Astoria splashed water onto her face, trying to regain some feeling other than painful tension in her muscles.

The Ministry had been buzzing with news when she reached it that morning. Not only had the story of Creevey's attack on Malfoy Manor appeared in the headlines of the Daily Prophet—she hadn't read the article yet; there was enough plaguing her mind as it was and reading some badly informed reporter's version of events could definitely wait until later—, but Greyback's case seemed to be tilting dangerously in his favor. Not to mention the Goblins, which had stormed the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures just before lunch, and made escaping her office on the way to the Atrium a nearly hopeless ordeal.

So far, the day had not been the most productive. She had visited Bill Weasley yet again, if only to straighten out the facts of the attack the night before and try to appease any possible hostility that may have arisen from her own aggressiveness. She didn't regret a word she had said, to tell the truth, but she was aware of how establishing a tense relationship with the Head of the department might stack the odds against her, no matter how well-intentioned Weasley might be.

Lunch had left Astoria feeling sleepy, and she paused to lean against the sink, staring at her own reflection in the mirror and trying to regain some of the false confidence she had piled upon herself before leaving her flat at the start of the day. There was still much to do, and she couldn't afford having a breakdown when her case was in dire need of a revision.

Not that she could do much while not knowing what Draco would decide, anyway.

And then there was the matter of Draco himself—

She closed her eyes. It had the opposite effect from the one she had been looking for, as she was transported yet again to the ash-filled staircase in Malfoy Manor and the warmth of Draco's chest against her knuckles. She opened them again quickly. This was not the time.

It had been irritatingly difficult to speak plainly to Weasley when she was unable to share the biggest factors that affected Draco's case; particularly Nott's involvement in everything. She wasn't even going to begin to think about her own sister and Pansy's role in all of it, or she'd be paralyzed with dread. Professionally, what she needed was to ensure that Draco was safe and await his decision on whether or not he would name Nott in front of the jury.

Personally, however… that was another issue entirely.

Brushing her fingers through her hair and forcing a smile at herself in the mirror, she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. There were still countless matters for her to attend to, and the first of them would require her utmost confidence, as it involved having a conversation with Ernie Macmillan.

She left the bathroom soon after, knowing full well that the urge to stay locked inside the empty, cool room for as long as possible was completely irrational. People were filing back into their offices after lunch, and she knew as soon as she got to the entrance of the wide area where McMillan's cubicle was that he hadn't gone to lunch like the rest of them. From where she stood, she could see Padma Patil straighten up from where she had been sitting and picking up twin empty food containers.

Padma's strode towards where Astoria had just entered with energetic steps that were in direct contrast, Astoria suspected, to both her and Macmillan's current state of exhaustion. As she caught sight of her, she seemed to brighten up considerably from the concerned expression she had been wearing.

"Astoria!" she exclaimed as she approached, pushing her dark hair out of her face. "How are you?"

"Quite well, thank you," Astoria replied with a smile. "And you?"

"Somewhat annoyed, but that's every day now, what with the news," Padma said with a wry smile. "I just had lunch with Ernie, which was lovely, but—I'm a bit disturbed right now by the news about Greyback."

"I heard he might actually manage to reduce his sentence."

"Yes," Padma said bitterly, glancing around as if Shafiq himself might show up at any moment. "They're trying to bring it down to twenty years."

Astoria frowned. "At any rate he's likely to be dead by then—Azkaban's not kind on anyone, even without Dementors."

Padma let out a low, bitter laugh. "True. But still… it's the principle of the thing, you know?" She sighed. "I guess I'm just not made for your job; I get too frustrated about it all."

"Believe me, so do I," Astoria muttered, but Padma was already leaving, offering a friendly smile and a touch on the arm as she did.

Macmillan looked surprised when Astoria reached him, and scrambled to get his papers in order, quickly offering her a seat as he adjusted his glasses and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "When I sent that memo, I didn't think you'd come yourself," he explained with a small apologetic grin.

"I thought it was the most sensible thing to do," she replied, slightly amused, taking a seat. His cubicle was sparsely decorated, a picture of him and a woman whom she assumed must be his mother and a scenic calendar the only thing that added any character to the space.

"True," Macmillan agreed. "Well, I just wanted to make a proposal and leave it to your consideration. It might be in your best interest."

"Go on."

He crossed his fingers over the papers on his desk—which were set up in a much more orderly fashion than the ones on Astoria's desk were, she was quick to realize—and leaned forwards slightly. "Your client pleads guilty and we settle for only five years of imprisonment. Nothing else."

Astoria could hardly stop a bemused smile from spreading on her lips, though her mind was racing. "Five years?"

He nodded.

