Separate Lives

Harry was tired and exhausted. He had made the long journey from the Orkney Islands where he had spent the past eight years down to the fringe of London the Muggle way. Old Nora had bought him a ticket on an overnight train from Glasgow, which involved getting a ferry to mainland Scotland, a train from Thurso to Glasgow and then persevering with an eight hour train ride from Glasgow to London, before travelling from London to the fringe. He couldn't refuse her when she turned up, delighted with the ticket in her hand - he couldn't apparate when she had done all that for him. That was why Harry now found himself standing, cold and shivering, on Remus Lupin's doorstep, as he had been doing for the past five minutes.

"But - but your dead," Lupin kept saying. He could not seem to believe that, after so many years, Harry was alive. Harry couldn't blame him.

He wasn't really sure what he had expected when he had turned up on Lupin's doorstep after eight years of being presumed dead. But Nora had sensed that he was growing tired of the Orkney life, tired of pretending to be someone he wasn't. He had had to pretend to be an ordinary Muggle for eight years and he had to admit it was pretty hard.

"You should go back to your family," she had said after a particularly bad outburst from Harry.

Harry had shaken his head. "I don't have any family, I told you that."

Nora had persisted, of course, until Harry had admitted that he did have friends. At least he used to anyway.

"Remus?" a sleepy voice called from the top of the stairs. "Who is it?"

A frown creased Lupin's forehead and Harry sensed that he was torn between asking Tonks for help in this bizarre situation and allowing her to have a good night's sleep. He seemed to decide on the former, perhaps realising that Tonks would not be happy kept out of the loop, and that her curiosity was bound to get the better of her at some point anyway.

"I think you should come down here," he called wearily. "There's something you need to see."

Feeling the cold night wind on his face, Harry tried not to shiver, feeling extremely stupid and wondering how much a train fare back to Scotland would be. Surely old Nora would have him back if he asked? He had felt guilty leaving her anyway - she needed help around the house in her old age.

A few seconds later, Tonks appeared on the stairs, and Harry could just make out her hair, which was currently long and dark, and her face was tired with black lines underneath. She was wearing pyjamas and was pulling a dressing gown over her as she walked.

"What's going on?" she asked impatiently, the half-open door blocking any view of Harry. "It's the first night that Emma hasn't cried out in the night, what on earth are you -"

She stopped in mid-sentence as she came up behind Lupin and saw a shivering Harry on the doorstep. Harry reflected on how he must look to them both. He had aged eight years in the time that he had been gone, but he knew that Lupin had known James Potter well enough to recognise his son. He had not shaved since yesterday, given that he had been on an overnight train, and so stubble covered his now grown-up face. His hair was longer and messier than ever - it seemed to grow magically with stress, something which had astounded Nora, who did not - and could not - know of the existence of magic, despite everything she had done for Harry. Dark lines circled his eyes, which looked tired and worn-out. He was wearing Muggle clothes, an ordinary baggy jumper that had once belonged to Nora's son and jeans that barely fit him. He had no Muggle money to buy himself anything, no way of getting money from Gringotts now that he was presumed dead and poor Nora had only her pension, which was barely enough for her, let alone for Harry. He had tried a day as a Muggle fisherman, but had found that too many questions were asked about his past. Besides, it weakened him when he was supposed to be recovering.

There was, however, an even bigger change in Harry's physical appearance than all of this; something which had changed upon the death and destruction of Voldemort: his scar had gone. Sure, he had more scars now than before - though none of them as obvious and recognisable - but the lightning scar that had once haunted his forehead, the one that had made his identity obvious to anyone who had ever heard of Voldemort, was no longer there.

It had felt odd to part with it, Harry had realised. When he had first looked in the mirror at Nora's he had gasped at the sight. Yes, it had been a curse having it there, a sign of the past he had always wanted to forget, a sign of his fame and the status he held in wizarding society. Yet to see it gone had made him feel strange - empty, almost. He had got used to it; it had become as much a part of him as his messy black hair and his green eyes. It wasn't that he missed it exactly; it was more that it had taken him a long time to get used to not seeing it there.

"H - Harry?" Tonks stuttered. And then, finally, a smile broke across her tired face and she reached out and enveloped him in her arms, squeezing him tightly in a Mrs Weasley-esque hug. "Is it really you?" She stood back and looked him up and down, her grin growing wider. Then, her eyes flickered to where his scar had been up until eight years ago and she gasped. "But your -"

"Yeah, my scar's gone," Harry mumbled, though he was relieved that Tonks had reacted as she did - it meant that he would not have to trouble Nora again.

