling of shackles on his wrist a sign that he’s not in the White Room. When he opens his eyes, there is a needle in his arm. His eyes follow it to the connecting clear tube that leads up to a bag hanging on a metal pole. A clear liquid is dripping into a small plastic chamber that feeds down to the tube and going into his arm. Harry doesn’t know what it is but he feels far better than he has in a long time. He can’t do anything about it, so he looks around.

He’s in a largish room, also with no windows. He’s laying in one of the many beds, though he seems to be the only one in need of one. Someone is standing at the far end, back turned, shoulders far too broad to be a woman. The man glances over his shoulder and realizes Harry is awake.

“Oh,” he says, approaching. “How we feeling today, hm?”

Harry opens his mouth but a dry rasp escapes and he coughs instead.

The man nods in understanding, “Dry throat. Figured you might be sensitive. Here,” The kind man helps Harry drink from the cup of water on the side table. “Just yes or no questions, then, hm?”

Harry nods as he relaxes back into the bed, the shackles clinking gently. The man frowns at them but brightens back up with an easy smile. Harry is dazzled by the kindness, unable to stop looking at the man. All he’s seen in a long time is women; women who have been terrorizing him for who knows how long. He has a wide, kind face, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He has stubble lining his cheeks and square glasses with a chip in the bottom corner of one lens. Harry vaguely thinks the man is interesting to look at; certainly alien at this point, being surrounded by women for all this time.

“Do you remember how you got here?”

He remembers-the door being open-the yearning- Harry shakes his head. He will not revisit that particular disappointment.

The man seems to expect that, “I’m not sure how long that woman,” Harry whips his head up at the man with a wide-eyed look of panic. The man jolts from the sudden movement, swallowing nervously with a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s not here now.”

Harry goes boneless into the bed with relief.

The man nods, corners of his mouth twitching, “Yeah, I feel you. Though, I’m not the one… anyway,” he coughs, grimacing for a second. Harry realizes he was going to reference the collar and thinks with some morbid humor; yeah, you don’t feel. “I’m not sure how long she had you in that room but when she brought you in, you were pretty bad. I can’t say for sure how bad, since I’m not actually a doctor. I’m a nurse,” he says, leaning forward a little. “But that woman just doesn’t know how to listen, amiright?”

Lips twitching, Harry agrees.

He leans back again, huffing in amusement, “I hooked you up to some good fluids, antibiotics and a good vitamin cocktail that I snuck out from under her nose because you needed it, kid. What a horrible woman.”

Harry’s brows crease in concern.

He waves off, “Don’t worry about it. She’s in hot water right now with a lot of people. She’s not going to notice for a while, if ever.” Contempt laces his words, as if the very thought of the Matron coming in to count supplies is ludicrous. He rolls his eyes and winks at Harry, “So, the blood you coughed up isn’t anything bad. Your throat has been under a great deal of stress for a long period of time. My best guess is that the dryness of the… room and the lack of water intake resulted in a cough that was just too hard for your poor throat. I was worried your poor health would result in getting sick, so I gave you some antibiotics, saline for the dehydration and that cocktail I mentioned to get you some much needed nutrients. You probably feel a lot better, hm?”

Harry nods, relaxing further into the bedding. His magic levels are a lot higher than they have been in a long time as well.

The nurse smiles kindly, none the wiser, “Good. I have one more bag of saline for you and I’ll bring you something to eat. How does that sound?”

“Thank you,” Harry replies as the man stands up.

He pauses; the corners of his eyes crinkle in the smile he gives Harry, “You’re welcome.”

---

At some point, after a nap and more vague conversation with the man who doesn’t give his name or asks Harry for his, Matron appears at the door. Her outfit is familiar; white pantsuit with gold adornments and chain hanging. Gun strapped to her upper thigh, knife on the other. Harry’s eyes take in all of this before he lowers his gaze to his lap.

“Unlock him,” Matron orders the man.

