...And Justice For All?

Y'know, grammar and vocabulary comments are okay too.

     AND JUSTICE FOR ALL?

     by Scott K. Jamison

     Chapter Three: Alley

     By the time Professor Malfoy showed up again, things were marginally better in the Dursley household. It had been decided that as Duncan hadn't turned out as Da had hoped, he and Mum would be trying for a replacement. It was technically against the law, but there were plenty of ways around that.

     Duncan didn't want to think very hard about exactly how his parents were going about getting that replacement, but Da was in a much better mood almost all the time now. As long as one did not mention anything about magic, wizards or Hogwarts.

     There had also been a few weeks of fair weather, allowing the other kids at school to play outdoors and not pick on Duncan so much. As a result, the boy was happier than usual, and looking forward to getting his new school supplies.

     This time, the teacher was dressed in a well-tailored black suit, and his long white-blond hair made him look like a toggle star. Da hated toggle music, and said it all sounded like noise, not like the rap from when he was a boy.

     "Good morning, Duncan, are you ready to go?" asked Professor Malfoy.

     "Yessir." Duncan was freshly scrubbed, and looked even pinker than usual.

     Mum turned Duncan towards her and kissed him on both cheeks. "Mind you behave now. You know things are a bit tight, so be very careful with your pocket money."

     "Yes, Mum." Duncan was always careful with his pocket money. Until the older kids took it away.

     "Fortunately," said Professor Malfoy, with a thin smile, "Harry has set up a small trust fund for the boy's education."

     Mum relaxed a little. "Please bring Duncan back by six. He has homework."

     "Of course. Let us be off then."

     To Duncan's delight, the teacher proved to have arrived by car, specifically the red sports model Duncan had seen that fateful night a few weeks before.

     "You like it, do you?" asked the man. "I believe in traveling in style."

     "Yes, it's a very nice car, Professor Malfoy."

     "Please, call me Uncle Draco. At school there must be 'Professor' and 'Sir', but outside I am your dear uncle."

     Duncan nodded. "Yes, Uncle Draco."

     "Oh, that reminds me. When we get to Diagon Alley, tell no one your full name. Things will be difficult enough at school because you're a Dursley, there's no reason to start early."

     Duncan felt a bit queasy, centering in the place where the other children normally shoved him. "Why is that?"

     Draco pointed his wand at the car, and the doors opened. He gestured for Duncan to get in, then took the driver's seat.

     "You remember how I told you that Harry Potter is a hero?"

     "Yes," said Duncan.

     "And any story with a hero must have a villain or two. The main one in this case was Voldemort, but he is, finally, this time for sure, gone. But your grandparents and father were also cast in negative roles. They don't come off very well at all in the books."

     "There are books with my family in them?" He'd never heard of any.

     Draco looked a bit wistful. "Nearly everyone involved who survived wrote a book. Granger's 'Harry Potter, A Life, Volume One' is the most balanced, if a bit hard to read through. Girl never met a fact she didn't want to stuff into her writing. Lockhart's 'My Year with Harry Potter' is the most entertaining, but largely flobberfloss."

     "'Flobberfloss'?"

     "How would Muggles say it? Ah, yes, 'hogwash.'" As they were speaking, Draco had begun driving, with a rather lackadaisical approach. It was as though he had no fear whatsoever of accidents.

     "Did you write a book, Uncle Draco?"

     As Draco's face was so pale, it was easy to tell when darkness crossed it. "Yes. It was short, and did not sell well. Let us never speak of it again."

     Duncan shied a little away from his 'uncle.' "Oh-kay."

     "In any case, your grandparents refused to cooperate with any of the writers, or even to talk to them, so what most people know of them in the wizarding world is none too pleasant."

     "I...see. All right, no using my last name if I can help it." Duncan decided to change the subject. "I forget, what are you a Professor of, again?"

     Draco casually flicked the steering wheel as they sped between two oncoming cars. There hadn't looked like there was enough room to fit. "Divination. The foretelling of the future by various means."

     "Like Mystic Meg?" Da always tore her column out of the paper and shredded it, but Duncan knew approximately what it was about.

     Draco smiled in a rather unpleasant manner. "Yes. Almost *exactly* like Mystic Meg. But it's an advanced subject, so you won't have me for any classes this year."

     "What's Hogwarts like?"

     "It's the most prestigious wizarding school in Europe, possibly the world. Hogwarts has a long tradition and history of excellence in the mystic arts. Of course, the emphasis on tradition does make it rather old-fashioned. We still have summer holidays, unlike your Muggle school."

     "That'll be nice," said Duncan. "I guess the old-fashionedness is why the letter said no electroni--"

     The car screeched to a halt. Draco opened the car door and got out. "We're here."

     Duncan was a little disappointed by the scenery. This part of the city looked run-down and deserted, with no neon signs or brightly-colored buildings. The only building that seemed to be doing any business was a pub on the corner with the unlikely name of "Leaky Cauldron." Draco was headed straight for the selfsame pub.

     "Come along, and don't forget what I told you."

     "Yes, Uncle Draco."

