"You're making me hungry," Sirilla complained, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow. "They were here, you know. The Potters, from a world like yours. A world where they had a James, not a Jane."
She had never figured out which world they were from, but they'd treated her just like Jane's parents had. They were among the few people missing from this compound that she missed-- perhaps even the only ones.
It surprised her that he admitted he was scared, because Sirilla had been spending loads of time pretending that her present and future back home didn't bother her. Or rather, that it bothered her but didn't scare her; she wasn't going to bother pretending that everything back home was alright with her, but she talked about her own death boldly and without flinching.
The only reason why her death and imprisonment didn't scare her, though, was because the thing she'd most feared had already happened. Back home, Jane was dead. Nothing worse than that could possibly happen to her, except perhaps losing Renee or Hannah, but that wasn't going to happen. They were going to lose her. She wasn't without fear, though: what she feared now wasn't Jane dying, but having to go back to a world where Jane wasn't alive. That was what her boggart had meant.
"Me too," she said finally. She'd said that before, that she didn't want to go home, but this was a little bit different. She was admitting to being afraid. She hadn't even admitted that to herself, not even after seeing the boggart, just shoved it away and ignored it. But now she was literally admitting it, out loud, to herself-- to her, and to another version of her. Sighing, she closed her eyes and ran her dirty hands over her face. "I don't ever want to go back."