#notalawyer
84 days until trial
Cold, calculating, dangerous.
Those were the words that'd been used to describe the serial killer publicly known as Lord Voldemort.
Cruel, psychopathic, sadistic.
All of these fit the bill. The murders were planned; perfect, even, if one could ever describe a murder as such. Not a single sliver of evidence had been recovered at any of the six crime scenes; not a single hair nor skin cell had been recovered.
And yet, Hermione could not see it. The man charged with the murders radiated none of these things.
No, Tom Riddle was a textbook picture of innocence.
In the short few moments it took her to cross the small room to the dingy table, she was almost positive. This man - this nervous, twitchy man - could not have committed these crimes.
"Mr. Riddle?"
Dark eyes snapped to hers.
"My name is Hermione Granger." She extended a hand to shake. "Under the Legal Aid and Advice Act, I have been appointed as your legal aid."
After a delayed response - one she was not unused to seeing in her defendants - he took her hand.
"I am here to help you, Mr. Riddle," she stated calmly and clearly, using a tone reserved for the more fragile of her clients. "While alone with me, I can assure you that nothing that is said can or will be used toward your prosecution. The recorder is off."
She took the seat opposite him after he gave her a stiff nod.
"You are being charged for seven counts of murder," she stated slowly, clearly. "Do you understand the severity of the charges against you?"
He stared down at his hands and shifted, stretching the muscles in his neck as if he were uncomfortable.
"Mr. Riddle?"
"Hmm?"
"I asked, do you understand the severity of the charges against you?"
Once more, just as stiffly as the first time, he nodded.
"As your defence attorney, it is my job to ensure you with the best possible outcome," she said, and though she knew she couldn't judge whether he was guilty or not based on first impressions, she was grateful for his appearance of vulnerability. Speaking the words in this type of case was near impossible with a guilty defendant. "It is therefore in your best interest to be honest with me. Nothing said to me can be used toward your prosecution-"
"I didn't do it." His voice was scratchy; tired.
She let out a breath. "I am not here to judge. I am here to work in your defence. The only way I can offer you the best possible defence is with the whole truth."
"It wasn't me." His voice was soft, though it was ragged around the edges.
"You are sure?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Do you intend to plead not guilty?" She asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.
"Of course."
"Alright," she forced out, knowing this was set to become the biggest case of her career thus far. "Let us begin."
80 days until trial
"What are you doing, Granger?" Moody asked, having followed her out of the courtroom after Riddle made his plea.
"My job."
Moody outright laughed. "Never pegged you as one daft enough to take up a case as hopeless as this."
"I did not take up anything. He is my appointed defendant." She raised her chin defiantly. "Everyone has a right to a defence."
"He's guilty."
"You don't know that."
"I've prosecuted more murderers than you've seen hot dinners, girl," Moody grumbled. "The evidence is indisputable. You know as well as anyone that if you proceed, you will lose this case."
"I know no such thing." Stubbornly, she went to leave, but was followed by her mentor who limped along side her.
"I'll say this once," Moody gruffly whispered, "and only once. Drop the case, Granger. Let Dawlish take it. If you value your career, there's no other choice. Taking up a case as high profile as this... it will either break you, or lock you in as a defence attorney for the rest of your life."
"It's a good thing I like my job, then."
"Don't be a fool," he grumbled, wincing slightly as he followed her around a tight bend in the corridor. "I'll destroy you in there. I can't hold back, not with a case like this."
"You taught me well, Professor," Hermione quipped with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps of the two of us, this time, it will not be I who destruction comes for."
62 days until trial
"Tell me about the Potters."
"I don't know them personally... we have mutual friends." He tugged at the chains around his wrists uncomfortably, and she noted the redness of his skin underneath the metal. "Or rather, had."
In the short few weeks she'd known the man, the weight he'd lost in his holding was apparent. The dark rings underneath his eyes marred what would have been an exceedingly handsome face under normal circumstances, but she was glad for it. Visible signs of distress would work wonders with the jury.
"Can you name a few?"
"Severus. Severus Snape. Peter Pettigrew. Regulus Black."
"Would any of them have any reason to accuse you of their murders?"
"No. I mean - my friendship with Severus has been... somewhat strained, lately, but... he wouldn't..."
"Someone has," she said. "Can you think of anyone else?"
"Well... we attended the same school. Were taught by the same professors. We would have had many mutual acquaintances," he explained. "It could have been any of them."