Suddenly realising that Harry was standing out in the cold, Tonks hastily invited him in, shutting the door behind him. In her excitement, she clumsily slammed the door and a loud cry came from upstairs.

Lupin sighed and Tonks looked extremely apologetic. "I'll get Emma then," Lupin muttered and he set off back up the stairs, leaving Tonks to explain.

"Emma's our youngest," she informed Harry, indicating for him to sit down on the living room sofa as she ambled into the kitchen to make him a cup of tea. "She's only a few months old but she causes a lot of sleepless nights," she chuckled.

"Your youngest?" Harry repeated.

He stared at the room around him, which was scattered with children's toys and even a Muggle television and DVD player. A picture framed on the wall displayed a smiling family: Tonks with curly blonde hair curled up on the floor holding what must have been baby Emma; curled up next to her was a girl of about seven with mousey hair and a brace; next to her was a girl of about four or five, her hair in pink bunches, sitting on the lap of a tired-looking Lupin, who was smiling all the same. Harry was surprised to see that the picture wasn't moving and that they had so many Muggle artefacts. Surely he had not entered a world where magic no longer existed?

"We've got three girls," Tonks explained in reply to Harry's comment as she walked back into the room with two cups of tea floating in the air in front of her. "Charlotte's almost seven, Katie's four and then there's little Emma." Noticing Harry tapping the picture in wonder, she laughed and said, "You won't catch it moving! The girls have Muggle friends from their school so we have to pretend to be like them."

Harry nodded in understanding and took the tea that had taken to banging his hand. He couldn't believe it. Tonks and Lupin were parents. They had only just got together when he had last seen them and now they had three daughters. He wondered how much everyone else had changed. What about Ron and Hermione, were they married? Did they have children? And then there was Ginny...

He choked on his tea as he remembered the girl he had once loved. He hadn't seen in her in eight years, not since he'd warned her not to come to the battle. What had become of her? He hoped that she hadn't been hurt by his death; that she had been able to move on with her life. He began to realise what this meant for her and wondered how he would cope seeing her happily married with children. He knew he wanted to see her happy, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be hard for him to see her new life without him. Despite the years, he still loved her and he had to admit that it was one of his main reasons for returning. He was healthy now and he wanted her back.

Once Lupin had calmed Emma down and sent her back off to sleep, he crept back into the living room, shutting the door behind him. Now, sitting next to Tonks, he gazed at Harry as though he had seen a ghost. Which, Harry reflected, he probably had.

Smiling sheepishly, Harry muttered, "I'm sorry to turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night."

Lupin looked like he wasn't so sure Harry's apology was good enough but Tonks simply waved the apology away with her hand, grinning at Harry.

"Don't worry about it," she said kindly. "It's not like we get much sleep these days anyway!"

Lupin made a noise that seemed to say that this was an understatement and Harry realised that they were not going to get anywhere tonight: Lupin was a tired father in need of some sleep.

"Maybe we should talk in the morning?" he suggested, hoping that Tonks would catch the implication that he wanted to stay the night.

Fortunately, Tonks caught on. "Good idea," she said, though she suddenly seemed full of energy - unlike Lupin, who looked as though he might fall asleep there and then. Tonks seemed to notice this, however, for she said, "Remus, go back to bed - I'll take care of Harry." Then, turning to Harry, she added, "You can sleep on the sofa. I'll make it comfortable enough for you - I'll conjure up a sleeping bag and some pillows - and will you need pyjamas?"

Harry shook his head and nodded towards the rucksack he had brought with him. He had brought the clothes and pyjamas Nora had kindly given him belonging to her son and though they were a little big for Harry, he was very grateful. Besides, he was used to it, having grown up on Dudley's hand-me-downs.

"The girls will be down early in the morning," Lupin informed Harry, standing up. "So I'm afraid you won't get much of a lie-in - they need to get ready for school."

"You can come with me to take them to school," Tonks added cheerfully and Harry thought it might be nice to spend some time with Tonks who had so readily accepted him back in her life.

The truth was, Harry was a little hurt and disappointed by Lupin's reaction. He had hoped that Lupin might be more ready to accept him, might be a little more welcoming. But at least he was allowed to stay - that was the main thing.

