Early Morning, Cells


A doleful looking Field Spaniel stared up at the Hitwizard who was watching the entrance to Musgrave's cell this morning.

"He's been tested," Harper answered the unspoken question in the guard's eye - no animals were allowed in who hadn't been tested as animagi in disguise or otherwise dangerous to prisoners. George was fortunately a regular dog, or as regular a dog can be in wizarding circumstances. The Hitwizard made a grunting noise that might have been confirmation before stepping aside.

As it was still stupidly early in the day, Harper gave the door a few loud knocks. She never liked walking in on her clients in their cells when they were dozing. Some things should remain private and sleep was one of 'em.

"Lawrence!" the witch called after the third knock, "I've come to deliver this morning's paper, special."

She clicked her tongue at George, "C'mon sweetie. Let's go see how he takes it," Harper allowed the guard to cast his unlocking charm, and then finally stepped through - wielding a copy of The Prophet in one hand.

“… special.”

Greying eyebrows lifted and drew together at this more unusual morning greeting from Harper outside the door. She sounded chipper, which could be a good sort of chipper that brought good news, or the sort that thought it was bringing good news and was just being optimistic and could use up a lot of his energy trying not to bite her head off chipper.

Twenty-five days into his stay, he resolved he couldn’t be picky and would take any form of chipper. Lawrence was more accustomed to the movements and noises around his cell, and as a light sleeper he usually gave up on sleep when the hitwizards changed shift in the corridor. Yesterday there had been a particular punctuation in the interviews, so Lawrence had been afforded a little more time with writing implements even if he had not been out of the box.

He swung his legs over the side of the cell’s bed and folded the scratchy blanket as neatly as he could beside him. The door swung open enough to let the familiar, petite figure of Harper Graves inside. There was a newspaper in her hand, as pre-announced, but there was something else accompanying Harper’s customary flat shoes today that was entirely unexpected. Lawrence gave a start, sitting up a little straighter in surprise and rubbed his eyes with his remaining hand, wondering if he was dreaming.

“Morning,” he greeted her after a pause, glancing between her and the spaniel at her ankles, and back again.

Had he forgotten his birthday?

“Hello there,” he adopted an entirely different tone, one he might have addressed small children in, only his niece Hannah quickly grew up and told him to treat her like an adult by seven. His face wore both surprise and a genuine threat of a spontaneous smile. “To what I do owe the pleasure this Sunday morning?” He asked, as if the two had called round for morning coffee.

If she had known earlier that all it took to crack Lawrence's darker moods was to bring her dog along, Harper might have considered doing it sooner. She had brought George today as a change of pace and because being around animals was something she knew to be healthy for prisoners; got depressing, having to deal among people who have all kinds of opinions about you. Pets were different. They didn't judge the same way. Evidently, her client felt the same way.

It almost made her wonder what he'd be like, happy under different circumstances.

"Good morning. Lawrence, this is George-" she gestured at the Field Spaniel, encouraging it to approach the wizard, "- George, this is Lawrence. Now both of you be good or they won't let me bring him in next time."

Harper tossed the newspaper on to the cell bed, next to Lawrence. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms with a smug little smile (except she never could pull off smug, just maniacally cheerful). "It's my day off, Sunday, you know. But I wanted to tell you before you overheard it from the Aurors."

From the introduction onwards, Lawrence barely afforded Harper a glance, his attention entirely turned to George. He softened his posture on the bed, and offered his relaxed hand to the spaniel to sniff.
“Hello there, hello George…” the former auror greeted in a quiet voice, lifting his hand slowly to gently pet the shiny dark brown head.

“It’s my day off, Sunday, you know.”
“Hmm?” Lawrence replied, distracted. Days of the week didn’t have much relevance in his situation.
“But I wanted to tell you before you overheard it from the Aurors.”

“What?” Lawrence’s shaggy head snapped up while his hand continued to carefully pet George. His hazel eyes swept over Harper’s smug look to the newspaper flung on the end of the bed, where Ira Almasy’s even more smug face enjoyed a cigarette. He reached out with his left, inwardly cursing his lack of hand which meant he had lift his hand from the soft coat to pick up the paper.

