Ransom

Chapter 4: Trust

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

No, Jack thought, listening to the running water from the lavatory, he hadn't planned this.

His original plan, he knew, had been to kidnap Dudley, leaving behind a ransom note demanding ninety-thousand pounds. What he would do with the money, he did not know. He had thought about flying to another country with a new identity after paying the two guards with a quarter of the sum each. He had considered buying a house high up in the Scottish highlands, living there as a recluse like Thoreau. This, of course, would occur after he got the money and returned Dudley to his home. A private affair - the parents gave the money; he gave them the boy. No outside interference. The plan would run smoothly with no complications.

Now, everything was messed up.

He had been so caught up in finding out about Harry that he'd forgotten to place the anonymous telephone call, telling the Dursleys where to meet him; he'd forgotten to plan which hotel to go to in order to hide from the police; he'd forgotten that the Dursleys would even think of calling the police; he'd forgotten...

He'd forgotten to listen to the news, damn it. He should have known that the police would be searching for Dudley. Fortunately, he'd made the boys put on a disguise before they entered the hotel; that at least would buy him a little bit of time. He'd given the guards another room together, so it wouldn't look as though the boys were being guarded, and he'd cut the ropes on Harry's and Dudley's wrists in order to avoid suspicion. Yet there was something...

He heard the water shut off and walked to the lavatory door, rapping on it lightly.

"Harry?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Step out, I've got some clothes you can wear. God knows you need some new ones; I don't know how you survive on those rags you were wearing."

"I didn't exactly have time to go and change into a suit," muttered Harry as he opened the door slightly and took the proffered clothes in Jack's hands.

"True," said Jack through the door as Harry stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, "but everybody needs good sleepwear as well. The fibers in worn clothes are bad for your skin."

Harry shrugged and shoved his glasses on his face.

"Do they fit you?" Jack asked.

"I guess," Harry answered awkwardly. He was wearing a dark green collared shirt and khaki pants held up by a brown leather belt. The shirt was slightly loose in the sleeves, but it was nothing compared to the monstrosity of Dudley's old shirts.

"I thought the shirt would accentuate your eyes," said Jack, peering at Harry in the mirror thoughtfully. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh," said Harry vaguely, "yeah. My friend's mother bought some r - er - cl - er - a shirt last year for me so that I could go to the Yule Ball. She told me the same thing." He smiled a little, but then a strange expression came across his face and his eyes dropped to the floor. Jack decided not to press any further.

"Come on over to the table," he said, leading Harry across the room. "It's just fish and chips tonight. No more ice cream."

"That's okay," said Harry. He sat down across from Dudley and began to eat, slowly popping the chips into his mouth. He looked pensive.

"Right," said Jack. Refraining from asking if anything was wrong, he sat down on the bed and turned on the television. It was showing the film Four Weddings and a Funeral.

The problem was, thought Jack, he liked the boy. Harry, that was. He wanted to keep Harry. He knew he was putting off the phone call to the Dursleys not only because suspense equalled time plus the unknown, but also because as soon as they gave him the money (which he was sure they would), he'd have to return Harry and Dudley both since they were also Harry's guardians.

But, said a little voice in the back of his brain, it didn't seem like the Dursleys bothered to search for Harry. He had watched the evening news and discovered that the police were looking for Dudley, but Harry hadn't even been mentioned. Nothing about a skinny fifteen-year-old with black hair and green eyes. Nothing to indicate that there were two boys that lived at Number Four Privet Drive. Dudley's picture had flashed across the screen, but not Harry's. The neighbors interviewed had mentioned Dudley, but not Harry. Maybe the Dursleys had requested that Harry not be searched for by the public.

But why, why would they do that? If both boys were under the care of the Dursleys, and both boys weren't missing, shouldn't they want both of them back?

Unless...Harry wasn't really under the Dursleys' care. Perhaps he was a street waif with neglectful parents, and he was just staying at Privet Drive temporarily, until he found a job or made enough money to live by himself or something. Perhaps the Dursleys had more goodwill than Jack had previously thought.

That can't be right, thought Jack, shaking his head. The Dursleys are clean and pristine; they'd never take in a boy from the streets, and besides, a street boy would never be able to get that far in a suburban neighborhood. And there was no lie in Harry's eyes, as Gandalf the Grey would say...

He sighed. There was something wrong here, and he just couldn't place it.

Jack didn't quite know what it was about Harry. Normally he would have passed the boy off as a moody adolescent, but there was something else there - some kind of wisdom, some kind of intelligence that was nothing like Jack had ever encountered. He knew Harry had seen someone die, but...well, he saw his mother die at Harry's age, and he certainly hadn't turned out like that.