Once Lupin had ascended the stairs to his bedroom, Tonks turned to Harry and grinned reassuringly. "Don't worry about him, Harry - he's just tired. And not to mention shocked! Give him some time and he'll get his head round it. Then he'll be fine."

She opened her arms and gave Harry a motherly hug before setting up the sofa for Harry to sleep on. "Good night," she said, shutting the door as she walked out of the room.

Climbing into his bed for the night, Harry reflected on how different everything was. He was going to have to prepare himself for a world that had changed completely and he was not prepared for that. He supposed he should have made some effort to prepare himself for changes before he had come back, but then again, he hadn't given any of this much thought. Dora had insisted that he go back to his old life and that was all there was to it. She knew how much Harry missed it.

"But I haven't got anyone to go back to," Harry had mumbled miserably.

"Of course you have!" Dora had persisted. "Everyone has someone! Don't you have any godparents? Friends of your parents? There must be someone!"

That was when Harry had remembered Lupin, the only remaining true friend of his dad's from school. His godfather was dead but Lupin, who was as good as a godfather, was still around. Maybe, he had thought, just maybe, Lupin would be happy to see him?

But now, now that Harry was back, he saw that he was wrong. Lupin wasn't glad at all. In fact, he looked as though he wished Harry hadn't come back at all and there was more to it than lack of sleep. Harry only hoped that the other people in his life would be more receptive.

*

Delphine had a cold. Not a bad cold, but a cold all the same. Her over-protective parents made sympathetic noises and fussed over her, not wanting their only child to go to school with a cold. But with her mother due in court and her father anticipating a busy day at work, it wasn't obvious what exactly should be done with her on her day off.

"You take 'er," Félix Labelle said to his wife, who was currently using a spell she had learnt since becoming a mother to take the temperature of her weak daughter.

Hermione turned and glared. "You know I can't! Winkle's due in front of the Wizengamot today and I have to be there to represent him! Félix, you know what an important case this is for Creatures Inc.! If Winkle successfully sues her former master for Improper Use of Clothes, many House Elves all around the wizarding world will be able to do the same! It completely changes the way House Elves are treated and their status in wizarding households -"

"- and eet's one small step for a 'Ouse Elf but one giant leap for elf-kind, right?" Félix snapped.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and simply glowered at her husband. "How dare you demean my work like that!" she said quietly, though in a way that commanded attention, much as she remembered her former Potions Master Severus Snape doing back at Hogwarts to terrorise the students.

Félix sighed. "I'm sorry, 'Ermione, I did not mean to upset you. Eet's just zat I cannot take Delphine to work wiz me - eet is just not practical. I 'ave a very important meeting to attend and zere is nowhere for Delphine to go. You take 'er - Lucy can look after 'er."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione bit back any nasty comments about her personal assistant. It was bad enough that Delphine had to watch her parents argue like this - especially over something like this that could make her feel unwanted - but Hermione definitely did not want her daughter to see her parents insulting people. It wouldn't be a good thing for her to copy.

"Fine," Hermione sighed. "Get her coat while I pack her a bag of toys." She turned to her daughter tenderly. "Delphine, sweetheart, you're coming to work with Mummy today, okay?"

With a small sneeze, Delphine nodded okay.

It was for this reason, then, that twenty minutes later - already late - Hermione walked towards Courtroom Two in the basement of the Ministry of Magic with her four-year-old daughter behind her. Pushing past members of the press who were attempting to bombard her with questions, Hermione opened the door into the small courtroom and took a look around. The press had been banned from attending the actual Hearing without an invitation, so the room was relatively empty. Hermione was not exactly pleased that the case had been given such a small courtroom, but the amount of press outside was a good sign. Taking a look around the courtroom, she noticed with a shudder two cold-looking chairs with chains attached. Obviously they were only used for the more criminal cases, but Hermione hated that Winkle, the timid-looking House Elf who was looking sad in a ragged shirt about ten-times to big and socks on its ears, had to sit in it. She turned to look around for Lucy. She spotted her in the aisle between rows of stone benches, talking to the House Elf that had started this whole business, the most important being in the room, in Hermione's opinion.

"Dobby!"

