I had nothing to do. As this was a rarity in my household, it made me restless and I felt out of place. I stood in our empty kitchen; the surfaces gleamed and winked as if to make fun of me. I rubbed my hands together, preparing to take action, but on what? Retirement did not sit well on me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be calling it retirement, though it certainly felt that way.

I was taking a ‘well-earned break.’ But the word ‘break’ was deceiving. It usually meant ‘We won’t be seeing each other again’ or, in my case, ‘No need to come back to work. Ever.’

I was far too young to retire, though my reflection might disagree. I stared down at my polished counter-top; the woman pursed her lips back at me. She did not look forty-eight. She looked like she should have retired years ago. I frowned at her, the victim of all my hard-work. After all, my work was what had led me here today. But I knew I did not regret a single thing.

I was anxious to get busy, when I was supposed to be doing the exact opposite. But there would be little for me to do around here, with no children around to make a mess for me to clean. It wasn’t as if I was a neat-freak, either. I just longed for something to do.

It was the first day of my ‘well-earned break’ and it was already feeling like torture. I longed for a conversation with Rose, even Hugo. But they, like the rest of the world, would be at work.

I sighed, drawing my attention away from my own reflection and walked over to the living room. I rested my hands on the back of the couch, glaring at the thirty inch plasma screen that inhabited my home. It had been a house-warming gift from Ron’s father. After Hugo had moved out, we had decided to make the move to a small Muggle suburb. Arthur insisted he supply us with a television set, or else the neighbours might start asking questions. I didn’t bother pointing out that my Muggle parents didn’t own a television either as I knew both Arthur and Ron had their minds made up. The worst part was, they had their hearts set on installing it themselves – without magic. Though neither suffered any electrical shocks or obtained injuries, I still refused to turn on the wretched thing.

Today, however, I was tempted.

I walked around the edge of the couch, taking a timid seat on the arm. I reached over to retrieve the remote that Ron had left in the crack between the cushions. As soon as I hit the on button, there was no going back. I had become a house-wife, with nothing to do but watch day-time television. The content was awful, of course. I flicked between American sitcoms and Australian soap-operas and by the time I heard the faint crack that was my husband returning home, I knew I had lost my mind.

I hit the power button on the remote and carefully placed it back where I had found it, destroying the evidence.

‘Hermione?’ I heard him call from the hallway. I leaped through the door and into the hall, looking forward to some human interaction.

I planted a firm kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank goodness you’re home.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he sighed. Ron looked as exhausted as I had so often felt after a day at work. But this wasn’t what had me concerned. I could tell there was something else troubling him.

‘Bad day,’ I said, not needing an answer.

He nodded as I followed him into the kitchen. He sank into a dining chair and put his head in his hands.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked warily, rubbing his shoulder.

‘I got called out today,’ Ron said, placing clenched fists on the table, ‘to a disturbance a neighbour had reported. She said the owner of the house was named Alistair Cross. They reckoned it sounded pretty bad so they wanted someone superior to accompany the Aurors. But when we got there, it was dead silent. The neighbour said she heard definite yelling, maybe a child crying, then a crash. We thought we better check it out anyway, so I went in first.’

I rarely had to worry about Ron’s safety now that he spent most of his time inside the Ministry, but as I pictured Ron entering this house, a possible crime scene, I felt chills shiver down my spine.

‘We searched the place, all but the basement. So I headed down there, expecting it to be empty, too.’ He paused for a moment, as if he had trouble remembering the next part. ‘There was a man, the owner of the house, still on the floor. I’d expected that the offender would have fled the place before we got there, but standing over the man was a house-elf.’

I frowned at Ron, not knowing where this was going.

‘She held a wand in her hand; it was still pointed at his chest. She didn’t look up at me; she just stared down at him. But the crazy part was that she was smiling. You’d think a house-elf would be punishing itself after it’d just murdered its master, but she looked bloody pleased with herself.’

‘You don’t know that she murdered him,’ I immediately said.

He looked up at me, narrowing his eyes. ‘She had the wand in her hand, Hermione. They did the test. Last spell cast was the Killing Curse.’

I bit my lip. There had to be some other explanation, but Ron would only say, ‘I saw what I saw.’

‘They don’t know what to do with her,’ he said. ‘Azkaban’s no place for a house-elf, and she can Apparate out of anywhere. She hasn’t tried yet, though. We’ve got someone with her at all times.’ I didn’t feel like he was speaking to me anymore; he was just going over the details for himself. He sighed. ‘We weren’t prepared for this. A house-elf hasn’t been arrested for years. They wouldn’t dare break the law without a direct order from their master.’

I knew all of this, and more. This was why the situation kept me thinking long after Ron had gone upstairs to take a nap. I knew there had to be more to this story as it wasn’t in an elf’s nature to kill. Then again, I knew it would be absurd to suggest that all house-elves were good and innocent. But I also knew that the bad ones could change, I’d witnessed that first-hand with Kreacher. The mystery in this case had definitely caught my attention.

I later joined Ron upstairs, lying down beside him and staring up at the ceiling.

‘Ron,’ I said.

‘Mm?’ His eyes were closed, but he had clearly not slept at all.

‘What was the name of the elf?’ I asked curiously.

He was quiet for a moment. ‘She said her name was Honey.’

‘I want to take her case,’ I said suddenly. I felt Ron stiffen beside me.

‘What? Why?’ He turned towards me, a look of bemusement across his face.

Why? I didn’t know why. I hadn’t worked with house-elves for years. Nor had had I defended one, let alone an alleged murderer. I was a prosecutor, I sent down wizards and witches who abused the rights of elves, not the other way around.

‘I think it’s something I need to do, Ron,’ was all I could come up with.

‘You’re supposed to be taking a break from work,’ he said incredulously.

All the more reason to take the case, I thought. Neither of us spoke for awhile, both mulling over my bomb-shell decision in our minds.

‘Honey,’ I said after a moment. ‘That’s an unusual name for a house-elf.’

Ron cleared his throat loudly. ‘It’s also unusual for a house-elf to commit a murder.’ He then turned away from me. We both lay there in silence, noticing how quickly this event had impacted our lives.

*

I wanted to know where they were keeping Honey. Ron had said Azkaban wouldn’t have her, so I assumed she was still somewhere inside the Ministry. This is why I had pulled on my best set of robes as soon had Ron left for work, grabbed some Floo Powder and shouted ‘Ministry of Magic’ into my fire place.

As I emerged from the emerald flames, I found myself inside the Atrium, surrounded by a very fast paced stream of wizards and witches. I joined them, walking briskly in the direction of the lifts. I had to fight my way through the crowd to earn myself a spot in the nearest lift, receiving a few bothered looks from those eager to get to their offices, but I ignored them. I was anxious to find Honey. If they had already found somebody to defend her, there would be little chance I would be allowed on the case.

I tapped my foot impatiently while the lift edged along. At last, it pulled to a stop at level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. My old office was at the far end of the Department, so I found myself jogging slightly in effort to get there.

I swung myself into the familiar office and scanned the room for who I wanted to see. He was, thank Merlin, already there. Amos Diggory sat at the desk to the right of the room, closed eyes, rubbing his leathered temples with his index fingers. He had so gallantly returned to work not years after the death of his son. How was it that I had been asked to leave work before this man?

‘Amos,’ I said breathlessly, taking a seat in front of him.

His eyes blinked open; clearly he had not heard me enter at all. ‘Hermione!’ He smiled. ‘What’re you doing down here?’

I decided to get straight to the point. ‘I want to defend Honey the house-elf; she’s been arrested for the murder of Alistair Cross. Where can I find her?’

He frowned at me. ‘Hermione-’

‘Has somebody already been assigned to her case?’ I interrupted.

‘Well, no.’ He paused for a moment. ‘It’s just that, well... you don’t work for this Department anymore.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ I said curtly. ‘But as I’m no longer part of any Department and I’ve got more experience with elves than the entire Ministry combined, I think I’d be the best person for the job.’

‘You left the Law Enforcement?’ he asked dully.

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. ‘More or less.’

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. I feared he would turn me down.

‘Hermione,’ he said slowly. ‘You don’t even defend criminals, you protect the rights of Magical Creatures. Well, you did while you worked for us.’

I groaned. ‘That’s because no Magical Creature became a criminal while I worked here. Just let me meet her, Amos. It’s all I’m asking.’

He shook his head, sighing. ‘All right, but I’m coming with you. You’ve been out of the job for too long.’

I smiled. ‘I think I remember how to handle a conversation with a house-elf, Amos.’

He stood up, chuckling slightly. ‘Believe me, Hermione. Honey isn’t your average house-elf.’

*

I don’t know what I had expected to gain from my meeting with Honey. Nor did I know what to expect from her. Would she be quiet and timid, or rampant and unstable?

Amos led me to the second floor, Department of Magical law Enforcement. They were keeping her in an unused office with at least one Auror with her at all times. The Auror had to be physically touching her, so if she were to attempt Apparition, someone would be dragged along with her.

The job description for Aurors had been edited drastically since downfall of Voldemort. As the crime rate fell exceedingly, Aurors were faced with more tedious and less-exciting roles. This, apparently, included babysitting homicidal House-elves. Allegedly homicidal.

As we approached the office where Honey was being held, I noticed a second man had been placed outside the door. I assumed we would have to sweet-talk our way in. Amos, however, must have felt otherwise.

He approached the Auror with such a strong sense of superiority that I was slightly taken aback. Age had clearly only given this man more determination to succeed.

‘Hello,’ Amos said to the Auror. ‘My name is Amos Diggory, Head of Magical Creature Liaison. This is Hermione Granger, an expert in Elfish Welfare. We’d like to speak with Honey.’

