1045pm, Legal Offices.


Harper Graves, looking rather worse for wear in a baggy knit dress and loafers, didn't look up from her reading as she made her way down the corridor towards her office. It was quiet on level two this late at night - not counting their eternally operational patrol officers - and she was only now returning from a long evening spent in the records room. Tomorrow[1] was a big day; especially for Greer Grant.

Even though she preferred to sleep early on the night before the Wizengamot, she didn't want to miss anything that could help.

In this particular instance it meant double-checking historically significant trials of child negligence and, separately, Lycan misconduct. Harper knew that they were prepared to present a strong logical and emotional argument for the Grants but it was as much her job to derive that argument from precedence set by older cases. None of them the same as Greer's but often sharing common ground.

The witch stepped in her office, closing the folder she'd been reading and tossing it on her crowded desk. She froze. Sitting on top of a stack of legal references, not at all obscured by her messy miscellanea of stationery, a pair of handcuffs gleamed. Harper didn't have to check if they were silver.

"Well, fuck," she muttered, lips pressed together as she drew her wand.

They were very small handcuffs.... child-sized even. Someone, probably someone on this floor, had apparently decided to leave her a little present for tomorrow. Great. Harper twisted her wand, carefully levitating the cuffs while she reached into her drawer for a clear evidence envelope. With another flick, she slid  in the offending item and neatly sealed it off.

Hate mail and howlers were standard in these offices. Especially hers, after taking on Lawrence's case; you got death threats for that. She wasn't surprised. Just disappointed that the perpetrator was one of her colleagues or interns. They didn't even care that Greer was just a kid. Harper tied back her hair and set aside the  envelope, deciding that a written complaint could wait until after the trial. Emotions were already running high.

Her hands were shaking as she shuffled through the paperwork on the table to gather everything for the Wizengamot trial. She was angry, and she hated being angry. Couldn't afford to be, tomorrow.

Harper glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven. Still time, she thought, to drop by the patrol office and ask them to set up new wards around her office.

1.	17th Dec - Grants Sentenced in Werewolf Attacks