Breaking Forwards

-Non Con warnings are in effect for this chapter-

Chapter Six – Taking Responsibility

When Harry found out that his Potions class for that morning was cancelled, he wasn't sure whether to be happy or bothered by it.

Looking at the endless sea of crud before him, he opted for annoyed. At least if he were in class, he could be sitting in a bloody chair instead of slowly grinding his knees down to nubs.

Meh, his inner voice told him apathetically.

Well, at least missing class meant that he didn't have to deal with Ron again. It seemed more likely than ever before that they were heading towards a serious confrontation sometime in the near future.

Certainly the Mondon thing from this morning has reached him by now, he thought darkly to himself.

Ron had always had a thing about Slytherins, and he didn't think it likely that the red haired prat would be too happy about hearing how a fellow Gryffindor had stood up one of them, and against one of their own in the process.

The whole thing was idiotic.

That's what bothered him the most; the sheer pointlessness of the entire issue itself.

If Weasley was itching for a fight, then he'd give it to him. Although, he did hope that poor ickle Ronniekins would at least try to fight back the next time they went at it.

As he remembered from his uncle's bouts of outrageous anger, it really wasn't as fun to hurt someone who never tried to fight back.

HS

Ron hadn't trusted Harry since their third year. He knew that Harry had been keeping things from him for a while, but until recently, he hadn't been aware of exactly how many things he didn't know about his supposed best mate. As though it hadn't been bad enough to know that Harry had been withholding certain truths from him, it had become just that much worse when he had learned that the other boy had actually been outright lying to him.

For all intents and purposes he had outwardly forgiven him for getting involved with the Tri-Wizard cup, because he figured that Harry had only been trying to protect them from the competition's inherent dangers. Okay, he got that.

He had started to read up on human psychology early his fourth year; initially in hopes that the books could give him another way of beating his chess opponents. From there, he realized that chess was really just metaphor for life, and that understanding one's opponent for any situation could potentially give him a leg up.

That small beginning had soon opened his mind to other concepts, other ideas, and soon he found himself analyzing not only his opponents, but also their enemies—Voldemort and the like—and then, his friends as well.

He looked at the way that Harry was always getting hurt, always putting himself in between danger and his friends. Harry wasn't particularly careful with how he made his decisions and exercised his plans, but Ron was. Harry was testing fate, and like any other strategist, Ron knew that there would soon be a day in which fate bit back—and likely with a vengeance.

So the question ultimately came down to asking himself why it was that Harry reacted in such stupid ways? He knew better than most that the Dursley's didn't particularly care for Harry, but he hadn't been altogether sure of how serious the situation was until he had really put some thought into it.

For all of his friend's bravery, Harry was oddly . . . shy about certain things like say, changing clothes in front of people before and after their Quidditch matches. He was shy about the opposite sex, and he never joined in on their conversations in the dorms late at night about what they'd really like to do with whichever girl their sights were currently set on for that week or month.

Putting together all of what he knew about his friend, and all that he had surmised on his own, Ron had come to the conclusion that Harry was not only being treated like dirt by his relatives, but that he was also being sexually abused as well.

All of the reports that he had read—or overheard—from his parent's conversations late at night, had led him to believe that the Dark Lord had likely been abused in a similar manner from the orphanage patrons he had been at the mercy of during his younger years.

But finally he had also learned something of even greater value towards the end of that previous summer from Harry's very own godfather. Of course, as Ron reflected on his memories, Sirius didn't actually remember that conversation, but he didn't really give a damn, all considered.

He had had suspicions of Sirius from the start, ever since that fateful night in the dorm during their third year. He hadn't mentioned the sense of unease he got when around the ex-convict to Harry, but he hadn't been able to shake the feeling either. And he knew—he knew that Harry's longing for Sirius to take him away from that abominable Muggle family that he had been stuck with was enough to make his mate blind to some of the more obvious truths about the man himself.

For instance, Harry had been completely oblivious to the infatuation that Sirius had clearly had with James when they were school chums. He had overheard more than a few conversations between Sirius and Remus to ascertain the knowledge; a few of which were suspicious enough to make him wonder if Remus hadn't actually staged the conversations in the hopes that Harry would stumble across them, and in turn, save the old werewolf the emotional pain of simply speaking with him.