The man began to look distressed, torn between obeying a man with such confidence and doing what he was supposed to. He went for the latter. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Sir.’

‘Honey has been accused of murder, am I correct?’ Amos persisted. The man nodded. ‘Has she yet been presented with any legal advice?’ He shook his head, I gasped.

‘I am defending Honey,’ I found myself saying in a wave of fury. Amos turned to stare at me. ‘And as her lawyer, I have the right to private meetings in order to build up her defence.’

I noticed Amos roll his eyes. ‘This is true,’ he sighed.

The Auror knew we were right, and also knew that if he didn’t let me in he could be facing a legal battle of his own. ‘Very well,’ he muttered. He pulled out his wand and tapped the door several times in a complication fashion. The door sprang open.

I peered inside. The room was almost empty, besides a long bench that stretched out across the back wall. Upon it sat another Auror, and laced over his arm was a strong-looking metal band that connected to a smaller wrist next to his. The wrist belonged to Honey.

Her appearance startled me. She was, perhaps, one of the more attractive house-elves I’d seen. Her skin was smooth and pale, her round eyes outlined with long lashes. But the part of her that most caught my attention was her attire. Honey was wearing a clean, white dress.

‘Who gave her the dress?’ I muttered to Amos as we both entered the office.

‘Her master, I suppose,’ he whispered back. ‘It’s not uncommon these days.’

This was true. But it still felt strange to me. I was sure I had expected to meet someone with a Kreacher-like manner. But instead I found an elf who was well nourished and tidy looking. She almost looked angelic, innocent. But this gave me no indication as to whether or not she was guilty.

‘These two want a word with their client,’ the Auror at the door said to his colleague. The man chained to Honey nodded, but showed no desire to leave. I knew it would be difficult to gain her trust with an Auror in the room.

‘Honey,’ I said anyway, stepping forward. ‘My name is Hermione Granger. I’m going to be defending you before the Wizengamot.’

I heard Amos clear his throat behind me, angered by my self-appointment. But this didn’t matter; I had caught Honey’s attention. She looked up at me, her wide eyes scrutinizing me carefully. ‘Hello, Miss,’ she said politely. Once again, she had in me awe of her. It was in a house-elf’s nature to be courteous, but I had not expected it of this particular elf.

I stepped a little closer to her, though not trying to be intimidating. ‘Honey,’ I said. ‘If these two Aurors were to leave us alone-’ Amos coughed again, ‘with Mr Diggory here, of course. You’d stay put, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t try to Apparate?’ I kept my tone pleasant, but made sure it didn’t sound patronizing. I’d learned years ago that if house-elves were to be treated as equals, I myself would need to stop behaving as their superior.

She watched me curiously. ‘Of course not,’ she said.

I looked between the two Aurors. ‘Well?’ I asked. They did not look convinced. ‘Fine, then. Put those cuffs on me.’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate...’ one said.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘And would it be appropriate for you to overhear confidential discussions between lawyer and client?’ Neither spoke. ‘I didn’t think so. Now if you will...’ I indicated to my wrist and then Honey’s.

They Aurors exchanged glances, and I could hear Amos muttering something along the lines of ‘What have I got myself into?’ But, before I knew it, I was chained to Honey and she and I were alone with Amos.

The chains were similar to those used by Muggle Police, only these felt like they weren’t there at all.

My job now was to make Honey feel comfortable with me. This didn’t appear to be a problem at all though. She wasn’t fidgeting or scared-looking. She simply stared around the room as if its emptiness was intriguing.


Honey was a young house-elf, young enough for her mind to be malleable. My first assumption was that she could easily have been persuaded to commit murder, perhaps by another family member whose orders she could not disobey. After meeting this elf, the thought of her coming up with the idea herself seemed absurd.

The other option, one I myself preferred, was that she was not a murderer at all. Somebody may have killed the man, told Honey to hold the wand and fled before Ron had even made it to the scene.

But this did not explain why Honey had been smiling over the body of her master. If he had in fact cared for her as well as it appeared he had, she would not have been pleased over his death. The fact that she was smiling at the crime scene could go against us, or work in our favour. If Honey had been subjected to any form of abuse, I had myself a defence.

‘All right,’ I said after I had processed my thoughts. ‘Normally, I would ask for your account of the events that took place yesterday, Honey. But because you’re the one who has been arrested, I’m going to ask that you not tell me anything.’

The house-elf look puzzled, almost disappointed, but nodded.

Amos had taken to pacing the room. I could tell he felt uncomfortable being here, like we were doing something wrong. I wanted to assure him that I wasn’t going to mess this up, I’d had plenty of experience with elves, but I felt I’d better focus my attention on Honey.

‘I will, however, ask you a few questions about your life, your past. You can answer those truthfully.’

‘Okay,’ she squeaked.

I glanced up at Amos, awaiting his approval to move forward. He nodded reluctantly.

‘Honey,’ I began. ‘Was your master named Alistair Cross?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is his name.’

‘Did Alistair give you that dress?’ She nodded enthusiastically. ‘But he didn’t want to set you free, just for you to have clothes?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘His words exactly, Miss.’

After a few minutes of conversing with Honey, I’d learned that she, unlike other house-elves, did not speak in third-person, and that she always got straight to the point. I’d also learned that Alistair Cross was the first person Honey had worked for, and he was wealthy enough to own a fairly large house because he had inherited a small fortune when his father passed away. She also informed me that Alistair wasn’t married, had no children and lived alone, not including Honey. He had been in between careers when he had died but Honey assured me Alistair was quite a talented painter.

But the detail about Alistair Cross that struck me the most was that he had only been nineteen - the same age as my son. I began to wonder if Hugo had known him from Hogwarts, perhaps they had even been friends. I felt goose bumps rise on my skin, and I immediately felt the need to speak to Hugo.

I pushed the thought out of my mind, and continued to question Honey. ‘This, I’m afraid, you might find difficult to answer...’ The answer Honey gave to this could make or break our case. ‘Did Alistair ever physically hurt you, Honey?’

She looked horrified, even offended. ‘No, Miss, certainly not.’

Her response was clear, and I believed her. This was what I had dreaded, yet hoped for at the same time.

‘Did he ever emotionally abuse you?’ This was a last resort. Honey shook her head strongly.

I was left with nothing. If Honey had not been hurt by her master, I could not use self-defence as justification in front of the Wizengamot.

‘Amos, please tell the guard to release me, we’re finished for the day.’

As he left the room to inform the Aurors, I turned back to Honey. ‘Thank you for speaking with me today, Honey. I promise everything you’ve told me will help your case.’ This was a lie, but she needed reassurance.

The Aurors had returned; they began to release me and secure Honey back to the same man as before.

I was about to turn and leave, but remembered something. ‘Oh, and one last thing,’ I said to both Honey and the Auror. ‘The first thing I’ll be working on is getting you out of those handcuffs and into somewhere private.’ When Honey’s face lit up, her grin was infectious. I struggled to hold a professional and composed face. ‘If you have any questions for me, let the guards know they are to contact me. From now on, you are not to discuss this case with anyone besides me. Can you do that, Honey?’

The elf nodded solemnly. ‘I can, Miss.’

I smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

As I followed Amos Diggory back to the office we used to share, I realised that even though she had not supplied me with the answers I had hoped for, Honey had already found herself a small place in my heart.

Honey’s arraignment was scheduled to ten-thirty the morning after her arrest. I’d arrived at the Ministry half an hour earlier in order to prep her. Not that there was much to tell her, she only needed to inform the judge of her plea and sit quietly while I did the rest of the talking. The arraignment would be the decider for whether or not Honey would remain in the custody of the Ministry, or was free to go home until her trial. In the unlikely case of bail being allowed, we would be faced with a dilemma. Honey had no home to return to.

‘Don’t worry, Honey,’ I told her as we paused before the doors to the courtroom. ‘Just do as I explained, and you’ll be fine.’ Saying this was a waste of breath; Honey was a house-elf. It would be ludicrous to think that Honey would not do as I said.

To Honey’s right stood an unwilling Auror who’d been given the tedious task of being chained to her with the weightless handcuffs. As none of the rooms inside the Ministry, including courtrooms, would prevent a house-elf from Apparating, he would remain with her throughout the entire arraignment.

Today, Honey wasn’t dressed in clothes. I had gone to the trouble of buying her a tea-towel to wear for the trial. Honey had expressed that she found this strange, because she had thought you were supposed to look your best for court. I had not explained to her that it would be better if she was not seen in clothes, as clothes were a sign of freedom and people would assume murder was her way of obtaining it.

While Honey appeared to be perfectly calm, I found myself shifting my weight from foot to foot nervously. I was somewhat relieved when two guards opened the courtroom doors. My calm was almost immediately crushed again when Honey and I stepped into the courtroom. Her arraignment was open to the public.

Not for one second had I expected Honey’s case to be hushed up, I knew the media would lap up this story in an instant. But the turn-out for this event was extraordinary. The victim’s mother sat in the front row of the court; I watched her closely as she kept her gaze locked on Honey.

As Honey and I took our seats at the defence table, I took a moment to take note of the prosecutor. I recognized him immediately. Having worked for the Law Enforcement, I knew I would be working against my colleagues during the course of Honey’s trial. The prosecutors name was Patrick Nielson, a twenty-something year old who strongly believed that all defendants were guilty until proven innocent. I strongly doubted a house-elf would be an exception.

While I was accustomed to the fifty-odd members of the Wizengamot, Honey stared up at their plum-coloured robes in curiosity. She clearly did not distinguish between the regular members and Madam Willows, the judge who sat at the centre of the group.

