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“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” said Lupin, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
As Mrs. Weasley mopped her eyes and muttered that she was being silly, Lupin’s words washed over Harry.
“What do you think we’d do; let them starve?”
That’s what they did to him, Harry thought bitterly. They’d dropped him off on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep and left him there for ten years. Nobody had cared about the days and nights he spent in his cupboard with his stomach grumbling, hoping that he could sneak out to steal food from the kitchen after the Dursleys fell asleep.
A sharp feeling of hurt shot through him as Lupin continued to comfort Mrs. Weasley, and Harry abruptly turned on his heel and left the room. He climbed the stairs two-at-a-time, desperate to get away from the others before they noticed that something was wrong. He climbed the stairs until there were no more stairs to climb, ending up in the attic. It was cluttered with furniture, trunks, boxes, and other knick-knacks, but Harry found a clear spot and squished himself in between a battered steamer trunk and a side table that had legs carved to look like snakes.
He tucked his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and buried his face in his knobby knees. He was not going to cry. He was not going to get upset. He was going to sit here and breathe until all of these stupid emotions stopped stirring around in his chest, and then he was going to go back downstairs with no one the wiser.
Off in the distance, he could hear another set of footsteps climbing the stairs. He waited for them to stop off at one of the floors, but they kept coming and coming until the attic door creaked open. Harry didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head. Maybe if he stayed squished here in this spot, whoever it was wouldn’t notice.
“Mind if I join you?”
Harry didn’t want to see anyone. But of all the people who had come after him, he was glad it was his godfather. Harry shrugged awkwardly, still not looking up. Sirius picked his way through the clutter, pushed the steamer trunk aside, and sank down beside Harry so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Sirius bumped his shoulder gently. “Are you all right, Harry? That boggart scared me, seeing your dead body laying there.”
Harry slowly raised his head to look at his godfather. Sirius looked even more pale and drawn than he usually did. Harry hadn’t even thought of how the boggart would have affected him.
“I’m all right,” Harry muttered.
Harry was grateful when Sirius didn’t push him to say more. They sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, with Harry slowly slumping and leaning into Sirius’s side. Sirius tucked one long, skinny arm around Harry’s back and pulled him closer into his side.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen,” Sirius said gently.
“Talk about what?” Harry asked grumpily.
“About why you ran off like there was a Hungarian Horntail on your tail,” Sirius replied. “Was it just the boggart?”
“No,” Harry admitted after another long silence. “It was something else.”
“Thought so,” Sirius said. Harry wanted to roll his eyes at his godfather’s smug tone.
“It was what Lupin said after,” Harry said.
“What Remus said after?”
Harry tilted his head to look up at his godfather, who was looking down at him with a furrowed brow.
“Mrs. Weasley was worried about what would happen to Ron and Ginny if she and Mr. Weasley died. And Lupin said that they wouldn’t let them starve,” Harry repeated.
“And that upset you?” Sirius asked curiously.
Harry shrugged and looked down at his hands, twisting the edge of his t-shirt.
“It didn’t matter when it was me,” Harry mumbled after a long silence. “I – I was hungry all the time growing up. And nobody ever checked on me.”
Sirius swallowed hard and tucked Harry even closer into his side. Harry buried his face in his godfather’s shoulder to hide the tears that he could feel prickling in the back of his eyes.
“I used to sit in my cupboard and dream about someone coming to save me. But no one ever did. Not until Hagrid brought my Hogwarts letter. And even then, I still had to go back. I always have to go back.”
“Oh, Harry,” Sirius whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you then. But I’m here for you now, and I’m not going to let you go back.”
Harry didn’t want to get his hopes up. He had before, and then they had been torn away from him. But as he sank into Sirius’s comfort, he so badly wanted to believe that this could be it: this could be the day that he was finally saved.