James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing [1]

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Tonight’s debate,” Franklyn continued, adjusting his square spectacles, “as can be assumed by the turnout and the press coverage, deals with subjects both weighty and far-reaching. It has been said that dissent is the greatest expression of freedom, and that debate and discourse are the fuel for a right-thinking populace to maintain a fair government. These are the axioms that define us, and tonight, we will see them in action. Let us all assume an attitude of respect and reason, regardless of our own opinions, so that what flows tonight does so in a manner befitting this school and all who have passed through its halls. No matter the outcome,” Franklyn turned at this point, acknowledging the two debate teams seated on either side, “let us leave here as we entered: friends, classmates, and fellow witches and wizards.”

  There was a round of applause which, James thought, sounded rather more perfunctory than appreciative. Franklyn produced a paper from his robes and examined it.

  “As was determined earlier this evening by lots,” he called out in an official voice, “Team B is first to offer opening statements. Miss Tabitha Corsica, I believe, will represent. Miss Corsica.” Franklyn backed away from the podium, taking a seat in the high-backed chair at the rear center of the stage. Tabitha approached the left podium, her hands empty. She smiled her wonderful smile at the crowd, seeming to take every person in one by one. “Friends and classmates, teachers and members of the press, may I be so bold as to begin by pointing out that the remarks of our esteemed Professor Franklyn, in fact, represent the very heart of the error that underlies our discussion tonight?”

  The crowd reacted with something like a mutual gasp or sigh of anticipation. Tabitha took the moment to turn and smile at Benjamin Franklyn. “With apologies and respect, Professor.” Franklyn seemed entirely unperturbed. He raised a hand to her, palm up, and nodded. Do tell, the gesture seemed to say.

  “Of course, decorum and respect must rule the day during a discourse like this,” Tabitha said, returning her attention to the audience. “In that respect, we couldn’t agree more with the professor. No, the error lies in Professor Franklyn’s last sentence. He encourages us, most of all, to remember that we are all, in the end, fellow witches and wizards. Friends, is this the essential basis of our identity? If so, then I contend that we are the worst of tyrants, the lowest form of bigot. For are we not, beneath the wands and the spells, more human than witch or wizard? To allow ourselves to be primarily defined by our magic is to deny the humanity we share in common with the non-magical world. Worse, it relegates, by omission, the rest of humanity to a status both lower and less important than our own. Now, I do not ascribe these prejudices to Professor Franklyn in particular. These prejudices are as ingrained into the methods and manners of current wizarding policy as magic is ingrained into a broomstick. It is not the innate belief of the magical world that Muggle humanity is inferior to our own, but it is the unfortunate and inevitable result of current Ministry policies.

  “Our argument tonight is that the assumptions of the current ruling class have led to this prejudice. Those assumptions are threefold. The first is that the Law of Secrecy is a necessary safeguard against a Muggle world supposedly incapable of dealing with our existence. While possibly necessary in a past age, we maintain that the Law of Secrecy is now obsolete, resulting only in a segregated society that unfairly denies both the wizarding and the Muggle worlds the benefits of each other.

  “The second assumption is that history proves the idea that magical-Muggle congress can only result in war. We will argue that this claim has been vastly orchestrated out of a series of isolated and unconnected historical incidents that, on their own, were unfortunate, but relatively unimportant. The specter of the allpowerful evil wizard seeking world rule has been placed alongside the prejudice of the weak-minded Muggle world, incapable of accepting the existence of magical society. Both of these threats, we assert, have been cultivated by the magical ruling class to maintain a culture of fear, thus cementing their own agenda of power and control.

  “And the final assumption we wish to question is the existence of so-called ‘dark’ magic. We will argue that ‘dark’ magic is simply a form of complex, if occasionally dangerous, magic, only considered evil because it was mostly used by those who at one time opposed the current magical ruling class. ‘Dark’ magic is, in short, an invention of the Auror Department, used to justify the squashing of any individual or group that the ruling class feels threatened by.

