VI
Darryn's Trial
I woke up very early the next morning, the moment the rooster started crowing. I usually slept through that. The sky over the orchard was stained pink and purple, and was evenly covered with thin cloud. I had a feeling it was going to be another hot day. I put on the clothes I had put out last night and went downstairs to make my breakfast. Nobody was up yet, so I made it as silently as I possibly could. I hate waking people up. I had started on the crossword in yesterday's paper that still sat on the kitchen counter when the Order started waking up.
Frank came down first, still in pajamas. "Hey, Remus," he yawned, "how about a dueling lesson this afternoon? I've been elected to teach you."
"Fine."
"Oh, and Leenie wants us to build a new chicken coop sometime if you're staying. They used to use the barn."
"I'm staying."
Frank made his breakfast, and sat next to me to eat it. He looked over the crossword, nodded. "What are you going to say at the trial?"
My pencil stopped in the middle of a letter. "I don't know." I hadn't thought about it. I finished the letter slowly, realizing how stupid I had been.
"Remus, you gotta come up with something. I doubt Darryn'll argue his case."
What? Why?"
"I have it on a reliable source that he turned himself in." When I was shocked, Frank laughed mirthlessly. "What else could he do, Remus? He knew he was guilty, and a few others did. There wouldn't have been any good in running away from the law, and he couldn't just act like nothing had happened."
"But then he wants to go to the reserve?"
Frank stirred his coffee. The milk swirled into strange spirals that looked like they ought to mean something. "I don't know him, you understand. But I bet that he considers himself a danger to society, and himself. Lia's death must hurt him more than anyone else." He paused, organizing his thoughts. "You have to understand, Remus, werewolves like you and Darryn are not common. Most werewolves, upon becoming werewolves, go straight to the reserves, either out of…self-pity?...or wanting to be with their own kind, or unwillingness to suffer the indignity of being sent to the reserve. So they give up everything so that they have nothing to lose. Darryn is probably thinking that he should have gone to the reserve like most do, and…he'll probably go there whether or not he's declared guilty."
I didn't think that he finished as he had planned to, that he was saving me from knowing something that I wouldn't want to know. But then Emmy came down and prevented me from asking.
I got to the courtroom at nine-forty-five. After formalities with the clerk were observed, I went in. The jury was sitting in its box, chatting, and the judge (Crouch) was talking to a blond reporter who sucked a bright green quill when she wasn't talking. A short, fat woman sat near him, smiling disgustingly. I had a feeling she was Umbridge—she looked like a toad. Dumbledore was in the jury box, as were Moody and Gideon Prewett.
Darryn sat in the center of the courtroom in an ancient wooden chair with chains dangling from it. He wasn't chained, though. His elbows were on the arms of the chair, and the heels of his hands were pressed into his eyes. Behind him sat his mother, an official of some kind in brown robes, and Healer…Smethwyck, wasn't he? I sat next to Mrs. Hathaway.
"He didn't tell me you were coming," she murmured to me. She sighed. "He doesn't talk much, though….And he won't argue his case." She was twisting something in her hands. It was moving too fast for me to tell what it was.
"Why?" I asked, wondering if Frank had been right.
"He thinks a reserve is the best place for him. Nothing I can say will change his mind, and he'll go no matter what."
I felt a bit stupid asking the question, but I had to know: "Why is he having a trial, then?"
"He's doing it for you, he said. This will be your precedent if you ever get in trouble like this."
"Oh…."
Crouch was talking to the clerk. We could hear bits and pieces of what he was saying from where we were. "Regrettable, but…the law's the law….Yes, Ms Skeeter will….Everyone's here…we may as well get started." The clerk nodded and went to what I assumed was his place. Suddenly I was very, very nervous. Mrs. Hathaway's hands stopped twisting. Darryn didn't move.
After the formalities were observed (testing the stenographer's quill, introductions) Crouch sat up straighter with an earnest, almost manic expression on his face. Umbridge smiled. "Mr. Hathaway," Crouch boomed. The name echoed around the courtroom. "You are accused of murdering Miss Lia Hathaway when you were in wolf form." There was a silence. I thought that this was usually the time when the defendant said something to the effect of being innocent. Darryn said nothing.
"Do you deny it?" Crouch said. I sensed that he was a bit annoyed.
"No." Darryn didn't move
There was another pause.
"Well, do you have anything to tell the court?" Crouch asked.
"No," Darryn repeated.
"Does anyone else have anything to tell the court? Healer Smethwyck?"