Everyone said that Harry looked just like James had, and Ron had seen enough pictures to believe that there was more than a little truth to those statements. Was it possible that after so many years of insanity in Azkaban, Sirius possibly might have actually gotten confused between the two Potter men?

Sirius couldn't have known that Percy had a small amount of Veritaserum on hand from his dealings in the Ministry following the whole Barty Crouch fiasco, but Ron knew, and he decided to use it upon learning that Sirius was being housed in the Grimwald house for the remainder of the summer.

If it had been during the school year, Ron could have stolen it right out from under Percy's snooping nose and then obliviated Sirius afterwards himself. At least, that had been his initial idea, before he remembered how tight the controls were on underage wizards. Plus, as he continued to dwell on the concept, an almost fifth year Hogwarts student shouldn't even be capable of wielding obliviate in the first place, let alone a Weasley. He feared it far too likely that someone would investigate that, and then that would probably lead to an investigation of his father.

That meant one thing: he needed someone to do the obliviate for him, and he needed some kind of insurance to make them keep quiet about it afterwards. If he were a richer boy, like say Harry, he thought with a sour roll of his eyes, he could simply bribe them into doing it. Although—as he decided later on—that wasn't entirely reliable either.

No, what he had needed was some kind of incentive for that person to do his will, and with that in mind, he had known exactly who to ask for help.

"Percy," he said, sticking his head into his brother's room one day late that previous summer.

"I swear Ron, if you don't grow up enough to learn how to knock, I'm going to curse you so hard that your teeth will shoot out of your arse, get me?" Percy had glared at him impressively after his rant, but Ron hadn't been afraid.

Instead, he had merely strolled in nonchalantly and shut the door behind himself quietly.

He knew his brother had silencing charms set to engage when the door was shut, so he wasn't worried about that part at all.

"I need your help." He stated.

"Why the fuck should I care?" His brother spat at him with a sneer almost as good as a Slytherin's.

"Because if you don't help me, I'll tell everyone what you've been doing," he said, crossing his arms in an almost identical pose to his increasingly irate looking brother.

"And what do you think it is that I've been doing?" Percy asked him in a low voice.

"Not what, but whom, oh dearest brother," Ron had snarled back.

"Dad already knows about Penelope," was the derisive response.

"Not her," Ron said with a nasty smile.

Something in Percy's eyes shifted, but the rest of his pose remained the same.

"There isn't anyone else," Percy spoke to him as though he were a very small child.

"I've got one word for you: Ginny."

Percy had impressed him further by not reacting to the bait.

"You are seriously deluded Ron. Why are you trying to insult me with such tripe?" Percy asked with a haughty air before flouncing back on his bed and leaning his back against the wall.

"Thursday night. June twenty-fourth. Mum and Dad had gone to a social gathering. The twins were visiting Lee Jordan. Do these words ring any bells for you?"

"I remember that day. What's your point?" Percy's voice was carefully neutral.

"I woke up halfway through the night, needing to take a piss. You and Ginny were the only other ones left in the house. On my way back from the loo, I heard a noise and went to investigate. She was crying and you were still breathing hard. Need I continue?" Ron asked in a hard voice.

"She'd had a nightmare. I heard her and came running. What's the big deal?" Percy shrugged at him casually.

"Oh she'd had a nightmare all right, oh wise brother of mine; and you were the central figure in it," he added with a glare of his own.

Percy just stared at him coldly.

"You fucked our little sister. I saw you."

"Let's say that you are telling the truth, Ron. What's to stop me from obliviating you right here and now?" Percy's voice was smooth and syrupy sounding.

"You obliviate me and I'll still remember from the copious notes that I have hidden in various places to myself. Oh, plus there's that letter that will be sent out unless I have the memory necessary to cancel it."

Percy's face had begun losing color during his explanation, but after that last sentence, he noted with some pride that his brother's face had gone completely white.

He gave his brother a moment to contemplate his words and then prompted him for a response.

"Well?" He asked.

"What kind of help did you say you needed?" Was Percy's reluctant reply.

And so they had become partners of a sort.

HSHS

Hermione couldn't believe the news that was wildly circulating in the common room late that same afternoon.

She knew from personal experience that it didn't take much to set Ron off, and frankly, she was more than a bit worried about his potential reaction when he heard this news.

