Out In the Open

Aaron woke up, as per his usual habit, in stages. His mother claimed he had been nearly impossible to wake as a teenager. Aaron didn't have any reason to doubt her. Even now he had to set no less than two alarms in his bedroom on opposite sides of the room. He also had to make sure the alarms were set loud enough to wake the dead. Anything at a lower volume didn't penetrate his slumber. It was the sound of running water that had awakened him. By the time he'd surfaced enough to pry his eyes open, the shower had shut off; however, it had also aroused a desperate need for the loo. Wanting nothing more than to snuggle back into the bedding, but wholly unable to ignore the internal urges of his body's needs, Aaron sighed and grabbed his glasses, swinging his feet to the floor. He let his glasses dangle from his fingers as he shuffled down the short corridor to the small bathroom. The door was halfway open, and Dudley stood at the sink, a towel carelessly wrapped around his waist, staring intently at the mirror while he shaved. The angle of the sink in comparison to the door meant Dudley couldn't really see Aaron standing just outside the bathroom. The end of the towel slipped from its moorings and slithered to the floor. Aaron peered nearsightedly at Dudley, then jammed his glasses on his nose. His mouth fell open slightly, and he took the few steps into the bathroom, and one finger extended to trace the outline of the round, puckered scar, just above the cleft of the younger man's bottom. 'What the bloody hell happened?' he said hoarsely.

Startled, Dudley's arm jerked sideways over his cheek, and a thin cut opened over his cheekbone. He hissed in pain, and snatched up the face cloth draped over a hook on the wall over the taps of the bath and pressed the wet cloth to his face. 'Don't sneak up on me like that!'

Aaron's eyes were wide with simmering anger. 'Who did that to you?' He grabbed Dudley's arm and shook it. 'Who?'

'Nobody,' Dudley insisted.

'Nobody?' Aaron scoffed. 'Was it your dad?'

'No.'

'Someone at school?'

Dudley shook his head. 'No. Nobody knew I was gay at school. Except for Stuart Menzies, and I'm sure he didn't tell anyone. He wasn't out, either.'

'Uni?'

'I'm not a witness in one of your damn cases, Aaron,' Dudley snapped.

'Just tell me who did that to you.'

Dudley pulled the face cloth away from his cheek, and examined the oozing cut on his face. 'It was a long time ago,' he sighed, opening the small medicine cabinet next to the mirror. He pulled out a styptic pencil, dribbling water over the tip, then rubbed it gingerly over the shallow cut, gasping a little when it began to sting from the astringent ingredients. 'I was eleven.'

'That doesn't make it excusable.'

Dudley carefully replaced the styptic pencil and reached for the towel, securing it around his waist once more. 'I suppose not,' he said tiredly. 'Do you ever see someone in the streets? Someone dressed oddly?'

Aaron dropped to the closed lid of the toilet. 'Dudley, one of my mates dresses up in a leather waistcoat and chaps with little else to go out to the clubs on Saturday nights. Define "odd".'

'Old-fashioned clothes,' Dudley said, rinsing the blood from the face cloth. 'Bright colors that are almost too bright. Or wearing regular clothes that just don't go together. Like a mackintosh and stiletto high heeled shoes.'

'That's half the women that work in the City.'

Dudley resisted the urge to rub his hand over his face. It would only reopen the cut. 'Or a man wearing a flannel nightdress with rain boots? People wearing clothes that look like those paintings of the Middle Ages, or the clothes have this almost Victorian look to them...? They look almost normal, until you look at them again, and there's something... off... about them.'

'Yeah... Sometimes.'

'Did you ever believe in magic?' Dudley whispered.

'When I was five years old.'

'My cousin, Harry?' Dudley began. He continued when Aaron nodded encouragingly. 'He's a... Well, he can... He's a wizard...' he said softly. 'And the day he found out, this bloke that was too big to be real came to fetch him and get his things for his school. And he pointed this flowered, pink umbrella at me. I felt this... buzz over my skin, and then something grew out of my bum.' He flushed and his hands flew behind his back. 'It was a pig's tail.' He glanced shyly, apologetically at Aaron. 'I told you I was fat...'

Aaron stared stonily at him. 'You're lying.'