Harry doesn’t move as the man comes up with a small silver key in hand. Once out of Matron’s immediate sight, he flicks his eyes up. The nurse gives Harry a razor smile, sharp on the edges and more than a little pity. Harry can’t manage one back right at that moment, the fear of the waiting Matron making his heart pick up. As the nurse moves on to the second set, he whispers out a breath, “Hold on a little longer.” Harry looks at him in utter confusion.

“Hurry up!” Matron’s impatient voice rings out.

The man steps back with a wink, facing the Matron’s rising ire with a bored air, “Yes, Matron. Sorry.”

She waves him away, her eyes landing on Harry, “Well?”

Harry jolts into movement, sliding off the bed and standing with a near drunken waver. He keeps his balance… somehow. Eyes on the floor, he waits for Matron to say… something, anything. She stays silent; expectant. Her hand sneaks into her pocket with measured poise and Harry realizes she’s waiting for him.

“I-I-I’m s-sor-ry, M-Matron,” Harry stutters, his tongue suddenly feeling thick and clumsy. “For n-not being g-good.” There, that should be okay, right? She won’t put him back in the White Room, will she?

Matron pulls her hand out of her pocket and rests it on her hip, “Good boy. Will that happen again?”

Harry shakes his head, “N-no, Matron.”

She makes an unconvinced sound, one that makes Harry’s anxiety go up but then she says, “We’ll see. Come.”

Harry doesn’t dare look at the man as he follows the Matron out of the infirmary like a little lost duckling. She leads him to the room she normally dresses him in following a shower. She points to the room at the far end imperiously and states, “You will shower yourself, head to foot. Door stays open. You have three minutes.”

Harry didn’t allow himself to think about it. It would be the first shower he’s been allowed to have on his own and the thought of scrubbing his own body down… Harry shucks his clothes just outside the bathroom and jumps into the shower, covering his body as much as he can. He turns the water on haphazardly and soaps up in record time. The water starts out tepid but rapidly cools, shards of ice pelting his skin as Harry rinses his body. A quick shampoo and rinse, then he’s hopping out, half blind from the water.

“Good. You do know how to be good.”

Harry shakes off the sudden warmth blooming in his chest at being good. Matron points to the towel on the floor. Harry uses it to dry himself off, then takes the clothes the Matron picked out for him. After dressing himself (he shakes away the thought of finally being good enough to put his own clothes on), he stands perfectly still as she trims his hair and shaves his face. Behind his back, his hands are clenched tightly; allowing this woman to maneuver him into taking this treatment willingly makes him angry. However, his fear of the White Room is enough for him to swallow it down.

Matron’s face suddenly blooms into a smile, a real one; the unhappy lines of her face smooth into subtle joy but her eyes are far away as she says, “Oh, Trent. You are so handsome.”

Harry likes to think he learns from his mistakes. This time, he says nothing. Matron wipes his face clean and then seems to come back to herself. She drops the towel on the floor, looking Harry over critically. “Good boy.”

Harry furiously ignores the bloom of warmth and the almost sway towards the hateful woman. He will not.

Matron reaches out and straightens the collar of the vest, smoothing it down. A knock at the door has her turning away.

“Sahara is back.”

“Good,” Matron responds, sounding pleased. “Come along.”

Harry follows like a good little duckling.

The teen doesn’t know where he’s following her to until the door opens and she steps out into the world beyond. Harry pauses right before the threshold of inside meets the outside, eyes taking in the bright, happy day. The intensity of daylight, unseen for who knows how long, makes his eyes water but Harry can’t bring himself to look away. The browns of dead grass peeking through the thin swathes of white is shocking in itself; the distant trees are bare but budding, the wind warm and welcoming, and the long line of gaunt, dirty men kneeling in the slushy cold are equally, mind-numbingly shocking.

Harry steps out on autopilot, following the Matron even as his mind reels. He feels strangely detached from himself, as if he is watching events from another perspective. He sees himself stopping next to the Matron as she begins her inspections of the men. How could it be warmer now than when he came here? How can there be melting snow when it should still be winter? Harry can’t have been here that long. There is no way. No way.

