‘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.