Level 2 Holding Cells, early afternoon
M for mature language


Harper Graves, after her less-than-casual encounter with their department head, had received the file on Lawrence Musgrave. It was a thick file. It was a paperweight in itself. She had not gone through the thing with a fine toothcomb (yet) but she'd read enough by the time the lunch hour had shortly expired - that is, enough to finally change into a set of formal robes and send a memo to Solomon Carstairs letting him know she was ready to see her latest client.

There was no clicking of heels as her soft, padded loafers treaded down the corridor of cell doors. Harper didn't have to check cell numbers. An Auror had been stationed outside of Musgrave's door, so her destination was obvious.

"Open," she nodded at the red-robed witch who was eying her warily. "I need to speak with my client privately."

Generally speaking, Miss Graves was well-known by the Aurors. She was a defence lawyer and, although Aurors and Hitwards didn't know much in the way of useful information, they at least knew with they disliked. Anything that got in between a prisoner and a cage in Azkaban.

But work was work and she knew Carstairs had sent word ahead.

Harper ignored the glare and looked straight ahead as the cell door was shoved open, the sound of it somehow resentful. To her surprise, there were two occupants. "Thank you," she murmured before stepping through with as impersonal and professional a smile as one could manage.

Ed fucking Pratt. The door shut behind Harper and she looked between the two wizards. One Head Auror. One Former Auror. Someone upstairs didn't like her today.

"You're not supposed to be speaking to Mr. Musgrave without me present, Pratt." Harper held on to her smile like a shield, not moving from her place past the threshold. Though she addressed Ed, she was still looking at Lawrence Musgrave. He was haggard and injured.

He hadn't been injured in this way upon arrest, according to the report.

Lawyers were a ridiculous sort. While aurors used wands and wits to track down criminals, risking their lives to keep the wizarding population safe; lawyers used quills, books and their tongues to let the murderers and criminals back out onto the streets. Female lawyers were yet a stranger breed. Like female aurors, they felt they had something to prove in a wizard’s world. This breed was the worst. An attractive female could suddenly become an ugly hag as soon as she started to ‘practice’ law.

It was, therefore, with mild irritation, that Ed watched the Miss Graves step into the cell. Her gaze didn’t linger long on him, instead her attention being focused on the prisoner. Sat back against the wall from the solitary stool in the cell, Ed gave a shrug.

“Lucky I wasn’t speakin’ then, Miss Graves.” It wasn’t a lie. After a short moment, the auror grinned and stood, moving closer to her in the cell. “Bloody hell what did you do to piss Carstairs off?” From past experience, only the worst lawyers were put on the cases they had no chance of winning. Perhaps the lovely boss disliked this lawyer more than he disliked he Head Auror.

His hand was waved at the now vacated stool for the witch to sit, should she wish.

Ed Pratt had been about to leave[1] with two coffee cups and minus a handkerchief, off to arrange a first round of formal questioning. The door unlocked, though it wasn’t for the Head Auror to leave.

The petite red head who stepped inside was not an auror. She held herself purposefully, defiantly, but she wasn’t an auror. She moved more formally, strictly, and there was a definite smell of process, rules and laws about her. The wizengamot court crew had not changed much, other than to get younger and… that was an American accent? As such he had no visual recognition of the new witch, or her family ties, unlike others[2] who had visited him this morning.

No love lost between them either.

“You're not supposed to be speaking to Mr. Musgrave without me present, Pratt.” Lawrence watched the fixed smile, to the reaction in kind from the Head Auror who shrugged. It was almost exactly the same reaction Lawrence would have given in the circumstances, if he were Pratt. Interesting that he had been assigned someone, a young woman so keen to assert herself. In the short second he’d clapped eyes on her, Lawrence made a couple of assumptions - she was either inexperienced, or had something to prove, and despite acknowledging he was destined to Azkaban or worse, she was still going to approach the task with professional integrity intact. Or at least attempt to.

