1830 hours, Surrey Countryside


The little cottage, from where it sat on a slight hill, overlooked a good bit of Surrey. To the west - a muggle settlement and civilisation. To the east, verdant farmland and trains cutting across a distant landscape. It was idyllic. Harper's idea of peace. And peace, ever since she had been assigned to Lawrence Musgrave, was proving difficult to find. Life was nothing but paperwork, interviews, public statements and dispatching interns on errands. The witch turned away from her living room window and moved into her tiny kitchen to check on the creamy sauce she was heating up on the stove.

Eva was due any minute. They had not seen much of each other this week, more difficult now that the other woman worked on level one. But their monthly dinners continued.

She untied her apron and left it on the counter before brushing stray herbs off her outfit. The doorbell rang. Just as Harper looked up, a cheerful barking answered the sound. Her Fielder Spaniel - George - was already at the front door.

"Come in!" she called out, loud enough for her guest to hear. "Just setting the table!"

Harper drew her wand and gave it a delicate wave. A ripple of magic disturbed the air, sending a potful of hot linguine pasta into the air in tandem with the sauce. The entire cottage smelled of cream and herbs and crispy bacon bits. By the time Eva was walking into the kitchen accompanied by George, the table at the window was set with the mixed pasta ready to be served, and two tall glasses by their empty plates.

"Drink?" she held up a bottle of Prosecco, smiling at her friend. It had been a long day of work. They both deserved a drink.

It was probably the earliest Eva had left the ministry over the past couple of weeks. It wasn’t that she was a regular workaholic; but there wasn’t much to her life apart from work, occasional men and occasional meets with friends. Her monthly social catch up with an old friend had been awaited eagerly this month. It was more than worth leaving work at a sensible time for considering recent events.

“Mon dieu George!” The witch exclaimed as the front door was pushed shut and the spaniel excitedly greeted. She crouched down to give the dog her own warm welcome. “Allez, come on chiot.” Obediently, the four-legged creature escorted her to the kitchen where food was already being served.

“Of course.” The response to a drink was quick with the flash of a smile. But her eyes settled on the choice of clothing and her lip twitched. “Are we entertaining someone’s grandma, Harper?”

Harper rewarded her Field Spaniel with an affectionate head rub as he brought their guest into the kitchen, a familiar circumstance in her little cottage. She did not entertain often but the routine of these dinners meant that the witch never felt like she had to stand at attention when Eva came around. They could relax.

             "Are we entertaining someone’s grandma, Harper?"

She snorted a laugh, already uncorking the bottle to pour them both a healthy glass of Prosecco. "Noooo, though she probably was old enough to be somebody's grandmother." Harper smiled at the other woman and picked up both drinks before handing one over.

"I was with a client. Not the one that the Prophet's been asking me about!" she raised the glass in a careless toast. "He's not exactly the pearl-earrings sort, is he?" Harper drank - a small sip - then cleared her throat. "But nevermind that. How was your day?"

In this exact moment, Evangeline chose to say nothing about her extra special client. They would come to that in due time. Besides, it was hardly becoming of friendship to jump straight into work and legal talk. She’d not even finished her first glass yet! So, in recognition of her friend’s statement, Eva simply raised her eyebrows a fraction, sharing a knowing glance.

“My day was spent wondering if I’d prefer to try getting my old job back on level 2 so I wouldn’t have to deal daily with an obnoxious chauvinist I’m expected to call ‘Minister’ or ‘Sir’.” she took a sip, placed the glass down and began to remove her cloak. “Have you had the pleasure of Glass’ company at any point?” As she spoke, the witch sent her cloak floating back into the hallway to hang itself on a hook.

“I’m not sure if he’s yes realised that I’m a qualified lawyer and not a really old intern eager to impress.” Her glass was once more taken in hand. “We might need something stronger than prosecco tonight, old friend.”

It sounded a lot like neither of them had been having a good day. Par for the course, these days. New minister meant new troubles - and the old troubles were still hanging around, even with Zephyr tucked out of pertinent sight. Harper leaned back against the kitchen counter and cradled her wine glass, listening.

"You know we'd welcome you back with open arms," she exclaimed with a mock toast in Eva's direction. "Don't blame you for wanting out. Never really ran into ol' Glass in-person but I've heard things here or there."

Not terrible things, mostly complaints about likability - and she'd heard some good things too, in fact. Better to play up on sympathy with Eva, though, especially if there was going to be stronger stuff to drink later.

"I'll get the bourbon out after we eat. So what did he do?" Harper sipped cautiously. "Slap your ass and lecture you on the merits of modern government?"

Her friend was sweet, the suggestion of being welcomed back was touching but somewhat unwanted. Despite her suggestion of moving back to Level 2, it had been tough enough to conquer her fears and return to Britain and the ministry a couple of years ago, taking up a full-time job back on Level 2 felt like a step too far. It was familiar territory and a job she could fall back into; she knew that. However, regardless of the current issues with her new boss, Eva enjoyed the challenge of Level 1. Besides, it paid well enough for her to think of moving on from the battered old house she currently owned.

