...And Justice For All?

     AND JUSTICE FOR ALL?

     by Scott K. Jamison

     Chapter One: Doughnut

     Duncan Dursley was unsure precisely when his father started to hate him. His very early memories certainly included Da smiling down at him and acting like the proudest father in the world. But at some point the smiles had turned to suspicious glances and the pride turned to stony discipline.

     Duncan did know when the hate had become overt. (He was very proud of knowing words like 'overt.') He'd been seven, and the other boys were teasing him on the playground again.

     "Duncan the Doughnut, round and pink," the other boys would tease him, shoving him around and around. Sometimes he'd try to hit back, but his plump little legs and arms were too short to do much damage.

     On this particular occasion, Duncan had finally had more than enough of this, and begun bawling like a baby. He hadn't noticed at first, but the other boys stopped hitting him. When he opened his eyes, they were lying on the ground, bleeding from the ears, and the glasses the biggest boy had been wearing had shattered.

     Moments later, a playground monitor appeared. (It was a puzzle to Duncan at the time why the monitors were never around when *he* was getting hurt. It wasn't until much later that he realized the other boys deliberately waited to tease him until there were no monitors watching.) Since Duncan was the only one standing, it made sense to her that he was the cause of the trouble. There was quite a lot of shouting and running about, but Duncan didn't see most of it, cooling his heels in the Headmistress' office.

     For him, the shouting really began when his father arrived home. Da had never been sympathetic to Duncan on the subject of bullies, saying things like "toughen up!" and "don't be a crybaby!" But Duncan's story made Da angrier than he'd ever seen the big man before.

     "And you say you have *no* idea how this happened? It just did?"

     "Yes, Da."

     Da clipped Duncan upside the ear. "Little liar! You know perfectly well what you did! Freak!"

     Mum snatched Duncan away and made placating motions at Da. "Now, Dudley, the boy's had a rough enough day already."

     "I'm not surprised you're defending him! I'll bet I'm not even the boy's real father! You had an affair with HIM, didn't you?!" Small flecks of foam were coming from Da's mouth, and his face had turned a ketchup color.

     "That's not true! You were the first and only, Dudley, you know that! Duncan, to your room, now!" Mum didn't look any less angry than Da, so Duncan scrambled to his room and dived under his covers.

     The screaming and bad words went on until after Duncan fell asleep, still in his clothes.

     After that, Duncan's life changed. His parents decided to move from their house in Privet Drive to a dingy flat in the City. Mum said it wasn't Duncan's fault, that Da's business was having problems and they would all "have to make do", but Duncan was sure that Da blamed him nonetheless.

     Also, Da took a strong interest in Duncan's entertainment. There was to be nothing fanciful or "magic" (Da spat the word)in Duncan's books or television programs. If it had a wizard or a dragon on the cover, out it went, even if it had come from school. Duncan quickly realized that he was allowed to read or see only the dullest, most boring "real" material. At least it improved his vocabulary.

     At their new home, Duncan finally made a friend, a dark-eyed boy named Cuckoo Lane (as near as Duncan could tell) who taught him how to use a pocketknife to peel an apple in interesting shapes. But as soon as Da found out about it, he forbid Duncan to see Cuckoo any more.

     "But Dudley, Wiccans aren't the same thing at all," said Mum, still trying to calm her husband.

     "Doesn't matter, they're still freaks, and foreigners to boot. My son will be normal, thank you very much." And that was the end of that.

     And so, Duncan's life had continued to be miserable. Not the least of his problems was that he took after his father in his shape, which was round. Very round. The nickname "Doughnut" popped up again and this time it stuck.

     Even now that he was eleven, Duncan still got pushed around every day, except that now it happened in gymnasium. Not that the sit-down classes were any better. It wasn't that he didn't understand the material, but they all required him to use a computer.

     And for some reason, Duncan was the only kid in his class who still hadn't quite got the hang of using a computer. Files disappeared at random, the settings would go wonky at his barest touch, and often the sodding things wouldn't even turn on for him in the first place.

     Still, today's history assignment seemed to be going rather well. He'd easily found material on Oliver Cromwell, and was busily pasting together a report. The spellchecker was working well too. Finally, Duncan completed the required 5K, and hit the 'Save' button.

     The screen went blue and blank.

     "No!" screamed Duncan. "You can't do this to me! Sodding piece of junk! Give me back my report!" He slapped the monitor with a fleshy hand, and sparks flew.

     The screen snapped back on, with Duncan's report intact. But something new had been added. Instead of a blank white page, the words were now set against a background of skulls. And out of every skull's mouth was crawling a bright green snake.

     "Dursley!"

     "Yes, Ms. Trimmell?" he replied, trying to figure out where that background had come from.

     "What did you *do*?"

     Duncan looked around at a clotting of hostile faces, and realized the same background was on each and every monitor in the classroom.

     The skies opened up and poured, the perfect ending to Duncan's school day. He wondered, sometimes, why it always seemed to rain when he was miserable and without a brolly. At least it was summer, so it was a warm rain. It tempted Duncan to let the note he was carrying soak through. Unfortunately, his teachers always checked to make sure their little notes arrived posthaste, as he'd learned to his sorrow.

     He trudged down the street, narrowly missing being swamped by the sweeperbot. They didn't like him either, despite Mum's assurances that robots didn't like or dislike anyone. Duncan could tell.