Dudley stormed from the bathroom, and opened a drawer of his bureau. He turned to see Aaron had followed him from the bathroom and held out a sheaf of photographs. Aaron glanced down at them, then did a comical double-take. 'They're moving,' Aaron breathed. He turned over the photograph. 'Nice trick... What kind of digital frame is this?' The photograph rippled as he waved it in the air.

'It's not a trick!' Dudley protested, his voice rising shrilly. 'If you don't believe me, you can ask my mother. Her sister was Harry's mother. And she was a witch! It's why she and my mum didn't speak to one another! It's why my parents mistreated Harry, because they thought they could beat it out of him!' He collapsed to the edge of the bed. 'The year after the tail, he left my parents' house in a flying car. The year after that, he made my Aunt Marge blow up like a ruddy balloon. They came to the house to fix her. They even fixed her memory, so she thought she just drank too much. The year after that, his friends came to take him to their house for the rest of the summer. They came through the fireplace. One of them dropped a toffee on the floor. It made my tongue swell and grow...' Dudley's breath caught at the memory of gagging and gasping for air, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes. 'I almost died, because my mum and dad wouldn't let his friends' dad fix it,' he murmured. 'The following summer, these things - Mum called them Dementors - attacked Harry and me. Harry... He said some sort of phrase and this light came out of his wand - and yes, he uses a wand - and drove them away. The next year, one of his teachers came to take him away. He conjured wine out of thin air and sent it floating across the room to us.' A crease appeared between his brows. 'Then they disappeared out of thin air...' Dudley shook his head slowly from side to side. 'The scar, it's from having the tail removed.' His entire body seemed to fall into itself. 'I never know how to explain it. So I never... I never let anyone really see it. And I've never told anyone any of this.'

Aaron studied each photograph. It was like holding a tiny film. The figures moved and spoke to the person taking the photograph. It was like a silent film, only in color. He set them carefully on the top of the bureau and pulled his clothes on. 'I need to think about this,' he said buttoning his trousers. 'I'll... I'll ring later...'

Dudley sat motionless on the bed. After the soft click of the closing door reached his ears, he crawled under the bedding, pulling it over his head, curling his body around the cramping wave of nausea that suddenly rose in his throat.

XxXxXxX

Dudley hunched at his small kitchen table, surrounded by brightly colored squares of poster paper, making flashcards for the upcoming term. As much as he tried to keep his materials pristine, eight year-old boys weren't known for their delicacy in handling such things. After a couple of years, they had become so bent and creased, they looked nearly tattered. He picked up his mobile and checked the battery level, then dialed his voice mail, looking crestfallen when the supercilious female voice informed him he had no new messages. No text messages, either. He knew the maddening device was working. One of his co-workers had rung that morning inviting him over for tea that evening.

Aaron hadn't rung. Or come over. Or even sent an e-mail or text message.

It was now mid-August.

Dudley no longer ran around the football pitch where Aaron played on Sundays. He went to the other side of the park for his run. Mentally, Dudley shrugged. He figured Aaron would have been spooked by his revelations. Strangely, he didn't regret confessing everything to Aaron. It was something of a relief. At least he knew now that he'd been right before to keep it all to himself. Now he had to come up with some sort of story for that scar in case it ever came up again. He shuddered slightly. Dudley had never been very good at making up stories to conceal Harry's magical abilities. He had spent most of his childhood parroting whatever his parents had said. Perhaps the next time someone asked about it, he could chalk it up to a boarding school prank. That was plausible.

The sound of mail slipping through the slot was a welcome diversion. Dudley idly sorted through the post, grinning when he saw an envelope addressed in a slanting, angular hand. The thickness of the envelope meant there were photographs enclosed, making Dudley guess the baby had finally arrived. He tossed the rest of it to the coffee table, and sat on the sofa, ripping open the envelope and removing the sheaf of photographs, unwrapping the sheet of paper Harry had folded around them.

