Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He felt spent and tired, and no less enraged for it, except that he no longer had the energy to express his anger through anything more than a closed fist on the table. His food was cold. As he had expected, he no longer wanted it. Funny how memories of fed through a hole in the locked door like an animal, or not fed at all, could make him less hungry.
He wished he didn't remember. It would be so much easier to forget. He felt hot tears come again to his eyes, and he looked away, not wanting her to see.