A rather small wizard who sat to the right of Madam Willows stood, and began to read aloud the charges.

‘The defendant, Honey the house-elf, is charged with the murder of her master Alistair Cross on the seventh of August, 2026. She is charged for willingly, knowingly and deliberately using the Killing Curse on Mr Cross and intentionally causing his death.’

I noticed Honey’s free hand tightening into a small fist in her lap. Before now, I doubted the word ‘murder’ had been said in front of Honey. As I always avoided mentioning the incident, I had never actually witnessed her reaction to his death. But I did mention Alistair, constantly. She never expressed any remorse at those times. As usual, this left me puzzled.

I heard the judge clear her throat loudly. She turned to face Honey. ‘Defendant, how do you plead?’

Honey turned her head to look at me, I nodded at her. ‘Not guilty,’ she said quietly, but loudly enough for the entire crowd to start murmuring excitedly over her response. I rolled my eyes, had they really expected us to plead guilty?

Madam Willows nodded once. ‘Mr Neilson, does the prosecution wish to be heard on bail?’

Patrick Neilson rose. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We request that the defendant be held without bail, due to the severity of the charge.’

The judge turned to me. ‘Mrs Weasley?’

Granger-Weasley, I thought indignantly as I stood. ‘I’d like to request my client be released on bail. Honey clearly poses no flight risk as she is a house-elf, she would not attempt to flee without specifically being told to.’

I knew I hadn’t fooled anyone, not even myself. I was certain that if anyone told Honey to take off and hide, she wouldn’t hesitate to obey.

Neilson shot up from his seat again. ‘The fact that the defendant is a house-elf only increases the risk in awarding bail. If she were to flee, finding her again would be a waste of the Ministry’s time and money. Releasing her until trial would be plain idiotic.’ He returned to his seat.

Madam Willows sighed. This case had most of the Wizarding world on the edges of their seats, and this woman actually appeared to be bored. ‘As this is a murder trial, I see it necessary that the defendant be held without bail.’

I saw Neilson grin in triumph; he exuded arrogance in his victory.

I looked down at Honey. She blinked up at me with confused eyes. ‘You’re not going to be able to go home, Honey,’ I explained. ‘At least not before the trial.’

Her face fell, along with every ounce of hope that remained. She didn’t speak, but her expression clearly said how much she dreaded returning to that locked room with the Aurors.

I noticed the courtroom was suddenly filled with the voices of those preparing to depart. Even the judge herself was straightening her papers and filing them away in an over-sized brief case.

‘Excuse me, Madam Willows,’ I spoke loudly across the room. The woman looked up at me darkly; she had obviously thought this arraignment was over. ‘I do have one other request.’

‘Yes?’ she asked as the other occupants of the room fell silent.

‘It would be... well, undesirable for Honey to remain chained to a wizard every second before her trial. I think a more suitable alternative would be to create a cell inside the Ministry for Honey - using appropriate anti-Apparition spells for house-elves, of course.’ I heard Patrick Neilson scoff. ‘I also wonder why nobody had brought this up earlier, Madam. It seems unreasonable to me that Honey be under to constant surveillance. Some might suggest Honey was being mistreated if this were to continue.’

The judge was quiet for a moment. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure that is arranged.’

I smiled. Neilson was clearly devastated by this minor defeat, and swept out of the courtroom before anyone had reached the door.

I accompanied Honey and her guard back to the empty office on the second floor, which would soon be a place she wouldn’t have to return to.

Before they stepped through the door, Honey turned to me. ‘They said I murdered Master Alistair,’ she said almost inaudibly.

I frowned. ‘Yes, those were the charges.’

A look of deep concern spread across her face. ‘I did not murder him,’ she said, her large eyes burned fiercely. ‘I promise you, Miss, I did not.’

*

I sat in my spotless kitchen, feeling slightly out of place. I realised I’d been going about this case all the wrong ways. Telling Honey not to speak about the day Alistair Cross was killed had been my biggest mistake. It only suggested what little trust I had put in my client. I supposed a major part of me had doubted her innocence, which is why I had not asked for the truth. If Honey had been guilty, hearing the truth would have made me ineligible to defend her in front of the Wizengamot.

I had assigned myself to Honey’s case for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps I had simply wanted to add ‘defence attorney’ to my resume. But since hearing Honey confess to me her innocence, I knew I was imbedded into this case as much as she was.

The only thing that had me concerned about my part in this case was my husband. Ron had become infuriatingly disapproving, trying to find ways to change my mind at every opportunity.

I knew he couldn’t help but take it personally; he was the first person at the scene of the crime. I wished he wouldn’t see it that way, and find it in himself to support me. But as I was defending someone he was certain was a murderer, I knew we wouldn’t be able to see eye-to-eye until the trial was over.

I had not yet seen Ron since the morning before Honey’s arraignment. You would think running into each other at the Ministry would be inevitable, but we never seemed to cross paths.

I had come home right after court in order to get working on Honey’s defence, seeing I was now convinced she was innocent. But something kept me distracted; something I needed to do before I could absorb myself in the case.

I walked into the living room and knelt down before the fireplace. I took a handful of Floo Powder, stuck my head inside and shouted my destination. The flames erupted around me and I waited until a small kitchen came into view.

The kitchen was almost as ridiculously clean as mine, although probably due to neurotics rather than lack of use. At the dining table sat a small, young woman immersed in the Daily Prophet.

‘Louise,’ I said loudly, startling her.

She stared over at me. ‘Hermione!’ she exclaimed after the initial shock of finding my head hovering in her fire wore off.

Louise was my son’s flatmate, and suspected love interest. The girl wasn’t particularly my cup of tea, but if she made Hugo happy, I would make the effort to be civil. So far, she had failed to prove herself.

‘Is Hugo around?’ I asked, not bothering with chit-chat.

‘Sure, I’ll go get him.’

I waited for a few moments, body and head separated in space. When Hugo finally came into my line of vision, I felt a smile stretch my face to match his.

‘What brings you here, Mum?’ he asked warmly.

I knew Hugo would have already heard about the death of an ex-Hogwarts student, but it was the news that had not yet reached the papers that made me fear his reaction.

‘I suppose you heard about Alistair Cross,’ I started timidly.

The grin faded from his face ‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Well, I know he was your age... were you two friends?’ The look on Hugo’s face gave me the answer I had feared.

‘We were mates, yeah.’ I immediately regretted not contacting Hugo yesterday. I had put the needs of Honey first, when I had known there was a good chance my son had known Alistair.

‘I’m sorry, Hugo. It’s so horrible... he was so young.’

He nodded. This had hit me harder than I expected. I wished that Alistair could have been someone, anyone else, just not the friend of my child.

‘There’s something else though,’ I admitted quietly. I inhaled deeply, as if oxygen could save him from this. ‘I’m defending the house-elf who was arrested at the crime scene.’

Hugo stared at me for a moment. I almost thought he had had not heard. ‘You’re defending Alistair’s killer?’ he finally said. The look on his face could have broken my heart. I’d never wanted to hurt him; I’d only wanted to do my job.

But then it hit me. This wasn’t my job at all. I’d chosen this case despite all better judgement, not realising how it would affect my family.

‘Why?’ he choked out. ‘No, I don’t think I can hear it right now.’

‘Hugo-’

‘Please, Mum, I’d like you to leave.’ He turned and left the room before I had the chance to myself. I slowly pulled my head out from the fire, feeling numb to the core. I hadn’t had the chance to explain that Honey was innocent, that I planned to find out the actual killer. This led me to wonder if I would have remained on the case if I believed Honey had killed my son’s friend.

When I turned around I found I was not alone. Ron stood still in the doorway, an expression mixed with hurt and fury etched on his face.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Hermione,’ he said, before walking away. And I knew he wasn’t referring to my lack of experience as a defence attorney.

I remained where I was; listening to Ron’s heavy footsteps climb the staircase and cross the floor above. I did know what I was doing. I was potentially damaging the relationships I had with my son and husband. But these were merely short-term effects, Ron and Hugo would understand once Honey was found not guilty. Or maybe they wouldn’t. But there wasn’t a chance in the world I was going to let a house-elf get convicted for a crime it did not commit.

*

As it seemed I was no longer welcome in my own home, I had escaped to the sanctity of my office. Not that I was any more welcome in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement than I was at home. Technically, I was still supposed to be on leave, but the easiest place to work on the up and coming trial was in my own office space. So far, nobody had told me to leave.

Still slightly shaken from my conversation with Hugo, I tried to distract myself by concentrating on my defence strategy.

I found myself dying to know what had actually occurred the moment Alistair Cross died. But every moment I spent procrastinating about asking Honey to tell me, I told myself the truth could only damage our chances.

I know I believed Honey when she said she was innocent, but innocence in the eyes of a house-elf could mean guilty in the eyes of the Wizengamot. There were so many different circumstances that could have taken place, all forcing Honey to believe she was not responsible for her master’s death.

Honey was dead-set certain she had never been beaten by Alistair Cross, which completely ruled out using an act of self-defence as the structure of the case. Even if I did use this, there was a high chance Honey would serve a sentence anyway.

If I claimed somebody else did it, or she did it unintentionally, I would have myself a very weak defence that Patrick Neilson would shatter in an instant.

My last resort was to plead insanity. The thought made the shiver. Doing this would mean proving Honey was not in a right frame of mind at the time of Alistair’s death. Doing this would make me look like a fool.

I couldn’t very well stand up and say ‘Honey is a house-elf, she didn’t know what she was doing’ because it flat-out contradicted everything I’d been slamming down people’s throats for the last twenty years.

