Harry Potter and the Hall of Justice

Author’s note: About the time AFF changed over to new servers, this story became all jumbled up, some chapters totally disappeared and other anomalies were noted.

It wasn’t such a bad thing to happen, though, as I’d been tempted to totally rewrite the story a number of times. From the very day I posted the first chapter, a number of you began letting me know what you believed would improve the story, and I thank you for your input. Although I can’t please everyone, here is my revision. I hope you like it.


Title: Harry Potter and the Hall of Justice

Author: dwmerrell

E-mail: dwmerrell@yahoo.com

Timeframe: Harry’s seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

Disclaimer: This story is based upon characters created and owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Brothers, Inc. among others. No money is being made from this writing and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Synopsis: The magical and non-magical worlds have never been in such grave peril. Hogwart\'s old headmaster realizes one great war between good and evil must be avoided at all costs. But what to do? What auspicious plans must be made and what actions taken to defend all humanity from imminent, unspeakable and ghastly suffering. Incomprehensible wickedness is tenaciously growing ever stronger around them. Terror beyond all human comprehension awaits to be unleashed at the moment of the Dark Master\'s return. Numerous malicious beings are crafting their own evil strategies, lying in wait for their opportunity to seize control and unleash ungodly mayhem. The innocence and virtue of three young Hogwarts students, about to begin their seventh and final year of magical schooling, will soon be stripped away. To whom will Merlin\'s Black Ledger be revealed? It\'s sole purpose of existence is death, and few have ever lived capable of wielding its awesome power. At last, Harry\'s soul mate is revealed. Was there ever any doubt? And why is Harry sent on a quest \"across the pond\"? An American muggle is given a shocking introduction to the world of magic. Of what possible importance is he to this story of witches and wizards? You\'ll be surprised. Read and review. Your opinions do matter.


Rating: NC-17 Graphic Violence and Nasty Sex

Things are not always as they seem . . .

Prologue

Before the story unfolds, we must step forward in time some thirty years. Certain things must first be shared with the unknowing.

David Albus Potter stopped just short of the door leading into the personal living quarters of the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His hesitation in opening the door wasn’t from fear or apprehension. The powerful young wizard fully realized what passing over the threshold would represent. In effect, it would symbolize the closing of one chapter in his life and the commencement of the next leg of his eternal journey. He couldn\'t help but take a few moments to reflect upon what had brought him here.

A knowing smile appeared on the young man’s face as he pushed the door inward, taking a long stride through the doorway. An ancient mustiness greeted him, mixed with the smells of old leather and polished wood. At first glance, nothing surprised him about the rather large, windowless room. After a quick scan, his eyes fixed upon an old rocking chair standing lonely, angled in front of the fireplace. The young wizard walked slowly up behind it and placed his hands upon the back of the chair.

“Albus Dumbledore,” he whispered out into the ghostly quiet of the room. “How many plans and schemes did you finalize sitting in this ancient chair, old man?”

Professor Albus Dumbledore was no longer a part of their world. Years had gone by since his passing on into the next adventure. Upon his demise, Minerva McGonagall had been instated as headmistress of the school. She, too, served many years at its head; in fact, the old witch had given David Potter his first real job, as Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts and head of Gryffindor. But now, she too was gone.

The Ministry of Magic had immediately approached him, as had been prearranged. It was time - - - time for David Albus Potter to assume the duties of headmaster, just one in a long chain of events Albus Dumbledore had sat in motion many years earlier. A plan the Ministry was carefully following. But there was more. Much more.

David Potter stepped around and slowly lowered himself into the ancient rocking chair. The small fire before him had been started hours earlier by house-elves but still spitted and sputtered small reddish-yellow flames. He absent-mindedly began rocking, rubbing his palms over the worn roundness of the old chairs arms, lost in his thoughts.

A new chapter had just begun in his life, and he had promises to keep. The old headmaster had left copious notes and writings for him. And one of the old man’s final requests had been for David Potter to one day make an accounting, a full accounting, of all that had transpired those many years ago.

As David continued his reflexive rocking, staring deeply into the glowing embers of the fire, question after question flashed through his mind. What had brought them to this? Why were things done as they were? And the deaths. Yes, the deaths. Why did so many have to die? What had they learned? But most importantly, what had compelled the old wizard to take the actions he had? Wasn’t there any other way it could have been accomplished?

