He may not have been the greatest choice for a defense barrister. He definitely wasn’t the most successful, the richest, or the most illustrious. His dress robes were not always new and primly pressed like those of the other defense barristers of the day. His briefcase was old and tattered; it had been his father’s, and he just had never seen the need to buy a new one. His face was worn, though he wasn’t all that old, and his premature “salt and pepper” hair had a considerable bit more of salt than pepper in it these days. He wasn’t all that attractive, he could do with losing a few pounds, and he hadn’t had a case go to the Wizengamot in months. Even so, he was the Lucius Malfoy’s choice for a defense barrister.
His name was Jasper Mendelssohn, and he had no more idea than anyone else as to why he had been picked for this case. He wasn’t sorry though: this case had intrigued him from the beginning. One of his childhood hobbies “ or rather, addiction or obsession “ had been World War II, specifically Nazi Germany, and he was particularly obsessed with the Nuremburg Trials, the war tribunals that had taken place after the war to determine the fate of the remaining Nazis. One might even go so far to say that Jasper’s idol was Alfred Eichmann.
He hadn’t been in court often, but he had a very philosophical mind that was great for Socratic discussion in class, but though this was not always so useful when in front of the Wizengamot. The reason the Eichmann case appealed so much to him was because of the questions it had raised. Jasper had often pondered these questions, mulled over them late at night when he could not fall asleep, picked at them when his brain had little else to occupy itself with. He still hadn’t come up with a single satisfactory answer; in fact, Jasper thought he could make as great a case for the prosecution as the defense with those questions. This time, though, he was on Eichmann’s side. The questions that Eichmann’s defense had raised would become crucial to the defense of Mr. Lucius Malfoy.
It had been a cold Monday morning in July when Jasper had received the letter from Lucius. The letter had been folded neatly, stamped with a seal, and was brought by an owl that had puffed out its chest feathers importantly when Jasper took the letter from him. Jasper had removed the letter, frowning slightly. Without a wife or girlfriend, no parents alive, and no relatives with whom he was still in touch, he could not think of who would write to him. He carefully broke the seal and began to read.
To Mr. Jasper Mendelssohn, it had read.
I am writing to request your services as a defense barrister at my trial before the Wizengamot next Thursday morning, at precisely ten o’clock. I realize there is not much time, but the Ministry has been moving as quickly as possible to get the trials done and over with. I am willing to pay triple your fee, as I do realize that I am asking a lot. Please send your reply back promptly with this owl.
-Lucius Malfoy
Lucius Malfoy, the infamous Death Eater? Jasper could hardly believe what he was reading. Lucius Malfoy wanted him “ him “ as his defense barrister? And he was willing to pay triple the fee? This was almost too good to be true.
Little did Jasper know, it was only the beginning.
“No, no, no! I will absolutely not allow it!”
It was Tuesday, one week after I had received the fateful letter from Lucius Malfoy and only two days before what was proving to be the biggest trial of my career so far. I was sitting in one of the conference rooms in the Ministry of Magic. The Minister had decided to house all accused Death Eaters in one of the dungeons in the basement. I, for one, was inwardly thankful that I didn’t have to visit my newest client in Azkaban.
“Mr. Malfoy,” I began, as calmly as I could. “You asked me to provide an affirmative defense. He is the best witness for your defense.”
“He hates me,” snarled Lucius. “The boy would like nothing more than to see me locked up in Azkaban for the rest of my life. He will ruin me!”
“No, he will not,” I said firmly. “Mr. Malfoy, Harry Potter is the best chance you have. He has first-hand knowledge-”
“Of the fact that I’m a Death Eater!”
I actually chuckled. “Mr. Malfoy, anyone could see that. It’s burned into a scar on your left arm.”
Lucius actually lost his voice for a moment. He impulsively grabbed his arm and rubbed the spot where I knew he had been touched with Voldemort’s mark, where he had been branded by the Dark Mark so many years ago. For a moment, I wondered how long Lucius had served the Dark Lord.
“Very well, Mr. Mendelssohn,” Mr. Malfoy said softly. “I trust your judgment. Just know that if your brilliant affirmative defense fails…” His eyes burned with the unspoken threat.
“Right,” I said as offhandedly as I could as the guard came to take Mr. Malfoy back to his cell.