Detainee and legal representative met eyes briefly without truly acknowledging. She was studying his appearance, he was watching their interaction with curiosity, quiet and still.

“Lucky I wasn’t speakin’ then, Miss Graves…. Bloody hell what did you do to piss Carstairs off?” Lawrence dropped his gaze a moment to listen carefully to the conversation as the two drew closer by the door to his cell. Pratt was a little surprised ‘Graves’ had been assigned. So, perhaps she wasn’t the worst or the most hated in ordinary circumstances. He was suggesting she had done something against their mutual senior to assign her to Lawrence.

He blinked slowly, considering her sensible shoes. Academic, trustworthy, down to earth? Sensible? It had been a while since he’d considered a woman’s choice of footwear.

“We’ll catch up later, Head Auror.” Lawrence interrupted in a low tone, referring to the last words they’d exchanged before the third party had arrived. “She's eager to establish how fucked her assignment is.” He shrugged awkwardly and sighed, gaze settling on the witch he was about to become acquainted with. 

1.	Sit by the Silent Hearth
2.	Its Pale Watch Keeping

She didn't stop herself from giving the Head Auror a little eye roll when he claimed not to have been speaking - fine. It wasn't worth the time to pursue that complaint and it looked like Musgrave might only play along. He wasn't acting like someone who'd just been roughed up by their interviewer; not Pratt who did it then.

           "Bloody hell what did you do to piss Carstairs off?"

Harper took the vacant stool - wizards were always in a better mood when their supposed chivalry was accepted - and made a show of looking around the cell as she spoke; ignoring the other two momentarily. "I don't know. Probably the only one he could bully into this."

Her gaze swept itself back to the Auror, smiling as their prisoner as he suggested that Pratt leave them to their work. In less practical words. There was nothing practical about how anyone on level two spoke.

"I don't mind if the good Auror wants to stay a while, before we get down to real business." Harper turned her attention to Lawrence and made a quick judgement call. "It's up to you, Lawrence. Whatever you're comfortable with," she crossed one leg over the other. "Now, like our dear Mister Pratt, you can call me Miss Graves but I'd prefer if you just call me Harper. I'm your port of call until we get you down to Azkaban, alright?"

Graves took the proffered stool, and sank down to Lawrence’s level, more or less. The cell felt crowded with the movement, and Lawrence refolded his legs to cross them. It was more comfortable, and he felt less threatened by these two than he had by the pair who had beaten him up earlier. Graves was giving him the first impression that she played by the book, and certainly her suggestion that she could be bullied was an attempt to paint herself as no threat to Lawrence. Pratt stood now, still more interested in the witch than the wizard he’d just verbally prodded for potential interview routes and motivations.

“I’m in no hurry.” Lawrence replied quietly, given a choice. He blinked as he looked from Graves to Pratt, and shuffled his shoulder blades against the cell wall, returning his gaze to the red-head.

“… I’m your port of call until we get you down to Azkaban, alright?”
“Up.” Lawrence corrected quietly. “I don’t think I’ll be calling you much, either way. Save your time.” He levelled his stare at Harper, “I’ve lived amongst enough cases with less charges in the North Sea, and arrested enough before that to know I’m a lost cause. I anticipate I will be here a long while so Pratt and his team can make best use of my cooperation.” He glanced to the Head Auror, but Lawrence’s lips flinched. The split had reopened again, and interrupted by the discomfort, he dropped his gaze from them both, sucking a scabbing knuckle with a frown. He might have added, could you remind the rest of them I’m cooperating? only he did not feel he deserved to complain much in the circumstances.

The very fact that Graves considered being alone in the locked cell with a madman was ridiculous. Lawyers were quill pushers and legislation lovers. Defence attorneys were the worst. Due to helping criminals, they thought themselves immune to attack. For supposedly clever witches and wizards, they were regularly naïve and idiotic.

