Absit Omen RPG

Dear Greer,

Thank you for reassuring me that you're fine - and I'm never too busy for my favourite client! That's a tricky question you're asking.

In an ideal world I guess you would appeal to the logic and rationality of the person-in-charge: state your case for why you think the student in question is lying. You could ask the person-in-charge why they think the student isn't lying, and point out the problems in their reasoning. If there are other people of authority around you might also approach them. I'm not sure if I can offer any better advice without specific details.

What's the matter? What is this bad thing that has happened? I've slipped in some chocolates with this note.


Dutifully yours

Harper Graves

            “It fits, yeah, it fits with what I have.”

Her heart sunk a little, and Harper Graves stopped fiddling with her pearl earrings. She believed Eva's suspicions but to hear Lawrence link his current memories to the obliviated ones so securely was akin to the sound of handcuffs closing. In her mind it confirmed and laid down a path for the coming months - not an easy one, and possibly very dangerous.

Well. Measures would have to be taken.

Lawrence was speaking to Eva but the redhead cut in as she sat forward in the armchair, picking up his final words.

"Quit? No!" she exclaimed, with the incongruous cadence of a witch protesting luncheon plans. "Lawrence it isn't only you affected by Edwin's actions, and if he remains in power Merlin knows what damage he will do to wizarding society here. Incrementally, maybe, but surely."

Edwin Glass was a bad wizard and no good could come from a bad man wearing a crown. She reached over, firmly placing her hand on Lawrence's - his only one. Her eyes were hard.

"We will get more than your memories, evidence that can be used against him. I doubt you are the start and end of Edwin's sins," Harper spoke in a soft voice that did not have to try to convince, so sure was she of her opposition to quitting. "Until then, let's... let's lay low. And dig deep."

She brushed through her hair with her fingers, sweeping red locks behind her shoulders. Kurby surprised her with his statement - maybe she was too used to level two, where nobody liked to commit to a thought around lawyers. As if she would cross examine them about it later.

            "...he connection might be with the Spectre kid... there's one with his mother."

"That makes him ripe as a red herring though, doesn't it?" she leaned back in the seat, crossing her legs casually as she fiddled with her elastic hair tie. "Because of the Witch Weekly[1] article. Or that could be just what they want us to think, so I guess your point stands..."

Harper pulled a face. Any logical deduction that led her to Spectre was always undercut by the publicity of that whole thing; maybe she should be talking to Lil Snigger about her sources. The truth, however, was that Kurby's gut instinct served as good a hint as any deduction. They just didn't have enough information.

What if he was right, and poor Greer was getting caught up in all this? That made her angry.

"Let's suppose the kid is the connection," she spoke slowly, eyes on the werewolf hunter. "Someone is trying to get at him by... by killing werewolves. Harassing them. But what's the purpose? What's the endgame here?"

The witch realised she was just throwing out more questions, and relaxed the furrow in her brow by smiling sheepishly at Kurby. "I deal so much with criminal motivations, it's what I default to when I get a chance to look at ongoing investigations. There has to be a motivation, right?" Harper gestured frustratedly.

"Or else it's literal madness," she dropped her hand and looped the hair tie around her wrist.

1.	24th Sept 2011 - Secret Lovechild of a Murderess

Kurby caught her up on the details of the latest package - she listened attentively, her gaze somewhere between politeness and rumination. In her mind she was trying to put everything together, trying to lay it all on the same plate to see what the incidents had in common. It wasn't easy. She was sure that it must be blindingly obvious from someone's perspective but certainly not from theirs.

The witch roused from these thoughts, sensing the pause in their conversation. Kurby was watching her but she met his eyes levelly. What was he like when he was out with the capture unit?

From her meetings with him, he came across as contemplative and critical. Emotionally invested, gruff, not without humour. But not fast. And you had to be fast to win your life against a werewolf, didn't you? In thought and body. So he must be different in the field - like that afternoon she had bumped into him whilst visiting Greer.

            "It was a pair of gloves..."

A look of disgust crossed Harper's face and she did nothing to hide it. "I saw them," she confessed in a halting voice before giving herself a moment to close her eyes.

The first thing she had thought of when she saw those gloves was Greer's small hands. Harper knew that werewolf gloves existed - she knew in general about werewolf taxidermy but it took seeing those gloves to understand that they might as well be human. They signified the remains of a human, after all.

