I didn’t want to shed one single tear. He didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t help but feel the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes as he told me about how his mother had left him alone in that café. To hear his story reminded me he had been a child once. He hadn’t always been a monster. I just couldn’t get the image of that small boy sitting alone on Christmas Eve, hoping that his mum had left him alone to go and buy him some chocolate. How could she have done that, and what was the point of it? I wondered. I looked at Jack as he sat before me. He sat forward on the chair, his arms crossed over his knees, head hung low. I didn’t want to feel sorry for him – I didn’t want to know his hurt and pain. I had to hate him if I was going to get out of this alive and save my father and Potter. To rid my mind of that little boy sitting alone, I looked past Jack and at my father again. As I lifted my head, I noticed it was harder for me to do so. My neck was stiffening, as was the flesh that covered my face and body.