10 August 2008

Dear Dudley,

As you can see, we welcomed Lily to the family. She was born on July twenty-third. I had to deliver her, and it was possibly the best experience of my life. It all happened so quickly, that the only thing I truly remember is realizing I was the first person to touch Lily. Truly awe inspiring. She definitely has her mum's hair, but we're not sure about her eyes yet. They're still that cloudy blue that newborns have. We'll see how it goes in a few weeks. Considering James has my father-in-law's eyes, and Al has mine, it's anyone's guess as to what Lily's might be. I'm rather hoping she does get Ginny's eyes.

The boys aren't quite sure what to make of her. James thinks she cries too much and complains every time she does cry. (Although, according to Ginny, Lily cries much less than James ever did. In Jemmy's defense, she isn't fond of anyone except Gin, my godson Teddy, or me, and wails when they try to hold her.) Albus is quite jealous of the attention Ginny or I give to Lily, even to the point of climbing into Ginny's lap while she's trying to nurse Lily. It makes things a bit tense at times, but that's the joys of parenthood. Teddy just adores her. When he's at our house, Ginny and I rarely have to do any of the dirty work.

I've enclosed some recent photographs. I put in plenty of "normal" ones so you can show them to that bloke you've been seeing, if you want.

Hope you're well.

Harry

Dudley felt a pang as he looked at the first photograph. It must have been taken just after Lily's birth. Ginny didn't seem as if she were aware someone had a camera. She was propped up on a pile of fluffy pillows, Lily cradled against her breast, wrapped in a bright yellow towel. Lines of weariness were evident on Ginny's face, nearly lost in the satisfied glow that surrounded her. Harry sat in an armchair, Al balanced on one knee, Lily in one arm, while Al poked and prodded her. Dudley held the photograph closer, and could see Al's mouth form the word "nose" while he nudged the tip of Lily's snubbed baby nose, while Harry nodded approvingly. The corner of Dudley's mouth tipped up. Against all odds, they were both doing quite well. Harry had his family, and from what Dudley could see in the photographs, he was happy. And as for himself, Dudley could honestly say he wasn't a waste of space.

Heaving a sigh, with just a hint of regret, Dudley propped up a photograph of Harry, Ginny, and all three children on the mantle and returned to the flash cards on the kitchen table.

XxXxXxX

Aaron glanced up impatiently as the disembodied voice announced a delay on the Victoria Line. He seldom traveled on the Victoria Line, but he had to go to Brixton that morning in order to complete the examination of documents for a case that was scheduled to go to trial soon. He found an unoccupied bench and pulled out his morning paper, skimming the headlines. He paged through the paper, not really focusing on any one story. He found himself mulling over Dudley's tale, carefully examining each detail under the light of logic. It honestly didn't make much sense. Magic didn't really exist. It honestly sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, but Aaron could remember a comment Petunia had made the night they tried to have dinner with Dudley's parents. She'd mentioned Harry and how Dudley had been attacked. That scar on his bottom reminded Aaron of burn marks he'd seen on one of his friends, but Dudley claimed he hadn't been abused. If anything, Dudley had been agonizingly open with Aaron from the beginning. Guileless. If his parents' rejection of Dudley had stung as badly as it did, Aaron could only imagine what his continued silence did to him.

He squirmed slightly, remembering his promise to ring after Dudley's fantastical confession. He hadn't kept it. He found himself picking up his mobile, finding Dudley's number, then putting it back down. Aaron didn't want to talk about the confession or to Dudley until he had worked through his own doubts about it. He ought to have at least telephoned Dudley to tell him that, instead of letting the poor man hang in a chasm of doubt and insecurity.

'Mum, why are we so early?' a child whined. 'The train for Hogwarts doesn't leave for hours.'

'It's always a crush on that platform. And if you get to the platform early, you can have your choice of seats,' the child's mother sniffed.

Aaron looked up, frowning. An adolescent boy pushed a luggage trolley through the crowds, piled with a large trunk and a sizeable knapsack. Perched on top of the trunk was the largest cat Aaron had ever seen. It regarded him coolly with enormous green eyes, almost daring him to comment on the lack of some sort of crate. It lifted a fluffy grey paw and desultorily washed it, keeping its eyes on Aaron.

