He —

( and his voice sounds different, even from the thrust of anger before. it sounds ... dual edged, echoed, like there's something more than just harry speaking to him now.

"he."

deserves it. he should die. he said the words. he hurt you. say it. cast the spell. mean it. avada — )

Ah.

( harry hisses, abruptly drawing his arms back and lifting a hand up to his scar, pulsing under his fingertips. he shakes his head, and the heir of slytherin's voice is once again kept at bay, just beyond a horizon that is always dawning on harry. he's mortified honestly, breathing shallow. )

Sorry. ( he takes a tired sit on the couch beside them, still holding his head with one hand, while his other reaches out to touch jin ling's wrist, apologetically. ) A-Ling.

( he looks up and his eyes are brighter than before, green in conjunction to the bloodshot whites, pulling back tears, fear, anger, the lot of it. he shakes his head, and grips him tighter. )

I don't know your father, or your cousin, or your grandfather, but —

His blood isn't worth dirtying your hands. You're better than him.

He shouldn't die. He should rot.

( peter pettigrew and jin guangyao have one thing in common — they're both rats. )