If I was going to say Honey was out of her mind, I needed to go about it the right way. This meant that I would first need to speak to Honey.

I stood up, about to head across to where she was still being kept, when I noticed Patrick Neilson walk straight by my office. He did a double take, clearly not expecting me to be up here.

He grinned slightly and entered my office. ‘You’d be surprised to hear how pleased I am to see you,’ he sneered.

The man dressed pretty sharply, which was more than I could say for myself. He had tidy, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. If you were completely oblivious to Neilson’s personality, you might consider him attractive.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked, sounding uninterested.

I noticed that in his hand he held a single roll of parchment, which he passed to me. ‘I was about to owl this to you, but you’ve just made my day a whole lot easier.’

I grudgingly glanced at the parchment. I recognised it as a list of witnesses that Neilson would use in attempt to get Honey locked up.

‘See you later,’ he said cheerfully, turning on his heels and departing my office.

I grunted a reply, scanning parchment for the list of names. Even though I had expected it, it made my heart skip a beat. Ron’s name was printed neatly at the bottom of the small list; he was the number one witness for the prosecution. Just as things looked like they weren’t going to get any worse, I was going to have to cross-examine my own husband.

*

I felt slightly disorientated as I made my way to the office Honey was in. I barely acknowledged the Aurors who chained my wrist to hers before they left us to our meeting.
I did notice that Honey had changed back into her child-sized dress, and looked more angelic than ever. I dreaded the conversation we were about to have, knowing it would upset her.

‘Honey,’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘Earlier, you told me that you didn’t kill your master...’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. I then realised that Honey looked slightly afraid. ‘I know I said I didn’t murder him, Miss. But... I have been thinking, and I think... that maybe I did.’

I stared at her in disbelief. In a matter of hours, she had transformed from being innocent to now, a murderer. I looked into the house-elf’s wide, confused eyes. Perhaps proving to the Wizengamot that Honey was insane wouldn’t be all that difficult.

‘I know I told you that you weren’t to tell me anything about that day,’ I sighed. ‘But I’m going to have to ask: what on earth happened down in that basement, Honey?’

The elf looked down at her knees, trying to hide the tears that had filled her eyes. She made a small hiccup-like noise before sinking back into her memory, and telling me everything.

‘Imagine,’ I said, pacing the floor in front of the entire Wizengamot, knowing my opening statement for Honey’s trial was crucial, ‘that you are a house-elf. Taught to listen, serve and obey. Yes, times have changed – they now enjoy basic rights. But the same standard that was expected of house-elves thirty years ago is still in place today.’ I voiced every word steadily and clearly. I was not concerned by my echo that rebounded from the walls of the courtroom; it only ensured that all eyes were on me.

‘The average house-elf is still expected to comply with each command a master should set. As most are easily influenced by the words of wizards and witches, it would be rare to find an elf who wouldn’t punish his or herself after an act of defiance. Despite Ministry laws, house-elves are still restricted by the expectations of magical society. In other words, it is most unlikely for an elf to commit a crime against the wishes of his or her master - which brings me to my next point.’

I wanted to get straight to the point. As members of the Wizengamot were old and easily bored, my message needed to be clear and concise.

‘The pure fact that Honey is a house-elf is enough to deny her of any conviction. She is honest, respectful, and most of all compliant. Her obedience is proof of how Honey was most definitely not acting upon her own free will on the seventh of August.’

I watched numerous amounts of eyebrows rise before me, looks that clearly meant ‘prove it.’ And prove it I would.

‘Throughout the duration of this trial, you will find it evident that Honey the house-elf did not commit murder at all. She was merely fulfilling the requirements that her master, Alistair Cross, had placed on her.’

I returned to my seat, knowing that I had not yet convinced a single person in this room. I glanced at Honey, who was now free of handcuffs. The courtroom, along with a newly built cell inside the Ministry, was bewitched so that Honey could not Disapparate. I smiled at her in a way I hoped was reassuring.

Honey was dressed in a clean, white pillow-case for the occasion. I hated seeing her wearing something so degrading, but I knew it was necessary for her to look like the ‘average’ house-elf I had put her up to be.

I returned my gaze to the robed men and women of the Wizengamot. The member to the right of Judge Willows stood gracefully. ‘The prosecution calls Ronald Bilius Weasley to the stand.’

I felt my heart-rate increase dramatically as the heavy doors to the courtroom creaked open. I watched my husband step through the doors, escorted by a Ministry usher. He didn’t look up once as he was led to the witness stand that was placed beside the Judge’s table. Though I was seated almost directly in front of him, he refused to catch my gaze.

The entire layout of Ministry courtrooms had been transformed over the years. Its new look was supposed to be less intimidating for both witnesses and the accused, but the idea of Ron being unsettled by this setting was laughable. He had, of course, changed a lot since we were young. His high status in the Law Enforcement seemed to have given him the confidence he needed; he no longer feared failure. He had, perhaps, gained more from his career than I could ever have. Maybe this was why I planned to cross-examine Ron as ruthlessly as I would a murderer.

Patrick Neilson rose from his seat, a hint of a smirk played on his lips. He clearly found this situation amusing. Maybe in a few years, Ron and I would too.

Neilson approached the witness stand. ‘Mr Weasley,’ he said smugly. ‘Could you please, for the record, state which capacity you are employed.’

‘I’m a senior Auror for the Ministry of Magic,’ my husband replied, his eyes locked on Neilson.

‘And how long have you been at that post?’

‘Ten years,’ he said, ‘this November.’ I remembered the day Ron had earned his promotion; I had been so proud. At that time, who could have imagined it would come to this?

‘Who led the investigation surrounding the death of Alistair cross?’ Neilson began to pace the floor in front of the Judge and Ron. I almost laughed at his attempt at drama.

‘I did,’ Ron said.

‘Did you determine the cause of death?’ The prosecutor stopped pacing and folded his arms.

‘Yes. As there were no visible signs of trauma, death was clearly caused by the Avada Kedavra curse.’

Neilson nodded. ‘And the wand in the hand of the defendant was last used to deliver that spell, correct?’

‘Correct.’

He began to pace again, this time I had to roll my eyes. ‘Mr Weasley, could you please explain to the Wizengamot what you saw when you entered Alistair Cross’s basement on the seventh of August?’

Despite having already heard Ron’s version of the events, I listened very carefully while he described it for the court. Having been disallowed to discuss the trial with Ron, there was a chance I had not yet heard parts of his testimony.

‘How did you find the house-elf in question?’ Neilson asked as Ron paused for a moment. ‘Was she punishing herself? Did she look scared?’

‘No,’ Ron said. I glanced at Honey, who was staring up the court obliviously. ‘She was smiling.’

There was a sudden outburst of quills scratching madly across pages and murmurs’ of those who had not yet heard this particular piece of the story. I had to admit that, by smiling, Honey had put herself in a rather compromising position. In the eyes of the public, a little detail like that makes Honey culpable despite any other evidence.

‘She was smiling?’ Neilson asked, as if he hadn’t gone over this part with Ron twenty times. ‘That’s interesting. Do you think the elf was pleased her master was dead?’

Ron paused. I knew he understood his answer could influence the outcome of this case. ‘It appeared that way, yes.’

‘No further questions.’ Patrick Neilson strode back to his seat.

I stood up from the safety of the defence table slowly. Given any other situation, I would not be concerned at all with having to cross-examine a witness. But this was the moment I had been worried about since Neilson had handed me his witness list. If I could have a conversation with my own husband in court, what good was I as a defence attorney?

‘Mr Weasley,’ I said, approaching him slowly. I could have sworn I heard a faint snigger from the audience behind me. ‘You claim you found the defendant standing over the body of her master, wand pointed at his chest, correct?’

My husband’s eyes met mine for the first time that day, and perhaps for the first time in months. I realised then that I missed the warmth of his touch, the knowledge that he would support me through any dilemma. I wondered if we could ever go back to the way things were.

‘That’s correct,’ Ron said evenly after a moment.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Are you sure the wand was pointed directly at the deceased?’

Ron considered his answer for a moment. ‘Yes.’

‘So, there wasn’t a chance it was pointed at the ground beside the body... or somewhere close by?’

‘Well, that is possible. But it sure looked like it was pointed at the victim.’ Ron’s answer was cold and hard, his eyes did not leave mine for a second.

‘Now, you also said the defendant was smiling. You couldn’t have mistaken it for a grimace?’

‘No,’ he said coolly. ‘Definitely a smile.’

Neilson had Ron trained well, he wasn’t going to slip up easily. ‘Okay. So you think Honey looked pleased.’ He nodded. ‘But people can experience pleasure for a number of reasons, Mr Weasley. Wouldn’t you agree?’

He glared at me. ‘Yes.’

‘For example: remembering a positive moment in one’s life. Do you think the defendant could have been smiling for that reason, Mr Weasley?’

‘Objection!’ I heard Neilson call out, right on cue. ‘My witness isn’t an expert on happiness, Judge.’

Madam Willows raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ll allow it.’

Ron continued to stare at me for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She could have been smiling for that reason.’

‘Considering Honey is a house-elf,’ I said slowly. ‘Is there a chance she had just followed an order from a master, resulting in her happiness for fulfilling their wishes?’

Though my back was turned, I could just see Neilson jumping up from his seat. ‘Objection! I heard him call. ‘That is pure speculation.’

‘You may respond, Mr Weasley,’ the Judge said.

‘There is a chance Honey could have been smiling for that reason,’ he said.