She nodded. "You'll need to be prepared. Moody is confident - that means a solid witness. While we can hope they'll call an acquaintance, we need to stay on our toes. Expect to see a close friend."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
She pulled her bag to her lap and rummaged for her next course of action, taking out an envelope containing a bound stack of photos. She slid them across the table. "These are the photographs of the crime scenes that the prosecution will be presenting to the jury. I'd like you to take a look at them, familiarize yourself. It would not be... prudent to be outwardly emotional in the courtroom."
He slowly flicked through the booklet of photographs, his features twitching slightly with each one.
That was good, she noted. Discomfort seeing the images, no visible recognition of the crime scenes.
All signs of innocence.
It wasn't until he reached the last quarter of the photos that she had to restrain the urge to take them back. His expression had grown far more pained, and upon reaching one particular photograph, he visibly recoiled, his hands shaking as he dropped the booklet to cover his mouth.
Hermione could hardly blame him. While all of the Lord Voldemort murders had been particularly brutal, the Potters' had been the worst by far.
The crime had occurred in their own home, in their own living room, surrounded by their belongings, photographs of happier times. In the center of the room, marring the scene, two bodies had been left; Lily and James Potter. They had been stripped naked, bent over with their hands in front of them, as if bowing down towards an unseen figure, surrounded by a halo of their own blood.
But it wasn't this that made the image so horrific, nor was it the sheer amount of blood that had been trailed throughout their home.
No, what made it so horrific was that both Lily and James Potter had been decapitated.
While the scene matched the other murders attributed to Lord Voldemort, their decapitations made it unique. These murders were not like the others. No, these murders were special.
Personal.
"Take your time, Mr. Riddle," she said, having found it impossible not to sympathize for the man.
He glanced back down toward the image momentarily, before he squeezed his eyes closed, covering his mouth tightly as he dry retched.
"I'm sorry." He gestured toward the jug of water beside her. "Could I please...?"
She poured him a glass and slid it across the table, close enough for him to take with his chains on.
"Thank you."
She let him have a moment as he sipped the water, though she noticed he wasn't taking much down.
"Is there no one who can attest to your whereabouts on the night of the 31st of October?"
Shakily putting his glass back down, Riddle shook his head. "I already went through this with the detectives."
"Yes, forgive me. But as your lawyer, it would not be uncommon for the information you give me to differ from what you gave to the detectives."
"I was alone. In my apartment."
She nodded. "A man matching your description was seen at the crime scene. Do you have any idea-"
"No, I-" He began, almost angrily, before he restrained himself. "I don't know why that would be the case, but I'm sure you'll find that I am not the only Caucasian man with dark hair in the country who does not have an alibi for that night."
She sifted through her papers, pulling out the drawn image, the one heavily resembling the man before her.
The very same one that had seen him apprehended.
"This was drawn by an artist with the help of Lily and James' son."
"I know, I-" he stopped himself once more, breathing deeply. "I can't explain that."
Her shoulders relaxed as her features softened subconsciously. "Mr. Riddle... while we can all agree that a large amount of the evidence to be put forth in your case is circumstantial... there is a lot of it."
He shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as if he were almost in pain. "I know."
"I need as much information as you can give me. We have sixty days to prepare. It will go by faster than you know it. If there is anything, anything at all that may be useful that you're not telling me, then I must-"
"I've told you... I've told you everything."
"Tom-"
"I didn't do it." His eyes, wide and scared like those of a wounded animal, willed her to believe him. She did. "Please, I-I promise you. I didn't do this. I didn't kill anyone."
She prayed that he would will the jury in the same way.
55 days until trial
"Hey, Seamus," Hermione greeted as she passed the security desk of the holding cells at ten o'clock on the dot, eager for their next day of preparation.
"He's not in there."
She stopped in her tacks. "Excuse me?"
"Riddle," the guard clarified. "He's out on bail."
It took all of her self-restraint not to gape. "He's a murder suspect. With multiple counts!He's not eligible-"
"He's been released with the assistance of one Lucius Malfoy," Seamus said with a knowing, sideways smirk. The guard shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk. "Here. His contact details."
Hurriedly, she snatched the paper from the guard and with a nod of thanks, she stormed off.
"Tom!"
When she received no response, she bashed harder on the polished wood.
"Tom!"
Just as she was about to knock again, the door swung open. She didn't give him the chance to even open his mouth before she shoved him aside and invaded the cramped apartment.