     The inside of the pub was far more interesting than the outside. For starters, it didn't look like the floorspace could possibly have fitted in the building they'd just entered. The furnishings and fixtures at the long bar looked extremely old-fashioned to Duncan, like pictures he'd seen of pubs in the previous century. The old-fashioned effect was enhanced by the fact that none of the light in this place appeared to be electric. Instead, candles were everywhere, casting a warm yellow glow. Except in the far corners, where some of the candles burned darker colors.

     The place was crowded with people, most dressed in robes ranging from plain black, as Uncle Draco had worn that first night, through bright primary colors, to bizarre paisley patterns that seemed to move when Duncan wasn't looking. The remainder were in a variety of outfits that seemed uniform only in that no sensible person would wear them on the street. Was that woman really wearing nothing more than a silk ribbon artfully tied about her body to cover the naughty bits?

     Oh, now I've done it, thought Duncan, as the lady realized he was staring and got up from her chair to saunter his way. He wanted to hide behind Uncle Draco, but her yellow eyes were locked on his.

     "You're a cute one," she cooed. The woman's hand stroked his cheek, and Duncan noticed that her fingernails were long and painted black. At least he hoped it was paint. "Look good enough to eat, don't you, my pretty?"

     There was a snapping noise, and Duncan found himself able to turn his head and move again. T he woman looked angry.

     But so did Draco. "Tiz, you're on a *diet*, remember? The boy is under my protection."

     Meg shrugged and smiled. Her teeth were triangular, like a shark's. "Yes, a diet. Just like the Ministry wants. We're all on leashes now, aren't we, Draco?"

     "Some of us shorter than others. Duncan, this is Tisiphone Algol, an old...friend of mine. I suppose I should have mentioned that a few of the people we'll be meeting aren't human, as Muggles understand the term."

     "Like 'human' is such a hot thing to be," said Meg. "Then you'll be a first-year at Hogwarts? I'd better not keep you here. Draco? Come up and see me sometime. A girl can get awful lonely." She walked off with a peculiar wiggle of her bottom that Duncan had seen older girls do before, though he didn't know why.

     Duncan held a hand to his cheek in wonder as Draco pushed him towards the back entrance. "She's the first woman besides Mum who's ever called me 'cute.'"

     "I think you'll find," said Draco, "that girls are usually more trouble than they're worth. Harriet was telling me just the other day that I should stop running into 'old friends' this way."

     "Who's Harriet?"

     Draco blinked. "I said Harry. I'm quite sure I did." The tone of his voice warned Duncan that no contradiction was permitted.

     The back entrance appeared to be a blank stone wall, but Draco tapped it in a peculiar pattern, and the stones slid aside to reveal a door. "Silly, really," he said. "No one who wasn't supposed to be here could even *find* the door, let alone open it. And the knockcode hasn't changed since the day I first came here."

     Beyond the entrance was a crowded street filled with the same sort of people who'd been in the pub, but more so. There wouldn't have been enough room for an automobile, even if one were available. Even a bicycle would have been hard-pressed, though Duncan *did* see one young witch unsteadily flying along on a broomstick, a black cat precariously hanging by its front paws behind her.

     "Can I do that, Uncle Draco?"

     "Hmm?"

     "Fly? That girl looks about my age."

     "You'll have flying lessons, eventually, although first-years are only allowed private brooms under *very* special circumstances." Draco sounded wistful. "Even *I* had to wait until my second year."

     "Oh." The girl was nearly out of sight now, only visible by the red ribbon in her hair.

     Draco was striding along forcefully, almost as carelessly as he'd driven, and Duncan was hard-put to keep up.

     "First, we'll get that pocket money changed."

     That had been fast. Duncan had barely gotten the idea of a bank staffed by goblins when the transaction was over, his paper notes exchanged for a pocketful of heavy metal coins. Mostly copper Knuts, alas; even with what Uncle Draco said was a favorable exchange rate.

     "It'll go further than you think," assured Draco, "if you husband it carefully. And now to Ollivander's for your wand."

     "Draco Malfoy, ebo--"

     "I *know* what my wand is, old man. We're here for the boy's first."

     The elderly proprietor glared daggers at Draco. "There's no reason to be rude, son. Ollivander remembers every wand he ever sold."

     "So you tell me every time I come in. The *boy*."

     Ollivander, at least Duncan assumed that was his name, peered intently at Duncan. The boy did not like that stare. He'd seen it on a few of the Iraq War vets that camped in the park. The ones that talked to themselves.

     "Hmm...Ollivander thinks you need something sturdy, Ollivander does. Ollivander will see what he has in back."

     As the old man shuffled off into the racks, Draco explained. "He didn't used to be this bad. There was an unfortunate incident with Voldemort a couple of decades back, something about twin wands. Since then, Ollivander's mind is a little off, though he can still pick the right wand just fine."

     Ollivander had returned, holding a slim box in his hand. It trembled as he took off the top and plucked out a wand. "Ollivander says try this one. Cedar of Lebanon, strong and aromatic. Made with leviathan sinew, to resist breakage."

     Duncan took the wand gingerly, and held it with both hands. "What now?"