"Sorry," she pinched the bridge of her nose and opened her eyes. "I can't understand this person, targeting kids." Harper moved on without explaining her earlier pause. "They're so far removed from what happens outside of Hogwarts - and where is the connection? I don't think Greer even talks to Spectre's boy. If there's a red herring, how are we supposed to know which one it is?"

She sighed, and then suddenly shot Kurby and apologetic smile. "I don't mean to ask you these questions. They're more like... paper boats sent out to sea." Harper reached behind her head to undo her knot of hair, as if it was bothering her. "Maybe one of them will come back with an answer."

Harper, who had been raised in the kind of Manhattanite world where men still got up when ladies entered a room, did not think twice when Kurby's company rose to leave. She spared the other wizard the pretence of a glance before approaching the desk with a cursory look. It was nice... it felt worked in. A shocking number of Ministry people had pompous offices that hid their true goings-on. Glass, for example.

Even thinking about the treasonous Minister of Magic set Harper on edge so she tried to push the thought away. She was here about something else, anyway, and it was better to focus on one thing at a time.

            "...service that you lot are offerin' on Level Two?"

"You'd be surprised how many legal quandaries arise from bad penmanship," the witch remarked in a light voice as she took the offered seat and crossed her legs comfortably. "Although I don't think you're at risk of that anytime soon."

Harper allowed for a beat, the briefest of pauses to consider Kurby. She did this with the same expression you might use to examine a glass of wine poured by a sommelier who had just told you to let the vintage breathe for a moment. Jumping right into a subject wasn't always the best approach to take.

"Thank you for your note," she leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms, the points of her elbows cradled. "I appreciated the warning. There's been no bad news on my end so far. Not with me or regarding Greer."

Another pause, this time her eyes were searching Kurby's face more openly. "Am I breaking policy by asking if there's been any progress or clues at your end, since? I haven't heard anything on two."

It was approaching the lunch hour and Harper had just come out of a negotiation for one of her less heavy cases; anything that didn't involve having to go to trial was considered a light one. All the same, she was dressed formally for the occasion and was startled to catch her own reflection in the glass of a door she had pushed open to enter the Werewolf Wing.

She suspected she looked a lot like her mother, with red hair pinned back in a neat bun and face made up to appear professional. The last time she had been on four[1] it was to check on Greer, and Harper had been dressed up in a very different way.

At least she wasn't surrounded by a cloud of perfume again. Her pace today wasn't quite as hurried as on transformation night - she stopped to show credentials and allow herself to be directed, and eventually found her way to the office for the head of the Capture Unit. Harper knocked on the door firmly before pushing it open.

"Hey," the witch peered in, leaning against the door frame as she crossed her arms. "Not interrupting am I? Thought I'd drop in to ask about your penmanship."

She was smiling a little as she said this - not that news of the Spectre boy receiving another package had been welcome. It worried her tremendously but Harper rarely brooded over worries.

1.	9th Jan - Never Trust a Monday

Notes, thought Harper, were good. Listening to Lawrence and Eva speak gave her a moment to think - she had never been involved in any of the Almasy business but the touches of drama were good. Drama meant an auteur, meant someone susceptible to pride and ego through the artistry of their crimes. It reminded her of something recent but she couldn't place her finger on it...

            "What were they? What did I give to you?"

She woke from her thoughts and met her client in the eye, lips pressed into a grim line. There was no longer any dancing around the subject. Harper would have to trust that Edwin was not going to get into Lawrence's head anytime soon.

"There were several memories. Let's start with the first two or three, seeing as I've already brought up one of them," the witch uncrossed her legs and sat back, fiddling with her drop pearl earring as she spoke. "You broke your arm. Almasy's doing? Edwin fixed you up, sent you on your way even though you were a wanted man. And then on the night after the Bonfire explosions, you visited Edwin in his home."

Harper paused, glancing at Eva for a second. "You were both listening to that Haunting Hour show. Edwin knew about the explosions. He was in on it. Does that sound right to you?" she watched him carefully.

Glass might have removed those memories but she hoped that, given them in summary, Lawrence might be able to contextualise their information. Help them find other paths to getting at the seat of power.

There was something really weird about hearing Eva refer to her as Miss Graves. Probably, she thought, because neither her friend nor her client ever called her that. Harper guessed this was Eva's way of maintaining an emotional, professional distance - facing Lawrence was hard, considering their painful history. When Musgrave looked at her, she dipped her chin into a reassuring nod.