Aaron blinked, and the mother and child were lost in the crowd. Or at least Aaron assumed they were. It was as if they passed by Platform Nine and disappeared. They've just gone round the barrier... He shook his head, and took a sip of his cooling coffee, returning to his newspaper. The sounds of rattling rose above the murmur of people moving around him. Aaron peered over the edge of the newspaper. Three children dodged the commuters, each with a small cage balanced precariously on top of their trunks, followed by what were obviously their parents. Are those... Owls? The newspaper lowered slowly, and Aaron stared, mouth slightly open. Those can't be owls. Owls aren't domesticated, he argued silently.

'It's best if you close your eyes,' the father advised, putting a hand on the youngest one's shoulder.

'And go at a dead run!' piped up the oldest.

'Do you want to go first?' asked the mother, worry clearly coloring her voice.

'Okay...' The child's reply ended on a quaver. He took a deep breath and began to run straight toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The announcer's voice reiterating the delay on the Victoria Line momentarily distracted Aaron, and when he returned to the barrier, the child was gone.

Along with his brothers.

Over the next several minutes, a succession of children, ranging in age from early adolescence to late teens, hurried through the station, accompanied by their parents. They always disappeared, seemingly into thin air, or melted into the milling crowd, but Aaron could never quite figure out where they had gone.

Aaron pressed his thumbs into the indentations above his eyes. It's just a headache, he told himself. Stress. He stared sightlessly into nothing, wondering if perhaps Dudley might have been telling the truth after all.

He was still sitting on the end of the bench when the train for the Victoria Line pulled into the station, then minutes later, left without him.

Aaron shook himself and rooted in his briefcase for his mobile, scrolling down through the names in his phonebook, selecting one in the middle of the list. He tapped the number and waited until his colleague in Brixton answered his telephone. 'Yeah, it's Aaron. I'm at King's Cross... Listen, I'm not feeling very well... Yeah. Must have eaten something... I think I ought to just go home. Right. Yeah. I'll be out tomorrow. Thanks, Andy.' He slid the mobile back into his briefcase and found the National Rail train that would take him to Surrey. There was one person he knew he would be able to talk to in order to verify his own suspicions, as well as Dudley's tale.

XxXxXxX

Aaron paid the fare and exited the taxi, waiting until it had driven off down Privet Drive and disappeared around a corner. He turned and looked at the house, feeling slightly ridiculous. Petunia had no reason in the world to be honest with him and she very well might slam the door in his face. He approached the door as if it might explode if he came too near and knocked with much more confidence than he felt. The sharp tappity-tap of shoes grew louder as a figure came toward the door. It opened a mere crack, and Petunia's long, horsey face filled it. 'Yes?'

'You might not remember me,' Aaron began. 'I'm Aaron Bernstein. Dudley's... friend.'

Petunia's eyes narrowed. 'What do you want?' she hissed, eyes darting from side to side, hurriedly searching to see if any neighbors were watching this unusual event taking place.

'I need to talk to you.'

'I haven't anything to say to you.' Petunia began to shut the door, but Aaron blocked it with his foot.

'Dudley has a scar, just above his bottom,' Aaron said pleasantly, as if he was discussing the weather.

'How do you know that?' Petunia gasped.

'Use your imagination,' Aaron replied evenly. 'How did he get it?'

'It was an accident,' she said, the lie coming easily to her lips with the ease of long practice. 'He had to have stitches.'

'Hm. Looks more like a burn to me. The kind you'd get if someone pressed the lit end of a cigarette to your skin,' Aaron observed.

'We didn't abuse Dudley!' Petunia nearly shouted.

'I didn't say you did,' Aaron reminded her. 'I merely made an observation of what the scar resembles.'

'It was an accident,' Petunia stubbornly maintained.

Aaron nodded, moving to his next question. 'What was the name of the school your nephew, Harry, attended?' Aaron inquired mildly.

'St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurable Criminal Boys,' she snapped.

Aaron smiled thinly. 'We both know that's not it, Mrs. Dursley. Now. Answer the question: where did your nephew attend school?'

'I've told you,' Petunia protested.