"Five years is too much," she said, frowning. "Even if he were declared guilty on all counts there'd hardly be reason to give him a sentence larger than that."

"Fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts is five years at least," he corrected her matter-of-factly, though he had to know that she was bluffing. She had spent countless hours counting sentences and calculating how bad it could all really be, and the answer had been that yes, it could be very bad. "Not to mention all the other counts, which would certainly pile up. No offense, Greengrass, but there's very little for you to hold on to at this point. Unless you pull something utterly spectacular, I really doubt you'll get anything under what I'm offering you."

"He's not getting sentenced to five years in Azkaban," Astoria said through gritted teeth. "He's not."

"That's not up to you," Macmillan said with a slight shrug. The space seemed too small to contain such a heavy conversation, and Astoria leaned back to take a breath, feeling mildly asphyxiated. "It's up to the Wizengamot, and making them love Malfoy is going to take a lot—"

He was suddenly interrupted as there was a sound of something flying through the air, and suddenly two memos dropped from above, addressed to each of them in identical handwriting. They glanced at each other and then moved to open them.

When she was done skimming over it, Astoria plopped it down on his desk with a thin smile and a heavy mix of conflicting emotions churning in her stomach. "Trial postponed until Friday."

Macmillan set down the memo thoughtfully and clenched his hand into a fist. It seemed that he wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation either. Astoria suspected that he, like her, was just eager to have it all be over. "Well," he said slowly. "I suppose there's more time for you and your client to think over my proposal. I'd give it some consideration, if I were you."

She nodded. "Thank you. I will."

He watched her as she stood up to leave, and she could detect distinct pity in his eyes, which she knew she ought to appreciate but which only served to irritate her, feeling like he had somehow one-upped her in the situation even though nothing of the sort had happened.

"Greengrass," he said before she left, looking slightly conflicted. "I did tell you, when all of this started… this isn't the type of story where you save a misunderstood villain. Malfoy's a kid who messed up and is going to have to pay for it, no matter what he's like now."

Stopping, she turned and gave him a thin smile. "I appreciate your concern, Ernie," she said with enough courtesy to not be disrespectful. "But please save your arguments for the courtroom. I'll let you know if we do decide to take the deal."

And with that she left the room, oddly focused on making her every step even and steady so as to not give away how strangely shakened she was by it all. She supposed the circumstances didn't help; she had always had a sort of bizarre taste in friends… of course she would start to become close with her rival's girlfriend and grow dangerously close to her own client…

Reaching her desk, she inhaled the comfortable familiarity of the unruly pile of tasks that awaited her. On the forefront was the Daily Prophet, which she could no longer avoid reading. There was no doubt as to what the headline was about, depicting as it did a burning Malfoy Manor, which Astoria was sure had been a welcome sight at breakfast that morning for more than half of the country.

Moving a half-empty coffee mug carefully out of the way, she flicked through the paper quickly before settling down to read; the contents were predictable, and she wasn't even going to bother with the gossip section.

She quickly learned that Draco had been right. Dennis Creevey had only been under arrest for a few hours. He had been released shortly afterwards with a hefty fine, and not even the businesslike tone of the reporter could properly mask the fact that there was no pity directed at the Malfoy family at all—if he hadn't gained respect with his actions, Creevey had at the very least managed to get away without tainting his reputation. He had succeeded in representing the large population that was still hurt and bitter over the war and found disturbing glee in watching those that were once their enemies succumb to misfortune.

And Astoria couldn't find it within herself to be angry; unfortunately, Draco was right in insisting that if by Astoria's book he himself was to get away with all he'd done, then Creevey should certainly get away with much less.

Still, it left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

And could she even argue that at this point she was fighting for Draco's freedom merely for professional reasons? Could she honestly say that part of her desire to see him released of his charges wouldn't be so that she could allow herself to discover the part of him she had only just begun to uncover; the part of him that had kissed her so passionately the night before, made her realize that she was so completely concerned with his well-being that her life had somehow entwined itself with his, that she had found him in her thoughts in ways that thoroughly surpassed professional propriety and dangerously crossed the line into something deeply intimate…?

She knew that the thought ought to make her sick and nervous, but it only succeeded in pulling her thoughts back to the memory of the night before, and she let out a frustrated growl at herself as she dropped the Prophet, preparing to immerse herself once more in the more rational part of the whole affair, which certainly didn't involve Draco Malfoy's eyes or hands or, god forbid, his lips…

As if at her request, life produced the perfect thing to shake her out of her unruly musings.

The letter that suddenly dropped before her was directly addressed to Astoria Greengrass and signed in the unequivocal bright blue ink that would have already alerted her of the sender's identity without the signature spelling out Alexander Shafiq.