She didn't want to say anything just yet. It was important that the other two got their footing in conversation first, or things would become awkward very very fast. Luckily she didn't have to worry for long: Lawrence got things started by explaining the nature of his friendship with Glass.

            "Yeah, we were friends. Not close, but work friends..."

Put this way,  it didn't seem unusual for the two men to have known one another. In another time, another place. Before the two made a series of decisions that would set them down entirely different paths. "The memories were about Edwin then? I asked you to keep them... definitely obliviated something ....What’s he done now?”

"He hurt you." Harper replied without missing a beat, smoothly and in the cadence of someone having a much more relaxed conversation. "Among other things. I mean, that's what Shufflebottom[1] has lead us to believe...." she added, sitting forwards slightly, hands meeting over her knee as she crossed one leg over another.

So Glass really had taken all those memories out of Lawrence. It was unreal, having seen things he couldn't even remember now. She glanced at Eva and then back at the wizard. "The memories you gave me, they were about how Edwin was helping you. When you were working for Ira Almasy. How he... he seemed to know things he shouldn't have. Like the Leaky Cauldron explosions."

1.	31st Dec 2011 - The Party Has Arrived

This was the second time she was breaking the law since taking on Lawrence's case - who would have thought criminality could be so contagious? But their intentions were good and their heads clear; or at least hers was. Harper had tried, in her own subtle way, to imply to Stump and the others that she was humouring Eva's unquenchable desire for closure.

She didn't think Eva would ever see Lawrence clearly. To both their detriment, maybe.

Harper smiled warmly at her client when they entered, eyes coloured with both fondness and disquiet. Musgrave's days were numbered and it was hard to be reminded that as his mental health improved, Azkaban drew closer. Sometimes these things just didn't make sense to her.

              “So, erm, Kuester, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
      “We need to speak with you. It’s pertaining to…well, I’ll let your lawyer explain that.”

That was her cue. Harper was the last to sit, undoing her coat and letting it fold back around her on the comfortable armchair. They neatly bookended the wizard. "It's about your memories," she crossed her legs as her smile lessened and a slight wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "We've had reason to look at them, Lawrence. Eva has some questions."

In all honesty, Harper herself had many questions. She was furious with what they had learned - but she burned through her anger quickly, because you had to when you did what she did for a living. Letting go of anger was what enabled her to act.

"You see," she exchanged a look with Eva, "we have resolved to do something about the Minister of Magic."

            “But that’s me...doesn’t have to happen tonight, I just needed to share that with you."

Harper pressed her lips together and nodded, thinking about the vials she had transfigured into tampons to hide in her toiletry kit. There wasn't any rush... as far as Edwin Glass knew, nobody was wise to his deceptions. They had to play this game with patience instead of fury and swiftness. That was fine: that was the law, after all. Patience. And Harper knew the law.

"Later, then. Come over and we can look at the pensives together," she replied just as Elixa's footsteps preceded her appearance wi--

            “Who do you take these off for, then, Graves?”

The Healer was holding up a pair of startling red cheeky knickers, with lace and satin in all the wrong places. Harper made an exclamation of surprise, not sure whether to laugh or yell, and did neither. "Is that what you were doing?" her cheeks burned; she exchanged a brief, embarrassed look with Eva. "I don't know, I guess I thought it was an alluring style."

And it was, absolutely, but opportunities to show off her less professional talents were far and few lately.

"They don't really look like I get much use out of them, do they?" Harper sighed as she got up to reclaim her lingerie. "But a witch must always be prepared for a for a bedroom emergency..." she smiled dryly at Elixa, a little humour in her eyes. "I'm sure you can relate."

            “Reckon they might be a bit ahead on that count this morning."

She laughed, briefly and lightly, fond eyes on the dog who set the wizard at ease simply by being an affectionate nuisance. Harper did not try to cut in with any sympathies - Kurby was halfway through what might be one of his most nightmarish days at the Ministry, and she suspected that to have a length of comfortable silence was more beneficial. Besides, Harper was sure it would only embarrass them both. The wizard took his time to breathe.

The cloud bearing over him appeared to dissipate only for an instant, however. There were things to do.