Without the encouragement to leave, Ed remained in the cell, leaning back against the locked metal door with his hands in his trouser pockets. The empty coffee cups sat on the floor beside the stool Graves had now claimed. As he listened to Musgrave speak, Ed still found himself unable to shake the feeling that something terrible had been planned, that they were heading straight into a trap. It wasn’t a feeling he needed to voice; aurors by nature with suspicious people and the Head Auror had to protect his force by any means necessary.

“Everyone in the country knows yer case is a lost cause, Lawrence. But, thanks to our ministry, even a murderer has rights. Miss Graves is ‘ere to make sure we don’t take any of those rights away unjustly.” But Musgrave was a former auror. He was the worst type of criminal. “Ye know the drill. She’ll be ‘anding out the last bit of kindness yer ever gonna see.”

“She’ll be ‘anding out the last bit of kindness yer ever gonna see,” the Head Auror asserted. Lawrence leaned his messy head of curls back against the wall to regard Pratt with a slight frown.
“No more pumpkin pasty bribes then, Head Auror?” He asked, with air of disappointment. “Oh well.” He looked back to Harper and shrugged as best he could.

Pratt did not seem keen to leave, but Lawrence elected that this company was better than being left alone for the past however many hours. Alone with his thoughts and their thoughts was not a happy place. His emotional exchange with Berkeley[1] had brought them into his head again, but real people who engaged in … ‘banter’, he supposed.
“Beatings and emotional young aurors it is then.”

1.	Its Pale Watch Keeping

If Harper was used to one thing, it was being the only witch in a room full of wizards - and this afternoon was not an exception. She could almost see it in their faces: the multitude of assumptions already being made, the skepticism, the wariness. Not to mention how they threw that stupid phrase about like it didn't mean anything. Lost cause.

Something she would have to verify for herself.

Harper allowed the Head Auror to casually delineate her purpose in being assigned to Musgrave, taking this time to continue observing her new client. God, he looked like shit. He must've been hanging on by the skin of his teeth when he surrendered himself. She reached into the pocket of her robes and took out a small notebook with a bright red quill.

The fact that Pratt had brought coffee and pasties made her feel more kindly about him being in the cell. Ed was playing good cop. Which meant...

            “Beatings and emotional young aurors it is then.”

"Care to name these emotional young Aurors?" Harper was already making notes, tip of the quill scratching away even as she looked up with a carefully neutral expression. "Auror Pratt is right in saying that I'm here to protect your rights. It's my job the ensure the correct and just implementation of the law. We can avoid all this," her quill lifted and she gestured the feathery end towards his general features, "and I can file a formal complaint. And then... I don't know. We can maybe start from the beginning."

She flipped a page in the notebook, arching an interrogative but not unfriendly eyebrow. "Wherever or whenever you think that is."

Ah, Graves was going to play by the book. Fair enough, Lawrence thought, she was being professional. He should humour her. It would pass the time if nothing else.
“She didn’t do any harm,” Lawrence pointed out, “Or, rather, mean any physical harm.” He watched the red quill dance on the notepad and sighed, looking up to Pratt. Had Gamp recounted the incident to him, or was he unaware? “She didn’t do this, is what I mean.” He looked back to Graves and pointed to his lip and gestured to his scabbed knuckles.

“Her parents worked with me, here. We were friends, good friends. I didn’t realise she’d become an auror,” he looked back to Pratt, and sighed, "she was just down here because the hitwizards you and Carstairs put on the door fucked off before the relief shift arrived. I haven’t seen her since she was… I don’t know… too young.” Lawrence closed his eyes a moment, feeling his emotions shifting, his throat closing. He sat very still a moment, letting it settle before his hazel eyes opened back on Harper, decision made.

“Berkeley, Berkeley Cavanagh. We just crossed words, I don’t think either of us were expecting a happy reunion. Think Gamp thought we’d come to blows though. Has Pratt told you, or you seen the verdict on the healer’s report? Not that I have…” He gestured to the two of them to exchange information with a wave of his remaining hand, but elaborated regardless. “Recommended a watch for symptoms of my dementor exposure. I pity the paperwork Gamp’s got to do.”