     Duncan thought he saw something dark out of the corner of his eye, but it wasn't there when he turned to look, and the heavy rain made visibility limited in any case. There was a red sports car that looked a bit posh for the neighborhood, though. Probably some young rake (as Mum liked to call them) visiting his girlfriend.

     "I wonder what it's like to have a girl friend." Duncan was pretty sure he'd never find out. The ladies he'd seen in his father's naughty flimsies looked nothing like the spotty or snotty girls in his class at school.

     He sighed and trudged on, eventually reaching the apartment building his family lived in. The lift wasn't working, not a surprise, so he walked the three flights to the flat. He puffed with exertion as he fingered the lockpad.

     "Hullo, Duncan," sang Mum as she flitted about the apartment. "How was your day?"

     "Note from Teacher." That about summed it up.

     "Oh, dear," said Mum. "And on your Da's birthday too."

     Duncan hadn't thought his spirits could sink any lower, but they did. Da's birthday, and he'd forgotten to get a present! Da set great store by presents, and counted them up every year. The more there were, the better Da's mood, but each year lately, the number had been shrinking.

     Mum clucked in worry. "You forgot, didn't you? Thought you might, so wrap this up yourself." She handed Duncan a perfectly dreadful-looking bile green tie. Just the shade Da liked.

     Da had arrived home, grinning like a particularly fat shark, and Duncan knew that his father's day had gone well. "Got a juicy contract today, Zelda. They're remodelling Buckingham again, and Dursley and Son Drills will be represented!" Technically, Da was 'and Son', but Grandy Dursley had passed some years ago, and Nanny Dursley lived in Florida now. Duncan didn't want to be 'and Son', as he had no interest in drills, but there did not seem to be any good way out of it.

     "Wonderful, Dear!" gushed Mum as she took Da's greatcoat and hat. "Duncan, fetch your father his lager."

     By the time Duncan finished pouring the beer from its biodegradable bulb into a tall glass, Da had maneuvered his bulk to the easy chair with the help of his silver-headed cane. The chair creaked as the middle-aged man settled in.

     "That's my boy," said Da, as he accepted his lager. "Careful with those, dear, just had them polished."

     Mum nodded politely as she removed Da's shoes.

     "Well," said Da, "You know what day it is, right?"

     "Yes, Dudley."

     "Yes, Da. It's your birthday."

     "Right you are. And what do we do on my birthday?"

     "Presents!" chorused the others.

     "So where are they?"

     Mum went into the kitchenette and wheeled out a small cart. On it was heaped presents of various shapes and sizes. Some people might have found it impressive. But Duncan knew it was smaller than last year's.

     Da made a big show of counting the presents three times over, just to make sure he hadn't missed any. Then he took a deep drink of his lager, but there was a frown on his face now.

     "We must make do, Dear," said Mum soothingly.

     "Yes, yes, we must," replied Da, glaring at Duncan. The boy fidgeted.

     Anything Da might have added was cut off by a sound from outside the window. The sound of rushing wings, followed by a pecking on the pane. It sounded too big to be a pigeon.

     Da's face drained of all its color. Duncan had never seen that happen before. Then his father stood up, spilling the cart of presents all over the floor. "No!"

     The large man hobbled to the window, blocking any view of what lay beyond it. Whatever was out there, Da didn't like it. "No! You can't have him! Not *my* boy!" He drew the curtains closed with a savage jerk.

     Mum embraced Duncan, whispering some sort of prayer. He didn't understand why, she'd always said religion was for fools.

     Da turned, some of the color back in his face, and trod on presents to reach Duncan.

     "Listen son, I know I haven't been the best father, but you must believe me now and obey! You mustn't read their letters, you mustn't take anything they give you, and you especially mustn't listen to anything they say! If you do, they'll take you away and make you one of them."

     "One of who, Da? Who's out there?"

     An owl's hoot came from outside the window, as if in mocking answer.

     "The freaks, Duncan. Freaks who should have been drowned at birth. My mother told me when I was little, about the freaks, but we let one live. We should never have done." Da was almost whispering now.

     There was a knocking at the door, an insistent one that gave the impression that the person knocking was not going to go away. Mum jumped a bit, and squeezed Duncan tighter. The rain outside intensified, and the crash of thunder could be heard.

     "Go away!" shouted Da. "I've a gun here, and properly licensed!" He had no such thing, but moved towards the side of the door, walking stick raised to strike.

     "I'm not afraid of your silly little boomsticks," said whoever was on the other side of the door. The voice was hauntingly familiar to Duncan, but he was also sure he'd never heard it before.

     "I'll shoot! I swear!" snarled Da.

     "Well, this I must see. Alohamora? Ahanmako? Oh bother, it's been far too long since I've done this. Open Sesame!"

     The lockpad on the near side of the door fizzled, and the door swung open. Beyond it was what looked like a black isoceles triangle with a small white dot near its apex.

     As Father brought down his stick, the triangle moved, and Duncan could see that it was a man in black robes, with a black pointy hat that had a large brim. The rain had soaked the brim through, so that it hung down over the man's face, showing only the pale chin and bloodless lips. The man caught the oncoming stick with a long, pale hand.

     "Foolish Muggle. Silver's for werewolves. Stupefy." A slender wand had appeared in the man's other hand, and the sparks from it knocked Da to the floor.

     Duncan found himself unable to do anything but gape.

     The man in black turned to the boy and smiled. "Well now, I realize it's been a good long time, Duncan, but don't you have any words of welcome for your dear old Uncle Draco?"