The House Elf turned with a smile and a bow. "Dobby is pleased to see you, Hermione Labelle," he said cheerfully. "Dobby worried that Ms Labelle might not turn up!"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. She knew Dobby well enough by now to know that he wasn't being rude, but it made her feel bad all the same. "Sorry, Dobby. Félix and I had to sort out childcare," she explained, nodding her head towards Delphine, who was gazing nervously at Dobby.

"This is the daughter of Hermione nee Granger - best friend of Harry Potter," Dobby cried excitedly.

Hermione's heart stopped. Dobby had just mentioned the one thing that she hated being mentioned. Dobby liked to bring it up, liked to remind everyone of what had happened. Ever the optimist since his release from the Malfoys, Dobby believed that what had happened was a good thing. Hermione, however, felt that the bad outweighed the good in that situation. But she couldn't think about that...

"Yes," she said quickly, "this is Delphine. She's four."

Dobby smiled delightedly at Delphine, who promptly attempted to hide behind her mother's skirt. Hermione, however, had more important matters to think about.

"Has Winkle been briefed?" she asked. "Does he know what he's saying?"

Though the question was directed at Dobby, it was Lucy who answered. "Yes, Ms Labelle. You were late so I had to take matters into my own hands." She shot Hermione a glare, much like that of an angry teacher telling off a naughty child. "Please don't make a habit out of turning up late to court cases or Creatures Inc. will get nowhere."

Hermione badly wanted to put Lucy in her place, but decided that now was neither the time nor place. The trial was due to start in less than five minutes and she had to ensure that everyone knew what they were doing.

"And do we know which members of the Wizengamot are going to be attending? I suppose the Minister himself is too much to hope for?"

Dobby nodded soberly. "Indeed, Ms Labelle. Dobby is hearing that the Minister is in a meeting with the Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. But Dobby is also hearing that the Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is coming, and the Minister is sending his assistant, Mr Creevey. Other than that, Dobby thinks we will not have many more people - it seems that they is not very interested."

Dobby's words were packed full of painful memories for Hermione. The Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports was ... well, she knew only too well who that was. The Minister's Personal Assistant was also someone from the old days, the days when everything had been fine, when everyone was alive. As for the Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione knew of him only because he was her former boss from her time in that department, but his first name was enough to cause her to choke whenever she heard it: Harry. It was name that would haunt her for the rest of her life, a name that reminded her of so much pain, so much anguish -

No, she couldn't think of these things. She had to forget it all...

"Um, thanks, Dobby," she said, forcing a smile, before heading towards Winkle, Delphine clutching her hand tightly.

The timid House Elf was staring miserably at the ground below him and his sad eyes were all it took for Hermione to remember exactly why she was here, why she had started Creatures Inc. in the first place. She wanted to help magical creatures, creatures that were maltreated under the assumption that they were lower beings than wizards; that it didn't matter if they got hurt. Winkle was one of many House Elves who had been treated in this way. Winkle had been given clothes by his Master after burning the family's breakfast. Winkle had proceeded to contact Creatures Inc. and they had got on the case straight away. Winkle's case, however, was the first in its kind in that he was one of the first creatures they had a hope in helping. Hermione had found it hard when Creatures Inc. had first started up because most calls came from goblins and rebellious House Elves, creatures who often misbehaved and were using Creatures Inc. to get their own back on wizards. Yet Winkle was different. Winkle had been with the Macmillan family for years, just like his father before him and his father before that. For years he had served the family and done everything to a high standard. Now, however, he was getting older and more nervous - after all, he had heard the tradition in many wizarding families to cut off the head of their House Elf when it got too old (Hermione had been working hard to get a law in place to stop this from happening). Finally, in his nervous state, he had burnt the family's food and had been given clothes as a result. Hermione intended to argue that a House Elf should not be given clothes as a result of a single, small mistake. Then, if she managed to get Winkle his job back, she might stand more of a chance of ensuring that there were set rules and regulations to be enforced regarding the treatment of House Elves and when they could be given clothes.

"Winkle, how are you doing?" she asked the elf, her maternal nature kicking in.

"Winkle is not feeling well," the elderly elf murmured.

Hermione was torn. Though this was bad for the elf, it was good for the case. If Creatures Inc. could show that Winkle had become extremely unhappy and distressed at being given clothes for the wrong reasons, they might be able to win over the Wizengamot and force them to see that House Elves had feelings and emotions just like wizards.