 “Beatings and emotional young aurors it is then.”

Happy to lean back against the door and simply listen, Ed’s attention peaked at the comment. He’d not questioned Musgrave about how he’d gotten the new injuries and busted lip. He’d decided to leave it. Disgruntled staff members, no matter how reserved they could be, could easily lose their tempers when faced with someone that had endangered those they loved. Ed knew, he’d been there. If Musgrave wasn’t going to say anything, neither would he.

But Musgrave had a plan as evidenced by saving the comment until the lawyer was in the room. Ed’s bright green eyes didn’t leave the prisoner as he listened to question and answer.

But apparently Cavangh hadn’t done the beating. What she had done, however, was get herself on the boss’ radar for a formal warning. If what she had done managed to impede their investigation in any way, she’d be glad to have Ed’s ire and not their Head of Department’s.

“We’ve already made a deal, Lawrence.” Ed spoke carefully, steadily. “There is no need to bargain any further by tryin’ to drag ministry staff through the mud.”

If Pratt was blind to the emotion behind Musgrave's explanation of the young Auror, Harper was not.

She had paused in taking her notes to observe the older wizard: he was coherent and apparently in no hurry to justify his past actions - or to condemn what was happening to him now. It set off alarm bells in the lawyer, on a personal level. Harper thought it kind of like watching someone who'd reached a dead end and decided that was it for them. The end.

And she was just part of pushing down the proverbial brake. Better, she guessed, than accelerating.

            "...or you seen the verdict on the healer’s report? Not that I have…"

Harper shook her head softly, reminded herself to continue making the odd note while Pratt opened his mouth. The witch shot him a direct look and coloured it with a frown.

"I don't think Level 2 staff needs any help dragging ourselves through the mud," she pointed out - with an emphasis on the law enforcement department. "Besides. I'm not bargaining with Lawrence, I'm asking for facts. You might have heard of them before, Auror Pratt? Those pesky little things you deal with, to solve cases?"

The witch cocked her head to the side, frown dissolving into a tight smile before she turned her attention back to their inmate. "I'll make a note of Cavanagh and restrict her access to you. For both your sakes." Harper put down her quill and sat up straighter on the stool. "So. Either of you going to tell me what's this deal you have going on?"

“We’ve already made a deal, Lawrence. There is no need to bargain any further by tryin’ to drag Ministry staff through the mud.”
“Heh.” Lawrence replied, thinking to retort he already had literally dragged at least one auror through it on Hampstead Heath.
“I don’t think Level 2 staff need any help dragging ourselves through the mud,” Harper jumped to his defence, hounding Pratt. Lawrence let them bicker. It was entertaining.

“I’ll make a note of Cavanagh and restrict her access to you, for both your sakes.” Lawrence blinked back.
“Go easy on her, Pratt, she’s only human, unlike me.” He muttered to the Head Auror, shrugging. Ed wouldn’t take his advice, but Lawrence acknowledged he was definitely not in the right through that exchange. He had provoked Berkeley further after she started it. Two rights did not make a wrong. A lesson he should have always followed.

“So, either of you going to tell me what’s this deal you have going on?” Lawrence glanced back to Ed, anticipating whether he’d jump in. If he did, the witch would probably read into it. He returned his gaze to Harper.
“Just my cooperation in exchange for pumpkin pasties.” He reassured her, deciding it was better to keep it simple in Pratt’s presence. They hadn’t truly bargained yet, until he had some information on record. Much as the conversation was interesting and made a change from shrieking, kicking or being left to rot, he couldn’t deny he felt like utter shite. If the healer said he was well enough, then they wouldn’t wait much longer. Besides, he needed a change of scenery from the four walls. He was going to get to know them very well over the weeks ahead, and the less time he had to contemplate how desolate his existence was, the better.

“I know there’s a lot we all need to discuss,” Lawrence gestured in a circular motion between the three of them with his remaining right hand, “Which charge did you want to start with?” There were enough on the list, “Graves has got a novel there to read before I even begin.” He pointed at the file, “if she’s insisting on joining us, might have to talk tomorrow, Pratt.” If he was going to have to suffer Harper's company in interviews, she better be up to speed and not keep interrupting. Really, though, it was a waste of her time.