“I don’t doubt it!” the guard called over her shoulder as she left.
I gulped. The fact was, I didn’t really doubt it either.
I didn’t really wake up on the morning of the trial, seeing as I hadn’t exactly gone to sleep the night before. A combination of caffeine and nerves were to blame. I hadn’t seen Lucius Malfoy since our last meeting on Tuesday, but his threat still rang in my ears. I had read and reread my notes for the trial, hoping that would somehow calm my nerves. It hadn’t really worked.
I think it must have been around four in the morning when I pulled out my father’s diary. I was searching in my closet for a pair of shoes when I came across an unmarked box. I had opened it, blowing dust off the cover. It was clear the box had not been touched in quite some time. I had no real productive reason for opening the box; it was more out of curiosity than anything else.
My father had been a Muggle-born, living in Germany during World War II. He had worked at a company that had manufactured gold stars “ the same ones that the Jews had to wear “ until he left Germany for Britain in 1944, exactly one year before the fall of the Third Reich, at the age of twenty-two. The briefcase he had brought with him was the same one I used to this day.
I opened his tattered diary and began to read. Most of the pages were yellowed and a bit smelly, but I was able to decipher his scrawled, messy handwriting enough. Words leapt off the page at me: “extermination”, “genocide”, “concentration camp”, “Hitler”…
It had been a war, much like the one that had just been fought in the Wizarding world. The Jews had been not unlike the “Undesirables” that people like Umbridge at the Ministry had wanted to get rid of. Voldemort was like Hitler: a dictator, a tyrant, one whom none could speak out against. Those who were strong enough to stand up to him had ended up dead.
I turned the page of my father’s diary. The words jumped out at me, bringing a sickening pain to my heart.
Sometimes, I blame myself for what happens here. Is the person who does nothing just as guilty as Hitler? It’s not like I’m doing anything to stop Hitler…I’m just part of the operation. It seems that no matter how much I try to convince myself, the fact remains that I’m not exactly helping the Jews. In fact, I’m only hurting them.
I make the gold stars that they have to wear upon their chests. I play a part in the operation. I help mark them “for death, for torture, for the wrath of Germany and her dictator. Am I just as guilty, then, as the ones who beat them in the streets? After all, I helped make it so those muggers knew which people to beat.
But if I’m guilty, then is not my mother also guilty? She is the one who benefits from the money I earn at this horrible job. Is my father also guilty? He is the one who had gotten the job for me in the first place. Is the person who hands the gold stars to the Jews, is the one who pins them onto their clothing, not also guilty? Surely they play a bigger role in the operation than I?
But what can be done? If we cannot stand up against Hitler, are we as guilty as Hitler himself? Why can the guilt not lie in someone like President Roosevelt, who is powerful enough to stop Hitler but does nothing? How many people are guilty? Is the whole world guilty? Ought we throw the entire world in jail for the atrocities of one man?
The diary slipped from my hand as my alarm clock began to shriek. It was now eight in the morning. Quickly, I stowed the diary back in the box and ran down the stairs to the shower.
Unknowingly, my father’s diary had given me the confidence I had needed and the knowledge that this defense was the best strategy I had. Whatever happened, at least I knew that I had done my best. I may have believed that Lucius Malfoy was most certainly guilty, but what I believed just as strongly was that there was no way he would be sent to prison for doing just what any normal person would have done.
“The Wizengamot will now come to order.”
The gavel banged twice. I kept my eyes trained on the man sitting in the center, the newly-appointed Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. According to my watch, it was one minute past ten. According to my fully hyper-alert brain, I had taken one too many cups of coffee that morning. According to the lack of sweat beneath my dress shirt, I was not too nervous, although Lucius Malfoy begged to differ. According to Lucius Malfoy, I was as good as dead.
I tried not to let that bother me too much.
“We are here today in the matter of Lucius Malfoy, accused of being a Death Eater serving under Lord Voldemort,” Kingsley Shacklebolt began in a deep, booming voice. “As we are all aware, the punishment, if the accused should be found guilty-” Here, I noticed a few members of the Wizengamot smirk “-he will receive a life sentence in Azkaban.
“The accused is represented by Mr. Jasper Mendelssohn. Mr. Mendelssohn, how many witnesses are you prepared to call?”
“Uh, just one,” I replied, stammering a bit, caught off-guard. “In addition to Lucius Malfoy.”