"Not long now, Winkle," Hermione said soothingly, attempting a smile. "The trial will start any minute and then we'll get you back with your Master."

Winkle smiled. "Thank you, miss," he said, just as a voice sounded from near the doorway shouting, "All rise for the Wizengamot."

Hermione hastily rushed to her seat, passing Winky's Master who was to be seated in the chair next to Winkle, gave Delphine her bag of toys with an order to be quiet, and watched as the Wizengamot entered. Their flowing robes were now an emerald green (the Minister for Magic, who was also Chief Warlock, had not liked the tradition of plum-coloured robes) with a bronze 'W' embellished on the back. Hermione watched as each member walked in, briskly and importantly. First the Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - Harry Arnold (Hermione found herself cringing as she saw him and recalled his name), looking quite bored; next was the Court Scribe and Assistant to the Minister, Dennis Creevey, who, even after all these years, still had the excitement and hyperactivity of a school boy; Dennis was followed by a court elder and representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whom Hermione knew only by sight. Hermione was disappointed that there were merely three of them there, but she supposed she ought to be glad that the case had made it to the Wizengamot at all. Most of these cases didn't even reach the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"You may be seated," called the same voice as before, whom Hermione could now see was in fact Arnold. He bowed to the Wizengamot before taking his seat among them.

Arnold proceeded to clear his throat before he began. "A Disciplinary Hearing - the first of its kind - of the fifteenth of March into offences committed under the Decree for Responsible Treatment of House Elves by Edmund Anthony Macmillan towards the House Elf known as Winkle. "

"Interrogators: Harry Gilbert Arnold, Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Acting Chair by special permission of the Minister for Magic, Samuel Augustine James; and Isidora Catherine Powell, representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribe: Dennis Christopher Creevey. Also joining us in the interrogation, with kind permission from Chief Warlock and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Mafalda Hopkirk, is Hermione Jane Labelle, Founder and Chair of the company Creatures Inc. In this unique case, Ms Labelle will be acting as Prosecutor, defending the elf, whilst the Wizengamot acts as the Defence."

Then, taking a piece of parchment from a pile in front of him, Arnold read out the charge. "The charge against the accused is as follows:

"That he knowingly dismissed the House Elf Winkle for reasons that do not comply with the rules of the Registry of the Proper Use of Clothes, compiled of course by Creatures Inc. -" He nodded towards Hermione, who blushed proudly. "- and approved by the Council of Magical Law, as well as the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

It had taken a lot to get the bill which proposed a Registry called the Proper Use of Clothes, containing all the rules and regulations regarding the ways in which a House Elf could and could not be dismissed from their duties. She and Félix had both had to call in favours with Arnold, and Félix, still a member of Arnold's department, had had to work particularly hard in order to ensure a hearing of this sort.

Arnold now turned to Macmillan and each word he uttered sounded tired, as though he felt the whole procedure pointless. "You are Edmund Anthony Macmillan, of number eighty-two, Blencathra Lane, Great Snoring, Norfolk?"

Edmund Macmillan, a tall man with greying brown hair, dressed in a tweed suit and a yellow and black striped tie, nodded, his face showing deep worry. Hermione almost pitied him; it was clear that he had never intended to cause so much trouble merely by giving his House Elf clothes. But that was the thing, Hermione realised, that was what had to be changed. People didn't seem to think twice when they gave their House Elf clothes. To them, House Elves were mere slaves, there to serve not to be served. What did it matter if they lost their job? It didn't matter, as long as they found a new House Elf to fulfil the new position - which the Macmillans had clearly been too busy with the court case to do.

"Yes," he said finally, his voice croaky.

"And," Arnold turned towards Winkle, "would you, elf, please confirm that you are the elf known as Winkle, formerly an employer of the Macmillans and son of the late House Elf Tinkle?"

"Yes," Winkle replied meekly.

Hermione bit her lip. Arnold was referring to Winkle as 'elf'. That was definitely not a good sign. Not only did it mean that he was not about to start campaigning for elf rights, but it meant that he was ensuring he did not become personally acquainted with Winkle, for that would make it harder to rule in favour of Edmund Macmillan.

"Thank you. Miss Labelle, you may proceed."