All eyes turned to him. He appeared to be thinking it over. "No, I think not, your honor," he answered tranquilly.
"Mr. Pole?" The eyes moved down the line to the official in the brown robes.
"Well, your honor…." Mr. Pole had an Irish accent, and he worked at a werewolf reservation in Wales, the one Darryn would be sent to. "Well, your honor, I think that we should look at this very closely. Perhaps Mr. Lupin—" I jumped when I heard my name— "will have something more to say about it than I do, but I think that Mr. Hathaway is innocent…to a degree. You see, your honor, it was the wolf killed Miss Hathaway, not the man…." I knew at that point what I was going to say. "But it's the man as is sitting here in front of us."
"What are you saying, Mr. Pole?" Umbridge asked. Her voice was shockingly high and girly, like she was talking to a baby.
"I'm saying that I am fairly sure that Mr. Hathaway wouldn't have killed Miss Hathaway as he is now." Whispers buzzed around the courtroom, and Dumbledore smiled. Umbridge and Crouch looked a bit unpleasantly surprised. Darryn still didn't move. Mr. Pole looked at me.
"Mr. Lupin?" Crouch called.
"Um…." Mrs. Hathaway nudged me with her foot. Something wiggly was having a party in my stomach. "I agree with Mr. Pole," I began, forcing myself to speak slowly and clearly. "When we are in wolf form we are…well, not human, your honor. Wolves and people think in drastically different ways." I had gotten into stride, now. I prayed that nobody would interrupt me because I would trip and not get back up again. "When we are wolves, we do not think of consequences. Our brains are simply not wired for such a complex process. When a wolf wants to eat, he does not think, 'Is the animal someone else's? Will I want it tomorrow?' And a werewolf exists to eat—to bite. There is nothing we can do to stop ourselves." I realized that I was confirming what Crouch and Umbridge knew—werewolves are savage killers. Now I had to dig myself out of the hole. "But when we are humans, we're like everyone else. We don't bite when we're humans." I was speaking in fits and starts, now. I had lost my stride. "If you declare Darryn guilty…you'll be punishing the man for the things that the wolf did. They are really two different…beings."
It was a lame ending, and I knew it, but I thought I had made an impact. The whispers started again. I felt slightly flattered—I had slapped together, with no preparation and butterflies in my stomach, a speech that the court felt it was worth whispering about. Dumbledore flashed me a congratulatory smile, and Mrs. Hathaway squeezed my hand.
Smethwyck cleared his throat, and Crouch nodded at him. "It sounds to me a bit like a case of temporary insanity, your honor," Smethwyck said. Crouch's mouth, thin already below its toothbrush of moustache thinned more.
"And—refresh my memory, Barty," Umbridge trilled, "what is the usual procedure for a verdict of temporary insanity?" She smiled as though she had just caught a very large fly on her sticky toad tongue. I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.
"The usual procedure, Ms Umbridge," Crouch said in quiet triumph, "is to send the defendant to an asylum…."
"Thank you ever so much, Barty," Umbridge gushed. "I have a terrible memory, you know." The smile widened and was bestowed on me. I didn't like it at all.
"Mrs. Hathaway?" Crouch called. Mrs. Hathaway was holding my hand very tightly, and I didn't know what to think of it. She shook her head. Dumbledore was wearing a look of resignation. He knew that, at this point, nothing short of an Imperius Curse would change Crouch's mind, and perhaps not even that.
"Then is that all?" Crouch said. Nobody refuted it. "Very well—all in favor of declaring Mr. Hathaway innocent, by a show of hands." Nearly half the hands went up, among them Dumbledore's, Moody's, Gideon's, and all the people in their vicinity. I thought the jury must be unofficially divided into parties—Dumbledore's and Crouch's. "All in favor of declaring Mr. Hathaway temporarily insane, to be sent to Lloyd Machweledh Reserve in Wales, by a show of hands." Hands went down, hands were raised. My heart sank. There wasn't time to count, but I knew there were more. "Excellent…Darryn is declared temporarily insane, to be sent to the Lloyd Machweledh Werewolf Reserve for an indefinite period." Translation: for life. I knew the ministry well enough for that. "Mr. James?"
A man who had been standing discreetly in the back of the room came forward and stood before Darryn. "Your wand," he said after a moment. Darryn took it out of his pocket and gave it to Mr. James, and he snapped it over his knee. Sparks flew everywhere.
"Case closed," Crouch said. "Have a nice day."
