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His stomach hurts. It gnaws at him and his insides feel like they’re trying to eat themselves.
It hasn’t been that bad in some time. Normally, the Dursleys ignore him or lock him in for a few days at most. But it’s been two weeks since he blew up Aunt Marge and he’s only been let out for bathroom breaks. The food they push through the cat door every day is hardly enough.
It’s just like last year. But this time, he knows Ron and the twins won’t break him out. The Ford Anglia is irreparably lost in the Forbidden Forest and he can’t really see them coming to get him by foot.
Hedwig is locked up in her cage per usual, so no letters. Not that letters would do much. Dumbledore seemed to think that he’s being overdramatic when he told him about the Dursleys. McGonagall follows the headmaster loyally. None of the other teachers would care.
His friends might – they do care, he tries to remind himself daily – but they can’t. What are they gonna do? Walk up to the house and demand he’d be released? Uncle Vernon would just send them away again. He wouldn’t hurt them, Harry’s pretty sure, but he wouldn’t be gentle either, especially if they tried to force their way inside.
They wouldn’t even be able to defend themselves. No, it’s better that Ron and Hermione leave things be. It’s enough that they’re his friends, that they’re there for him during the school year, no matter what kind of dangerous shenanigans he gets them into.
It’s enough that they send him care packages to tide him over the worst days.
Though those packages have a significant dent in them and there’s still a week to go. His stomach growls at him and he ignores it with practised ease. He knows to drink water when he’s hungry. It helps a little. But the Dursleys don’t bother with giving him anything and the drinks he can gulp down during the bathroom breaks in the morning and evening are just not enough.
He’s pretty sure the only reason the Dursleys are not giving him more is so that they don’t have to give him more bathroom breaks. Aunt Petunia always huffs when she lets him out of his room and is tapping her foot impatiently when he gets out of the bathroom.
Far be it from him to be a bother to them. If they wouldn’t punish him by locking him in, then they wouldn’t have to schedule the bathroom breaks and they’d have to interact less. Harry isn’t keen on seeing anyone from his so-called family either. If they’d just unlock his door, he could keep out of their way, not seen, not heard, pretending that he doesn’t exist.
But they told him they wanted to make sure he wouldn’t do it again. Reassuring them that that wouldn’t happen, that it was an accident hadn’t helped. He’s pretty sure the only reason they dared to lock him in, is because the Minister of Magic, of all people, appeared before he could leave the house and scolded him for the use of underage magic.
He even encouraged the Dursleys to keep him inside the house and not let him out of their sight. He’s pretty sure this wasn’t the Minister’s intention, but Harry can’t help but resent him anyways. His ribs are smarting still, from the beating he got after everyone was gone.
At least the fading bruises on his stomach are nicely demonstrating how it feels inside. The hunger is a gnawing hole inside and it eats at him. Funnily enough, because he can’t eat right now. The soup he got for dinner was cold and it reminded him of last year.
But at least last year he got broken out by his best friend. This year, he just sits in his room, eternally waiting for the summer to end and school to start.
Not that he should particularly look forward to it considering he’s done nothing of his summer homework and he’ll be hard pressed to get to Diagon Alley to get his supplies for the next year.
He’s already thought about picking the lock to Hedwigs cage and asking Ron and Hermione to get them for him. In the same letter he could write them to get him the hell out of here. That plan stays a fantasy.
He wanted to ask his Aunt a few times – because asking Vernon for anything at all would be a disaster, besides, he hasn’t seen him since the initial beating – but always chickened out. She’d only get the idea to not let him go to school at all and he can’t risk that.
In the end, he did convinced Aunt Petunia to take him to London a day before September first, when she went shopping with Dudley. They’d arrived in the afternoon and since Harry didn’t have any muggle money, he couldn’t use the train to where he thought Diagon Alley must be.
He’d wandered around the city, asking people for directions to the Leaky Cauldron. He’d gotten there pretty late and had to hurry to get all his shopping done before the stores closed. And then he’d wanted to get something to eat but all the restaurants were closed and he didn’t want to go into Nocturn Alley. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Not knowing how he’d get a ride to the Hogwarts Express without calling for a taxi that he wouldn’t be able to pay for without muggle money, he’d started to walk there. He didn’t want to miss the train for anything in the world. Not again.
Luckily, he managed to stumble over the Knight Bus that brought him over there in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, that had meant that he was way too early and he’d spent the night and morning dozing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Now he’s sitting on the Hogwarts Express, still painfully hungry, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. He’s already put on his robes in the desperate hope of hiding the sweat from his old hand me downs. They hang pretty loosely around his frame and he can only hope that his friends attribute it to a growth spurt.
He shouldn’t have worried as much. Ron and Hermione do give him concerned looks and exchange glances that vex Harry more than anything else. But someone else is in the cabin already, so they don’t try to talk to him about it.
In Harry’s humble opinion, the man looks about as horrible as he must look. His clothes are old and mended over and over again and they hang from his body in a way that’s way too familiar to Harry.
They don’t discuss anything important during the ride. Not with a future professor in the same room that may or may not be sleeping. But Harry can see that his friends have something to talk to him about and he’s pretty sure it’s not just his appearance.