Obediently, Hermione walked towards the chair where Winkle sat. "Mr Arnold, as you are aware, we are today for the case of Winkle the House Elf, who we at Creatures Inc. believe was wrongly given clothes. I shall attempt to prove to you today that Winkle the House Elf has become greatly distressed by this error in judgement on behalf of the Macmillan family." She eyed Edmund Macmillan as she spoke, who was staring determinedly at his hands.

Turning to Winkle, Hermione spoke gently. "Winkle, would you please tell the court, in your own words, what happened on the day of November 28th 2005?"

Winkle trembled slightly before he spoke. "Winkle is only doing what he always does, miss," he said quietly.

"And what's that?" Hermione prompted.

"Winkle is getting up at six o'clock to light the fires for when his master's family wakes up. Then Winkle is going to the kitchen to make breakfast for his master and his family."

"And did anything unusual happen that day?"

"Winkle is - is -" he began, his voice trembling.

"What, Winkle? What happened?"

"Winkle is - Winkle is burning the Master's breakfast." The distressed House Elf began to weep loudly in his seat, and Hermione attempted to calm him down as he began to hit himself, punishment, no doubt, for burning his master's breakfast.

"It's okay, Winkle," she tried, grabbing his hands. She was used to this behaviour by now, considering the many House Elves she worked with on a daily basis. Even Dobby occasionally hit himself if he said anything bad about the Malfoys. Finally, Winkle calmed down, though his eyes were still wet with tears when Hermione asked her next question. "Have you ever burnt Mr Macmillan's breakfast before, Winkle?"

Winkle shook his head. "No, Winkle is never burning his master's breakfast - not once in twenty years!"

"So why do you think it happened this time, Winkle?"

"Because - because - because Winkle is - is scared, miss!" Winkle answered, and Hermione grabbed his hands so that he could not harm himself further.

"Why were you scared, Winkle?"

"Because Winkle is thinking he might get his head chopped off," he replied, Hermione still holding on to his hands so that he could not hit himself.

"Why would you have your head chopped off, Winkle?"

"Winkle is getting old, miss," he said. "Winkle is hearing from his friends that House Elves are getting their heads chopped off when they is getting old!"

"So, Winkle, would you say that you burnt your master's breakfast because your were nervous?"

"Yes, miss," Winkle replied sadly.

"And what happened after you burnt Mr Macmillan's breakfast, Winkle?"

"Winkle is - Winkle is burning his hands. And Winkle is - Winkle is -" At this point, Winkle, began to cry unhappily, and Hermione had to wait a few moments for him to calm down before he finished his sentence. "Winkle is getting clothes!"

"Was Mr Macmillan angry with you, Winkle?"

Winkle nodded. "Yes, miss. It is Mr Macmillan who is telling Winkle to burn his hands."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Mr Macmillan stare down at his hands sheepishly. Hermione knew that he would simply have been angry at the time, that he was not as bad as the likes of the Malfoys, but she still believed that he should have been more careful about the way he treated Winkle. House Elves were very fragile creatures.

"And how would you say you've been since Mr Macmillan gave you clothes? Have you been happy?"

Winkle shook his head. "No, miss, Winkle has not been happy. Winkle has been very unhappy. Winkle is serving the Macmillans all his life and he is not knowing what to do with his freedom! Winkle is - Winkle is looking for work, miss, but no one is wanting a disgraced elf. Winkle is disgracing his father and his father before him because Winkle is not doing his job properly. Winkle is - Winkle is having to live in on the streets, miss, because Winkle is having no home."

"Thank you, Winkle," Hermione said, shooting a comforting smile at the House Elf, before turning to Edmund Macmillan.

"Mr Macmillan," she began, "is it fair to say that Winkle was a good House Elf?"

"Yes," Edmund Macmillan replied.

"What do you mean, then, when you use the term 'good'?" Hermione questioned. "Do you mean that he got on with his job without a fuss? Do you mean that he was faithful to you? Do you mean that he was kind and gentle to your daughters as they grew up, reading them a bed-time story at night, making sure they were comfortable in bed? Do you mean that he cooked the meals that you asked for? Do you mean that he ran errands for you? Or perhaps do you mean that he was kind, loving, friendly - a member of the family?"

The accused gulped. "Yes," he answered. "All of that."

"So Winkle has never caused any trouble in the time that he served you?" Hermione continued.

"That's right," Macmillan said.

"How often would you say there was cause to ask Winkle to punish himself?"

"None - until - until he burnt our food."

"How did you feel when you found out that your breakfast had been burned?"