Her chest still ached fiercely from where Ron had mouthed his affections during the last time they had had sex. Perhaps it was because of that ever present pain in her flesh that made her so much more fearful about her boyfriend's next actions over hearing that Harry had defended two Slytherins at the cost of a Gryffindor.

After all, if the pain in her body was there because of his love for her, then how might he act if he were to get really pissed off at someone?

He could hurt them badly, a small voice said in her mind bravely.

She told it to hush, which it did, but not before giving her a look that clearly said it thought she was slowly getting in over her head.

Well, if Ron starts to get out of control, then I can surely help to deflect some of that extra energy to something a bit more productive, she thought with a naughty edge to her smile.

She was well aware that her boyfriend had his faults, but she thought that as a smart girl—and a witch to boot—she should be able to respond to those faults in a logical way that somehow made things better. Ron didn't need to be fixed; he just needed to have his fears and resultant anger assuaged.

And really, Harry had no business putting himself in the middle of that debacle. He wasn't even a prefect, she thought with some annoyance. He had clearly overstepped his bounds as a student, and if Ron wanted to bitch to her about that, then she could go along with it easily. Dumbledore had chosen her and Ron over Harry because he thought that they were better for the job, hadn't he?

Harry just wasn't used to not being in the spotlight. She knew that he hated being singled out, but she supposed that after so many years of living with the wrong kind of self-image and expectations from those around him, it was only natural for him to try to continue on like he always had.

These were the thoughts that she was mulling over and trying to turn into a proper argument for Ron to be distracted with when her boyfriend finally found her in the common room that evening.

"Hey baby," he said, dropping next to her with a chaste kiss to her cheek.

She giggled at his simple sweetness and then returned the action.

"How are you doing tonight?" He asked her, surprising her slightly that he should be so openly interested in how her day had gone.

See, I am rubbing off on him! She told her inner voice with in a defensive voice.

And since he had been so thoughtful as to ask her, she decided to give him a topic that they could both really sink their teeth into—a thought which should have bothered her, but one that she found she couldn't focus on thanks to the close proximity of his body to her own.

"Annoyed," she answered haughtily, her temper shining brightly in her eyes.

"About Potter?" He asked—quite astutely, she thought with no small amount of pride.

"Yes. He's really overstepped his role as just another student this time. We are the prefects. He is not. And I think after so many years of being paid more attention to than what is healthy, he has developed the idea that he is supposed to fix everything," she answered hotly; flushing suddenly as she realized that Ron was now staring at her with a new level of respect.

"Exactly!" He answered excitedly. "I've been trying to get that across to other people all day, but you're the first to really understand. Oh Hermione, I love you so much," he finished, dropping his voice to a low seductive whisper that sent chills down her spine, as well as through her unseen nether regions.

"Really?" She asked in a small hopeful voice as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes silly. Really," he whispered into her ear silkily.

"Will you come up to my room tonight please? I want to prove it to you." He asked her with an imploring look on his face.

Say no, the voice told her earnestly. You're tired and you already hurt far too much for his games tonight.

"Okay," she agreed with a small happy smile that was more from his affirmation of her worth than from the idea of more loving.

You idiot, the voice said disgustedly at her, before she squashed it flash at the back of her mind.

With a flourish, he quickly stood up from the couch before offering her his hand like the gentlemen she had always known he was.

You wish; grumbled the now distant and muffled voice that she was valiantly ignoring.

After they got to his bed and closed the curtains around them, Ron wrapped a silencing charm around the edges of the bed as well—something that did not go unnoticed by her.

At her questioning look, he explained that Neville had complained to him earlier that day about how uncomfortable he was with accidentally invading their privacy merely by overhearing them.

It seemed a likely enough possibility, and really she was surprised that the issue had not come up long before then.

Why should she fear that the silencing charm meant he was going to hurt her of all things? Hadn't he said he wanted to show her his love to her?

More things were different as he put his hand over hers to stop her from flinging off her robes as they usually were wont towards doing.

"Let me do it," was the quietly spoken request.

She was touched by the care in his voice, but she still was nervous as he carefully laid her down on her back before slowly undoing the buttons down her robe.

His fingers were skillful—something she already knew from previous experience—but what he was doing with just these basic motions went beyond just the everyday task of robing and disrobing one's self.

"We don't think about these actions because we do them all of the time," Ron said, picking up directly from where she had left off in her thoughts.