“Very well,” said Kingsley. “Call your first witness.”
I rose from my seat and said very clearly, “I call Harry Potter to the stand.”
If any members of the Wizengamot were caught by surprise, they did their best not to show it. I felt an inward twinge of satisfaction as the seventeen-year-old walked apprehensively up to the stand and was sworn in. His eyes were every bit as green as was rumored, but they were narrowed at me as I began questioning him.
“Mr. Potter, how many times have you fought the Dark Lord?”
“Five, I believe,” he answered swiftly.
“How many of those times was the Dark Lord surrounded by his followers?”
“At least once,” Potter replied. “He called them to his rebirthing party in my fourth year.”
“Was the accused one of the Death Eaters present?”
“Yes,” Potter said firmly. Some of the Wizengamot began shaking their heads. One or two even shot Lucius a sympathetic look. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s face hardened.
“Mr. Potter,” I said evenly, not deterred by the reactions of those around me, “is it true that the reason the Dark Lord found and was able to murder your parents because one of his Death Eaters betrayed them?”
Potter’s face instantly darkened. Kingsley leaned forward in his chair. One witch to his right, whose name I could not recall, looked outraged. “Mr. Mendelssohn, really! This is a trial about the acts of Lucius Malfoy, not of any other Death Eaters! What does this have to do with anything?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Kingsley was quicker. “You may answer the question, Mr. Potter.”
Potter shot the Minister a look before replying. “Yes.”
“Who was that Death Eater?”
“Peter Pettigrew,” Potter replied, his tone slightly annoyed. I could feel Lucius stirring behind me.
“Where is Peter now?”
“Dead.”
“Minister!” interjected the witch on Kingsley’s right. “This doesn’t have anything to do with this trial!” I noticed a few other wizards in the second row seemed to agree. I was pleased, however, when Kingsley didn’t.
“Mr. Mendelssohn, you may continue, but please get to your point.”
“Yes, Minister,” I answered smartly. I turned back to Potter. I saw the beginnings of wary interest in his eyes. “Do you know how Peter Pettigrew died?” I asked him.
“He killed himself,” Potter answered slowly.
“Do you know why?”
“Well “ he “ let us “ my friend Ron and me, that is “ out of the dungeon in the Malfoy Manor. He has a silver hand that Voldemort gave him. As soon as Ron and I were freed…There was no way to stop it. The hand killed him. I guess it was Voldemort’s way of punishing him.”
Potter didn’t know it, but he had just given me exactly what I had wanted. Those words could not have been better, and they could not have come at a better time. The Wizengamot was becoming a bit restless, I could see; without a doubt, they had already known these facts. What I had to do was structure my defense in a way that no one, not even Lucius himself, could poke a hole in it.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. That’s all I have.”
Potter stepped down, a bit confused more than anything else. Kingsley gave me an odd look as Potter left the room.
“Mr. Malfoy, let’s hear what you have to say,” the Minister said as soon as the door had closed.
Lucius Malfoy rose from his seat and walked purposely towards the stand with his eyes straight forward and his head up, just as we had discussed. He had to look confident and calm, even if he didn’t feel that way inside.
Now was the moment of truth.
“Mr. Malfoy,” I began. “Are you branded with the Dark Mark?”
“Yes,” he answered smoothly. He voice said nothing of his fear, if he felt any.
“Is it true that you did the Dark Lord’s bidding for a number of years?”
“Yes.”
“Did you always carry out his orders, even when they involved murder or torture?”
Lucius hesitated for a split second before responding, “Yes.”
I paced the space in front of the Wizengamot, pretending to be in deep contemplation. I finally walked right up to Lucius and said simply, “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated, just as we had practiced. “I had no choice.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping the excited anticipation from my voice.
“He would have killed me,” replied Lucius, this time allowing a little more emotion to enter his voice. “He would have killed my family. Those who resist the Dark Lord always end up dead.”
I noticed a few members of the Wizengamot, including the witch who had interrupted me so many times before, nodding along with him. They understood how many lives had been taken as a result of this reign.
“But Mr. Malfoy,” I protested. “Isn’t it true that you wanted some glory for yourself?”