"Slap your ass and lecture you on the merits of modern government?"

Prosecco was nearly spat out and snorted up her nose when Eva nearly couldn’t contain her reaction to the comment.

“Then he sent me away to think about my behaviour.” Her eyebrows rose as she thought on yesterday’s experience. He’d silenced her with a finger and told her to get out like a child having been dismissed by an irritated parent. “I’d rather your boss did that.” A small smirk twisted her lips.

“He has really fat lips, Glass. Sufficiently suitable for kissing the arses of the wizengamot officials that voted for him.” The prosecco was once more lifted to her pale lips.

            "I’d rather your boss did that."

Harper laughed, quickly draining the rest of her glass before going to the table to replenish it. The corners of her mouth turned down at the mention of Solomon Carstairs. No. That just... no. Aesthetically, it was easy to understand where the remark was coming from. Aesthetics were cheap though. There were lots of pretty people in the Ministry.

She gestured for her friend to take a seat so that they might begin their meal - in her view, the faster they got through their food the faster they would get to some harder liquor.

"Let's not think on Carstairs. The man's cologne is more expensive than some of my shoes, so he can keep his ass slapping hands to himself." Harper drew her wand to delicately serve from the centre of the table - dishes heaped with creamy pasta and a side of salad. "But what were you doing thinking about the Minister's lips?, in the first place"

A teasing glimmer in her eye as she lowered her wand, wielding a fork in her hand instead. "Going to start describing his twinkling eyes and ravishingly receding hairline, next?"

It was hard not to grin as her old friend teased. Obeying, the blonde sat down at the table and drained her own wine glass as she drew her mind away from Solomon Carstairs’ ‘ass slapping hands’.

“I’d not describe the hairline as ravishing.” The fork was taken up in her hand and she began to stab at the pasta, her stomach suddenly alerting her to the hunger caused by skipping lunch. “Now, the large paunch of a stomach, on the other hand…” She winked and took a bite.

“How do you know about Carstairs’ cologne?” Two could play at that game. “Or is that why you’ve ended up with the case of the year?”

Harper twirled several strings of linguine around her fork, raising it to her mouth while they poked fun at the Minister of Magic - a role in which men or women of power simply had to tolerate the superficial insults of those lower down. Although maybe if Glass had a different presence, she would have actually felt guilty about their dinner conversation tonight.

            "How do you know about Carstairs’ cologne? Or is that why you’ve ended up with the case of the year?"

"Who doesn't know about his cologne?" she replied with a snort, stopping herself from taking another sip of wine and charming a pair of drinking glasses down from the cupboards - followed by a glass bottle of water, as the icebox door swung open. "He forgets about personal space, always comes around the desk to give me folders. Stinks like an Italian powder room."

A mock shudder at the thought. Water was poured, and a pause ensued in which she washed down some of the pasta.

"Is that what everyone else is calling it, by the way?" Harper frowned, both curious and perturbed. "Case of the year? Carstairs didn't give me much of a choice. Not that I would have refused."

She did, in fact, refuse to begin with.[1]

Until Solomon had the gall to make it sound interesting. Harper didn't like him but he'd been right - she didn't regret taking on Musgrave's case.

1.	An Island to Sink - 7th April

Eva remembered well having such approaches by the then auror before the war. It hadn’t been unwanted but it hadn’t exactly been encouraged either, her being the faithful wife of an unfaithful wizard. The occasional flirting was far more interesting but she didn’t have to work with the wizard daily.

“Perhaps you should have.” Eva said, her friendly tone waning as she put her fork down and studied her friend for a moment. She wanted to chat about it like it meant nothing, but that was near impossible.

It was easy to understand Harper’s acceptance of the case. Eva had been so similar back before the war, eager to take what she could and do right by the client. Eva had pushed it further, adamantly fighting to get even the guilty off. She’d had little concern for what they’d done, more for a decent success rate. Harper, however, had seemed naïve, wanting to believe the possible decency in her clients.

“He’s…” she paused, thinking on her words as she fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “He’s not a project, Harper. He’s dangerous; more than most. He never should have been let out the first time.”

For a moment there, she felt like she was back in her office - the tone of their conversation was abruptly changing in the same way that meetings with her clients did. Harper had switched back to the wine to compliment the rich pasta sauce and she was still chewing when Eva began to drop what seemed like loaded advice.

Maybe it should have been expected: the other witch had a lot of experience on level two and this was, by far, the most publicity-laden case that Harper had ever agreed to take on.

"Yeah, I've seen his folder. Not exactly bedtime reading..." she drank again and then leaned back to slip off her heels, so that George could come rest his paws on her feet. "I don't know about whether or not he should have been let out before. It's not really my place to judge, Eva."