“No Good. Here,” Matron snaps him out of his thoughts and he takes what she hands him. It’s heavy. “Shoot him.”

It’s a gun.

Still on automatic, Harry molds his hand to the handle and rests his finger on the trigger. Numb, he can’t feel the weight as he brings to bear; right into the face of the man Matron deemed to be No Good. He stares down blankly at the glassy eyes looking up at him pleadingly. The stranger’s body is trembling from the fear of staring down the barrel of the gun. Then, Harry sees something that startles him back to himself; on the tear shiny surface of the unknown man’s eyes, Harry sees a stranger wearing his face, deciding the fate of someone he never met.

“Do it.”

The gun shakes with his nerves. What does he do? Shoot the man, killing him on the whim of a madwoman? Be evermore subservient to her, lose more and more of himself? If he doesn’t… what then? The thought of being locked up in the White Room again makes his throat close up.

Then… it occurs to him…

...he aims the gun at his own heart and squeezes.

Bang!

---

"Harry," Negan calls out.

Harry pauses, the can of stew he was putting inside his bag forgotten for the moment, "Yeah?"

Negan sighs, going to the window and looking out. Harry stands and joins him, taking in the bombed out city.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something…" Negan starts slowly, glancing at Harry. "I really should have said something before but honestly?" Negan chuckles to himself. "I didn't want to believe it."

"What is it?" Harry asks quietly.

Negan sighs again, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and shifting to his other foot in nervousness. Whatever Negan has to say, it's heavy. Harry swallows thickly. "The crash… you two were in. With the helicopter?"

Harry tilts his head and nods, "Okay?"

Negan runs his hand through his hair, "You didn't survive it."

Taken aback, Harry steps away from the window in shock, "What?"

"I know how to take vitals, I needed to learn for Lucille, you know?" Negan explains carefully. "I found you first. I checked… you were gone. No heartbeat. Your skin was cool. I… don't…" Negan shakes his head, just as lost as Harry. "Zoey refused to listen to me. I told her you were dead but she was determined to get to you anyway. I helped her get you out but when I checked you again… you were alive!"

Harry looks to the floor, mind whirling with what he just learned.

"Harry, I've been turning this over in my head for ages now," Negan admits. "Over and over, trying to remember if I checked wrong or… or something. You… you were dead."

Harry brings his hand up to his chest, palm over the sign of the Deathly Hallows. He suddenly understands why he has the symbol and with that understanding, comes realizations. The kind that Harry didn't really want to think about.

"Have you told anyone else?" Harry asks seriously.

Negan shakes his head, "No. It seems too… fantastical. I could barely believe it."

"Good, keep it to yourself," Harry requests firmly. "No one else needs to know."

"Not even Zoey?" Negan asks quietly.

"Negan," Harry replies as he looks back out the window. "If I can't die, then I'm not human. Do you know what kind of target that puts on me? On her?" Negan gains some understanding. "We don't breath a word about this to anyone, not even Zoey. She doesn't need this on top of everything."

Negan shrugs, "She'd sure like the thought of her older brother never leaving her alone."

"Zoey is strong without me. It's just hard for her to remember that after all that's been happening," Harry retorts pleasantly. "She needs to learn how to spread her wings without me to hold her up."

"Careful what you wish for," Negan could only say, shrugging his shoulders.

—

Whining wakes Harry.

He gasps, gaining a mouthful of something. That something goes up his nose and down his throat, suffocating him. He pushes, some hard bits scratching his fingers and weighing him down. He fights, hand after hand, kick after kick, knowing he has to go up. How, he doesn't know. He just hopes there is air somewhere close.

It must be; the whining is getting louder.

His hand meets nothing, feeling cold and slight wind. An instant later, something hairy and wet clamps down on his sleeve and pulls. Harry gasps harshly, coughing as he surfaces, limp as something drags him out of the hole he woke up in. He can do nothing but breathe, taking in lungfuls of sweet air and coughing out chunks of rocks and dirt. Something wet sniffs into his ear, making Harry shiver as he turns his head aside.

