Since the FFML is expanding its range, here's something I hope you'll
enjoy.


              AND JUSTICE FOR ALL?
              by Scott K. Jamison
(Note:  The Harry Potter books and all associated characters were
created by J.K. Rowling.  No infringement of rights is intended or
should be assumed.)

              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 remodeling 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 isosceles
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.

     "Stupid 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?"


                  END CHAPTER ONE

Thoughts? Comments?

I'm disappointed that Archie Comics bans fanfics, because the
mangafied Sabrina would be very ficcable...

SKJAM!
     


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