A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticwriter. Part two in the "If only it was a simple as a reparo to mend our broken teacup." series. Previous part was Strays.

If you have a question about the symbolism feel free to ask. If you understood it kudos to you.

There's silence. It's not comforting. In fact, it feels it's crushing the air out of him; it doesn't matter how fast Harry breaths in and out, it feels as though there is no breath in him.

Then the teacup finally lands (crashs, breaks never to be pieced back together not even by lacquer with powdered gold) onto the floor of the kitchen. The pieces of the tea cup lay at his feet. The mint tea spreading onto the floor.

Harry has heard the shatter of teacup before. He's seen his father once purposely drop one when drunk. Yet he stare at his feet, at the tea cup that's broken and will never be put back together as he once was and thinks how fitting. The tea soaks into his grey soaks.

He should clean the mess that's been created. He should (breathe) ask if Yaga is joking (except Yaga has not once joked since he has found her).

Instead he leaves. His soaked socks leaving footprints behind him. No red spider lilies sprout from the tile as Harry opens the pantry door and walks in.

He doesn't turn on the light. Instead he sinks to the ground. It's uncomfortable in the jeans he's wearing and his socks are still soaked (clinging to his toes and making them colder than he already feels).

His nails dig into the unyielding tile of the walk in pantry and Harry tries to slowly breath in and out because he has to breath.

He's feels sick to his stomach but Harry doesn't puke. Harry knows that puking won't make it better. He also knows hunger and food is food. It's that thinking that makes Harry feel even more sick.

Winston scratches the door of the pantry. He's a nice dog. He's the only dog Harry likes even though Fudge was the reason his dad took him. (Saved him?)

Harry gets up, his knees shaking as he fumbles at the door knob. He only opens it as much as it takes for Winston to slip into the pantry. He closes the door.

Harry hates the pantry he's in. It, despite its size, always reminds him of a cupboard (of the cupboard, of being trapped) and right now he feels more safe in here than out there. He has less than a half a hour for his dad to pick him up so they can go fishing, Harry realizes as his fingers curl into Winston's fur.

For the first time in his life Harry buries his face into a dog's fur (protect me) like he's seen his dad often do.

Why?

(What is in it in itself?)

(What's their nature?)

Harry fingers curled further into the hair that's surely going to be all over him much to his father's disappointment.

Nobody was born a cannibal.

Hannibal. Harry remembers the name whispered that one night in kitchen. His dad had said it as his father - Hannibal the cannibal, Harry can't help but morbidly think (realize) - gently cleaned his dad's hands that been cut from picking pieces of the tea cup that his father had dropped while drunk.

And despite everything - it's a lie, they're all monsters even Harry who's a freak along with a cannibal - Harry can't help but remember the kindness and love on their faces that tender yet broken (all of are them broken even Yaga, Winston, and Fudge) moment. Can't help but remember how he'd wondered if his parents that he never known (because they got drunk too but they were drunk in the car instead of a kitchen and had shattered themselves instead of teacup) had ever looked at each other like that.

Harry hopes so even now. Even after everything that's happened since they shattered and left him alone. Briefly he wonders what that says about him before he closes his eyes (even though the light is still off) and falls asleep using Winston as a pillow.

(Everything won't be okay when he wakes but no spider lilies had grown behind him.)