Why the lawyer felt the need to attempt belittling the Head Auror, Ed wasn’t sure. Most defence lawyers within the ministry would have you believe they were the only sane members of level 2 and actually knew what a fact was. They would have a wizengamot believe that Aurors were incompetent beings unable to carry out a flawlessly legal investigation or perform the simple task of an arrest without flouting the rights of the criminal.

The suggestion of going easy on an auror that could mess this case through negligence and improper behaviour caused the slightest eyebrow raise from the blond wizard. Pratt was a fair boss, mostly in support of his staff but he came down hard if they crossed a line. Cavanagh had certainly crossed a line.

This was the time when Ed decided it was best to step out and leave the lawyer to find out just how pointless her job was about to be. Carstairs really must have been unimpressed with her.

Bright green eyes settled on Graves.
“There’s a hitwizard posted at the door. He’ll be leaving his post on loss of job or legal action.” Ed would make sure. Without another word, he hammered his fist on the cell door. It unlocked and the Head Auror stepped out.

“Heh,” Lawrence vocalised to himself quietly as Pratt disappeared through the door. As he watched it close, Lawrence’s bruised face wore a somber expression. The hitwizard wouldn’t leave his post, only to come and beat Lawrence again, maybe, which had drawn the reaction to Pratt’s statement. Maybe he should have tried harder to turn up dead in a ditch. It seemed an easier outcome all round. Outwardly, his face reflected his mood.

“Do you want the short version?” He suddenly asked Harper, dragging his gaze back to her. It was a rhetorical question. He gave her no chance to reply. “I was an auror, associated with the wrong side in the war and served the consequence in Azkaban. Out on good behaviour. Tried to earn an honest living, but made the wrong choices. I didn’t want to go back so tried to find a way to survive, at the detriment of ruining every life I touched.”

He pressed his lips together and frowned at Graves. “Tell Carstairs you won’t take my case. Tell him to assign whoever makes the tea on Level 2 if he must tick a box. Go help someone who deserves not to go to Azkaban.” He waved her away with his remaining hand, averting his gaze in case she protested as he curled up beneath the itchy blanket again, closing his eyes. “This isn’t an attempt to get you to pity me, either,” he added, cracking one eye open, “Pratt’s decided to play that line.”

Pumpkin pasties, as far as bribes went, sounded in-character of Ed Pratt. She'd heard things about cups of coffee too. A simple wizard with simple tastes - she would have to trust that her client was telling the truth about the interactions between them anyway. This was their first meeting. Not a good opportunity to pry him open, more of a chance to win him over. Harper thanked Pratt and watched him leave with civil regard.

The door closed.

Oh, she hated that sound. That dull and metallic thud: echoing even in the smallest of cells. The witch looked back to the older wizard. Her fingers curled around the thick folder in her hands and she was quiet, a look of thoughtful concern creeping into what was already an expressive face while she listened.

Might as well be a Dementor in with them, the way he looked. Musgrave wouldn't be the first client to pull sympathy from her, if he was putting on an abject act. She made a split-second decision to go with instinct.

"I don't make demands on Solomon Carstairs unless someone's breaking the law." Harper smiled, leaning forward a little and poking at his knee to get his attention - she couldn't blame him for curling up under the blanket. "That's two false assumptions you've made about me now. One, that I'm looking for the short version of events. Two, that I don't want to work this case."

She opened up her notebook again and turned over to a fresh sheet, pointedly not glancing back at Lawrence so that he didn't feel awkward if he decided to peek out of his shell again. "So you'd better let me do my job, you got that? I won't get you out of Azkaban but I'll keep you safe until then. We can take it one step at a time."

Harper paused to scribble down a header for her notes.

"Do you want to start with your 'wrong choices' or all those lives you've supposedly ruined?"