David Potter realized he couldn’t do the old wizard’s bidding all by himself. It had all started years before he was born. He would need much help with the epic he was to write - - - help from all who had survived, yes, but mostly, from those who had been a part of the old wizard’s plans early on. They were the ones he must enlist to help him with his task. They would fill in the blanks, making the story come to life, making it understandable and believable. They would help him write the truth, good or bad.

The old headmaster had left a sealed trunk within his private living quarters. Professor McGonagall had guarded it closely, but it had not really been necessary. Following McGonagall’s death, the Deputy Headmaster of the school brought a sealed letter to David, which had been written years earlier by the old witch. It explained about the old trunk and the charm, which had been placed upon it the very day Albus Dumbledore sealed it for the last time.

“David,” she had written. “The trunk can only be opened by your hand. Albus did not want you to have access to its contents until after my passing. He never told me why. As you are now reading this letter, I have fulfilled my last promise to my dear old friend. Whether or not you have been instated as Hogwarts new headmaster is not of great consequence, although Albus wished it to be so. What is most important, my young friend, is to finish the last remaining task. His instructions to you will be the first thing you see when the trunk is opened. Please read and follow them carefully. A full accounting must be made . . . I want you to know I have few regrets.”

Indeed, once David Potter opened the heavy lid of the trunk, the first thing he saw was a bound ledger with his name on it. At the front of the journal was a very personal and lengthy letter the old headmaster had written to David, explaining much to him. He then read through the interminable instructions and soon fully understood the old wizard’s last request, but most importantly, he now understood why.

For reasons the old headmaster clearly explained, he wanted him to fully document what had transpired - - - his task. But where was he to begin? It had all begun so many years ago . . .


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1 The Endeavor


Well past midnight, Professor Albus Dumbledore sat before his hearth, staring deeply into the dying embers of his small fire. Countless thousands of sleepless nights he had spent in this way, at ease in his old rocking chair, keeping vigil over his fire’s flickering dance, which calmed yet inspired him.

Such quiet moments permitted profound meditation and contemplation, which he desperately needed. Their magical world was in great peril and any hope of mitigating the danger depended upon many carefully crafted and cunning schemes. Many good witches and wizards, he knew, would follow his lead and put their lives in his hand. And many there would be who would forfeit their very lives and family fortunes. It was inevitable and inescapable.

His overall strategy depended largely upon one person, more than any other, who had to be positioned precisely at the right time and place. To do this, the old wizard had spent the last years manipulating and delaying an already complex process he had, fortunately, been directly involved in, waiting for his perfect opportunity.

During his late night sessions, the old professor also deliberated over many other fundamental questions. His mind had always been filled with so many diverse issues, questions without answers, problems, seemingly, without solutions.

Why are some humans born with the ability to do magic, he had often pondered? Is it only the human mind? Is there something or someone else involved? And what of the human spirit, the life force and very soul of existence?

The old wizard had also long perceived unseen forces appearing and disappearing within their magical world. There were many such unexplained phenomena. It was humbling to realize there was much more to the magical and non-magical world than the vast majority of humanity knew. Much needed to be understood.

Why had it become necessary to secret away their wonderful, magical world from the rest of humankind. After all, witches and wizards had been advisors and counselors to great kings and queens for thousands of years? Were they still fearful of their non-magical brethren? Was not the present-day world much different from the horrific purges of Catholic Reformation and the Protestant witch-hunts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries?

“Old wizard,” he had once uttered out into the quiet night. “Many questions you will not have answered in this lifetime. But perhaps in the next big adventure.” He smiled to himself, closed his eyes and drifted off into deep slumber.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Council of Seven . . .

Professor Albus Dumbledore sat at a table with six other witches and wizards. The old professor’s gaunt appearance evidenced the strain he had been under the last month. He sat staring at a thick folder on the table before him while absent-mindedly stroking his long white beard.

“Albus?” Defense Against the Dark Arts Minister Bartholomew Grime called out. “Do you have a final say on the subject? Will we have the vote?” The minister, seated at the head of the table, leaned forward in his chair.

For some time, Dumbledore had been sitting nearly motionless. The old wizard adjusted himself in his chair and slowly turned his eyes toward Grime. As he opened his mouth to speak, all eyes instantly focused on a short, anxious man sitting directly across from the old headmaster.

“I say we get on with it, Bartholomew! Either we have the damn votes or we don’t! Either way we put an end to this blasted misery!” exclaimed Dravidian Minister Jafna Malakai of the Indian subcontinent.