It took a while for Lawrence to read the article, mostly as he read it twice before he began to laugh. It was as if he were reading a fairy story.
“'It became apparent.’” He quoted Carstairs, knowing that the information had almost entirely come from him. “And she’s dead!” He laughed, though it was more a delirious laugh. “You’re right, if I’d overheard it I’d never have believed it. But maybe I’m still dreaming - it’s Sunday, you’re here,    the bitch is dead and there’s the most doleful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen by my knee.”

Lawrence slipped from the bed to the floor, cross-legged, all the better to fuss the spaniel like an old friend.
“Am I dying?” He asked Harper, unable to stop smiling “Because this is the nearest to heaven I’ve been in years.”

It was a real shame that she couldn't just... use this entire image as part of her argument for Lawrence's case. If they could just see him as this guy who loved dogs and who was trying his best, instead of purely as a monster. Harper knew that was one of the messed up things about her job. Defend enough criminals, you realise they're all just people who have their good sides. It's the bad sides she had to watch out for.

The witch lowered herself on to a stool in the corner, unable to lose her smile while her client read the front page article. His reaction was surprising. She was definitely expecting some satisfaction but this was...

           “Am I dying?” Lawrence continued to happily bestow his attentions on George, who was milking it for all it was worth.  “Because this is the nearest to heaven I’ve been in years.”

... a little sad, wasn't it? Harper refrained from finishing the thought, opting to laugh in delight at this unprecedented show of happiness. It didn't make Musgrave look young exactly but it lifted years off his brow. You could almost make out how he might have appeared, living a different lifestyle. A softer, less lined expression.

"I'm sorry to say you're unquestionably alive -" Harper grinned, "- unlike Ira Almasy. My sources tell me it's definitely her body they found, so we can rest easy. " Or as easy as anyone could, who was likely to be sent to Azkaban.

Harper crossed her legs and jerked her head in the general direction of their MLE offices.  "Carstairs will probably want to keep you around to verify any of the documents they discovered in the rubble. It's obvious she destroyed at least half of them before the incident but there might still be enough to put away a few dangerous men."

And it was important to her that Solomon kept Lawrence around; it would add to her argument, which was going to focus in part on how useful he had been in the investigations.

"You've had a dog before?" her gaze shifted from dog to wizard and then back to wizard again, "I got George here after my divorce, after the war. He's pretty much the best."

“… My sources tell me it’s definitely her body they found, so we can rest easy.” Harper explained as Lawrence’s attention remained glued to the four-legged visitor, trying to find out how George preferred a scratch or a rub, on his head, his back, around the ears…?

“I’m surprised she went down so easily.” Lawrence replied, and shrugged. He was damned one way or the other, so he would take one less immediate concern with Ira’s body. He wouldn’t be ultimately surprised if the evil demon changed her face and turned up in the interview room before he made it to Azkaban, though he’d also be flattered she paid him that much interest. As Harper continued to explain about the evidence, the former auror looked up, thoughtful as George flopped against his shins, relaxing as his newest attentive human found a sweet spot. A few dangerous men, maybe women too, maybe some not-so-dangerous and just idiots too. Not everyone had their free will.

“You’ve had a dog before?” Lawrence nodded and hummed to agree.

“He’s lovely,” Lawrence agreed in an ordinary tone, and looked down to the shiny brown dog, “aren’t you?” A genuine smile remained on his face as he looked back.

“I’ve always been a dog person, got one when I left Hogwarts. My mother and sister hated Jasper - he was some terrier cross, border terrier and something. Got him from a friend of a friend. I was living at home with my parents still because of the training and saving money to find somewhere and he was banished to live outside because he stole one of the many ‘best’ pairs of my sister’s boots and buried them in the garden.” He laughed gently at the memory of getting home from London to Cynthia screeching and waving her mangled boots at him. “Once I moved out, had my own place, Jasper came too. Brilliant wingman, he had the look an the head cock down perfectly with good looking girls in the park.” And had buried Lawrence’s underpants in the mud more than once in payback.