  “We assert that these three assumptions form the basis of the policies of prejudice against the Muggle world. Our goal is equality, and nothing less, for Muggles, as well as ourselves. After all, before we are witch or wizard, Muggle or magical, we are first and foremost… human.”

  With that, Tabitha turned and walked back to her seat at the Team B table. There was a moment of rather awed silence, then, to James dismay, the crowd erupted in applause. James looked around. Not everyone was applauding, but those that were, roughly half, did so with a grim vigor.

  “…outpouring of support from the assembled students,” the voice on the wireless could just be heard to say, “as Miss Corsica, the picture of composure and assurance, takes her seat. Miss Petra Morganstern, captain of Team A, now approaches the lectern…”

  Petra arranged a small stack of note cards on the podium as the cheers died away. She looked up, unsmiling. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow classmates, greetings,” she said, her voice crisp and ringing. “The members of Team B claim that there are three points to their argument, their ‘three assumptions’. Team A will argue that there is, in actuality, only one ‘assumption’ that is valid for debate tonight, their other two arguments being completely dependent upon it. That ‘assumption’ is the notion that history, as a science and as a study, is not reliable. Team B must convince us that history, rather than being trustworthy, is a complete fabrication, woven by the whims and deliberate manipulations of a small group of incredibly powerful ruling witches and wizards. These ruling individuals must be powerful indeed, because the history they have allegedly invented is, in fact, still in the memory of many of those still living today. Our parents and grandparents, our teachers, and yes, our leaders. They were there when this supposedly fabricated history took place, much of it right here on these very grounds. Using the logic of Team B, the Battle of Hogwarts either never occurred or occurred so differently as to be completely meaningless. If this is so, then we may well argue their other ‘assumptions’, such as the assertion that there is no necessity for the Law of Secrecy and that dark magic is an invention of the Auror Department. If, however, the historical record of the rise of the Dark Lord and his bloody quest for power and dominion over the Muggle world can be shown to be accurate, the rest of Team B’s claims fall as well. Thus, we will spend our energies on that argument only, with apologies to Team B.”

  There was another moment of charged silence, precipitated by the mention of the Dark Lord, then another burst of applause, equal in volume to the previous, but scattered with exuberant whoops and whistles. “A short but pithy opening statement by Miss Morganstern,” the announcer’s voice said. James saw the man in the purple bowler and read his words as they flowed from his wand to the broadcasting funnel. “Apparently crafted on the spot as a response to Miss Corsica’s threefold outline. This promises to be a direct and spirited dialogue, ladies and gentlemen.”

  For the next forty minutes, members of each team took to the podiums, offering argument and counterargument, all timed and officiated by Professor Franklyn. The audience had been instructed to refrain from applause, but this had proven impossible to prevent. Once one round of applause had been sounded for a team’s argument, it seemed incumbent upon supporters of the opposing viewpoint to cheer their own side as well. Night descended on the Amphitheater, ominously dark, with only a thin sickle moon low on the horizon. Enchanted lanterns floated over the stairs and archways, leaving the seating areas in shadow. The stage glowed in the center, lit like noonday in the glow of Professor Flitwick’
s gently floating phosphorous globes. Zane faced off against Heather Flack, debating the assertion that recorded histories were always manufactured by the victors.

  “I’m from the United States, you know,” Zane said, addressing Heather Flack across the stage. “If your statement is true, it’s a remarkable thing that I’ve ever learned anything about my country’s occasionally terrible past, from our treatment of Native Americans, to the Salem witch-hunts, to the one-time institution of slavery. If the victors fabricate our histories, how is it that I know that even Thomas Jefferson once owned slaves?”

  Benjamin Franklyn winced at that, then nodded slowly, approvingly. The supporters of Team A applauded uproariously.