'Mrs. Dursley, you and I know that - what was it? - St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys does not exist. What is the name of the school?' Petunia's mouth clamped shut. Aaron leaned forward a little. 'Dudley told me. Everything. I didn't believe him until today. I saw things at King's Cross that are quite illogical and I think it will corroborate everything Dudley said. But you and he are the only ones I know that can do this.' Petunia's face paled slightly. Aaron allowed a small bit of triumph to creep into his voice. A large part of questioning witnesses involved reading their body language, and Petunia's was screaming at him. If she had fainted when Dudley came out he could only imagine what a confrontation about Harry would do to a woman who cared for appearances above all else. 'You can let me in, and we can talk about this like civilized people, or I can shout on the doorstep. Your choice.'

The door opened just enough to allow Aaron to slip through the gap. It was telling that Petunia didn't invite him inside any further than the entrance. 'What is the school called?' Aaron asked in the same pleasant voice he'd been using.

Petunia's lips thinned. 'Hogwarts,' she said in a barely audible voice.

'And your nephew, Harry, is a...?'

The lips thinned even more. 'Wizard,' she mouthed.

'You have a sister, I believe?'

'She's dead,' Petunia spat.

'What was her name?'

Petunia stiffened. 'Lily,' she mumbled.

'Lovely name. Dudley tells me she was a witch.' Petunia nodded. 'I see.' Aaron paused for a moment. 'I also understand that you and your husband saw Harry's inherited trait as a defect of character and proceeded to mistreat him in an effort to try and "correct" it?'

'Neither of us wanted anything to do with that sort of freakishness,' she growled, face so pale, her lips were bloodless.

'Someone ought to have rung DCFS on his behalf,' Aaron countered coldly. 'Tell me about the pig's tail.'

'One of them tried to turn Dudley into a pig,' Petunia said quietly. 'Harry brought nothing but trouble and destruction to this house. I was glad to see him go. To see him leave and take his abnormality with him. They always picked on Dudley. Left sweets on the floor that made his tongue swell and nearly killed him. Set monsters on Dudley. That's what turned him, you know,' she added casually. 'He was quite normal before. It was after those things tried to suck out his soul that he became like you.'

'Where is Hogwarts?'

'I don't know. They won't tell us. All I know is that it's somewhere in the north.'

'They leave from King's Cross. On September first,' Aaron stated. 'At eleven o'clock.'

'Did Dudley tell you that?'

'No. I saw several families come into the station. I'm supposed to be in Brixton, you see. I usually never have to use King's Cross during the day, and I saw children with owls in cages or cats that weren't in crates or baskets. It seemed a bit out of place. Then several of their parents reappeared from the middle of nowhere. So I started putting two and two together.' Aaron inhaled deeply, nose twitching from the strong odor of disinfectant in the house. 'So magic exists...'

'It does. And it's evil to its core.'

Aaron hesitated. Dudley didn't speak of Harry as if he were evil. And what he saw in the photographs was quite normal. Even in the moving ones. 'Thank you for your time.' He opened the door and left, planning his next move on the journey back to Barkingside.

XxXxXxX

Aaron lurked on the pavement at the edge of Parkhill Junior School. Dudley hunkered on the ground in the playground with a small boy, who was nearly dwarfed next to Dudley's bulk. Dudley was lining up a row of pebbles. 'Go on, Ibie,' he said.

Ibie's small finger lightly touched each pebble in turn. 'One, two three, four, five...' he chanted.

Dudley produced a box of chalk from the depths of his bag and began to sketch the numbers on the paved portion of the playground, the offered the chalk to Ibie. 'Just trace it. It doesn't have to be perfect.'

Ibie's small, pink tongue protruded from between his teeth as he carefully ran the chalk of the number one, then slowly followed the lines of the two. 'Ibie!' A young woman ran up to the gates, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her head. 'I am terribly sorry, Mr. Dursley,' she gasped. 'I lost track of time.'

'It's all right, Mrs. Khalid,' Dudley replied, rising to his feet, and dusting off the knees of his trousers. 'Ibie and I were just reviewing some numbers.'

'Look, Mum!' Ibie squatted next to the row of pebbles. 'One, two, three, four, five!' he crowed triumphantly.

'That's marvelous, darling,' Mrs. Khalid murmured.

'You know, Mrs. Khalid,' Dudley began, 'I would be more than happy to offer extra tutoring to Ibie after school. You can sit in with us, if you like, or I can have another teach come in.'