“But I was an auror and girls came and went, and he’d be alone. It wasn’t fair, he was tearing up my place when I got stuck for twelve or more hours on a case. I let an ex take him on. She had the time, could take him to work, and he’d always adored her… as I had I,” Lawrence shrugged, “though it didn’t work out, but I had a good excuse to visit. Until she got married, and Jasper passed. I missed the little bugger. Having someone at home to greet me.” Lawrence smoothed his hand over George’s coat gently, lost in a memory of how empty his flat had been once he’d got back to it empty.

“Sounds like you got George for similar reasons,” Lawrence suggested, “I apologise for keeping her from you, George. Had him long?”

She had gotten a dog for many reasons - one of them being that having a pet was known to be kind on one's stress levels, and it was nice to have company that didn't really judge you when you came straight home to have two glasses of wine before actual dinner. George was definitely better company than Jeremy was. Harper found she couldn't help smiling at the happy way her dog responded to Lawrence's enthusiasm. Would it be inhumane to the animals if they had.... pet therapy or something in Azkaban?

A pang in her heart. Not in this world, under this Minister.

"It's good he had somewhere nice to be in his old age," she commented while her client spoke about his dog Jasper. "Sounds like he was a wizard's best friend, as they say." Or witch's best friend, in her case.

            "Sounds like you got George for similar reasons. I apologise for keeping her from you, George. Had him long?"

George gave a little yelp, imploring for more head scratches and less blathering. Harper laughed but nodded at Lawrence's supposition that she had gotten a pet so as to have someone to whom she could return home. Simple pleasures of the single life. There was so much talking in her offices on level two, she appreciated not going home to any.

"About... what is it, George dear? Five or six years now?" Harper addressed the Field Spaniel in a high and cheerful voice, then glanced back at the wizard. "I moved out to this muggle place in the country after the war, and there was this family there with a pair of Spaniels," she explained. "They used to come around, dig up my herb garden. George was one of their pups. Weren't you, baby? Yes you were."

All grown up now. "I never had a dog, grew up in a Manhattan apartment. But my grandparents had loads. Horses too," her lips pulled into a wider smile at the thought of her gramps and gran, "I take George to see them, on Thanksgiving and stuff. They're muggles, you know, they were so afraid I'd get something like a newt or a black cat. I'll bring him down here when I can too, now that I see he likes you so much."

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Lawrence replied, automatically. It was alien to accept charity even from Harper who cajoled him on the most regular of intervals about maintaining his rights. “Well… only if he likes it,” he added in a follow up, glancing up. It was pretty obvious the spaniel would lap up any petting and attention, even from what the paper called him.

“Never lived in the country,” Lawrence admitted, thinking back. “Grew up in St Albans and we had a fair size garden[1], but nothing like. Parents still live there.” He was still smoothing his hand over George’s soft coat, the tempo easing to show less excitement as he relaxed. “Then moved into London because it was more convenient. Shared flats and then when I had the cash, rented a basement flat[2] in a terrace. Whole building owned by a wizard, gave me decent rent because I used to help him do repairs.” It seemed like a different person’s life, not his own now. It had all changed down there, different tenants, probably different landlord. London had grown in a decade, and become full of new Muggle inventions. It had been a bit of a culture shock from the North Sea.

“What’s America like?” He asked, genuinely interested, “Never been. When people say their family’s got horses, it means money and land over here and probably a plummy accent. Dunno what’s ‘plummy' for an American.” He’d felt a bit awkward asking Harper anything about herself, keeping any queries within the realms of work and colleagues. It wasn’t his business, but his history was open season for everyone. Was good to imagine somewhere entirely different.

1.	16th February 2010, Like the Back of My Hand
2.	July 1996 Be Here Now

Lawrence's protest of her offer to bring George along was minimal at best, so she made a private resolution to 'trouble herself' for the sake of her client. He was definitely a dog person. She liked to separate people into those categories - even if they didn't care either way. Carstairs was a cat person. Pratt was a dog person. Their Minister of Magic was a... she hadn't decided yet. A no-pet person maybe. He had enough to look after.

"It's hard to get tired of London, isn't it?" she sighed happily, listening to Lawrence talk about living here in the great city. It was different from New York - back there, her sense of anonymity felt greater somehow.

          "What’s America like?"

"Big!" Harper replied instantly, then laughed to herself as she considered his question more thoughtfully. "Yeah...America is big. My grandparents make do alright, there's a lot of land and they sound about as Texan as their neighbours. Everything's just bigger over there, cheesier too. And everyone's super proud to be American."

