Molly
1.
It started before he could remember, but when he was at home with his uncle and aunt, it didn't matter. It wasn't as though they were going to worry or look for him. He had all the time in the world to crouch in his cupboard and forget where he was.
When they finally gave him a room, he found himself longing for the comfort of a tighter space. Which was ironic because he was greatly claustrophobic, but he guessed it was different to hide than to be locked. Sometimes he slept under the bed, where there was more protection.
He never noticed his own behavior; there was no reason to think anything strange about it. He didn't realize it on his own either; it wasn't until someone else pointed it out.
He had been in The Burrow for a few days now; he had never experienced anything like it. The home was everything he had ever wished for, and everyone seemed to be so nice to each other, and surprisingly, to him as well. That's why he couldn't understand why he felt so... overwhelmed.
Yes, that was the word. Where he used to be invisible, only addressed to be yelled at, the sudden positive attention he was getting was burning a hole in his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe. It was exhausting. He didn't understand what was wrong.
'You are too thin, honey; you look like a skeleton,' Mrs. Weasley had a smile on her face at the time, but the only thing Harry knew about his face was that it was burning, probably red from shame. Why did she have to point it out? That wasn't his fault; why would she remind him? He knew. It was he who had to live with his own body after all.
So one afternoon, when he saw the opportunity, a holy second in which no one seemed to be paying attention to him, he ran.
He got out of the house, took a second to breathe fresh air, and then walked to the little farm the Weasleys had. He saw a warehouse at the end of the path and decided to make that his home.
He walked towards it and tried the lock. It was open. Inside, there wasn't much—some tools long forgotten, broken brooms, and a set of old furniture, probably replaced as the kids grew into their new bedrooms.
He sat under a shelf; the door was closed, but even if it had been open, he wasn't visible from the entrance. And he stayed there, quietly trying to control his breathing.
When he was hiding, he often lost track of time; it was all the same, a minute, an hour...
"Just look in the warehouse," he heard a voice outside. Was that Mrs. Weasley?
"Why would he be in the warehouse?" and that was probably Mr. Weasley.
"Ahg! forget it, I'll look."
And then he heard the warehouse door open. He didn't move. He couldn't move. He was frozen in his place; he could hear everything, but somehow, at the same time, he was barely aware of the world around him. It was a weird feeling, hypervigilant, and yet so numb.
"Honey? Hey, Harry sweety? It's Molly; can you crawl out of there, please? I can't reach you..."
That snapped him back to reality, but he didn't find the strength to be embarrassed; he felt fuzzy and sleepy.
"That's good, sweetheart, that's really good. You know at my age, it's not that easy to be sitting on the floor for too long," she attempted to joke and even tried a huffed laugh, but Harry wasn't in any condition to interpret a joke.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeves, though there weren't any tears there.
"Oh, no, it's alright," she reassured him. "You just had me worried because it's really late, and you haven't eaten anything all day, that's all. Nothing to be sorry about, okay?"
With a hand rubbing his back, and another gently grounding him on his chest, she led him out of the warehouse. It was dark outside; Harry hadn't even realized it had been so long. Mr. Weasley was outside; he exchanged a concerned look with Mrs. Weasley, but they communicated with no words, and Harry didn't acknowledge his presence.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, not entirely sure why he was doing it, but Mrs. Weasley looked sad, and he had a feeling it was because of him.
"Like I said, sweety, no need to be sorry. Let's just get in the house. Merlin, you're freezing."
He didn't feel cold, but he was shaking, so maybe that was it. Mrs. Weasley kept talking, but he disconnected. By the time he started listening again, the house was right in front of them.
"...and everyone else is already in bed" she was saying "early, I know, but they had no choice. Now all we had to do is get you some dinner and they you can sleep on Percy's room, he's staying with the tweens tonight"
"Yeah, you should've seen him complain about it; he wasn't at all happy," now Mr. Weasley tried to lighten the mood, but once again, Harry wasn't really aware of that.
"I'm so sorry," he nearly cried. He didn't hear the Weasleys' attempts to make him stop apologizing; he just kept thinking about how mad Percy would be, and the tweens couldn't be happy either. He didn't believe it was anywhere near fun to share a room with Percy.
Next he was sitting in a softly illuminated kitchen with food in front of him, and he didn't registered much more before he was lead to bed and fell into a peaceful sleep, for once.
Next, he was sitting in a softly illuminated kitchen with food in front of him, and he didn't register much more before he was led to bed and fell into a peaceful sleep, for once.
"What was that anyway?" his mother jumped.
"Freddie, sweety, I didn't know you were awake," she didn't even have the energy to reprimand him for coming downstairs; she just kept drinking her tea quietly while her husband did the same a few seats away.
"Sorry," George said, appearing at his brother's side.
"But really, what happened?" and that was Percy. It seemed like most of his kids weren't in their rooms this day. She sighed.
"Does anyone want a cup of tea?" she offered. The three of them accepted, reluctantly, because not every day they were allowed in an adult talk after bedtime. Fred's words.
They stood silent. Molly served tea, then took the cookie jar out of the cupboard, and even got one herself after placing it in the middle of the table. Her sons and husband followed her movements, although Arthur looked less interested in his actions and more lost in his own mind, while mechanically chewing a cookie.
"So what are we going to do about...?" Percy's words were rapidly cut off.
"We are not going to do anything, young man. You let your father and me handle it," Molly said, raising her eyebrows, but she didn't put much effort into it.
"Yeah, sure," Fred said again, "but handle what, though?"
And when she saw the genuine curiosity in all of her kids, something warmed in her. She did the best she could with the situation, she explained enough for her kids' minds to ease but not enough to invade the little boy's privacy. Why was she so mad? She didn't know. Who was she so angry at? The Dursleys? Dumbledore? She wasn't sure. But she was immediately sure that she was going to do anything to ensure Harry had a home in her house, even if she couldn't protect him from everything, even if he wasn't hers to protect.