     "Ollivander wants you to swish it gently through the air, your mind clear."

     Trying to clear his mind, Duncan did as he was asked. To his surprise, light brown sparks followed the path of the wand, and a strong but pleasant woody smell filled his nostrils.

     "Wow!"

     "First time lucky. Ollivander is pleased!"

     Draco had a large smile. "Good, then we'll be off."

     As soon as Duncan was up on the box, Draco said, "Being fitted for your robes will take quite some time, so I'll take care of some other shopping." With a spin that obviously needed a cape to look right, Duncan's 'uncle' was gone.

     There was another boy being fitted at the same time, but the witch taking the measurements wouldn't let Duncan look. Finally, she ran off to fetch cloth swatches, and he was free to turn a bit.

     The other boy looked vaguely familiar, with a friendly face and dark eyes. But it wasn't until he yelped as the fitter got overly enthusiastic with a pin that the penny dropped for Duncan.

     "Cuckoo? Cuckoo Lane?"

     "Cuchulain O'Shaughnessy, thank you. Wait, aren't you Doughnut?"

     "Duncan, *please*."

     The other boy's eyes widened. "It *is* you, Duncan! What a coincidence! Hey, Mother, remember Duncan!"

     A dark-eyed woman dressed in a Muggle pantsuit, but with a lot of silly-looking jewelry, took her face out of a newspaper and looked at Duncan. "Aren't you the one whose father threatened to have the law on us if we let our Cuchulain ever talk to you again?"

     Duncan squirmed. "Well, yes, Da does have a bit of a temper. He's not very happy about *this* either."

     Mrs. O'Shaughnessy nodded. "I can imagine. But me and Lugh, we're thrilled to have an actual wizard in the family. Should have known there was a reason the rituals failed all these years."

     "Mother, enough about the rituals, already," whined Cuchulain. Duncan remembered that the O'Shaughnessys practiced what Mum called "alternative religion" and Da called "lunatic foolishness."

     A few minutes later, the fittings were finally done, and the boys reminisced about times past. "It'll be a blast learning magic together!" enthused Cuchulain.

     "I'm sure it will," came a dry voice from the door, instantly recognizable to Duncan as Draco's. "I've gotten all your textbooks, Duncan."

     Duncan was a little disappointed. He'd seen an interesting-looking bookstore with a picture of Janus, the two-faced Roman god, hanging above it. But it seemed he wasn't going to get the chance to browse there.

     Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had a look of wonder on her face. "I *know* you!"

     Draco puffed up a bit.

     "You're the lead singer for that toggle group our Morrigan likes so much, what's it called again...?"

     The puffing was gone.

     "Umm, no, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, this is my Uncle Draco." Duncan decided the courtesy title was best. "He teaches at Hogwart's."

     "Really? You look too handsome to be a teacher. If Morrigan were going, I'd be worried she'd lose her heart."

     "Mo-thurr!" Cuchulain looked disgusted.

     "This is my mate, Cuchulain," explained Duncan. "He used to live near me."

     Draco bowed a bit. "I am pleased to meet both you and your lovely mother. Sadly, Duncan and I must be tending to other business now."

     "Bye, Cuckoo!"

     "Bye, Doughnut!"

     "Last stop," said Draco, with relief in his voice. "Familiars."

     The store had a distinct animal scent, but apparently they used magic to keep it from smelling too bad. Owls, ravens and other birds fluttered in cages. Cats, dogs and rats paced in pens along one wall. Glass enclosures contained frogs, toads and snakes. There were even a few animals Duncan couldn't quite identify.

     "I get a pet?" asked Duncan. "They won't allow animals in our flat."

     "Yes, and don't worry, it'll be taken care of. The rules, that is. *You* have to take care of your animal if you want it to serve you well." Draco swept the room with a wide gesture. "Wander around for a bit until one of them picks you."

     "Don't you mean until I pick one of them?"

     "No."

     So Duncan began wandering about the shop. Most of the animals seemed happy enough to see him, but he didn't feel any particular connection to them. The wolf puppies sure were cute. But who would want a tarantula?

     Finally, Duncan paused in front of a cage that seemed empty, though there was food in the dish. Perhaps an invisible creature? That would be kind of interesting. Then the sawdust blinked.

     A lizard stood on its stubby legs, and a bright red tongue uncurled from its mouth. Duncan recognized it now.

     "A chameleon! What do you say, boy, will you be my friend?"

     Both its eyes swiveled to look into his, and Duncan felt a distinct jolt to his nervous system. He steeled himself to look back. After a long moment, it seemed to nod, and the tension passed.

     Duncan signalled the shop owner, and Draco paid the man.

     As they left, Draco said, "A reptile. A good sign. What will you call it?"

     "Hmm..." Duncan looked in the chameleon's eyes again. "How does 'George' sound to you?" The chameleon seemed content with this name.

     "George? Then again, one of my owls was named Alphonse, so I can't really claim superiority." Draco checked his pocket watch. "Sadly, we must hurry if we are to meet your mother's deadline."

     Duncan cast a last wistful look at Diagon Alley as the stone wall swallowed it up.