“I agree with Jafna, Grime,” an elderly witch added who was seated to the left of Dumbledore. “The candidate has passed the criteria. To hesitate now would only allow Cornelius Fudge additional time to invent more falsehoods and demand further delays. I say we take it before the Ministry for a vote immediately.”

Dumbledore reached out with his right hand and seized the large folder, pulling it to him. Laying his right hand atop it, he tilted his head back, peering at the minister through the half-moon lenses of his glasses.

“Yes,” he began, nodding his old head slightly and pausing between his short sentences for effect. “I quite agree. Delay will profit no one except those opposed to the nomination. This last month, I must say, has been one of the most demanding and challenging endeavors of my long old life. But I believe we have, at last, and in my humble opinion, found the best candidate for Chief Justice in centuries. If we carefully present our case before the Ministry and do not alienate the undecided members, yes, I believe we shall have the result we have so long hoped for.

Again the old wizard paused long enough to look around him, giving those at the table time to consider what he had said. “Nevertheless, the vote will be very close, I’m afraid. And if we don’t get the majority we need, Fudge and Voldemort’s associates will immediately call for a vote to abolish the post altogether. That, my friends, is my greatest concern . . . my greatest fear.”

Minister Grime pushed himself back into his chair and took a deep breath. Slowly the eyes of those present moved from the old headmaster back to him. Grime looked once more at each wizard and witch at the table. “Are we in agreement then?” he asked everyone present. All around the table heads nodded affirmatively. “Albus? Are you willing to formally present our findings to the assembly and handle oral arguments?”

The tired old man nodded his head. “Certainly, it will be an honor to do so,” Dumbledore replied.

“Any objections?” Grime asked. His eyes again looked at each face to register their response. “Very well, I\'ll make my way to Fudge’s office and request a full assembly of the Ministry immediately.”

After Grime left the room, the remaining six rose from their chairs to stretch out cramped legs and knotted backs. For over a month, the seven committee members had spent eight to ten hours of nearly every day sitting in the same chairs assessing and rating a list of candidates for the high office of Chief Justice. Such deliberations had taken place numerous times over the last twenty years. Finally, a candidate had passed their stringent criteria. And finally they had a nominee to take before a full meeting of the Ministry for a vote.

“Albus!” Drucila Priest, Headmistress of the Druidic School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, exclaimed. “And what of your young Mister Harry Potter? Can we again count on him to do his part? You know it will come to that soon enough.”

The four other wizards and witches stopped what they were doing and looked at the old professor. All became quiet, as their eyes fixed upon the old wizard’s troubled face. Dumbledore turned slightly to face her high-pitched voice. Slowly stroking his white beard with his right hand, he peered down into the face of the wizened old witch. “Yes, Drucila, of that I have no doubt. Harry continues to be, through no fault of his own, the lightning rod, the very focus of Voldemort’s hate. And there will be others we\'ll greatly depend upon, too. Of that we can be certain.”

The old witches eyes lowered, focusing on the well-worn floorboards of the ancient room. “Yes,” she said, nodding her head and raising her eyes once again to meet his. “But you must promise me, Albus. You must promise you will call upon me when the time comes, my old friend. I might be little more than an old bag of bones, but I can still wield my wand with the best of them. And I’m sure there will be many others who will step forward in our hour of need.”

Dumbledore laughed out and patted the frail old witch lightly and lovingly on her shoulder. “Yes again, Drucila, of that I have absolutely no doubt,” he paused, smiling broadly. “On both counts.”

Graciela Calderon, Bruja of the Uruguayan Consejo Magico, stepped forward and voiced her agreement. “Es la verdad, Albus. It is the truth. We cannot allow a small number of our youth to make a stand alone against such evil. When the time comes, we must demand the aid of all capable of taking the fight to the very heart of the corruption.”

Calderon was the youngest and the smallest of the Council of Seven and Dumbledore had been very impressed with her from the very start of their deliberations. She considered everything very carefully and in great detail and had a very deliberate way of expressing herself. This was the first time he had ever been associated with a member of the Consejo Magico and now, after the time he had spent with this brown-eyed witch, was appreciative to have had her in their group.

Again, the old wizard nodded his head. “Yes,” he replied. “Those chosen to pursue the dark lords will certainly need all of the help and support we can provide them. We should be thankful the evil ones are such egotists. If the likes of Voldemort and your Senor Demonio, Graciela, were to ever join together in a pact of evil, I’m afraid it would be next to impossible to stop them. Yes indeed, their narcissism will be their undoing.”

Jafna Malakai moved over to face Dumbledore. The minister was known for being quick tempered and a man of very little patience. “How long will it take, Albus? How are you going to do it?” He demanded, fidgeting with his glasses.

