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Victoria Summers, though that probably wasn't her last name, but who truly knew, hadn't gotten the memo yet. She wondered for a second if she should look it up on fucking google, maybe call her estranged aunt for help. But no,
how would they know what to do anyway?
This kind of thing. Just never happened.
"Hey, V, pass the eggs," Mack said, sitting down and shredding off her leather jacket, sliding her M9 back in her pocket.
Victoria passed her an incredulous look, glancing at the eggs, the bacon, the tray with warm toasts, the
huge chicken roast,
and then at the small boy sitting cross legged on the sofa between the kitchen and the table, squinting at her through huge glasses like a thin, little grasshopper and looking expectantly hopeful.
The eight year old boy they just kidnapped last night.
Did kidnapped pre-teen boys usually cook food for their kidnappers without being forced?
It certainly hadn't ever happened before, and V had been in the business for nine long years. She never did the actual work anymore, she had people for that now. Who, again, were staring at her and her younger sister, Mack, looking stumped.
The family they had targeted was a usual one. A fairly well to do one - smack right in the middle of the suburbs,
No. 4, Privet Drive,
this case was slightly special, because Victoria's men had seen the unnecessarily extravagant love the mother had for her kid, and was sure that the parents would deliver a huge amount of ransom.
Her problems had started the evening before, when Ace, Scar and Echo had returned with two wriggling sacks, instead of one, and excitedly sheepish grins.
"Vic, before you say anything," Ace began, raising his arms in surrender, "The other boy would have run off and told, and so we had to - "
"Point is, they have two sons," Scar interrupted. "So, we left two polaroids, asking for double ransom. Ain't that great?"
"Great," Echo echoed the sentiment flatly, like he was prone to do.
And yes, Victoria did feel there was nothing potentially bad about that - but, the thing that should have struck her but didn't, was why didn't they already know about the two sons? - her men had only ever seen the mother in the park and around with one fat, blonde kid, but apparently there were two?
There was something obviously fishy.
She dismissed it easily at the moment, as Ace tipped over the sacks, and two boys immediately fell out, the main target, blonde, fat with an irritatingly scared expression and another smaller, much thinner kid, with green eyes and messy black hair that had definitely achieved some sort of aerodynamic, gravity defying quality.
The blonde kid was screaming under the duct tape over his mouth, kicking his legs and arms, flaying about like they were boiling him. The darker kid just sort of sat there, blinking at her calmly, not even looking very scared.
"He was weeding the garden," Scar added, moving to unbind their legs and arms, and removing the tape from the thin kid's mouth, who just took a deep breath and smartly, stayed shut.
"The fat kid, he was running around with a dog? Frankly, I don't know, I don't care. Either way, this little bugger," she pointed to the thin kid, "Saw us taking him, and started running back to the house, so we brought him along too. Apparently, he lives at Number 4."
The darker boy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like
I wouldn't even have told if he was taken.
"What's your name, kid?" she said, jerking her head at the quiet one.
"Harry," he replied, quite evenly, looking up at them suspiciously. "Where are we?"
Victoria could appreciate the guts.
"Not too far, Harry," she said, and his eyes widened like nobody ever called him by his name. "And you'll be back home soon if you cooperate with us. Listen to what we say, behave yourselves," she looked pointedly at the other kid, who wouldn't
fucking stop squirming,
"And your parents will get you back soon enough."
Which was when she realised taking this other kid was a huge mistake.
He stood up, grinned cheerfully at her like she wasn't somebody with a collection of smatchet knives and M5's, and said, "Alright. That can be a problem though, because
my
parents are dead."
And he walked past her, (gaping) to the other kid, tearing off the duct tape with a gleeful harshness as the kid hissed in pain, and a, "Shut up, Dud."
Dud.
Well, okay.
Dud and Harry had behaved themselves, alright. Victoria wasn't one of those street bangers who got some sick pleasure out of mistreating the kids. She was in only for the money. She told Echo to give them something to eat, he threw bananas in their general direction, which Harry took eagerly and Dud whinged about, and put them in the
Room.
The Room was simply a room with thick mattresses on the floor, and a small bathroom attached. Nothing more, nothing less. Dud had cried almost all evening, and probably would have continued throughout the night too, if Scar hadn't told him about
skin peeling
and
naughty boys,
while Harry had all but stared at them nonchalantly, like this happened to him all the time, like he was warily assessing them.
And now, here they were, at seven in the morning, with Harry sitting on the couch, after cooking a whole breakfast meal, which, Victoria hadn't had since, well, she had
never
had this ever.
"Morning, Vic," Ace greeted, shortly. "Echo supervised him. Kid said he can cook real good."
That was
not
the point here.
And where the fuck was Dud?
She gingerly took a bite, then looked at the kid who was still staring at her, as if waiting for her approval.
"Its great, kid," she said weakly, and he beamed at her. "Uh - why - why did you make it?"
And now she sounded like a sap.
"I like you" Harry said, like it was obvious, in a
I'm-eight-and-smart tone
. "And I like cooking. And ickle Diddikins wet himself and it stinks there."
Mack grinned at him, "Spoilt kid, ain't he?"
Harry nodded sagely, "Its because Aunt Petunia gives him everything he asks for. Mrs Margaret, she's my class teacher, she said that that spoils children."
"You seem smart, Harry," Scar said, smiling generously and taking a second helping. "You'll be back home in no time."
The boy squirmed, shifting uneasily.
"Even if I keep cooking for you?"
Victoria looked at him in confusion.
"I can do other chores, too," he pressed, his eyes pleading.
All of them were openly staring at him now, Scar looking horrified.
"You won't even know I'm here."
Oh, damn. That kind of problem.
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" - IF YOU THINK YOU WILL GET AWAY WITH THIS - !"
Things became clearer when they called.
" -
CRIMINALS
LIKE YOU! TEARING THE RIGHT SORT OF SOCIETY - !"
Victoria sighed into the voice changer. This was becoming tiresome.
After a few well placed threats, regarding Dud's fat neck and his future children, Vernon Dursley was as quiet as a mouse - although she could still feel him fuming mutinously.
She told him the ransom sum,
" -
PREPOSTEROUS!
TRULY DISGUSTING, GOLD DIGGING - "
the place to give it at and the time,
" - IF YOU TOUCH MY BOY - IF MY DUDLEY IS HARMED IN
ANY
WAY - "
and to hurry the fuck up with it.
Until, finally, she brought up the topic of their other ward, Vernon Dursley hadn't even asked or mentioned him once, and his voice changed from the self righteous anger to an almost happy vindictiveness.
"Oh, we don't want the other boy," he said, chuckling. "Keep him."
She cut the call in pure fucking anger.
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"You don't even have to give me a mattress," Harry insisted, chewing his lip. "I'll sleep on the floor, and I - please don't send me back!"
His eyes were bright, shining with tears.
"You're not going back, kid," she said, finally, and he sprung up, his face lifting. "You're not going back to your Uncle's."
But where was she supposed to send him?
An orphanage. A Police Station. Anywhere, really.
But the boy could cook. He could clean. And more than that, he was - kinda cute. She would be lying if she said she hadn't grown fond of him in a day itself.
They set up the plaque with
'Harry J. Potter'
on the Room a year later.
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