Okay, I'll admit that that was just a bit creepy, she thought in the back of her mind.

Given the slow pace that he was going towards removing her clothing, it was with little surprise that he had just then finally gotten her robe completely open. In turn, he removed his own robe, and folded it into a neat compact square that he set at the edge of his bed.

"I'm trying to become more orderly like you've always been suggesting in regards to my school work, 'Mione," he supplied with a shrug in response to her surprised look.

"Aren't you always saying that if I get one part of my life in order, then the rest will follow? Well, I'm listening this time," he said solemnly, quickly removing his remaining articles of clothing before returning to his delicate task.

His body produces a lot of heat, she thought with a tiny grin inwards. She could feel her skin becoming flushed with it; as well as the inner shivers that worked their way through her flesh every time he touched her directly or not.

"Tell me how beautiful I am," she requested, surprising herself with her own audacity.

A small pleased look overtook Ron's features from hearing her wish.

"Your skin is the most delightful thing that I—," he said with an ornery eyebrow wiggle, "have ever tasted," he said. He proved his point by licking a stripe up her now exposed belly, wrenching a gasp from her in return.

"And you know how much I like to eat," he said with a devilish grin.

Was he talking about—?

That time he didn't stop to respond to her unspoken question, but continued working on her previous request instead.

"And I love your mouth for many reasons as well," he said with a purr into her ear.

He moved down her body and carefully removed her pants from her legs, and then shortly after he did the same with her panties. The only difference there was that he actually stopped to breathe in the smell of them, eliciting another giggle out of her.

"Wouldn't it be exciting if you were to let me hang onto these one day while you went without?" He murmured in what she assumed was a joking tone.

"Only if it was a mutual agreement," she said with a daring look at him, causing a surprised expression to break out over the features of his face.

"Maybe we'll have to try that then sometime," he murmured as he stalked his way back up her body as though he were a long lean panther intent on taking down its prey. Stealthily he unhooked her bra, and then paused to drop kisses on each of her—many—bruises.

He was gentle, but she still hurt a great deal and she was forced to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out as his lips brushed lightly against those exceedingly tender spots.

"If it hurts, you can cry out," he said breathily a few kisses later. "I'm sure I can find a way to distract you."

He didn't say he would stop hurting you, he just said he would distract you.

However, the worrisome thought was pushed forcefully away as he suddenly slipped a finger into her, and began rubbing it maddeningly against her clit. Not only that, but he further complicated the situation by combining the motion of his finger with his hard and probing tongue against one of the spots on her chest that been throbbing the worst.

She pressed her head against the pillow and fought with herself to tell him to stop. It felt good, but Merlin, the pain was bringing tears to her eyes!

As though sensing her silent battle, suddenly the ability to wield control over that decision was taken from her. He had muttered a spell just before, but she hadn't been aware enough to know what it was at the time; although now that she knew, she wasn't sure if she wanted to keep knowing.

He had tied her wrists and ankles to the bed posts, and now she was spread eagle on her back. Further controlling the situation, he also had stuck something around the edges of her mouth that kept it open in thanks to the straps tied around the back of her head.

She really couldn't move, and now she was beginning to panic just a bit.

"Wha—ooing?" She attempted to ask him through her open mouth.

"What am I doing?" Ron asked her, giving her an unnerving look. "I would assume it would be obvious. I'm allowing you to experience the full height of pleasure without being bound by your modesty or by society's standards."

By making her completely helpless to his every desire? The voice squealed loudly in her head in fear.

"You can't tell me that you aren't enjoying this," he said in a matter of fact and calm voice. "Your pussy is practically dripping with desire," he said, shocking her with his vulgarity. He had never called it her pussy ever before.

Not once! Her mind supplied sounding more than just a little hysterically indignant.

He slid two fingers into her depths hard, and she choked out a cry at the unexpected force he had used.

"I love how your cheeks are so flushed with your want for this," he said, with a sharp twist of his fingers inside her body. He pulled his hand out and she looked at the juices that were slowing dripping down into his palm.

"See?"

He put his fingers back down towards her "pussy," but this time he moved them back a bit further.

"OOO!" She had tried to say "no," but couldn't make her lips say the "n" with them apart like this.