Life was just one long sequence of things to do. Harper rose with her visitor, something soft in her smile dampening its professional edge. "I'm told that a good night's sleep can do wonders," she extended a hand for him to shake in parting, "but those aren't easy for some to come by. If you ever need to talk... about this werewolf business or anything else--"

The field spaniel suddenly squeezed his way between their legs, as eager to say farewell as he was to receive pets. The witch snorted and picked her words back up more succinctly, "If you ever need to talk, drop me an owl or a memo. George is a great listener."

To Harper, for whom werewolf politics and lifestyles were still recent knowledge, the idea of a werewolf club felt bewildering. As in a society? Or a night club? Something told her that she was better off not knowing which; Carstairs wasn't entirely wrong when he preached culpable deniability. It was enough to simply know the name of the place.

            "He is called Oscar Trueman....where to find a supplier.... his friends are like me. Not registered."

Birds of a feather. Harper closed her eyes for a moment and let go of her quill. "Oscar Trueman," she slowly repeated the name to commit it to memory, not wanting to risk putting it down on paper. When she opened her eyes again, the lawyer smiled softly at Savvina. "I'll do my best to pass the message on to him. Thank you for trusting me with this."

Harper reached for a sheet of paper on her desk, gesturing with it.

"Meanwhile, I have a few standard questions to ask for the trial. Boring stuff," she sighed softly, "but we might as well get them over with, yeah?"

             "There is someone..." Savinna began, and Harper sat a little straighter.

This was crucial. She had a lawful obligation to maintain client-attorney confidentiality - the only exception was if Savvina imparted information to do with future criminal activity, in which lives might be endangered. What the werewolf was implying didn't sound like that. It sounded more like she didn't want to hurt someone in an unfortunate position.

"Warned?" Harper repeated in a low but sharp tone, eyes coming back into focus. "Warned about what?"

If someone was about to be hurt, that did fall into purview of the law; especially if they were being targeted by Tawse. "Any name you give me, as long as nobody is hurt as a consequence, I won't pass on to investigators. Can't pass on, even," she reassured Savvina before the other witch could reply. Her client's peace of mind was a priority. "Don't worry about that."

Savvina needed to feel safe, to feel like she could trust Harper. And Harper had to live up to that trust.

Her quiet little cottage in Surrey seemed like a very unlikely venue for this conversation to be taking place - and yet here they were, discussing the odds of impeaching the Minister of Magic himself. Harper was relieved to see that Eva was as affected by how significant this might be; how difficult, to pull it off without putting themselves directly in the line of fire.

           “But, do you have them here?”

A quick nod as she set aside her wine glass. "Yeah. I know it won't stand up in court but it's a start. We'll know who to question, who to watch. Maybe figure out who we can trust." Harper glanced over her shoulder but Elixa was nowhere in sight.

Who could they trust? Was Carstairs on Edwin's side? They seemed to socialise in the same circles, wield the same kind of assured authority that wizards took for granted. What about the other department heads? The obliviators, the aurors?

"Should I get them out?" she turned back to Eva, hesitant. "Do you trust Elixa entirely? Not just with your secrets, but with mine?" Harper watched her friendly carefully - taking Lawrence's memories could ruin her practice if it was made public and official. That was another reason she knew they couldn't present it in court.

Skylos, thought Harper, was a big dog. It seemed weird that he hadn't been spotted.

She accepted the description and set it aside on her desk, picking up her own quill to mark a little red star on the corner so that she would remember it was a priority. As a witch very much attached to her own canine familiar, Harper sympathised with Savvina. Everything about this case felt so disjointed. Pieces of a puzzle missing, probably because it was part of a larger case. Cinaed Tawse.

           "Harper, what other cases have you had like mine?

"Technically," she smiled as she leaned back in her desk chair, "all my cases are like yours. It's my job to ensure that the Ministry doesn't overstep. I think we can both agree it has a... history of overstepping."

And Merlin knew she never let them forget it, in a court of law. There were people in the Wizengamot who were alive and active when its powers were abused to send muggleborns to Azkaban; what right did anyone have to believe that they were untouchable and always correct in their judgement? A system was made of people. People were vulnerable and corrupt.

"But if you mean specifically to do with werewolves," she continued in a more sombre tone, "I've recently defended a young unregistered werewolf, and kept her parents from Azkaban. She was my first werewolf case." Harper raised an eyebrow at Savvina, adding: "You're lucky number two."