Maybe I've just become emotionally attached, thought Jack. Maybe I like Harry because he reminds me a better version of myself. Maybe I'm overanalyzing.

The fact remained, he liked Harry and he wanted to keep him. There just wasn't a clear reason why.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the television.

He didn't like Hugh Grant.
***

It wasn't so bad, Harry reflected, watching Dudley eye his fish and chips hungrily. At least the kidnapper - Jack - was a Muggle, and he didn't seem to be under the Imperius Curse. He fed and clothed them, and generally didn't treat them badly. Harry knew that Dudley probably thought that this was equal to the apocalypse, but this was nothing compared to the kidnapping that he had suffered through two months ago...

Harry felt his stomach tighten, and rubbed the scar on his forehead. It had been oddly silent since he had been kidnapped, and though this was somewhat a relief, it worried him as well. Who knew what Voldemort was planning right now? Snape, maybe, but would he really tell Dumbledore the whole truth? Was Snape as loyal as everyone thought?

He wished he could discuss this with someone, anyone...anyone magical. His heart ached at the thought of his friends Ron and Hermione, and of his godfather Sirius. Their correspondence over the break had been highly unsatisfying; all their letters had simply told him to "keep his head down" and to wait patiently until he could join them. But when? When could he join them? There was only a month left till the school year started; that was hardly enough time to have homework-free fun.

"Harry."

Harry snapped to attention, and his eyes focused on his cousin. "What?"

"Are you going to eat that?" asked Dudley, pointing a sausage-like finger to the last piece of fish. "You've been staring at it for five minutes now."

Harry looked from the fish to his cousin, comprehension dawning on him slowly. "Oh," he said, "you can have it." He turned away as Dudley popped it into his mouth, chewing openly.

"Harry," Dudley said again, after he had finished.

"What?"

Dudley paused for a fraction of a second, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. "Where...where did you get the scar on your elbow?"

Harry stared at him. "What?"

"The scar," repeated Dudley, "on your right elbow." His eyes flicked to the thin brown line marring Harry's skin.

Harry's eyes darkened as he followed Dudley's gaze. "It's none of your business," he answered.

"Did you get it from your school? Is it dangerous there? Do people hate you there too?"

"Shut up, Dudley." Harry turned away, clenching his fists so tightly that his knucles turned white.

"It looks like it came from a cut," Dudley persisted. "And I can see it better that way."

Harry shot him a glare and turned the other way.

"I don't remember seeing it last summer," said Dudley. "So you had to have got it at your school. Did you get in a fight?"

"Dudley," said Harry slowly, staring hard at the wall, "I'm warning you now. Please shut up."

"But -"

"I said, shut up."

He didn't want to think about that night. He didn't want to think about Cedric's open, empty eyes, his mouth parted in an expression of surprise. He didn't want to see the sinuous white smoke rising from the cauldron, or the thin white fingers that had touched his face. He didn't want to hear a man's anguished cry as he lost his right hand, which was soon replaced by a silver one with the brother of Harry's wand...

His wand. Hogwarts and magic. Wizards and witches. His friends. His godfather. Dumbledore.

For the first time since he had been kidnapped, Harry began to wonder.

Where were they all?

***

Jack's eyes flicked over to the two boys as commercials flashed across the screen. He had resisted listening to their conversation to show that he trusted them, though he wasn't sure that that was a great idea. Harry was facing away from Dudley, staring at the wall as he rested his chin in his left palm. Flickering white images from the television played across his face, giving him an almost shadowy air. Dudley was looking at his cousin with a curious expression. Jack followed Dudley's gaze and blinked, startled, as he spotted an ugly brown scar at the crook of Harry's right elbow. It looked recent.

But, thought Jack, we didn't hurt him...I swear we didn't...

"Harry," said Jack abruptly, turning off the television, "are you all right?"

Harry glanced at him. "Fine, thanks."

"Your elbow," said Jack, gesturing vaguely.

Harry slid his left elbow off the table with a confused expression on his face.

"No," said Jack, "the other one."

Harry stared at him with a wooden expression.

"The scar," said Jack haltingly, uncertain on how to begin. "There. It - it didn't come from one of us, did it?" Jack asked hurriedly, as Harry's eyes darkened. "I wasn't planning to hurt you."

An almost scornful expression flashed across Harry's face. "No, I got this before you kidnapped me."

Jack felt an odd sense of relief. "It looks pretty new," he said, cocking his head. "When did you get it?"