‘So, hypothetically,’ I said, glancing at Madam Willows furtively, ‘if this were the case, one might suggest that Honey was merely following orders, and did not intend to commit murder at all?’

I’d expected Neilson to object the minute the words had left my lips, but there was silence.

I watched Ron carefully, his pale eyes didn’t avert from mine. For a moment I saw in them a flicker of regret, perhaps for his answer, maybe for the entire situation. ‘Hypothetically... yes,’ he said. And it was all I needed.

‘No further questions.’

*

Patrick Neilson stood; the room fell silent. ‘The prosecution rests, Madam Willows.’ After the several other witnesses that followed Ron, Neilson finally surrendered. The hard part was now over for me, I now moved on to the seemingly impossible task of convincing the Wizengamot that my witnesses have more of a point than the prosecutions.

If I were the judge, Neilson’s lazy, narrow-minded concepts wouldn’t stand chance. But unfortunately, the majority of the members of this court were elderly. They grew up in a time where house-elves were considered dirt, which was something the prosecution could level with.

But I didn’t have to worry about doing any convincing right at that moment - court was adjourned until tomorrow.

I stood, collected my files and stuffed them into my briefcase. I wanted to escape quickly, before the press had a chance to catch up to me.

‘Hermione,’ said a voice nearby. I turned and looked around before realising Honey was the one who had spoken.

I smiled at her, noticing that was the first time Honey had ever called me by my first name. I knew I had gained her trust, now I simply had to prove that I deserved it.

‘Thank you,’ Honey squeaked, her eyes glistening in gratitude. ‘For all that you have done.’

I chuckled quietly. ‘Save your thanks for later, Honey. This is far from over.’

I watched her depart, two strong-looking Aurors at her side. I wished people could see that this wasn’t necessary, having her constantly guarded and locked up in a cell. I wasn’t surprised Honey had taken her arrest so well; it wasn’t in a house-elf’s nature to complain.

I was also certain that if Honey was convicted for this crime, and imprisoned for life, I would be losing a small part of myself.

*

I sat quietly in the study Ron and I shared. Spread out across the desk were files and notes on Honey’s case that I continued to read over again and again obsessively. I wanted to nail my defence and make it impossible for Neilson to crack any of my witnesses. But my concentration was broken when I heard the definite crack of someone Apparating into my home.

I stood up hesitantly, knowing Ron would not be home for hours. I wondered who would Apparate straight into my home, not even bothering to try the door. Realising that this case had made me jumpy and have a lack of trust, I edged my way into the hallway, where I thought the sound had come from.

‘Mum?’ I heard the familiar sound of my daughter’s voice. Breathing a sigh of relief, I followed her call into the kitchen.

Rose was standing over the kitchen stove, clearly inspecting its spotlessness. She glanced up at me suspiciously. ‘Have you not been eating?’

‘Nice to see you too,’ I muttered. ‘And just because my kitchen is clean, you assume it’s because I haven’t been using it?’

Her eyebrows lifted automatically, as I predicted they would. ‘You never have time to clean. And this,’ she said, indicating the gleaming surfaces, ‘means you haven’t had time to cook.’

I sighed, shrugging. ‘Your father and I have both been busy, lately.’

I saw the hint of a smile appear on Rose’s lips. ‘Busy battling each other in court.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Instead, I took a seat at the kitchen table and indicated for her to do the same. Rose sat cautiously and continued to eye me.

‘Have you spoken to Dad since the trial?’ she asked.

‘It’s only been a couple of hours.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You two are fighting, aren’t you?’

I stared at my daughter. I could have been like looking into a mirror – a mirror that removed wrinkles and showed red hair rather than brown. Rose had exactly my eyes, which was probably why I found it so hard to see them scrutinising me so. She wanted so badly to fix this, she reminded me of myself.

‘Have you spoken to Hugo, lately?’ I tried to sound causal. The truth was that I hadn’t heard from my son since the day I told him I would be defending who he thought had murdered his school friend. It was safe to say that Hugo didn’t ever want to speak to me again, as every time I’d visited his fireplace, Louise had claimed that he was ‘out.’

‘I have,’ Rose said slowly, her fingers running along the edge of the table distractedly. ‘He isn’t too happy, Mum.’

‘I know he isn’t, Rose. But I need to talk to him; he needs to know the truth.’ What truth, I wasn’t exactly sure. The truth of what had happened the day Alistair Cross died or the truth behind my decision to remain on a case that was pulling apart my family?

Rose pursed her lips. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said as I looked up into her stern eyes. ‘This bloody elf had better be innocent.’

‘She is, Rose.’ In that, I was completely confident.

‘You sure?’ she asked warily.

I smiled at her, reaching over and placing my hand on top of hers. ‘I’d bet my life on it.’

As I expected, this only made Rose look even more concerned. I wanted to point out that if she continued to frown, her face might resemble mine a lot sooner than she’d hoped for. But there was something else of my mind.

‘Do me a favour,’ I told her. ‘Please, tell Hugo that I miss him... and I love him.’

‘Of course, Mum.’ She nodded, her look of distress slowly fading. ‘But you have to promise me something, too.’

‘Anything,’ I agreed.

Rose looked down at our hands, clasped together like lifelines. ‘Talk to Dad,’ she said. ‘Make him understand.’

I glanced away from my daughter, already regretting my agreement. There were a lot of things Ron and I could not see eye-to-eye on, but we had always managed to see passed those differences. But Honey’s case was not just a matter of differed opinion; I knew it was enough to snap the fine threads that held my marriage together.

How could I make Ron understand why I was willing to risk everything for a house-elf that had been a stranger until a few months ago, when I couldn’t even understand it myself?

*

When Ron made it home that evening, he found me curled up on the couch reading a book. I decided that if I was going over the case when he returned, it’d only increase his hostility towards me, so I planned not to mention it all.

At first, Ron lingered in the doorframe for a few moments. He seemed to be unsure of how to open a conversation with me. I had known since the day I had agreed to marry Ron that it was inevitable that something like this would happen; I was just surprised that it had taken this long.

I heard the sound of Ron sighing. I glanced up to see him crossing the room in my direction. He sat down in the armchair to the right of me and stared intensely at the carpet. This was the first time in weeks that Ron and I had willingly been in the same room together. I couldn’t help but notice that I felt more at ease cross-examining him in a courtroom than sitting with him in our living room.

‘We need to fix this,’ he muttered, frustration filling his tone. He still refused to look at me, and while I’d grown accustomed to that over the weeks, having had him look at me in the courtroom made me want it so badly at that moment.

I closed my book, placed it on the space beside me and looked back at Ron. ‘How?’

He smiled, almost laughed. Then finally, he glanced up at me. ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

I knew that he meant. ‘I’m not leaving the case, Ron. It’s far too late for that.’

Ron sighed. He had known this, but I could tell a small part of him had hoped I would do it, for him.

‘You know I didn’t do this to spite you, Ron,’ I said. ‘And you must know how much it kills me that Hugo is hurt by it.’

‘Then why are you doing this?’ His tone was curious, rather than sceptical.

I considered this for a moment, wanting my response to be completely honest. ‘At the start, I wanted to take the case because I was bored. And I admit that I felt like a failure after being asked to take leave.’

‘You’re far from being a failure, Hermione,’ Ron interrupted.

I shrugged. ‘You know I’m not happy unless I have a task to fulfil, something to challenge me. That’s exactly what this case is, a challenge. I wanted something that would make me feel worthy again.’ Ron looked like he was about to interrupt again, but I lifted my hand, silencing him. ‘You might think that’s ridiculous, but it’s simply how I felt. Those reasons are insignificant now. After meeting Honey, my reasons for being her lawyer have changed. She’s not a killer, and I know I’m about the only person capable of proving it.’

‘There are plenty of other people with as much experience with house-elves as you,’ Ron protested calmly.

‘No other lawyer has as much experience with them as I do,’ I disagreed. ‘Besides, Honey trusts me enough to be her voice. I don’t want to let her down.’

Ron shook his head slightly. ‘Hermione, house-elves found their own voices twenty years ago, thanks to you.’

I almost laughed. ‘That’s a cop-out, and you know it. House-elves are still as insignificant as they ever were. The new rights policies only rid wizards and witches of their guilt.’

‘Even so...’ Ron began.

‘Even so,’ I repeated, interrupting. ‘Honey still needs someone to defend her tomorrow, regardless of whether or not she is innocent.’

‘And you think she is,’ he said, shifting slightly in his chair.

‘Innocent?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I do.’ My response was firm; I only hoped it has convinced my husband.

‘Even if the elf is innocent, our son still has a dead friend.’

This struck a nerve, and I swore I could sense the familiar, yet rare, feeling of tears rising in my eyes.

‘I know, Ron.’ His name got caught in my throat; I cleared it and blinked back tears. ‘That’s why I want the truth to be out so badly, but at the same time... I never want Hugo to hear it.’

Ron’s expression became concerned, and before I knew it he was on the couch beside me, arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder. ‘What is the truth, Hermione?’ His tone was urgent, like he sensed that I was about to let it come spilling out of me anyway.

‘Before I tell you,’ I said, looking up and meeting his intense gaze. ‘I need to know that you believe me anyway, that you can trust me enough to put faith in Honey’s innocence.’

While Ron was silent for a moment, I took the opportunity to appreciate the closeness of our bodies, realising it seemed like years since we had felt as one.

‘I believe you,’ Ron said sincerely. And for now, that was enough.

I had never planned for Honey the house-elf to take the witness stand, because what good defence lawyer asks their client to give evidence during their own trial? But I wasn’t a defence lawyer, and that became evident as I stood before the Wizengamot and called my final witness.