The witch glanced at her dog, who was getting comfortable and seemed oblivious to the nature of their surroundings. "Lot of people don't even think about what's outside the states. Maybe they do in the cities but outside of that, not really. I guess it's the same here." She looked back at the wizard, with a sad smile.

"You'd like it though. Being there, you feel like anything can happen. Anything at all."

“Cheesier!” Lawrence echoed, pale cheeks lifting. A little less authentic, a little supersized.

“… you feel like anything can happen. Anything at all.”

“I could definitely take some of that right now,” he agreed, leaning back against his low bunk, remaining hand still gently stroking George. “It’s what, ten… eleven times bigger - America?” He blinked and shook his head, trying to imagine. He could stand on a hilltop in Britain and see for miles but he could travel from coast to coast by broom or apparate without a worry.

“That’s insane. One thing that keeps me from going mad in here is to think about stuff like that. Put things into perspective. Here in a small room, in a sub-government of one country of almost two hundred in the world.”

One of the books that had been amongst the fiction had been a battered concise encyclopaedia. Lawrence had always had a decent memory for facts and figures which had served him well in his exams as well has his life as an auror. He’d not studied anything since his time as an auror, and reading through the abridged facts of the modern world had been suitable distraction from more dangerous thoughts.

“One man in billions. How powerless you feel as an individual growing up, that nothing you do is really going to make a difference to the world. I bought into the romantic notion that becoming an auror would let me make that difference, that dent in the world. But for every one you put away, half a dozen are born and destined to grow up the same. Nothing changes and your life means nothing on a macroscopic scale. Which is lucky when you’re destined to make a dent.” Even for early on a Sunday this hollow verbal relay of thoughts sounded out of place, more suited for the small hours of the morning. Lawrence’s eyes had glassed over, focused to one side of Harper.

“Quite the dent, Almasy.”

He closed his eyes tight, as if pained. George lifted his head beside, sensing something different. Lawrence’s eyes came open again, passing like clouds had passed across the face of the moon. He remembered where he was, who he was speaking to, and retraced his mental steps, fussing George with renewed interest.

“How does the Texas accent sound then?” He asked, looking up to Harper, lips twisting into a humoured smirk as he changed his tone, “Can ye do accents, duck?”

             "One thing that keeps me from going mad in here is to think about stuff like that. Put things into..."

If Harper had been smiling before, she felt the strain of it as she listened to Lawrence. Did he really believe that? That his life didn't count to anything, macroscopic scale or otherwise? That nothing changes regardless of what one person did? She lowered her gaze to keep the pity out of it and looked instead at darling George. George who didn't have to think about whether or not he was worthy, all he wanted was to make the people around him happy.

            "Quite the dent, Almasy."
"Lawrence..." the witch sighed, almost wishing she could reach out and take his hand.

But he remembered himself and the subject turned too soon for Harper to be able to pull it back right away. She cleared her throat, laughing weakly at the request. "Y'all always wanna hear it," she rolled her eyes and let the accent slide easy - and maybe a little exaggerated - on her tongue, "It ain't a party trick, mister. Not like this a party anyway."

Harper grinned at her client, hoping to ease the mood.

"You know, Lawrence," she switched back to her regular voice and leaned forward slightly, "You don't have to make a change in a big way. Sometimes it's enough to just be a good thing in one or two people's lives. That could mean the world to them. I don't want to sound mushy or anything but that kind of thing matters too. Matters even more maybe."

“It aint’ a party trick…”
“Hah!” Lawrence let out a genuinely amused response, as Harper’s Texan accent trounced his mild attempt at a Yorkshire one as he’d requested to hear her. A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Brilliant.” His expression eased as Harper lectured him with good intentions.

“I know, I know.” He replied quietly, all hint of the smile gone. He let his face drop to look down at George, avoiding human gaze, “Bit hard to do that when you’re never going to see daylight again.” He sighed and looked up at Harper properly. “I’m sorry, you brought good news and new company and I’m morose. It’s not your fault, without you I’d have gone mad in the first week. Best friend a crazy fool could hope for, and that’s underselling you.” He gave her a smile which didn’t reach the eyes. She was right though, about the dent. But Lawrence knew he was capable of more than a couple of people, and he bloody well owed the universe a better effort.