He nodded and even permitted himself to lower his head to show a little remorse. “But it wasn’t like that in the end! All I wanted was for my family to be safe. You can’t say no to the Dark Lord. Who would have protected Narcissa and Draco if I had been killed? What would I have done if they had been killed, if I had been forced into serving the Dark Lord for the rest of my life? What kind of life is that?” He paused dramatically. “It is no life at all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” I concluded.
“Is that all you have, Mr. Mendelssohn?” Kingsley asked as Lucius stepped down.
“Minister,” I said, “I have no more witnesses, but I would like to make a statement before the Wizengamot makes its ruling.”
I was pleased to see that no one in the Wizengamot seemed to have any objections to my request. Kingsley nodded. “Please proceed, Mr. Mendelssohn.”
“Thank you,” I said. I took a deep breath.
This was it.
“Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot,” I began. “It cannot be denied that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater and had served Lord Voldemort. If you ask him to roll up his left sleeve, you’d see his Dark Mark, and he himself admitted to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. But instead of focusing on what he did, let’s focus on why. The why is often the much more interesting part. I’m asking you, before you rule, to please consider what Lucius Malfoy told you about his own actions.
“He did not kill for money or for fame, no matter how it began in the beginning. He did not continue to serve the Dark Lord because he particularly enjoyed killing; rather, he did it to save his life. He did it to protect his family. He did it because he had no choice. The Death Eaters know that if they fail the Dark Lord, they will be killed. Harry Potter told you that Peter Pettigrew was killed after disobeying the Dark Lord. He was killed almost immediately after.
“How do we assign blame for what the Dark Lord did? How do we assign blame to Death Eaters who were forced to serve him, like my client was, because death of their family or of themselves was the consequence for denying him? Who are we going to blame for these atrocities? How can we blame someone who didn’t have a choice? Wouldn’t we have done the same thing, had we been in his situation? Not all of us can resist the Dark Lord. Not all of us are strong enough, are brave enough. This may not excuse what my client did, who he hurt, but it may show you why he does not deserve to be thrown into Azkaban prison for the rest of his life.”
I finished my speech to silence. My heart was pounding in my ears. Some of the Wizengamot looked shocked, while one or two even had traces of tears. Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat.
“All in favor of finding Lucius Malfoy guilty?”
No one raised a hand.
It had been nearly fifty years since the trial of Lucius Malfoy had ended. Jasper Mendelssohn’s business had taken off almost immediately following the trial, and he had been able to live the rest of his life in comfort. He had never married, preferring to be married to his work, but it hadn’t bothered him all that much.
Now a very old man, Jasper lay on the couch beside the fireplace. It was December. Snow was falling outside his window, covering the trees with its thick white blanket. He sipped at hot tea and rested his completely white-haired head against the back of the couch. Death was coming; he could feel it. His bones creaked more when he moved, and his body and mind seemed constantly tired, no matter how much he slept. Jasper felt ready to die. His affairs were all in order; his business was taken care of by his numerous employees. They would not be surprised by his death; they would be saddened, but their lives would go on. They would continue the practice in his memory and in his name.
Lucius Malfoy had contacted him only once since the trial had ended. It was just a short note, sent by the same huffy owl that had sent the fateful letter that first time. The note was quick, just a small note of thanks, but Jasper had appreciated it all the same. He had sent back a reply, telling Lucius he was welcome, but that had been the end of the correspondence. Over the years, Lucius’ name had appeared a great deal in the Prophet, but Jasper had never been too bothered by it. It was rarely connected to the trial “ often just blurbs about the generous donations Lucius had given to various foundations “ not that Jasper would have minded if it had been.
Had he truly believed in Lucius’ innocence? Well, no, mostly because no one did. Obviously, Lucius was a Death Eater. But the arguments that he had made…those he had believed. He didn’t know how to assign guilt to those who acted from something other than their own motivations.
The wind howled outside, sending chills over Jasper’s body. He felt at peace. He was ready. He closed his eyes and smiled, allowing the memory of his last trial to wash over him. His right hand relaxed, dropping the open diary to the ground.
The guilt must be borne by those who were responsible for political decisions; when there is no responsibility there can be no guilt or blame…
An Impure Form of Chalcedony by Colores
Chapter Notes: Many thanks to my betas, Beth (Marauder by Midnight) and Joanna (LucillaJoanna) for their great work and encoruaging comments that helped me finish this story.