The Broken Children
Albus
His cell is tiny.
Four walls and a steel door, a window barely large enough for him to push an arm through, that's all he has left of his world. There's a bed in the corner of the room, mattress worn thin as parchment, blankets threadbare and full of holes. Apart from the toilet across from the bed, his cell is devoid of any other furnishings.
He sits against the wall, matted black hair clinging to the sides of his face as he smirks, barefoot and clad in prison grey, at the door, his green eyes glinting at the man peering through the bars.
"Come to visit, father," he cackles, his fingernails – long and cracked – tap a steady rhythm across the dank floor. His father whimpers, a sound of pity and grief, something he just doesn't want to hear from the old fool anymore.
There's a light creak as the door opens and Harry enters, hair streaked with grey and face lined with years of anguish, holding a battered thin tray. A lukewarm bowl of filmy stew is set upon the tray beside a hunk of granite-hard bread and a dented cup of tepid water. It's a veritable feast as far as he's concerned and he wonders, absurdly, if his status as a Potter is still winning him favours.
Or perhaps it's just that his dear old daddy is visiting that has led his gaolers to sending him a proper meal for once, rather than their usual piss-poor fare.
"Your mother wanted to come," sighs Harry, placing the tray upon the floor and sinking down onto the bed, his face the very picture of a man who has lived too long and seen too much, "But she had to take off on another hunt for your brother."
"Is Jay-Jay still buggering Little Louis up the arse?" Albus asks in a sweet, innocent voice, his eyes wide and naive. He watches his father flinch at his words, feeling a sick pleasure at being able to hurt the man who is the reason he's rotting behind bars in the first place.
"Your mother thinks they're in Brazil," Harry continues as if his son had never spoken, face ashen as Albus leers up at him from his place on the floor.
"You won't find Jay-Jay unless he wants to be found," he grins.
"Your son's begun to walk," Harry says, raising his eyebrows, his words cutting like knives and causing him to rise, glaring through darkened emerald eyes as his father returns the gaze. Albus isn't a Slytherin for nothing though – he can see his father quailing internally, ready to throw in the towel and run.
"Leave Leo out of this, Harry," snaps Albus.
"He's going to grow up without a father because of what you've become," Harry sighs, "Do you regret it? Do you regret what you did?"
"Not in the slightest," he replies, his words doing more damage to his father's crumbling facade of indifference than any physical attack could have. Harry rises, gathering his robes around him as he strides towards the door and locks it behind him.
"I am what the world made me," laughs Albus as his father departs, cackling at the darkness that fills his cell.