The system is what had led to that outcome; decisions of people older than her and much higher up, back in a time when Harper didn't really know anything about Musgrave.

"He needed an attorney- and as much as I dislike Carstairs, I think I'm the right witch for that job." Harper glanced down at her dish, pushing the pasta around thoughtfully. "Musgrave wasn't what I was expecting. You're probably right. He's not a project, I'm not trying to fix him."

She had tried to do that before, with other clients. They always disappointed. "But he has rights as a prisoner. I have to protect them."

Harper could have taken offence at Eva’s comments, could have shut off from it. Eva knew she personally may have years ago when she’d been in the job. She’d been stubborn, eager to get the job done alone without help and advice. But everyone needed help.

As she listened, Eva wondered just how much of Musgrave’s folder her friend had read. Did it have his arrests in? The details of his crimes back during the war? She’d never shared that specific detail with her friend. It had seemed unimportant; something she definitely hadn’t wanted to visit.

She said nothing about it being her place to judge. It was never the lawyer’s place to judge. They were the pawn.

“Ask him if he protected his prisoner’s rights during the war.” Her refilled wine glass was once more drained and the witch sat back, frowning.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t fair of her to do this. “I didn’t want to do this when I came around. Just...be careful.”

            "Ask him if he protected his prisoner’s rights during the war."

This was the first real hint she had to indicate the reason behind why Eva was delving into the subject of Lawrence Musgrave. Harper frowned, continuing to pick at her food and taking the odd bite, but her appetite for alcohol was gaining over that for heavy pasta. She was missing something and she didn't like that feeling.

Missing context.

"Didn't want to do what, when you came around?" Harper put down her fork, leaning forward against the table and picking up the glass exclusively. "You know that I can't... I can't ask him that. I can't look like I'm coming from a place of moral judgement, or he won't trust me."

That was her basic work ethic and it was generally successful, even if only because nobody in a vulnerable position liked to feel like they were being morally appraised. Put under a magnifying glass and inspected for flaws.

"What aren't you telling me?" A searching stare. "I'm always careful, you know that. What do you think he's going to do?" she drank a healthy swallow of her wine, still looking at Eva over the clear rim.

Suddenly it was Eva being studied and she distracted herself by grabbing the wine bottle and refilling her glass manually. She was in the habit of such things from a decade in the muggle world, using a wand to pour wine had always seemed frivolous. The pasta was left abandoned in her bowl as she considered just how much she was willing to tell her old friend.

“I didn’t want to be bias.” There was frustration in her voice although it wasn’t clear what the frustration was for. She’d spent her career trying to take bias out of her actions and treating people at face value. It was easy to do when it was just a job. It was a lot harder when your close friend was unknowingly defending the monster that had put you in Azkaban.

More wine was needed to truly tackle this conversation, but Eva guessed a couple of glasses would need to suffice. If she even had to get that far.

“Think about it, Harper. He was the ministry’s most wanted criminal and he just handed himself in? Who does that if they haven’t got ulterior motive? He is a desperate and easily bought man, that makes him more dangerous.”

She paused, considering whether to share with her friend rather than maintain the minister’s secrecy. It took no more than a second to side with the former.

“You should have seen Glass’s face when he saw the message. He was shaking.” Perhaps Harper would take that as what she wasn’t being told.

Harper knew that, by going back to the states during the second war, she had missed a set of key events that were still affecting the lives of her colleagues at the Ministry. Right now she couldn't understand what it was about Musgrave - specifically - that was clearly setting Eva on edge.

A low whine under the table reminded her that George was with them; she reached down with a free hand to comfortingly scratch behind his ears.

            "Think about it, Harper. He was the ministry’s most wanted criminal and he just handed himself in? Who does that if they haven’t got ulterior motive? He is a desperate and easily bought man, that makes him more dangerous."

This was sane advice. In fact, the same advice Harper had received from almost every Auror after their initial show of belligerence upon learning about her task as Musgrave's attorney. Nobody trusted Lawrence.

She didn't either, not completely. Not yet. But she didn't think he had ulterior motives either.

"You should have seen him, Eva. I don't think he was acting." Harper shook her head and sat back, wine glass still in hand. "Desperate, definitely. But he looks so tired."

Mentioning the Minister's reaction, however, caused her to sit up straighter. There it was again! Edwin Glass and Lawrence Musgrave - some invisible thread between them that Harper couldn't quite touch. Lawrence had said he wasn't afraid of Glass. Why had he said that?

"I honestly think that tells me more about Minister Glass than it does about my client..." she finished her drink and set it back on the table with a contemplative frown. "Maybe... maybe we shouldn't discuss Lawrence. I think there's a reason Carstairs chose me, and it's because I don't have a bias. I'm a clean slate for him, and for the Wizengamot."