"Hush. Relax. You're my big girl, you can take this," he said, sparing her a look of careful regard before pushing a wet cum covered finger into her asshole slightly. It might have been wet enough, but she was nowhere near relaxed enough to take what felt like a brutal invasion of her rectum.

The pain made her squirm wildly, but his only response was to look back up at her with that cold smile of his, and then push his finger in deeper.

He can't—he wouldn't! Her panicked brain shouted incoherently.

"You know, this'll go a lot easier for you if you just relax," he suggested a bit more pointedly, shoving another finger into her arse that caused a sharp jolt of pain to go through her abdomen.

"'Lease don't do dis," she begged forcefully, her fear making her sweat against the chill she felt running up and down her spine.

"Hush," he smiled at her as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

He removed his fingers, causing her to sigh in relief. However, her sigh was soon cut off with a gasp of pain as he began pushing himself into her arse.

It felt as though he were tearing her open. The pain was sharp within her body, turning her stomach almost as much as the sounds of his moans were.

"You feel wonderful," he panted against her belly.

Tears were streaming down her face as he continued to brutally rape her anal cavity. She strained against the ropes, nearly rubbing her wrists raw in the process, but even that wasn't enough to distract her from the pain his cock was causing as it continued its trek farther into her depths.

"'Lease," she begged as the pain became nearly unbearable. "'Lease," she said through the gag again. The look on his face was one of triumphant bliss, and she wondered how he could be having so much pleasure while she was in so much pain.

HSHSHS

Severus didn't have a chance to talk with the boy for the rest of that day, as his time was largely taken up by the rest of his classes that afternoon, and then having to deal with his two youngest snakes that had been involved with the incident itself.

He had tried to imply to them the importance of cunning versus brute strength, but also that being able to bide one's time was likewise an important skill that they needed to learn to exploit if they were to ever truly become part of the Slytherin house.

"After all," he had remarked quietly, "a hot-headed Slytherin without a plan is hardly more than a foolhardy Gryffindor."

That had certainly caused a reaction to fire off in their young brains.

It wasn't until the middle of the next day—a Saturday—that he was finally able to speak with Harry in private. Luckily he found the boy where he was supposed to be, in the dimly lit and putrid hallway that he was quite certain had already found a way into the lad's already overactive dreamland.

And why shouldn't his dreams be over the top? Look at what Blaise and Draco told you; the boy could potentially become the next dark lord with the experiences that he has had with his despicable relatives.

Once again, as he rounded the corner of that disgusting hallway, he saw the edges of Harry's legs—from where they were sticking out of the doorway—give a sudden knowing twitch.

Severus knew of the muggle saying, "eyes in the back of one's head," but it was going a bit far to assume the boy had eyes in the back of—what—his heels?

He silently chided himself for such ridiculous thoughts as he walked the final steps up to where the boy was still steadily working.

"Potter," he said, speaking the name in what he hoped was a level and even tone.

The boy sat up and turned around slowly, and a bit painfully it seemed as well, he thought with rare burst of sympathy.

"Sir," the teen greeted him wearily, before starting to get to his feet.

"No Harry, just lean back against the wall. There is no need to get up."

There, he had said the dreaded "H" word.

For his part, Harry merely sat back down with a sudden ungraceful thump, his eyes wide with clearly viewable shock.

And then the boy blinked, and all was as it had been; his stone mask firmly back in place.

Severus then did the unthinkable and sat down on the floor next to him! One long leg he crossed underneath himself, but he stretched the other out in concession to a knee that had seen better days even before he had been forced to go back into spying.

Moreover, he even opted to lean back against the very well that Po—Harry himself was leaning on, if only a bit more stiffly now, thanks to his professor's unexpected close proximity.

"This mess that you're cleaning is not the whole of the detention itself," Severus started out easily enough, his hands folded neatly in his lap; while his peripheral vision watched the unsettled form of his student who had continued to watch him carefully.

When Harry didn't respond, he continued; fully aware that in past years the teen would have said something in that moment of empty silence.

"The manual labor part of the detention is thus only stage one. Tonight, we will begin stage two as well."

That time he did turn to look at his student.

The boy blinked slowly before pulling himself out of his funk with a slight shake of his head.

"Yes sir," he answered without a hint of telltale emotion in his voice.

Severus found it a bit unnerving that the lad had not asked any questions in response to his surprise announcement.