“Jafna, it’s impossible to say at this time. First, if our nominee accepts the position of Chief Justice, he will need to settle in and, of course, there is the ring to consider. What will its reaction be to him? We have no way of knowing until the very moment it’s placed on his finger. Although, as soon as possible, we must get his Department of Special Investigations staffed and out gathering the intelligence they will need to begin their work. A number of our young wizards will, at the same time, begin advanced training. There will be much to do, old friend, and it will take time,” Dumbledore told the man.

“Should we confront the Death Eaters first?” asked Drucila Priest.

“I think it best, Drucila. Yes. Voldemort depends wholly upon them, at present. I worriedly believe it will not be long, though, before he once again attains human form. That we must prevent, at all costs,” Dumbledore replied. “But there are so many others, my old friends. Voldemort and his evil associates are, truthfully, the greatest threat we now face. However, there is an undercurrent of many others working their evil schemes and designs, waiting to seize their own piece of the pie. There is much to be done.”

The five grimly nodded their heads at the old professor’s statement. They couldn’t help but notice the worry etched deep in the lines of the old wizard’s face. Malaki and Priest had known Dumbledore for many years. Never had they seen the man as troubled as he had been this last month.

“Perhaps, my old friend, if our candidate proves himself to be the panacea we have so long sought, he will lift considerable weight from our old shoulders,” Drucila said, looking up into the face of Professor Dumbledore, attempting a smile but which resulted in little more than a grimace.

For over a thousand years, the Council of Seven had been the nominating body for the Chief Justice. The seven witches and wizards on the council were themselves selected by secret ballot and served for a six-year period.

As names of possible candidates for the post of Lord Chief Justice were presented for consideration, they would begin the process of more intensive background investigations and the correlating of what was found out about each candidate against set criteria. The task was long and arduous. Often, months would be spent at the assignment to end finally with not one candidate being accepted. Such had been the case the last twenty years. The Council of Seven had fifteen formal sessions during that time but not one candidate had ever passed their test, until now.

Dumbledore had been selected for the council position twice in the last fifty years. He had already made up his mind; he would withdraw his name from further eligibility if they had no success within this present term. He was getting old and so very tired. No longer was he able to muster the strength and enthusiasm required of a council member. But the old wizard had far-reaching and secret motives. Even as tired as he now was, he was excited to the very marrow of his bones about this particular candidate for the high office. The nominee was an answer to his prayers.

Whenever a new Chief Justice was seated, the Council of Seven formally adjourned and a new council was not chosen again until the death or resignation of that justice. The old professor was hoping an adjournment was near, although there could be no adjournment until their candidate was affirmed by vote and, only then, if he accepted the position.

Minister Grime returned to the room within the hour, displaying the biggest smile the six had seen on his face in weeks. “I caught Fudge before he was able to head off on some busy little business he had fabricated. It is done. The ministry is being assembled. They’ll be ready for us this afternoon,” he informed the six.

Malaki was the first to speak up. “Finally! We’ll have an end to it!”

“No sooner than I left the Minister’s office, the whole ministry was humming like a bee hive. We have really stirred the pot, old friends. Everyone knew exactly why I was seeking an audience with Fudge. For better or worse, there’s a great deal of excitement outside our chamber door,” Grime related, laughing at the thought.

Each of the Council of Seven sighed with relief and congratulated each other all around for the successful beginning of their endeavor. Minister Grime again took his seat at the head of the table and rubbed at his eyes with large, fleshy fingers. One by one they took their seats for what they hoped would be the final time in this meeting room.

Grime sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “The first thing I must do is thank each of you for the splendid efforts and great sacrifices you’ve made during our long session. Although it’s presently impossible to say if our nominee will get the vote or even accept the posting, we proved to ourselves and to the detractors within the ministry that the Council of Seven is still a viable body.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Jafna Malaki, which was seconded all around by nodded heads and audacious smiles.

The seven went on to sit at the table and prognosticate for hours. Although they attempted to divine or propose how great their justice candidate might be and what he might accomplish, each one at the table was mindful of the unspoken truth: Voldemort’s strength would ultimately be the determining factor.

About mid-afternoon a security officer knocked at their door. “Minister Fudge commands the appearance of the Council of Seven before the assembly,” the officer formally stated.

The seven witches and wizards rose from the table. Dumbledore reached down and hefted the large folder from the table. Solemnly, they filed out of the room to face yet another obstacle.