As soon as Honey’s name had escaped my lips, I heard a chair slam back across the floor as Patrick Neilson leapt up from the prosecution table. ‘What?’ he shouted over at me.

I turned to face him, forcing my mouth to remain in a tight pressed line as Neilson appeared to be on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

Putting Honey on the stand was a fairly rash decision, so I could see how Neilson could be upset. He wouldn’t have the chance to come up with a strategy for his cross-examination, and this only worked in our favour.

‘Is there a problem, Mr Neilson?’ Madam Willows enquired, staring her nose down at him.

I couldn’t help but smile as Neilson collected himself and attempted to recover from his unprofessional outburst. ‘No, there’s not a problem. I simply wish I had been given more notice.’ He pulled his chair back to its original place and sat down.

I could tell Neilson was confident he had won this thing, despite having made no progress with my witness. I thought I’d only need one witness for my defence, and I felt he made a decent impact on the court. He specialized in the sociology of house-elves, and I prompted him to explain how house-elves still felt obliged to carry out every order given to them by their masters - emphasizing on the word every. I knew that so far, my tactic was unclear, which was why I needed Honey to shed some light.

I watched her being led to the witness stand, a pink and white tea-towel tied neatly around her tiny frame. Though she kept her eyes on the floor, Honey did not appear to be nervous at all. I knew that this was the one thing she could do to save herself. All she had to do was tell the truth.

As I stood to face Honey, I inhaled deeply, knowing that this was the last time I could breathe feely until the trial was over. I stepped around my desk, approaching the stand slowly. I knew it must have looked as if I was being melodramatic, but the truth was that I hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time.

I regrettably reached Honey sooner than I had hoped for, and had no choice but to begin my long line of questioning. I stared at the fragile elf before me, wishing there was another way. ‘Hi, Honey,’ I said, smiling.

She glanced up at me, her eyes wide. ‘Hello, Miss.’

I continued to smile. This house-elf could not have been more perfect, it didn’t even seem like I had trained her to be polite; it simply came naturally.

‘Honey, you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions, do you?’ She nodded. ‘And what about that man over there,’ I said, indicating Neilson, who sat with his arms folded across his chest, leading back in his chair, ‘do you think you can answer his questions truthfully?’

She stared at me for a moment, not quite understanding that I was asking these questions for the benefit of the rest of the courtroom. ‘Of course I will,’ she said.

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Now, how long had you worked for Alistair Cross, Honey?’ I dove straight into it, knowing the Wizengamot wouldn’t appreciate much more small talk.

‘Two years,’ she said. ‘He became my master as soon as he left Hogwarts.’

I nodded, acting as if this information was new to me. ‘Would you say that you and Alistair had a good relationship?’

‘Yes, we were very close.’

‘So close that he had even given you clothes...’ I directed the conversation easily.

She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, Miss. But not to set me free, just as a sign of respect.’

I feigned intrigue. ‘Alistair, your master, showed you respect?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled warmly. ‘He treated me as a friend.’

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, folding my arms. ‘Do you feel that Alistair placed a lot of trust in you, Honey?’

She seemed to consider her answer for a moment, even though we had already been through her response. I wondered why I hadn’t considered putting Honey on the stand earlier, she was easily the best witness I’d questioned – and on her own murder trial! ‘I think we both trusted each other greatly, Miss. I remember the day Alistair told me he could trust me with his life.’

More perfection, I had to suppress a grin. I turned to what could only be considered our ‘audience,’ to witness their reaction to Honey’s comment.

For a moment, I lost my breath. There in the crowd sat my son. I hadn’t seen Hugo enter the courtroom, but there he sat, next to my husband, wearing an unreadable expression.

I stared at him for a moment, losing all concentration. I hadn’t wanted him to hear the truth this way...

‘Mrs. Weasley?’ said Madam Willows’ stern voice. I quickly turned back to Honey, recollecting my thoughts.

‘If you and Alistair had such a strong friendship, Honey, do you recall spending the day with him on the seventh of August?’ I felt the tension in the room increase at the mention of this date; we now held everyone’s full attention.

‘We were both in the house that day, yes,’ she said calmly.

‘And what do you recall doing at around two in the afternoon that day?’ I asked. I didn’t bother looking around at the court; I could tell that they had not been expecting such a direct question. The entire Wizarding world had it in their heads that this elf was guilty, so of course they would wonder why her lawyer was asking for the truth.

I noticed Honey’s eyes begin to dart around the room; until now she had shown no sign of anxiety, but her mood quickly shifted when forced to remember something she’d much rather forget.

I felt a faint pain in my heart as Honey began to tell the court her story.

‘I had made Master Alistair lunch,’ she said, her eyes refocusing on mine. ‘I had seen him go down to the basement, so I followed him. I didn’t want him to go without his lunch...’

She trailed off; I feared she would start to cry. While it killed me to see Honey upset, I also knew that gaining Madam Willows’ sympathy couldn’t hurt.

‘What did you find when you entered the basement, Honey?’ I pressed.

She looked down at her hands, which had started to tremble. ‘I saw Master Alistair,’ she said quietly. ‘He was sitting in the middle of the basement.’

Honey seemed to refuse to look up at me again; it was as if she wanted to blame me for asking this of her. Because I knew that if Honey had the choice, she’d keep this secret forever, even if it meant spending the rest of her life in prison.

‘Aside from being on the floor,’ I continued, forcing the words out, ‘was Alistair acting out of the ordinary at all?’

She nodded slightly. ‘He was staring at his wand while he twirled it between his fingers. And he was crying...’ Her voice almost became a whisper. ‘I had never seen him cry before.’

As her voice started to shake, I had to turn away. I knew I was being a coward, but I couldn’t face what I was doing to her. I searched the crowd briefly as a distraction, and my eyes found Alistair Cross’ mother. She sat still in the front row, and I swore she was hardly breathing. Her eyes didn’t meet mine, for they were locked on the house-elf beside me. Mrs Cross wore an expression of such hatred that I was slightly taken aback. I could have understood this, as a mother myself, but there was something more to this woman... something more than the grief of a mother who had just lost her son.

‘What did you do next, Honey?’ I asked, turning back to my client.

Honey cleared her throat quietly; I could tell she was eager to remain strong. ‘I walked over to him, and put his lunch on the floor next to him. I asked Master Alistair if he needed anything else, but he just continued to cry...’

--

She watched the wand dance between his fingers; he stared at it darkly as it spun. She noticed how cold the basement seemed to have become, and wondered why Master Alistair didn’t go upstairs into the warmth. She shivered, knowing that something was definitely not right.

She shuffled her tiny feet forward slightly, approaching him cautiously. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him more than he already appeared to be.

‘M-Master?’ she started timidly. ‘What’s the matter?’

The tears continued to stream down his face silently, he didn’t bother to wipe them away, just stared at the wand in his hand. ‘She’s done it again,’ he whispered almost inaudibly.

Honey knew who he meant; it had to be his mother. Countless times had she upset Alistair, but things had gotten far worse since his father had died. Honey never understood what it was that she did, exactly, but Alistair had always said that he couldn’t live up to her expectations...

‘What has she done?’ Honey inched closer to him again, as though trying not to alarm him.

Alistair shook his head, only breaking his gaze at the wand to close his eyes tightly.

‘You know what she’s like,’ he said, tears swelling out despite his best attempts. ‘Trying to take control of my life...’

Honey began to wonder if she had been oblivious to the extent of Alistair’s mother’s cruelty, and that perhaps Alistair had been holding all of this in until now... for Honey’s sake.

She leaned forward slightly and somehow found the courage to reach out carefully and touch his shoulder with her small hand. At this touch, Alistair snapped open his eyes and turned to face Honey, startling her slightly.

‘But I won’t let her,’ he said quickly. ‘I won’t let her take control... not again.’

Honey was confused. As far as she was aware, Wizards could decide how to live their own lives, nobody could control them. But the look in her Masters eyes told her otherwise. They burned with intent, he was taking control.

Alistair glanced back to the wand in his hand, and Honey noticed her heart was pounding rather quickly in her chest. He had now stopped crying, as if an idea had ended his sadness, made him forget about whatever it was that his mother had done.

‘I can end this before she has the chance,’ Alistair whispered.

Honey stepped back from her Master, unaware of what his intentions were, though not willing to find out.

Alistair’s expression changed once again, his face crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry, Honey.’ His voice was no more than a whisper as he began to cry again. But now it seemed he had acknowledged his sadness, and he quietly began to sob. ‘You need to know,’ he said, turning to look at her once more, ‘if I could stay, I would stay for you.’

Honey swallowed hard. ‘But where are you going?’

He simply shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Honey watched in perplexity as Alistair lifted his wand and turned it unexpectedly to face his chest.

Honey was a naive house-elf, but this she understood. She watched in horror, helpless and unable to contradict her Masters decision. She had never negotiated before, but she knew it was the only thing in her power to do. ‘Please, Master,’ she begged. ‘There must be something I can do.’

He glanced up at the elf, a flood of mixed emotions etched on his face. He was clearly horrified, but what else was he to do? It wasn’t within his magic ability to do this himself... and Honey was the most extraordinary elf he had ever met.

Honey found herself sobbing in time with the Master she loved, terrified to lose him.

She watched as Alistair inhaled deeply. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘there is one thing that you can do.’

She smiled. Whatever it was, she could do it if it meant keeping Alistair alive. So she agreed unknowingly, smiling in naivety. ‘Anything,’ she whispered.

--

The courtroom fell surprisingly silent as Honey stopped speaking. I had imagined I’d hear the frantic scratching of quills and eager whispers coming from the crowd. But the members of this court were clearly as appalled as I had been. Who could ask such a thing of this elf, and make her promise before she had even heard the request?