"What - the - absolute - fuck?!" Usually, she maintained a tight level of control over her language, but in this particular instance, she'd been left to stew in her own anger for much too long.
"I can explain."
"Then you'd fucking better start!"
He glanced behind her. Following his look, she saw the other presence in the kitchen that she hadn't noticed upon her entry.
The very cause of her problems, Lucius fucking Malfoy stood leaning against the counter.
"Oh." She shifted, suddenly feeling very conscious of her mane of hair that'd come loose on her run over to the apartment. "I didn't realize you had company."
"It's fine," Tom said, moving back to take up a place upon a stool at the kitchen counter. Lucius didn't move.
"W-" she stammered under the hard watch of Malfoy, "we need to talk."
She'd never met the man herself, but she'd heard enough about him to feel rather intimidated in his presence.
"It's fine," Tom repeated. "He can stay."
"Tom-"
"What did you wish to speak about?"
She briefly looked upward as if asking the gods to help her before she sighed. "Do you have any idea what impact being associated with the Malfoy's - no offence - will have on your case?"
"Yes."
"Then why in hell are you here?!" She shot angrily, unable to control her sudden anger at his nonchalant answer.
He, unexpectedly, seemed almost lost for words. "I couldn't stay in there," he said simply.
"And why the hell not?! They fed you! They kept you clean! It only would have been for a few months-"
"I have responsibilities. I can't just take a few months off-"
"You weren't on vacation, Tom! You're standing murder charges!"
"I know very well what I'm being accused of."
"Then act like it! Your image is your strongest asset! Possibly your only asset right now! A public association with known criminals - no offence - may very well ruin your case! I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining that to a jury!"
"Just, do your best."
"Oh. Ohh, 'do my best'? 'Do my best'?! Why didn't I think of that?!" She borderline screeched, waving her arms about as her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'll be lucky if you only get one life sentence!"
"I trust you."
Thrown off my his gentle delivery, she sighed again, this time in true exasperation.
What had she done in her past life to deserve this?
"What responsibilities could you possibly have that couldn't wait?"
"Work commitments."
Two words, and the thin string of patience she'd managed to hold on to burst into flames.
"For the love of god, Tom!" She screeched, her tone now as shrill as her throat would allow. "You work in an antique store!"
She didn't see Lucius' slow eye roll.
"If you can't convince me that you've managed to convince a judge to grant you bail for non-illegal reasons, how on earth do you expect to convince the jury?!"
"I couldn't stand it, alright?!"
She stilled at his raised voice, having matched her own.
"I couldn't-" he stopped to run his hands through his hair. "Being alone in that-that cell for eighteen hours a day, with nothing but my head, I just couldn't-"
"Don't," she interrupted quickly, feeling herself being swept up in his emotional display, but immediately recognising it for what it was worth. "Okay? Don't speak about it now. Bottle this all-" she gestured to his body in entirety - "up, and save it for when you're on the stand."
The sigh she released did nothing for her blood pressure.
"Lord knows, you're going to need it."
14 days until trial
"Potter?"
Harry jolted at his name. After having been in the small waiting room for what felt like an hour, his senses had been lulled into a state of laziness. Stretching as he stood, the lanky young man followed the elder lawyer through into his office, noting the high number of certificates adorning the walls.
"Take a seat," Moody instructed, pouring a glass of water. Harry did as instructed.
"Alright," he began, satisfied as Harry slowly sipped at the water. "We've got you scheduled for the tenth of January, should the trial go to plan."
Harry cleared his throat. "If it doesn't?"
"We'll cross that bridge when if and when we come to it. Don't worry, Potter," he said with a tone that was surprisingly soft for the rugged man. "We only need a guilty verdict for one of the seven murders to put him away. Riddle doesn't have a chance in hell of acquittal."
Harry nodded, though his expression made it clear he didn't quite believe Moody.
Moody cleared his throat and passed a stack of papers to Harry. "These are the questions I'd like to go through with you on the stand. Have a read, let me know if there are any problems, plan out your answers."
Harry barely scanned the list, still distracted by the doubt that had been weighing him down for weeks. Before he could decide otherwise, he mustered the courage to speak what was on his mind.
"R-Riddle's lawyer... I've read about her. Hasn't lost a case in the last year-"
"And just who do you think it was that taught her?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Hey," Moody cut off. "You worry about seeing the bastard again. I'll worry about Granger."