  Finally, with no clear outcome, the captains of both teams approached the podiums for final arguments. Tabitha Corsica still had first option. “I appreciate,” she began, glancing at Petra, “that my opponent in this debate has made it a point to restrict discussion to this one central tenet: that the recent history of the wizarding world has been enhanced and stylized to instill terror of some fabled, monstrous enemy. To be specific, they have continuously raised the image of ‘the Dark Lord’, as they prefer to call him. If Miss Morganstern wishes to evade the other valid facets of tonight’s discussion, I will concur. If, that is, she is willing to debate the details of the one figure around whom all the other details revolve. Let us discuss the treatment of Lord Tom Riddle.”

  A distinct gasp of surprise and awe washed over the crowd at the mention of Voldemort’s name. Even for Tabitha Corsica, James thought, bringing up Tom Riddle seemed like a terrible risk, even if he was, in fact, the heart of the issue. James sat forward in his seat, his heart pounding.

  “‘The Dark Lord’, as the Auror Department likes to call Tom Riddle,” Tabitha said into the hushed darkness, “was indeed a powerful wizard, and perhaps even a misguided one. Overzealous, he may have been. But what, really, do we know for sure about his plans and his methods? Miss Morganstern will simply tell you he was evil. He was a ‘dark’ wizard, she will say, intent only on power and death. But really, do such people even exist? In comic books, perhaps. And in the minds of those who breed fear. But is anyone, in reality, utterly and irredeemably evil? No, I suggest that perhaps Tom Riddle was a misguided but wellmeaning wizard whose desire for Muggle-wizard equality was simply too radical a notion for the magical ruling class to allow. The powers-that-be put together a very careful campaign of half-truths and outright lies, all designed to discredit Riddle’s ideas and demonize his followers, whom the Ministry-controlled media dubbed ‘Death Eaters’. Despite this, Riddle’s reformers were eventually able to win enough confidence to assume control of the Ministry of Magic for a short time. Only after a vicious and bloody coup were the old powers able to defeat Riddle and his reformers, killing Tom Riddle in the process and defaming what he stood for as mercilessly as they could.”

  As Tabitha spoke, a grumbling spread around the assembled crowd. The grumbling grew into isolated shouts of outrage, then calls of “Let her speak!” Finally, just as she finished, the crowd erupted into an agitated frenzy that James found frightening. He glanced around. Many students had stood and were shouting through cupped hands. Several had climbed onto their seats, stomping or shaking fists. James couldn’t tell who, among the crowd, was shouting for or against Tabitha.

  At the height of the disturbance, James had a vague sense of Ted Lupin and Noah Metzker huddling around something. Suddenly, there was a burst of blinding light between them, throwing them into stark silhouette. The light shot upwards, filling the Amphitheater with its glow. At about a hundred feet, the ball of light exploded into a million tiny lights. The crowd hushed, bewildered, every eye tilted up. The tiny lights swam together, forming shapes. There was a collective gasp as the lights formed the huge shape of the legendary Dark Mark: a skull with a snake squirming out of the mouth. Then, almost instantly, the shape was overwhelmed by a stylized lightning bolt shape. The lightning bolt seemed to strike the skull, which bit the snake in half. The front half of the snake rolled over dead, its eyes turning to little crosses, and then the skull broke in half. The lightning bolt vanished as a sign popped up out of the broken skull:

  You’ll laugh your skull off

  at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!

  Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade Locations!

  Custom Orders our Specialty! There was a long, silent moment of complete bewilderment as everyone stared up at the glittering letters. Then the letters broke apart and fell, showering prettily into the Amphitheater. There was a titter of laughter somewhere.

  “Well,” Professor Franklyn said, having stood and moved center stage, “that was, I must admit, a well-timed, if somewhat puzzling, diversion.” There was some scattered, embarrassed laughter. Slowly, people began to resume their seats. James turned toward Ted and Noah, who were squinting and looking dazed, blinded by the Weasley Brothers’ special-order fireworks.

  “Bloody Weasleys made a public service announcement out of it,” Ted muttered.