It must have been sheer desperation that led Alistair Cross to voice that order to Honey, and while it angered me that he would do so, I had only pity for my son’s friend.

By now, Alistair’s mother had left the courtroom. She had looked horrified, yet not surprised, as Honey informed the court of the truth.

And now that Honey had done this, I needed to illuminate the meaning behind this truth. I turned to my client, who was wiping her cheeks with the pink corner of her tea towel. ‘Honey, did Alistair Cross order you to kill him?’

She blinked up at me. I’d warned her I would ask her this, and I’d told her what the answer needed to be; she was just terrified to say it. I kept my eyes locked with hers, letting her understand that she could trust me. ‘Yes,’ she shakily said.

I tried to give Honey a reassuring smile, but my lips only managed to twitch feebly at the sides. I sighed. ‘Have you ever disobeyed an order from your Master before?’

This question seemed to ease her expression; she could so easily be distracted. ‘No, Miss. Never.’

‘And how would you feel if you hadn’t done what you were told to do in that basement, Honey?’

Her face fell again as she was forced to remember. ‘Like I had failed, Miss, failed my duties as a house-elf.’

This time I managed to muster a small smile. ‘No further questions, Madam Willows.’

*

Patrick Neilson rose from his chair at the prosecution table, wearing a smug expression. He had not been fazed by Honey’s tale; this haunting truth meant nothing to him.

He briskly approached my frail client, and folded his arms as he reached her. He stared down at Honey condescendingly, prepared to make her look as insignificant as possible. ‘So, Mr Cross told you to do it?’ he asked, his voice booming through the courtroom mockingly.

Honey didn’t look at the man before her, her eyes only met mine from across the room. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘And you said you would have failed if you didn’t fulfil his wishes.’ Honey flinched slightly, as Neilson leaned on her bench. ‘So, you wanted to kill him?’

She refused to look at him, but his words affected her. ‘No, I did not.’

Neilson frowned at her. ‘But you performed the curse, didn’t you?’ She nodded slowly. ‘You, a house-elf with no magical training, performed a full blown Killing Curse on the Master you were supposed to love.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You must have really meant it when you uttered that curse.’

I watched as Honey’s face crumpled; tears began to fill her eyes. ‘I had to do it,’ she nearly whispered. ‘He is my Master.’

Neilson continued to stare down at my client. ‘Well, he was your Master. Not anymore.’

I jumped from my seat instantly, watching as Honey finally drew her gaze away from mine to stare at Patrick Neilson. ‘Objection!’ I almost yelled. ‘He is deliberately distressing my client in hope of getting her to say whatever helps his case!’

Madam Willows glared at Neilson sternly. ‘Concentrate on your line of questioning, Mr Neilson.’

Neilson scoffed. ‘If only I’d had time to prepare one.’ He turned back to Honey. ‘Can you read, Honey?’

What that had to do with anything, I had no idea. Honey shook her head. ‘No, I was never taught, Sir.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I’ll just have to read this out myself.’ He then reached into the pocket of his well-tailored robes and pulled from it a small roll of parchment. I leant forward in my seat as Neilson cleared his throat. ‘I have here an extract from the House-Elf Rights Act, 2003. I will now read to the court the third decree under the Act.’

Neilson paused for effect, and I knew exactly what was coming. ‘A house-elf that serves an individual witch, wizard or magical family has the direct right to disobey an order from their master if the command will lead to the endangerment of the house-elf itself or any other being.’ Neilson stared around at the court, clearly trying not to smile.

‘You’ll notice here, Madam Willows,’ Neilson said, approaching the judge’s desk and handing her the parchment, ‘a list of signatures that enforced this decree. First of which is a Hermione Jean Granger... now, that name seems to ring a bell...’

He turned to face the court audience, unable to hide his grin. I could have laughed myself; the prosecutor clearly thought he could win this case by making a fool out of me. I stood. ‘Madam Willows, does the prosecution rest, or would Mr Neilson prefer to continue on with his shameless antics?’

The judge raised her eyebrows at Neilson. He chuckled slightly. ‘Yes, the prosecution rests.’

I remained standing. ‘I’d like to question the defendant once more, Judge.’

Madam Willows sighed; clearly she had hoped this was over. ‘Very well.’

Once I’d reached Honey, I realised that she looked extremely troubled. Perhaps confused by Neilson’s parade, or maybe she understood more that I gave her credit for.

‘Honey, were you aware that the decree Mr Neilson read to the court was in place? Did you even know you had a right to disobey Alistair if it meant putting him in harm’s way?’

She stared up at me, anguish set in her large eyes. ‘I didn’t know, Miss. If I did... Master Alistair would not be dead.’

*

‘Members of the Wizengamot,’ Patrick Neilson said, addressing the group of witches and wizards in their plum-coloured robes. His closing statement was all he had left in this trial, his last moment in the spotlight. I could tell he was going to make the most of it.

‘It needs to be understood that Honey the house-elf was not carrying out a simple order of her master’s request. She was pointing a wizard’s wand at the chest of her beloved master, and not just saying, but meaning the curse that fell from her lips – not to mention smiling after the deed was done. As we have all heard, to make this curse successful, behind it needs to be intent. And for this elf to have enough strength to willingly and intentionally speak the Avada Kedavra curse is enough to have you, members of the Wizengamot, charge her with murder.’

Patrick Neilson grudgingly surrendered by taking his seat. His yield was my gain; I stood and faced the Wizengamot.

‘Mr Neilson would like you all to believe that Honey had the pure intention to kill. But if you do believe this, you clearly have not been listening to the defendant’s testimony.’ I met each watchful gaze of the members of the court, determined to make them join my side. ‘Today I asked Honey to tell the truth. And as you all know, a house-elf must do as they are told. Which is exactly what Honey has spent her whole life doing. Never has she betrayed or defied her master; she has always carried out the tasks asked of her. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest Honey the house-elf had premeditated her master’s death. Therefore, she had no intention to kill him. Honey’s only intentions were those she has had her entire existence, to serve and obey her master’s every command.’

I glanced around at my client, who sat staring into her lap, dismayed by Neilson’s display of Decree Number Three.

‘Little did Honey know,’ I continued, ‘she had every right to walk away from Alistair Cross that day, to leave him to do the deed himself. Because, ultimately, it is what would have happened. While we are wasting our time in this courtroom, the real reason for this young man’s death is outside these walls, walking free.’

I turned to face the court audience, finding the eyes of my son. Hugo watched me as I spoke, his expression indecipherable.

‘It has become evident today that Honey would not have spoken the Killing Curse if she knew that there was another way. If the house-elves of this country had been informed of this basic right, there would be no need for this trial today.’ I stepped around and stared into the stern eyes of Madam Willows, and spoke my closing line, ‘Honey the house-elf is not guilty of murder. She is as much a victim to this tragedy as Alistair Cross himself.’

*

Madam Willows remained seated as she shifted her position to face the short Wizengamot member beside her. The man looked slightly afraid to speak as she glared down her nose at him. It was time for the verdict to be decided, and this man clearly had something to say that would lengthen the time it took for a decision to be made.

I had difficulty overhearing the man as he spoke to Madam Willows. I watched her raise her eyebrows at him, leading him to speak louder in volume. ‘Some Wizengamot members would like to request an alteration in the charges, Judge Willows,’ the short man squeaked.

Her eyebrows only seemed to move further up into her forehead. ‘And what would the Wizengamot like to alter the charges to, exactly?’

I sucked in my breath, what could be worse than a murder charge? I prayed for this new occurrence to work in Honey’s favour.

‘The request is that the charges be considered an unintentional killing, but with a wilful disregard for life.’ The entire court listened intently to the man, though I doubted this meant much to the general public. ‘In other words, manslaughter.’

I narrowed my eyebrows. Manslaughter was a Muggle term, was Honey’s case so extraordinary that we had to introduce new terms into the Wizarding courts? It appeared that way as Madam Willows turned to face the court audience and said, ‘Very well, we’ll bring this so called ‘manslaughter’ into the mix, but the original charge shall remain an option.’

I sighed. I had hoped they’d remove murder all together.

‘A show of hands, please,’ Madam Willows continued, turning back to face the Wizengamot, ‘for those in favour of conviction for murder.’

I held my breath, glancing quickly at an afraid-looking Honey before watching as only a small number of hands rose. Those who had raised hands were mostly elderly, nothing more could be expected of them. They were not, however, a majority. I exhaled; this wasn’t yet over.

‘Those in favour of conviction for unintentional killing’ – I could have sworn I saw the Judge roll her eyes – ‘or manslaughter, raise your hands.’

My heartbeat increased as several hands went up, and slowly at least half of the Wizengamot had voted for manslaughter. The actual numbers, however, I could not be sure.

The Judge’s expression remained as stern as ever, and for a moment I saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘Lastly, a show of hands for those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges.’

The rest of the members raised their hands, and again, it seemed like half were raised. I didn’t have time to count, as they had already lowered their hands.

I watched as a young wizard crossed the court and reached Judge Willows, whispering what I assumed were the actual numbers of the vote in her ear.

This was it. I look down at the house-elf beside me, feeling a strong surge of emotion build up in my chest. No matter what the verdict was, I would not forget Honey, and I wouldn’t let her out of my life.

I closed my eyes and listened to the firm voice of Madam Willows as the verdict filled my ears. ‘As decided by the Wizengamot, Honey the house-elf is found guilty for manslaughter. She is hereby sentenced to two years in Azkaban prison.’

