[ It's not fear. Harry isn't afraid of anyone, least of all this kind, generous, loving man who is apparently some version of his father. Maybe he was once afraid of his father, as a young boy. Afraid that he wouldn't live up to his father's great expectations. But as he got older, he realized that his father didn't care about him at all. So that fear quickly faded into something else. Hatred. And that is what Harry is feeling now. Hatred for his father, who gave him a disease and left him to die. Hatred for whatever greater power decided that he would be the Harry who was sent away, unloved, ignored, while some other Harry got to have this man who would clearly go out of his way to take care of his son.

He's angry, not afraid. And he can't hold it in anymore. All the hurt he's felt over the past days, weeks. The pain that's been a part of him since his father died, leaving him only a death sentence of his own.

Harry snaps. ]

He did this! He gave this to me, this— this disease that he wasn't smart enough or powerful enough to cure! What can you do?! Walk in, fix his mistakes? Make me into a son who was loved instead of... instead of...

[ He can't bring himself to say it, because saying it would only feel like self pity, and he can't allow himself to have that. He's going to be stronger than his father. He's going to survive, by tooth and nail if he has to.

He steps back, shaking his head. ]

I can't do this.