  Noah shrugged. “Guess that’s why it was free of charge.” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Franklyn continued, “this is indeed a subject of much passion for many of us, but we must not allow ourselves to become carried away. Miss Corsica has made some assertions that are, to many of us, very difficult to hear. However, this is a debate, and where I come from, we do not,” he said with great emphasis, “squash debate simply because an argument makes us uncomfortable. I hope we can complete this discussion with dignity, otherwise, I am sure the Headmistress will agree with me that postponing final arguments will be the only recourse. Miss Morganstern, I believe you had the floor.”

  Franklyn sat back down, and James sensed that he was far angrier than he was letting on. Petra stood behind her podium for several seconds, eyes down. Finally, she looked up, obviously shaken. “I admit I don’t know quite where to begin in responding to Miss Corsica’s frankly incredible hypothesis. The Dark Lord was not merely evil because it was convenient for those in power to call him so. He used unspeakable methods to gain and maintain power. He was known for freely using, and for instructing his followers to use, all three Unforgivable Curses. Lord Voldemort was no more interested in Muggle equality than… than…” She stopped, fumbling. James pressed his lips together furiously. He felt for her. There were so many lies to address. Any that slipped past would be touted as truths she was reluctant to admit.

  “Miss Morganstern,” Tabitha said, her voice beseeching, “do you have any basis for these claims, or are you simply repeating the things you’ve been told?” Petra looked over at Tabitha, her face pale and furious. “Only the totality of recorded history, and the living memories of those who experienced it firsthand,” she spat. “It is incumbent on you, I suggest, to provide proof for your claims that Lord Voldemort was anything other than what all of accepted record tells us he was.”

  “Since you mention that,” Tabitha said smoothly, “I believe that there are individuals here this evening who were firsthand witnesses to the Battle of Hogwarts. We could settle accounts right now, if we desired, by interviewing them in person. This is not a courtroom, though, so I will merely ask the following: Can anyone in attendance, anyone who was there at the Battle, deny that Lord Tom Riddle himself stated for all to hear that he deplored the loss of any blood in battle? Can anyone deny that he pleaded with his enemies to meet with their leader personally, so that violence could be avoided?”

  Tabitha peered out over the audience. There was perfect silence but for the distant drone of the crickets and the creak of wind in the trees of the Forbidden Forest. “No, none deny it because it is the truth,” she said, almost kindly. “Many died, of course. But it is a matter of fact that many more died than Lord Tom Riddle desired. All because those who opposed him could not bear for him to be known as anything other than a murderous madman.”

  Petra had regained her composure. She spoke now, clearly and strongly. “And is it the act of a peace-loving reformer to seek out and personally murde
r the family of an infant, then attempt to murder the infant as well?”

  “You speak of Harry Potter, then?” Tabitha said, not missing a beat. “The man who, ironically, happens to be the Head of the Auror Department?” “You deny it is true, then?” “I deny nothing. I simply question and challenge. I suggest only that the truth is a far more complex thing than we have been allowed to believe. I submit that allegations of cold-blooded murder and attacks on children, all of which are rather conveniently unprovable, factor very well into the doctrine of fear that has ruled us these past twenty years.”

  “How dare you?” James heard his own voice before he realized he’d meant to speak. He was standing, pointing at Tabitha Corsica, trembling with rage. “How dare you call my dad a liar? That monster killed his parents! My grandparents are dead because of him, and you stand there and tell us that it’s some sort of made-up story! How dare you?” His voice cracked.

  “I’m sorry,” Tabitha said, and her face was, indeed, a portrait of compassion. “I know you believe that is true, James.”

  Professor Franklyn had stood and was moving forward, but James shouted again before Franklyn could speak. “My dad killed your great hero!” he called, his eyes blurring with tears of rage. “That monster tried to kill my dad twice, the second time because my dad gave himself to him. Your great savior was a monster, and my dad finally defeated him!”