"I just-"
"Mark my words, boy," the older man grumbled. "We'll get your parents their justice. Her streak has come to an end."
10 days until trial
"How many times do we have to do this?"
"As many as it takes for you to get it right." Hermione crossed her arms. "Go again."
Tom sighed. "Hepzibah Smith was not only a loyal customer of Borgin and Burke's, but a friend of mine."
"How long did you know Ms. Smith?"
"Nine years, more or less."
"And how would you describe your friendship?"
"More than anything else, professional. My job is to appraise rare antiques and to negotiate the store's interests. As one of our most valuable benefactors, a close relationship with Ms. Smith-"
"Hepzibah."
Tom's lips thinned at yet another one of her corrections. "A close relationship with Hepzibah was crucial to my job performance."
"No," Hermione said at once. "Any suggestion that you had anything remotely close to a manipulative relationship with one of the victims would be suicide for your case."
"Suicide's sounding awfully nice right about now-"
"I heard that!"
Tom sighed, louder this time, and sunk back into his chair. "Haven't we done this enough?"
"We cant afford to waste any more time-"
"I need a break, Hermione." She wasn't sure when she had become 'Hermione' as opposed to 'Ms. Granger', but she was sure it was somewhere around the time they started practicing for the trial at Tom's apartment. "You do, too. We've been doing this all day."
"We have nine more days - five more, really, if you don't count the weekends-"
"I'm exhausted-"
"You'll have time to be exhausted after you've been acquitted."
Tom rubbed at the shadow of stubble that had grown on his jawline. "Jesus Christ."
"He's not going to help you!"
"Hermione-"
"I don't know why you're being so relaxed about this! This is your life! We are quite literally fighting for your life here, and all you're interested in doing-"
"Hermione."
"What?!"
"Come with me," he instructed as rose in a fluid movement and left the room.
"Wha- where are you going?" She called after him.
"To get you a drink."
She audibly growled as she followed him through to his kitchen.
"Do you think we're doing this for fun? Do you even care? Because it seems like-"
"Of course I do," he said, pulling a whiskey bottle from the upper shelf of his pantry. "But you're stressing even more than I am." He was heavy handed, pouring what surely exceeded a standard drink into two short glasses.
"Someone has to." She eyed the volume in the glasses suspiciously.
"I may not be a lawyer, but if you step into court as tightly strung as you currently are, it won't be long before you... snap," he finished with a shrug, topping off both drinks with coke.
She held a firm glare in his direction as he slid one of the glasses across the counter toward her.
"To your upcoming victory," he said, raising his own glass and flashing his pristinely white teeth.
She tried to fight it, she really did, but the corner of her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. She wasn't sure what it was about this man; something about his mannerisms, something about the way he moved.
Either way, whatever it was, the smile won out and she couldn't bring herself to stay mad.
She took the glass he'd offered as her resolve cracked. Raising it, she corrected, "to your acquittal."
Day 1. R v. Riddle
"Number twenty-four."
As the first of the jurors' numbers was called, Hermione quickly scanned her list.
Number twenty-four. Reginald Cattermole. Government employee.
"Number thirteen."
Number thirteen. Alicia Spinnet. Student.
"Number six."
Number six. Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Stay-at-home mother.
Hermione allowed the jury selection to proceed, watching patiently as Anthony Goldstein, Oliver Wood, Irma Pince, Demelza Robins, Daphne Greengrass, and Doris Crockford were called to join the jury unchallenged.
It was only once they reached the tenth selection that she was forced to act, as Tom gripped her arm.
Juror number three was a young woman by the name of Amy Benson. She didn't see anything questionable about the woman herself, and as a manager of a cafe, she didn't think she particularly sounded like an unacceptable juror. Still, trusting her defendant, she challenged her nonetheless.
The rest of the jury was completed without challenge as Ernie Macmillan and Terry Boot joined the panel.
Looking over their finalised panel of jurors, Hermione was as satisfied as she was going to get. They had a good mix of young and old, male and female, employed and unemployed. Diversity was key.
She gave Tom a small nod of encouragement.
There was hope. They were well-practiced. They could do this.
She glanced at Moody.
She could do this.
With their complete jury, and the Honourable Judge Cornelius Fudge's opening statement ready to begin, all of the pieces were, at last, set.
Regina v. Tom Marvolo Riddle had begun.
I lol'ed at Judge Fudge