The stark cold air combined with the warm, heavy cloak began to part the haze in Clue's mind, and he mentally dragged himself from the trauma he'd been forced to revisit in the firewood box. But the boy remained seated on the ground, partly because he didn't trust himself to stand, and partly because he felt so weak that the heavy cloak seemed to gently suggest that he remain stationary. For now, he wouldn't be able to rise under its weight.

He looked up into the sky blue eyes of the Potions Master, too exhausted to be ashamed by whatever had happened. Clue took a steady breath, and explained. "Mr Hatchet. He was one of the people who took me in when I was little. A butcher. Used to lock me in the meat fridge." The wretched memory sent another shiver through him.