My eyes snapped open; the roar of the media replaced the Judge’s voice in an even louder way. I stared at Honey, who looked up at me with her wide eyes. I didn’t know what to say.

‘What does this mean, Hermione?’ she asked me pleadingly.

I couldn’t find the words to answer her, I simply stared as the Aurors came and took her by the arms. I watched, completely horrified as she was pulled through the courtroom doors, staring back at me, confusion set in her eyes.

*

I walked numbly passed Patrick Neilson, ignoring him as he approached me with a haughty expression on his face. I wanted nothing more than to shout obscenities at the prosecutor, but no words managed to reach my lips.

I pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom, already deciding I would never enter them again. I couldn’t describe how I was feeling, because I honestly didn’t know. I couldn’t react to Honey’s sentence, because I didn’t know what verdict to expect in the first place.

My legs walked me down the corridor, and I was quickly met by the familiar face of Amos Diggory. I looked up at him without speaking; I hadn’t noticed him in the court, but he had clearly heard the decision for his expression was troubled.

‘Hermione,’ he said in a concerned tone. ‘Are you all right?’

I stared at his ageing face, wondering where I had gone wrong in my defence case for Honey.

His look of concern deepened as I didn’t reply. ‘Hermione, listen. Don’t blame yourself. You really couldn’t have asked for more.’

This reawakened me into reality. ‘You know that’s not true, Amos. Honey should be free.’

He sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Why don’t you come up to my office, we’ll have a drink and chat. You’ll be fine.’

I shook my head. ‘Thanks, Amos. But I need to be with my family.’

I took his hand from my shoulder and grasped it briefly in appreciation. I then stepped around him, and saw Hugo, approaching me with long strides.

Before I knew it, I had curled my son into my arms, just as I had always done before he was old enough to be embarrassed by it. Hugo didn’t pull away from me, he held me as I held him. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ he said.

I leaned back, watching his blue eyes closely. ‘Hugo, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who risked our relationship on a case that I’d failed from the start.’

Hugo shook his head. ‘You didn’t fail her. Two years and she’ll be out; you’re the reason it’s not longer.’

I tried to believe the comforting words of my son, and also wondered how he had become the one to take care of me. He would have a million questions about the death of his friend, most of which I wouldn’t be able to answer.

We walked together to meet Ron. I was silent as he voiced his first question. ‘Why was Honey smiling, when Dad found her?’

I hadn’t expected this to be Hugo’s first concern, but I could see how it left some people confused. Why would an elf be happy after the death of her master? I could only assume that Honey had stood there for a while, and had had plenty of time to think.

Hugo’s question took me back to my cross-examination of my husband, and how my defence would have been confusing at the time.

People can experience pleasure for a number of reasons, Mr Weasley, I had said. For example: remembering a positive moment in one’s life. I smiled as Ron approached Hugo and I. ‘Memories,’ was my reply to Hugo’s question. And I was sure that when I went to visit Honey in Azkaban, she would tell me that I wasn’t far off the mark.

The steel gates at the inside of Azkaban prison slid open independently, clanging loudly as they reached the maximum width for entry. The gates led to a long hallway that lay adjacent to several prison cells, most of which were currently vacated. I stepped through the gate without hesitation, not bothering to look back as it closed immediately behind me; it wasn’t as if I wasn’t used to it by now. Some might even call me a regular here at Azkaban, though I doubted that it was something I should be proud of.

Despite my many visits to these cells, it had been a while since my last. I walked hastily down the hallway, not allowing my eyes to wander into the cells that had occupants. It’s not that I was afraid of the prisoners; I simply had a goal in mind.

Once I had reached the cell door nearest to the end of the hallway, I pulled out my wand that was hidden within my coat. I swiftly pushed the wand into a small hole in the door, and it sprang back out after a small click. The door swung open before I had time to return my wand to my pocket, and I stepped inside.

I was met with a pair of large, round eyes that lit up the moment I had entered the room. ‘Miss Hermione!’ Honey the house-elf squeaked in excitement. ‘It’s good to see you.’

I grinned broadly. ‘Great to see you, Honey.’ I took a seat on the small bed next to her. ‘Sorry I haven’t come to visit in a while, things have been really busy at home; wedding planning is rather draining.’

I continued to smile as Honey nearly jumped in enthusiasm. ‘Tell me Miss, how was the ceremony?’

‘It was beautiful, Honey,’ I said, reaching again into my coat. ‘I’ve brought you some pictures.’

Together Honey and I flicked through photographs of Hugo’s wedding. The bride and groom waved happily at us, the camera only half capturing their radiance. It had probably been the first day Hugo had worn proper dress robes, at any other occasion he would have refused. But Louise and I had insisted, and it seemed that he was willing to do anything to make her happy.

‘Everyone looks very happy,’ Honey said serenely. ‘Master Alistair would have loved to have been there.’

I glanced down at her, feeling a sudden rush of sadness. It had been over two years since Alistair Cross had died, and I knew that not a day went by in this cell without thoughts of him.

‘Hugo said exactly the same thing,’ I informed her.

She let out a small sigh and placed the photos down on the bed carefully.

‘One month, Honey,’ I said in attempt to lighten the atmosphere. ‘One month and you’re free.’

Honey nodded. Over the last two years, Honey had aged dramatically. I knew things could have been worse – she could have had to live side-by-side with Dementors her entire sentence – but she seemed to have lost most of her innocence. I supposed a murder trial would do that to you.

‘I have something else for you, too,’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Honey watched warily as I pulled a folded piece of parchment from my pocket. I unfolded it and smoothed it out on the bed, and then placed it in Honey’s outstretched hands. The paper had a ripped edge from where I had torn it from a magazine, knowing Honey would be very pleased to see it.

She stared, slightly shocked, at the article. The title that spread across the page read: First House Owned by House-Elf. Honey could read it quite easily now as I’d organised for her to learn – there wasn’t much to do in Azkaban but, well, read.

Eventually, after completing the article, Honey looked up at me. Her expression was nearly unreadable; I noticed a sense of happiness, but at the same time – guilt.

Alistair Cross’ will – terrifying as it was that a nineteen year old had created a will – consisted of one detail. He requested that everything be left to his house-elf, who had been more of a family to him than those who were supposed to be.

I smiled at Honey. ‘Even after two years, you’re still making the papers.’

It was indeed true that Honey had made headlines this week after it was let slip that Honey was now the owner of Alistair’s home. However most newspapers, The Daily Prophet included, had decided to use this against her. Honey was now said to have planned this from the start, that murder was her way of gaining the house. The article I had shown Honey today was one of few that supported her, torn from none other than The Quibbler.

Honey remained quiet; I supposed she was too modest to comment.

‘How do you feel about that though, Honey?’ I asked. ‘About returning to that house?’

I didn’t want to assume that she was excited to go home, because it was, after all, the place the most tragic incident of her life had occurred.

‘A bit nervous,’ Honey admitted, looking at her knees. ‘I have never lived alone before, and it’s a big home.’

I nodded, not really knowing how to help. I could hardly suggest that Honey work for someone else, because I would hate to see her become the servant again. ‘I won’t let you get lonely, you know. It’ll be impossible to escape my presence.’

She smiled slightly. ‘Thanks, Hermione,’ she said quietly. ‘I have been thinking, though. I have no other skills besides cooking and cleaning –’

‘And reading,’ I interrupted, grinning.

‘Yes, and reading,’ she agreed. ‘Because of this, I think I might start to work again. But not for free’ – she glanced up at me – ‘I want to be paid.’

I softened my expression and nodded. ‘That sounds like a great idea, Honey.’

She looked rather elated at my praise, perhaps she had been worried I’d warn her not to start work again. But I knew that this was the best option for her; she needed to keep busy, and most of all, she deserved the company.

‘And maybe,’ I began hesitantly, ‘you could even take a job at our place. You know, once a week, fully paid.’

I watched as Honey began to chuckle, feeling slightly surprised as laughter wasn’t often heard in this cell. I stared at her questioningly. ‘I remember one day,’ she said between giggles, ‘you said you would never have hired help. You said that you couldn’t imagine not being able to look after your own home.’

I felt myself start to grin again, remembering this clearly. Of course Honey was not the first person I’d expressed this sort of thing to, and I really didn’t like the idea of hiring someone to clean my house.

‘You need the work,’ I explained. ‘And I’m only working part-time, which means I’ll be cooking a lot more... and, well, you know I’m completely rubbish at cleaning.’

She giggled for a few more moments, and I joined in, glad to have lightened the mood.

‘Mister Ron won’t mind?’ Honey asked after her laughter had subsided.

‘Oh, believe me, he’ll be over the moon,’ I said. ‘He’s secretly wanted a house-elf for years! Not that you’re to be considered our house-elf, of course. You’re simply an individual offering your expertise cleaning services.’

We beamed at each other. Who knew that, two years ago, in assigning myself to Honey’s murder case I would be earning myself a lifelong friend. I’d spent my life trying to bring house-elves up to the same level as wizards and witches, but I myself never thought to bring them into my life as an equal, as a friend.

I had forced myself into Honey the house-elf’s life, not really knowing what it would bring to mine. I knew that even with a manslaughter charge under her belt, Honey could become the major change in the lives of all house-elves. She’d gained the awareness of many influential Ministry members, and now all house-elves were being informed of their rights; that they do have the right to say no.

I’d worked incredibly hard when it came to house-elves, yet I’d never felt complete in my work and the level I had reached. Something had always been missing; there had always been something I’d yet to achieve. It never occurred to me that there was someone else out there who could allow me to reach my full potential, to fill up that empty space.

Especially not a house-elf named Honey.