"Angry," Macmillan replied. "I had a busy day ahead of me at work and my wife wasn't very well. We both needed a good breakfast."

"And this was your reason for giving Winkle clothes?"

"Yes."

"No other reason?"

"None. Winkle was never any trouble."

"And have you had a replacement House Elf assigned by the Office of House-Elf relocation?"

"No," Macmillan muttered.

"And why is that?" We - we haven't really had the time to get in touch with the office. And - and, well, Winkle's family has been with the Macmillans since his grandfather. We wanted to stay with the same family - know we can rely on them, you see. But his sister's working for my brother and neither of them have any children of their own yet..."

"So you haven't been able to find a good enough elf to replace Winkle, yet?"

"No," came Macmillan's answer, much to Hermione's satisfaction.

"On reflection, Mr Macmillan, do you think that Winkle deserves the unhappiness and the sense of being lost that he has developed since burning your breakfast for the first time ever?"

"No," Macmillan repeated quietly.

"Finally, can I ask, what is it that Winkle was making for you on that day?" Hermione enquired, knowing the answer already. She knew that Arnold would overlook it, but it would effect all present subconsciously.

"A full English breakfast," Macmillan replied.

"And you have that every day?"

"Yes."

Hermione bit back any comments about the size of his overly-large wife and instead asked her final question, "And what does Winkle eat?"

"Well, I don't know..." Macmillan looked at Winkle, puzzled.

"Winkle?" Hermione persisted, pleased that Macmillan didn't know - this would show the lack of care he showed towards his House Elf, highlighting an issue that many would never have considered.

"Winkle is eating his Master's leftovers, Miss," Winkle answered. "Winkle is not rude enough to ask his Master for some proper food!"

"Thank you," Hermione smiled, and made for her seat. She then turned towards Arnold, quite pleased with herself. Hopefully, Arnold was pretty much convinced already.

"Elf," Arnold began, "how long did you say you've served the Macmillans?"

"Twenty years, sir," Winkle replied.

"And your father before him and his father before him?"

"Yes sir."

"What do you think your father and grandfather would have to say if they saw you today, elf?"

"Winkle is - Winkle is a bad elf, sir! They is never burning breakfast, never!"

"Did your father get his head chopped off, Winkle?"

Hermione sighed. That was it. They were doomed. She knew all too well that the Wizengamot would not understand Winkle's fears when no elf in the family had had their head chopped off.

"No, sir. Winkle's father is dying from natural causes, sir."

"And your grandfather?"

"No sir," Winkle repeated. "Winkle's father's father is also dying from natural causes, sir."

"So why, elf, did you think that you would be any different?" Arnold demanded. "Why ever would you assume that you were going to get your head chopped off if the Macmillans had never done so before?"

Winkle turned his weary head towards Hermione, who promptly shot him a reassuring smile that she hoped was convincing, before he answered.

"Because Winkle is hearing it from other House Elves, sir," he said timidly. "Winkle is hearing dreadful things about - about elves who is - who is having their heads chopped off, sir!"

"But why, elf," Arnold persisted, "did you continue to worry about this when the Macmillan family showed absolutely no sign whatsoever of wanting to cut off your head?"

"But Winkle is hearing things from his Master's family!"

Immediately after this statement, he began to hit his head and Hermione knew that he was punishing himself for revealing something he should not have revealed about the family he served. She hated having to watch the poor elf as he punished himself, the Wizengamot merely watching on, but finally he stopped long enough for Arnold to ask his question.

"What's that, elf?" Arnold asked, and Hermione, no longer distracted by Winkle's self-harm, leaned forward curiously. He had not told her this.

"Winkle - Winkle is hearing his Master's family say that - that Winkle is so old his Master should - should cut off his head," he stammered quietly.

"Oh, really?" Arnold said, and for the first time he actually sounded interest as he turned to give Mr Macmillan a questioning look. "But you told me earlier, Winkle -" He paused and nudged Dennis Creevey, who promptly whispered what it was that Winkle had previously said. "- you said that neither your father nor grandfather had their heads cut off. You also failed to mention this when I asked why you should believe that Mr Macmillan would cut your head off. So are you telling me that Mr Macmillan threatened to cut off your head?"

"No, sir," Winkle answered.

"Then what are you saying, elf?" Arnold asked, sounding exasperated.