He buys pumpkin pie and a few sweets from the Trolley Witch and it helps a little with the hunger that gnaws at him. But he can’t stomach much. Everything is too sweet and too rich and it burns in him.
He puts away the sugar quills with a longing look. He’s still so hungry but the sweets aren’t agreeing with him and he doesn’t fancy throwing up on the train.
Then, the train gets cold and dark and he hears someone screaming for help. When he wakes up again, he’s a lot more nauseous than before.
He learns that those things were Dementors and they’re after Sirius Black, who’s after him. That doesn’t help with his appetite either. The chocolate he’s given by the man – Professor Lupin, he learns – makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but at least the cold emptiness gives way to warmth.
His stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly. Ron and Hermione look at him concerned and he avoids their eyes. Professor Lupin just laughs good-naturedly and says something abut teenage boys always being hungry.
He doesn’t know how on the nose he is, Harry thinks. He’s been constantly hungry since the beginning of summer and it’s only gotten worse in the last three week.
Luckily, the feast in the Great Hall comes sooner than Harry thought. Unfortunately, he first has to talk to McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey first. They seem more concerned with the Dementor attack and his reaction to it than his constantly growling stomach. Soon enough, he’s released to finally, finally get some food.
His stomach hurts, his head hurts, he’s absolutely exhausted and the Great Hall is way too loud and there are way too many different smells. He can’t keep up. But it’s also where the food is and no-one could keep Harry from that.
No-one but the Dursleys and a locked door and bars in front of his window.
He tries not to think about that as he piles his plate full of potatoes and other goodies. He stays away from anything with too many spices. His stomach isn’t exactly something he’d call stable at the moment.
He listens to the others talk and lets the noise wash over him as he stuffs himself full of food that’s not canned soup. Food that is finally enough. He notices the glances – some concerned, some mocking – but he doesn’t care. He has something to eat in front of him and he’ll eat it before it gets taken away again.
He knows he should slow down, should eat a bit less. His stomach is churning again and the nausea has returned in full force. But he can’t stop now. Who knows when he gets to eat again. Just a little bit more.
The feast is over too soon. The dishes vanishing shoots a pang through his heart, even though he can’t eat any more, even if he wanted to. His stomach hurts and he feels like he’ll throw up any second now. The nausea only gets stronger and the long walk up the millions of stairs to Gryffindor Tower doesn’t help either.
While everyone is making themselves at home in their dorm room, Harry makes a bee-line for the bathroom.
The second he reaches the bowl, the whole meal comes up again. It stings in his throat on its way back up and his head is spinning. But still, he mourns the lost food. It had just been that good and he can’t afford to lose the nutrition.
He only notices the presence of someone else when he hears Ron’s voice ask: “Are you okay, mate?”
And what is Harry supposed to answer. No, I’m not, I’ve just horrendously over-eaten myself after being starved for three weeks by my aunt and uncle. He doesn’t think that will go over well.
Instead, he says the second he’s done retching into the toilet: “You know how it is. I just ate too fast.”
He tries for a jovial tone but he doesn’t know how well he manages that.
“Yeah, I know how it is”, Ron says and Harry gets the feeling that Ron isn’t talking about the same thing he is. Ron’s voice has a hard edge to it and he has a dark look in his eyes. Harry feels uncomfortably seen.
Then, Ron pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it at Harry. It’s crackers.
“Hermione told me you might need them.”
Harry chews them slowly. They’re salty and calm his churning stomach.
“Thanks.”
Ron’s face twists into something unsure. He opens his mouth, closes again; looks away and looks back again.
“You can talk to me, you know? Me and Hermione, we’re here for you”, he says imploringly.
And the thing is, Harry knows that. He knows he can talk to them and they will listen. He knows that if he told them about the bars on his window, the locks on his door, the miniscule food he gets, they’d be furious on his behalf.
He knows, because it happened before. Ron already knows. He probably told Hermione. Fred and George know and they told Mrs. Weasley. Nothing changed. He still has to go back. Nothing is going to change either, so what would it help to tell them.
He can still complain about the Dursleys to his friends. Anything else and it would just be too much. If he pretends that it’s not so bad, that he’s not starving in his room, locked in and forced to pretend he doesn’t exist, then it’s fine. He’s good at pretending after all.
But despite that, Ron’s words make his chest squeeze tight and his eyes burn. His friends care about him. They really do.
“Yeah, okay”, he answers after he notices Ron’s stare.
After a short hesitation, Ron nods and leaves with a last long look towards him. Harry stays on the floor, nibbling at the cracker.
That night he lies in bed, his stomach finally quiet. It still doesn’t feel full. It doesn’t feel like he can wait for the next morning, because who knows if there’ll be food? He knows it will be there – it always is at Hogwarts – but something inside him makes him doubt it.
He can’t shake the hunger for food, he can’t help but crave someone who notices. Someone who can make sure he never goes hungry again. Someone who gives him a cracker on the floor of a bathroom and then never lets him go back to the Dursleys again.
He never wants to live with an empty stomach again. He never wanted to know what it’s like to be truly hungry in the first place.