"Stage two is the part of the detention that I have previously only put into practice with members of my own house."

That bit of information did cause a reaction in the boy, but it was small enough that he might have missed it had he not been looking very carefully for it.

Harry's breathing had picked up speed ever so slightly when he had mentioned the part about only using the concept with his own, but that was all.

And still the boy said nothing.

It was almost unusual enough to be annoying, but not quite.

"What happens in the second stage is very simple; I help you figure out what's wrong in your life and then we move on."

The boy lifted a wary eyebrow at him—an expression which I have no doubt that he picked up from me in the first place.

"And what is it that you get out of this, sir?"

In other words, the teen was clearly asking him what sadistic pleasure he got out "helping" his students.

"In the long run Harry," there was that "H" word again, "it makes my life significantly easier to bear."

He had told the truth there, but certainly not the entire or in-depth truth, as the teen's eyes seemed to say from their continued narrow eyed look up towards him.

However, perhaps it was the exhaustion in his thin frame that gave him a reason not to argue the point, or perhaps it was merely because he already knew that his potions' master had told him all he was going to say about his reasons at that time.

Therefore, instead of the expected argument or debate that Severus had half-expected from the younger man, all he got for his troubles was a carefully controlled nod. It told Severus that Harry was allowing him to slide on this point for now, but those words would eventually be forthcoming unless the truth was revealed to him in some other manner, sometime in the near future.

And likely it will be, he thought.

Severus made a show of checking the time with his wand. As he had suspected, it was just after two in the afternoon.

"Your instructions for the rest of the day are these: You will continue here until four o'clock, and then you will meet me at the end of this hallway precisely two hours later at six. In that time off, you are to shower, change clothes and even nap if you desire, but what you are not to do is to eat. We shall be doing that together," he heard a definite gulp that time, "after I have collected you. Are those instructions quite clear to you?"

"Yes sir," the answer was spoken at a significantly softer level that time.

"And should you wonder, yes both Albus and Minerva are equally aware of our changes in plans."

HSHSHSHS

Not his changes in plans, but our changes in plans, Harry caught himself thinking a bit wildly.

"It would be unlikely that anyone will notice my absence anyways, sir," he answered truthfully.

"Hm," was his professor's unreadable response.

"Should I wear anything in particular, sir?" He thought it a prudent question to ask.

"Something comfortable, I should think, that is not your uniform," his professor told him with a strict look.

Great; he was completely and utterly screwed by that final comment. Why couldn't I have just kept my stupid mouth shut? He thought angrily to himself, digging his nails hard into his palm farthest away from where Professor Snape was still sitting.

"Should I still wear robes sir?" He asked, trying not cringe at the nervous sound of his voice.

"At least for the journey, of course," was the mystifying reply.

Journey? What journey? He thought anxiously.

"Yes sir," he murmured, casting his eyes down on the floor away from the still intimidating face of the man he most wanted to impress who was sitting less than an arm's length away from him.

Beside him, his professor made a move to stand up, but halted his progression at the last moment to look directly at his still lowered head.

"Harry."

Hearing his name issued from the man's lips was almost enough to make him cry.

Merlin, he was pathetic!

"Sir?" He asked, looking up to the man who was now crouched on the floor beside him.

"Do you have a problem with any of what I have told you?"

Such a simple question!

He hated himself that much more that he could not give just an equally simple answer, meaning that he could not answer at all—at least not properly, and certainly not here in the open hallway where anyone could potentially stroll by.

He finally responded by opening his mouth, only to close it and shake his head no at the same time; literally cancelling himself out in the process.

I wish; was the morbid thought that followed that failed endeavor.

"Harry?" The question was so softly spoken that he wondered if he hadn't imagined it.

"Perhaps you'll understand when I see you later at six," his voice said finally in what he was sure must have sounded like a very disconnected tone.

His professor looked as though he wanted to say more on the matter, but then like Harry, he changed his mind, and stood up instead.

"I will see you at six o'clock then," the man's deep baritone voice said to him as Snape began walking away.

When Harry finally opened his fist, he was unsurprised to see blood from where his fingernails had sliced through his flesh.

He took a deep steadying breath and then scooted his body back over to the doorway. If he wanted to trust Snape to help him, then he had to tell him the truth.

And that meant wearing the truth, regardless of how unpleasant it made him feel.