Aaron winced at Dudley's offer. It wasn't the offer to assist Ibie with his class work, it was the need Dudley felt to offer to have another teacher sit in the room, so as to remove any suspicion.

'Thank you. You're very kind. Ibie...' She shook her head.

Dudley busied himself with putting the chalk away. Ibie happened to have moderate dyslexia, and hadn't had a very good term the year before. 'It can be up to Ibie, and you and his father, of course,' he said. 'But Ibie could use a little one-on-one attention.' He shouldered the bag. 'Just something to consider.'

'We'll think about it,' Mrs. Khalid said, after a long moment adjusting Ibie's knapsack. 'Come, Ibie.'

Ibie waved vigorously to Dudley. 'Bye, Mr. Dursley! See you tomorrow!' Ibie skipped after his mother, as she exited through the school's gate. Dudley smiled and returned Ibie's wave as he followed them out of the gate.

Aaron stepped in front of Dudley. 'Hiya.'

Dudley's eyes closed briefly. 'Why are you here?'

'We need to talk.'

'You're six weeks too late,' Dudley sighed. He maneuvered around Aaron and proceeded to walk down the pavement.

'Dudley, wait!'

Dudley stopped and spun around. 'I may not be clever like you, but even I know when someone doesn't believe me. You don't believe a word I said. And then to tell me you're going to ring and I don't hear a peep from you for over a month? I deserve better than that.'

'I believe you.'

'You're just saying that.'

'I saw some of them leaving for school today from King's Cross,' Aaron said in a beseeching tone. 'You asked me to believe in something I thought didn't exist. Never mind whether it's as horrible as your mother would make it out to be.'

Dudley's face creased in a frown. 'What does my mother have to do with this?'

'I went to see her this morning after watching child and after child wind their way through to Platform Nine. With owls in cages. And then they were just gone. Nobody just disappears in King's Cross. Especially when one is pushing a luggage trolley with an owl on it. That stands out quite a bit.'

'My mother spoke to you about...' Dudley paused then mouthed the word "magic". He was beyond shocked that Petunia would even think about magic.

Aaron grinned, a ruthless light coming into his eyes. 'I hardly gave her a choice. I threatened to start shouting about it if she didn't let me in and give me some honest answers.

'She would have hated that.'

'Actually, forcing her to talk was mere icing on my fairy cake,' Aaron told him, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 'Just the way she reacted when I asked about the school was enough. And she tried to get away with telling me some guff about a school that doesn't exist anywhere in Britain.'

Dudley loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. 'Well, now you know.' He resumed his journey to his flat, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, but wondering if Aaron was going to pursue him all the same. The mobile tucked into his bag began to ring shrilly and he dug it out of a small pocket on the side. One brow rose slightly at the sight of Aaron's number flashing on the screen. Not breaking stride, he hit the button to answer the call and, in a bored tone, said, 'Hello?'

'You wanted to know why I didn't ring you,' Aaron said without any sort of greeting.

'Yeah.'

'I ought to have rung. Or something. It was rude of me to leave you hanging like that.'

'Yes, it was.'

'I needed some time to try and wrap my head around that.'

'You thought I was unstable,' Dudley corrected. 'That's why I didn't want to tell you. I can't lie about it, you see. I used to. All the time. And then, one day, I couldn't lie anymore. It was after I received that first photograph of Harry, Ginny, and James. And if I lied about what happened to me, I wasn't any better than my parents. Always trying to hide Harry away because he could do something the rest of us couldn't. And after he left us for good, I promised I'd do better by him.' His breath hitched in his throat. 'And I couldn't lie to you.'

Aaron could see Dudley stop at an intersection, and pinch the bridge of his nose. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'I didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth like I did.'

'So where does that leave us?' Dudley asked, keeping his face turned away. 'You didn't trust me...'

Aaron heavily blew out a breath. 'I did. I do. It just sounded...'

'It sounded like I was making things up,' Dudley finished for him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. 'I need to think about this.' He disconnected the call and disappeared into Clayhall Park.

XxXxXxX

A/N: DCSF stands for Department for Children, Schools, and Families.