"It - it is Miss Macmillan who is saying this, sir!"

There was a loud gasp emanating from several people. The Magical Law Enforcement representative was clearly shocked by this piece of news, and she had turned to whisper something in Arnold's ear. Meanwhile, both Mr and Mrs Macmillan were staring at their eleven-year-old daughters, who were sitting across the other side of the court, their faces glowing red.

"Do you mean Miss Evelyn Macmillan or Miss Elizabeth Macmillan, elf? Please be clear when you are making serious accusations!" Arnold shouted, and Winkle winced.

"It is both of them, sir!" Winkle replied, though he sounded quite scared. "Miss Evelyn is saying when Winkle is lighting her fire at night that he is getting old and slow and that Winkle's Master should cut his head off! And Miss Elizabeth is agreeing and saying that Winkle is as good as dead and that Winkle's head should be displayed for all to see!"

Hermione turned to look at Evelyn and Elizabeth Macmillan, the cousins of Ernie Macmillan whom she had known at Hogwarts. Both girls were in their first year at Hogwarts now and Hermione had taken quite a liking to them when she had met them briefly to discuss the case. In fact, she had taken a liking to most of the family. She was shocked to see that they had said such a thing and also intrigued as to why Winkle had never said this before.

"How often did they make such threats, then, elf?" Arnold continued, his voice noticeably softer now that he thought he had actually received death threats.

"Winkle is getting them once or twice a week, sir, for the past few years until they is leaving for Hogwarts," Winkle replied. "Winkle is not saying so before - Winkle is not even telling Ms Labelle - because Miss Macmillan and Miss Macmillan is saying that they will cut off his head themselves if Winkle tells anyone!"

Arnold sighed. "I see. It is completely understandable that this would make you nervous. And how would you say your life has been since you left the Macmillans?"

"Winkle is not feeling well," the elf replied. "Winkle is not liking freedom, not one bit! Winkle liked the Macmillans. Winkle is sad without them!"

Arnold nodded. "Thank you, elf." He turned towards Edmund Macmillan. "Mr Macmillan, were you aware of your daughters' threats?"

"Not at all," Macmillan replied, and Hermione believed the anger in his voice he was clearly feeling towards his daughters, who had not only lost him his House Elf, but had brought him in front of the Wizengamot.

"And you have never made such accusations yourself?"

"I wouldn't dream of it! It's barbaric!" Macmillan said, outraged. "Had I had any idea of what my daughters were saying, I assure you I would have stopped it!"

"Thank you for that, Mr Macmillan," Arnold said. Then, with a sigh, he said, "Would Miss Evelyn and Miss Elizabeth please come forward?"

The two girls, identical twins, walked forward, their dark-haired heads bowed in shame, and what could be seen of their faces looked anxious. They came to a halt near Winkle and their father, at the front where they could be seen by everyone in the small room.

"Evelyn Macmillan, what do you say to the elf's accusation?"

Evelyn Macmillan looked worriedly at her sister and guiltily at her parents. "We were just messing around," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "We didn't think he'd get upset about it. We thought it was funny."

"We felt really bad when Dad gave him clothes," Evelyn added.

Arnold sighed. "Fine, sit down please." He turned to the representative from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Anything to add, Isidora?" When the witch shook her head, he said, "Mr Macmillan, I am appalled at the behaviour of your daughters. They were not only acting in a highly irresponsible way, but they have clearly caused great distress to this House Elf. However, your daughters are merely minors and we are unable to charge them. I therefore ask for all those in favour of charging the witness, as legal guardian of the minors responsible, guilty of Improper Use of Clothes?" Arnold raised his own hand and the witch, Isidora, raised her hand too.

"Mr Macmillan," Arnold said in a booming voice. "I find you to be the first person in the history of the wizarding world to be found guilty of Improper Use of Clothes. As the first person to be charged of such, the court shall punish you as it sees fit. I order you to take back the elf indefinitely and you will be charged a fine of 10 galleons for breaching the Decree for Responsible Treatment of House Elves."

Hermione was so delighted, so surprised by the result, she barely noticed as the court stood for the Wizengamot as they left, barely noticed the Macmillan girls being reprimanded by their parents, or Delphine tugging on her arm. She barely noticed anything, in fact, until she saw what she could only assume was a ghost. A dark-haired, green-eyed young man was standing sheepishly at the door to the court.