Ransom

Harry was interesting, Jack thought, as he watched the boy sleep with his head in his knees. The scar on his forehead, the fact that he had no parents, why he was staying with the Dursleys, the strange color of his eyes. They were beautiful eyes, Jack knew. He wondered if Harry had ever got a modeling contract for them.

Harry himself was not handsome yet; he looked to be about fifteen years old, still in the midst of a growth spurt, and was rather skinny. Still, there was an endearing little-boy quality that made Jack wonder if any girls liked him. He knew that - what was her name? - Arlene would have thought the boy adorable...

A soft whimper caught Jack's ears, and he quickly scanned the area for the source of the sound. It sounded muffled - was that Harry? He looked at the boy curiously. He was saying something in his sleep - no - waking up - raises his head, falls to the side -

Jack caught Harry before he hit the floor of the van and set him gently down onto his side. The whimpering had stopped, and Jack wondered if he had imagined it. Harry's locks were pasted across his sweaty forehead, and Jack brushed one back gently, revealing the thin lightning-bolt scar. Harry had yet to tell him where the scar had come from. It didn't look like a knife wound; no, the shape was too clear, as if someone had carved it there carefully with a pick of ice. A pick of ice? Could that be where it was from? Who would cut his skin with a pick of ice? Someone trying to commit suicide, maybe - but no, thought Jack, the scar was much too old...

"No, please!" A strained cry issued from Harry's lips. "Don't kill Cedric - stop, stop - Mum, Dad, he's trying to kill me -" A whimper, and the boy struggled against his bonds even though he was not awake. "Stop him, Dad! He's trying to kill me! He's killed Cedric!"

Jack drew back, startled, as Harry's eyes flew open suddenly and stared at him unseeingly. They regained their focus quickly and traveled up and down Jack's face, then squinted and surveyed the bonds on Harry's wrists and ankles. Harry propped himself up into a sitting position with use of his elbows and stared back at his captor.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Jack thought of a book he had read in his childhood, and his lips curled into a grin. "Who are you?" he countered.

"You know who I am," said Harry, staring hard at Jack. Jack wondered why Harry kept squinting at his left forearm.

"What is it?" he asked, looking down at his arm. It was bare and clean. He was glad he had opted out of tattoos; they were lifelong imprints and didn't make for good impressions on girls. Smart, clean girls. Jack wasn't dirty, though the two guards were; whenever they went out for some instant gratification, he told them to enjoy themselves and stayed in the hotel or flat reading a book he had bought. Jack was a bit of a scholar: he loved reading Thoreau and Emerson and all sorts of philosophy. If only he had been able to go to university - if only -

Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Nothing." He continued to stare at Jack's arm, and a wondering look crossed his face.

Jack grinned as a sudden idea struck him. "Like my muscles, do you?" he asked Harry. Unlike his guards, Jack was not a burly man; he had a slender build with lean muscles. However, Harry was much too skinny; Jack's arms probably looked like Arnold Schwarznegger's to him.

Harry looked surprised. "Er," he said uncertainly. "No."

"What is it, then?"

"Nothing," Harry repeated, and he looked past Jack toward the scenery outside.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked, glancing at his watch. It was 7:00 A.M. They would need to get breakfast soon.

Harry shook his head and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Do you want anything?" said Jack.

He saw Harry hesitate, and then the boy asked, "What's your name?"

"Jack," answered Jack.

"Oh." Harry scanned Jack's face, his brow furrowing slightly.

"What were you doing at the Dursleys?" Jack asked. The question had been eating away at him ever since Harry had fallen asleep.

"I live with the Dursleys," said Harry distantly, turning his attention back to the window. "I'm their nephew."

Jack blinked. "I never noticed you before."

"I only stay there during the summer," said Harry. "I go to school the rest of the time."

"Boarding school, then," said Jack.

Harry nodded.

"Which one?"

"H--Eton," Harry said quickly. His eyes darted about the van for a moment, and then rested on the passing scenery once more.

"Oh," said Jack. "Is it nice?"

Harry nodded.

"Expensive?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

"Do the Dursleys pay for all this?" If the couple could afford both Eton and Smeltings, then they'd be able to provide so much more ransom...

Harry shook his head, and Jack felt a pang of disappointment. "I use my own money. My parents left me some when they died."

"When did they die?" Jack asked.

"When I was one," said Harry.

Jack's curiosity got the better of him, and the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Who's Cedric?" he asked, remembering Harry's words in his sleep.

Harry tensed at once. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice laced with shock.

"Who's Cedric?" Jack repeated, watching Harry's face.

"No one," said Harry, too quickly.

"You were talking in your sleep," Dudley put in unexpectedly from the corner. Jack turned to look at him, but Harry remained where he was, his fists clenched and resting on his knees.

"You're lying," said Harry sharply.

"No, I'm not!" Dudley's voice was petulant. "Ask him. Jack, or whatever his name is."

"Shut up," hissed Harry angrily. His head swiveled around and he glared at his cousin.

Jack remembered, as if from another life, a research project he had done for school when he was sixteen on post-traumatic stress disorder. "Symptoms: recurring nightmares, intrusive memories, irritability, outbursts of anger, emotional numbness..." Harry had obviously been through something involving this Cedric person - "He's killed Cedric" - so he had probably watched Cedric being murdered...."You saw him die, didn't you?" Jack asked Harry, his wonder about this boy increasing by the minute.

Harry nodded silently and stared out the window.

"Oh. I'm sorry," said Jack. He opened his mouth to ask another question, trying to figure out how to word it without being too rude, but Dudley did it for him.

"How?"

"How what?" said Harry, though the tone of voice suggested that he knew perfectly well what.

"How did you see Cedric die?" asked Dudley.

"Why do you want to know?" Harry shot back.

To Jack's surprise, a look of hurt and jealousy flashed across Dudley's face. "I just--"

"Wanted to know?" finished Harry sarcastically.

Dudley said nothing.

"You've never taken an interest in my life before, so why should you now?" Harry said, glancing at Dudley suspiciously. "I thought we'd been over this before."

"But..."

Jack frowned. He had liked Harry before, but now....Dudley was only trying to be friendly, and Harry was acting completely insensitive, unless there was a lot more to this than Jack knew - which, of course, there was...

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped.

"So you did," said Dudley, sounding triumphant.

Harry's fingers curled in toward his palms once more. "Shut up," he said flatly. The calm before the storm, said a voice in Jack's head. He'll explode soon if he doesn't -

"Okay," said Jack, starting to feel nervous. "Dudley, stop it. Harry, if you don't want to talk about it, then you don't have to. Got it?"

Harry nodded tightly, not looking at Jack. Dudley glowered at him.

Jack sighed. This was turning out to be a lot harder than he expected.