"And how?"

Stop it, Dudley, thought Jack irritably. You're not supposed to ask directly. You have to manipulate the conversation. Harry's never going to tell now!

Harry took a deep breath, glancing toward Jack and then Dudley.

Well, Jack declared, I may be wrong.

"There was a competition at my school," Harry began, "last year. Someone entered my name into it, and I had to compete. There were three tasks, and for the third task, you had to get through a giant maze to the Cup. Cedric - another student - and I tied for the Cup. We spent some time arguing over who would take it, and then decided to take it together. It trans - the Cup - it was a trap. Cedric and I were kidnapped and taken to a graveyard. They killed him instantly. They hadn't planned for him to come. They wanted me. Wormtail" - Harry's face grew murderous -"tied me to a gravestone and took some of my blood, which they needed to perform a ritual to bring Voldemort back. I was tortured and forced to watch him come back, and he was going to kill me, but I escaped with the help of..." Harry's voice trailed off, and his expression became distant. "I escaped and brought back Cedric's body to the school. And then...and...and that's it. That's how I got the scar. Wormtail cut my elbow and I couldn't do anything about it and God!" Harry's voice was rushed now. "I see it every night in my nightmares, Cedric's wide open eyes staring at me, he wasn't supposed to be there, and where the hell are all my friends right now, why do I have to be stuck at Privet Drive in the summer, I need to go back, I need to, they didn't have to fight him, they didn't have to fight the damn basilisk or save the Sorcerer's Stone or fight hundreds of dementors, what do they know, they don't know how it feels to be hunted every day of your life, you can't escape, there's no news, nobody's telling you anything, you're stuck with your stupid relatives who hate you and you're all alone and cut off when you're the one they're fighting for, I'm sure they know everything and I don't know anything, why isn't anybody telling me anything, why hasn't anyone -"

Jack stared at Harry, speechless, as the boy cut himself off and stared around the room. He hadn't known. He hadn't known at all.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, averting his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean -"

"It's - it's all right," said Jack quickly. "Do you want to call it a night? Go to sleep, maybe?"

"Yeah, all right," muttered Harry, still not looking up. Jack could tell that he was embarrassed.

"It's all right, really," repeated Jack. He felt...he didn't know what he felt. He felt as if a million stars had just rained down upon his head, and they were crushing him with their brilliance.

That didn't make sense, did it.

Nothing did anymore.

Harry slumped down into his chair, breathing heavily.

"I'm going to have to tie you two up," said Jack awkwardly.

There was no response from either adolescent, so Jack uncoiled a length of rope and took out his knife. He grabbed Dudley's wrists roughly and tied them together around the chair, but Harry's he took gently and tied with loose knots. He put away the rope, placed the knife on the bedstand, and turned off the lamp. Darkness flooded the room.

***

"Harry?" Dudley said timidly. It had been nearly three hours since Jack had gone to bed; Dudley could hear his even breathing in the silence. He didn't know if Harry had fallen asleep as well. "Um...are you awake?"

The response was immediate. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"D'you...d'you think you could tell me about the wizarding world?"

There was a slight pause before Harry answered, "Why?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared Jack's going to kill us, and I want to hear something that won't make me think about it. I want a story."

Harry sounded almost amused. "He's not going to kill us, Dudley. And I don't know any stories."

"He doesn't like me."

"So?"

"So...so he'll kill me!"

"No, he won't."

"How do you know?"

"He doesn't want to, that's why. He doesn't want to hurt us." Harry paused briefly before adding, "And even if he tried, I wouldn't let him. Kill you, I mean."

Dudley was so taken aback by this comment that it took him a full three minutes to recover. "Oh. Well. Um. Okay." The last word, "Thanks," couldn't seem to get past his throat. "Okay then."

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with magic," said Harry, returning to the previous thread of conversation..

"I don't! But...I'm - bored."

"And?"

"And I need to hear something interesting."

"You think my life is interesting."

"Well - yeah - I mean, you never talk about it."

"That's because you and your parents hate magic."

"I don't," said Dudley, and he was surprised. "I'm just scared of it."

"Why?"

"It's -"

"Abnormal?" Harry finished in a mocking tone.

"No - I -"

He could see Harry smirking even through the darkness, and felt completely helpless. How could he explain this to his cousin? He just wanted to know. They were family, and he had every right...

"Please?"

The word felt foreign on his tongue. He wondered if he had ever said it, sincerely. Probably not.

Harry sighed. "You said the magic word, so...yes."

And he began.

***