It was… surprising, to say the least.

…

Going through security at the entrance to Azkaban Prison was supposed to be a disturbing experience all on its own, but the effect was only heightened for Astoria. She was all too aware of the likelihood of her having to carry out this trip many times in the future, if she should lose Draco's case and have to fight for them to reconsider his case.

It disturbed her that she was already thinking of that possibility.

The halo of blue light around her body faded and the guard gave her a friendly nod to indicate that she might pass. She seized her briefcase once more and made her way into the larger waiting room, where she instantly recognized Shafiq, dressed in robes of deep blue with a perpetual look of mild disinterest on his face, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Miss Greengrass," he said serenely, reaching to shake her hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

The subtle tone of condescension wasn't lost on her. Shafiq had been working for years before she had, and had already accumulated quite an audience of both enemies and friends through his own efforts. He was expensive to hire, and an expert at twisting people's words against them. The very prospect of ever facing him in a trial made her squirm and it took nearly all of her willpower to shut her nervous thoughts out of her demeanor and keep her head held high.

"Likewise, Mr. Shafiq. Shall we proceed?"

He smiled. "Of course. I suppose you are familiar with the process?"

He had to know she was not. This was, after all, her first case—and she had had no intention of visiting any prisoners, as she hadn't wanted to have anyone unreliable testifying for Draco.

Training, then, would have to suffice. She nodded with a polite, tight smile.

The guards approached and unlocked the wide door with a spell. It opened slowly, revealing a simple, grey room with a table in the center and three chairs. Shafiq quickly made his way to one of the two empty ones, offering a short, businesslike nod to the man who occupied the chair opposite from the one Astoria was to take.

Gathering her wits—she seemed to be doing a lot of that today—Astoria stepped into the room and took her seat, looking up at the large frame of the man who was in shackles before her, his grey Azkaban robes stained with what must be blood, a heavy iron mask placed around his jaw like a dog's muzzle.

Shafiq tapped a quill gently against the iron table and seemed to ignore the way the prisoner was leaning against the table, as if to get a whiff of Astoria's perfume. She didn't shy away. She wouldn't shy away.

"Let's get to it, then," Shafiq said, almost casually, and turned to smile at Astoria. "Miss Greengrass, we have been following your case with some interest, particularly since so many of the circumstances surrounding your client overlap somewhat with mine's… I believe this could be a cause of some… understanding, you might say."

Astoria smiled tightly. "I can't say I entirely agree, Mr. Shafiq. But I am curious as to why you've brought me here." She didn't even bother hiding her distaste; what was the point? It was a wonder Shafiq could manage spending more than a few minutes with the creature in front of her every day.

Even if nothing came of it all, at least she would certainly go back to Draco feeling an intense amount of relief that she wasn't violently disgusted by her client every time she saw or thought about him.

"I suppose it's not really for me to say," Shafiq replied, looking towards the other man. "Do share what we're proposing, Fenrir."

And Fenrir Greyback let out a deep, growling sound from the depths of his throat that made Astoria shiver, no matter how hard she tried not to. His bloodshot eyes, combined with the sheer animalistic manner of his smile, which she could only see the edges of behind the mask but which clearly colored his voice with malicious intent, made her nails dig sharply into her own knee as she forced herself to stay put and keep up the act of professional neutrality.

"I know the boy's scared of talking 'bout Nott," Greyback rasped, and for some reason his referring to Draco in any capacity filled Astoria with a strange sort of possessive rage which was completely irrational, really. "Everyone knows what he's done but no one's wanting to accuse him. They're all cowardly idiots. But Malfoy and I worked pretty closely during the War… pretty up close, y'know? I'd say it's worth a try."

"What he means to say," Shafiq clarified, looking a bit irritated at Greyback's lack of synthesis. "Is that we'd like to ask Mr. Malfoy to testify on my client's behalf, seeing as they worked together on some instances, and he'd be able to speak with some authority about why Mr. Greyback ought to have his sentence reduced. And in exchange..."

"In exchange," Greyback interrupted, feral smile widening. "I'd let slip about Nott killin' the old Minister."

Yeah. Yeah, I suck. I'm sorry; this chapter is pathetically short and probably not satisfying at all after all the action that went down in the past few… but I've already started working on the next one!

Also, since this chapter starred Greyback I feel obliged to tell you that I recently published a one-shot about him: 'Extraneous Variables', which you can find in my profile. I've been producing a lot of content lately (a one-shot every two weeks!) and I'm currently working on another multichapter (which is going to be EPIC), so you might want to follow me if you aren't already. Please review, it's wonderful to hear your opinions :)