In the gloom of his night vision, Terrence stands next to him. He's panting hard, his once clean coat now marred by dirt, sticks and leaves. The moon is gone, covered by heavy clouds that flash with lightning. Harry rolls over and sits up, still panting but recovered enough to look around properly. His legs are still partially buried under a mound of dirt. No cross of any kind but the fact that he was buried instead of burned made him think he meant more to the Matron than he thought. He's behind the manor, the upper floors lit up but dark in the rest. The brick wall that surrounds the commune looms over him.

Drats, he was hoping they'd throw his body into the fields.

Harry pulls his legs out of the dirt, suppressing his laugh when Terrence tries to check his favorite human over. The teen pushes the big dog away, grin quickly disappearing when he realizes he doesn't know how to get out, except by the front gate. He might be able to climb the walls but he won't be able to take Terrence with him. The only good thing that came out of all of this was the dog. Harry isn't leaving him behind if he can help it.

Mind racing, Harry thinks; he looks around some more and can't think of an answer. He went straight from the gate to the manor and this is the second time he's been outside since just before winter. He doesn't know anything about this place.

Harry's time runs out, the back door opening and revealing a figure that steps out. He crawls away from the hole as the figure reveals itself to be the Matron, holding a flashlight that she turns on. She flashes it around, thankfully missing Harry's poor hiding spot and then focuses on where he was buried. The disturbed dirt isn't immediately apparent to her but Harry knows it will be when she gets close enough.

"Terrence! No!" Matron snaps out angrily, making Harry look and see the dog digging into his supposed grave. Terrence pauses and looks at her, snorting and then digging again. Matron sighs harshly; he thinks he hears a sniffle. "No! Not this time! You will listen to me!"

Terrence huffs as he digs.

"Ghhuur!" Matron's sound of frustration is tinged by sadness. "Stupid mutt! Why can't I bring myself to kill this fucking dog?! Why did Trent have to love this stupid goddamn mongrel more than me?!"

Harry doesn't have to wonder why.

Matron sniffs as she gets closer, her free hand coming up to her face to wipe at her cheeks. For the first time, she doesn't look completely immaculate. Her hair is in disarray and her clothes dirty. Her feet are in thin flat shoes. Harry takes in someone that resembles the Matron but doesn't look it. She stops at the foot of the grave, sniffing again, watching Terrence dig.

"Fucking, stupid-" Matron murmurs, sounding more tired than angry. She sits heavily at the base of the grave, making Terrence stop and look at her. "I know, okay? I know!"

Terrence groans and lays down.

"I know he looked like Trent but he wasn't okay?" Matron spits out. "He killed himself like Trent did. I'm not the one you should be blaming here. They left both of us."

Harry's head reels from the information dump.

"Why?" Matron suddenly starts crying. "Why couldn't he talk to me? Why didn't he tell me? I could have helped him! I could have killed that fucker! I will kill that fucker," she suddenly hisses angrily. "I cut off his dick and fed it to him for what he did to my baby."

Well, Harry knows why she hates men so much.

"That boy wasn't Trent, so you need to fucking deal with it and stop digging!!" Matron suddenly lunges, sounding half mad from her grief. Terrence yelps and skitters away, caught off guard from the sudden violence. "Stop digging Trent's grave, you dirty mongrel!"

Matron sobs as she breaks down over the disturbed dirt, heaving great lungfuls. Harry feels it; Matron's will to live flickers out as she grieves her son. He stands and silently walks up to her. She doesn't hear him approach but startles at his touch on her head. She doesn't have a chance to say or do anything, the world shifts -

Death appears.

Harry nods, removing his hand from Matron's hair. Death reaches down and gently grasps her soul, putting it into its bone breast prison. Then, Death nods and parts. Harry barely notices the world shift - and Matron lies dead at his feet.

He did tell her he would kill her.

Harry remembers her laugh. She's not laughing now.