The days at St. Brenard's blurred into one another cold, gray, and merciless.
Harry sat alone at lunch, pushing at the stale bread with tiny fingers. His face was thinner now, bruises blooming like shadows along his arms from the "games" the older boys played.
Every night, the matron wrote reports. Harry Stevenson: cries excessively. Refuses to eat. Weak behavior. Needs discipline.
The reports were sent back to the mansion. To Kay.
Kay sat in her dressing room one evening, legs crossed, reading the latest report.
"Cried again during supper… bullied by peers… hides in storage closet…"
Her lips curved into a smile.
"Perfect," she murmured, tossing the paper onto her vanity.
David, passing by the door, caught the sound of her laughter. "What's so funny?"
"Oh nothing, darling," she said, folding the papers away. "Just school updates."
David frowned faintly but said nothing. He didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
Back at the school, Harry hugged his rabbit in bed, body aching from another day's torment.
The older boys had pinned him against the wall that afternoon, calling him names he didn't understand. They shoved his head into the sink, laughing as he sputtered.
"You cry to your mommy, rich boy?"
"My… my mommy's in heaven," Harry stammered.
"Then cry to her!" one taunted, twisting his ear until he yelped.
His sobs echoed through the night, muffled into his pillow. The matron scolded him for disturbing the others. "Quiet! Or you'll sleep in the hall."
Harry bit his lip to stop the sound. His chest felt like it would break.
A week later.
The playground behind the school was nothing but cracked pavement and a few rusting swings. Harry sat on one, feet not touching the ground, gently rocking himself. His rabbit dangled from one hand, still damp from the rainstorm days before.
He heard the familiar voices of the bullies approaching. His heart raced. He scrambled off the swing, looking for a place to hide, but they were faster.
"Well, look who's here!"
The tallest boy yanked the rabbit from his hand.
"Give him back!" Harry cried, voice cracking.
"Make me, crybaby!"
The boy raised the rabbit high, ready to toss it into a puddle, when another voice cut through the air calm but sharp as a blade.
"Hey."
The bullies turned.
A boy strode toward them from the edge of the yard. He was older maybe ten with dark hair falling into his eyes and shoulders broad for his age. His uniform was untidy, but there was strength in the way he moved, confidence in every step.
"Put it down," he said.
The tallest bully snorted. "Or what?"
The boy smiled not kindly. "Or I make you."
For a moment, no one moved. Then the older boy lunged forward, snatching the rabbit back with one hand and shoving the bully hard with the other. The smaller boy stumbled, landing on the pavement with a yelp.
"Go," the newcomer growled. "Now."
The other bullies hesitated, then dragged their friend away, muttering threats under their breath.
Harry stared up at him, wide‑eyed. His lips parted, but no words came.
The boy crouched, holding out the rabbit. "Here."
Harry took it with shaking hands. "Th‑thank you," he whispered, voice trembling.
The boy's eyes softened. "They bother you a lot?"
Harry nodded, clutching the rabbit to his chest.
The boy sat on the swing beside him, pushing off lightly with one foot. "Don't let them see you cry. That's what they want."
Harry looked down, voice small. "I try… but I scared…"
The boy reached out, ruffling Harry's messy hair. "It's okay to be scared. But you're not alone now, okay?"
Harry blinked up at him. "What's… your name?"
"Lucas," the boy said with a small smile. "And yours?"
"Harry."
"Alright, Harry." Lucas leaned back on the swing, scanning the yard with sharp eyes. "From now on, if they mess with you, they mess with me. Got it?"
Harry's chest warmed a feeling he hadn't felt in months. He nodded quickly, eyes brightening. "Got it!"
Lucas grinned. "Good. Now eat your dinner tonight. You look like a skeleton."
Harry let out the smallest giggle, the sound rusty from disuse.
That night, the bullies glared from across the dormitory, but none dared touch Harry while Lucas sat on the bunk above him, arms crossed, keeping watch.
Harry clutched his rabbit, whispering softly. "Gamma… I got a friend now…"
For the first time since arriving at St. Brenard's, Harry drifted to sleep without tears.
Far away, Kay received another report. Harry Stevenson: still cries often, but recently seen with older student Lucas Morgan. Possible improvement in behavior.
Kay read it, her smile fading slightly at the last sentence.
"Well," she muttered, crumpling the paper, "we'll see how long that lasts."
But for now, in that cold and broken school, a small light had appeared.
Harry was still bruised, still lonely, still far from home. But with Lucas by his side, the night didn't seem quite so endless.