Lawrence’s hand stopped on George’s head and his fingers flexed a little rub before he turned back to retrieve the newspaper from the bed. The sheets flopped over as he turned to the weather report, something he didn’t heed too much attention to unless he wanted to make pleasantries with whoever wanted to interview him that day. The last few months the Prophet had also reported predictions on dementors, and had declared Devon dementor-free just as he turned himself in in April.

His hand returned to George who he rubbed thoughtfully as he looked back to Harper.
“I’ve spent hours talking now, and all my guarantees have been based on keeping me and Hannah safe. I’m helping, in that I’m confessing, yet there’s something I can quite clearly help a lot more readily with that nobody wants to suggest.” Lawrence ran his tongue uneasily between his lips, aware that he had not told some significant information about dementors to Harper, even as his only confidante. “Evangeline Kuester told me something rather interesting when she visited, and I’m not quite sure if she was genuine or playing games. Would you be able to do me a little strategic digging?”

Harper smiled brightly at Lawrence - because he'd called her the best sort of friend a person like him could have, and it flattered both her personal and professional skills. But she couldn't help feel this to be undercut by that one awful possibility: he might never see the sky again. You never got used to that part of the job. The part that locked people away from what every wizard and witch had a right to enjoy. Something as simple as stepping out into the fresh air.

"You're not as morose or as mad as some. Believe me..." she told him, trailing off with a smirk. There were sicker minds than Lawrence's in these cells; his just happened to be the most infamous right now.

Speaking of which, the conversation turned back to business; something Harper hadn't expected. She'd only come with good news and dog cuddles, expecting Lawrence to have a day off from thinking about his future burdens. Mention of Evangaline caused the attorney to raise both eyebrows at her client. Eva had asked to meet with Lawrence but Harper had no idea what passed between the two of them.

"Could be either, knowing Eva." Harper pushed out her bottom lip thoughtfully. "If it will help your case, I'll be happy to do any investigation on the subject. What is it you want to assist them with? The dementors?"

“Maybe,” Lawrence replied, without mischief but more possibility in his voice. “The nights before I turned myself in here, I was drawing dementors out of Devon. I just wanted to see, one last ditch attempt of do or die.” His hand smoothed down George’s side, and rested gently on the dog’s side. He looked to Harper, frown lines framing the top of his nose.

“Evangeline is one of the Minister’s senior advisers, yes?” Her nonverbal cues were enough to continue on, “She suggested that Glass is going to send dementors back to Azkaban.” He paused just to watch how Harper reacted, “You think he couldn’t possibly, right?” Lawrence asked, leaning forward a little, dipping his tone. “But why would Kuester come down to tell me that. It wasn’t easy to come and see me, it was downright self-torture, so why tell me that. Because she’s worried, or because she’s in cahoots with him? Or because she just wants to fuck with me?” He sat back and sighed, not realising Evangeline and Harper were in any way close friends. The whole exchange had kept him stewing.

“I just want to know if there’s a shred of truth in it,” Lawrence explained, shoulders rounding, “And if there is, I want to talk to Glass.”

… Alone. But details later. The new year meeting with Glass, Gamp and Shufflebottom was only for the Minister’s ears for bargaining.

Dementors in Azkaban again.

Without meaning to, Harper sat a little straighter and felt the smile slide right off her face. She didn't yet know if she liked or hated Edwin Glass but if this was true than her mind was made up. What sort of wizard would return those things to a place like Azkaban? And for what purpose?

"I don't think she's in," Harper raised her hands into a pair of air quotes, "cahoots with him. And I like to believe that Eva wouldn't come here just to play a weird prank on you." A heavy sigh escaped the witch and she crossed her arms, eyes losing focus in the space between them. There were people she could ask, including her old friend.

Multiple sources - that was what she needed. Sol Carstairs was another person to quiz, if she could pin him down without getting another case shoved at her.

"I'll ask around." Her gaze found its way back to Lawrence's face, and she smiled at him grimly, "And if there's truth to it, then I'll see about Glass. It won't be easy. Ministry people find it hard to land a meeting with him, not sure how felons will fare."