"I know what I said then," I replied. "But no. I do not believe Spider-Man is a criminal. He's a bit rough around the edges, but I don't think he's a criminal."
"Y-you don't?" Peter asked, face slack in confusion. Most likely, he wasn't expecting to have the opposite of what he expected thrown at him. In that case… perhaps some elaboration.
"Mr. Parker, when I am in the courtroom, I am doing my job," I told him, tapping my pen against my notepad as I spoke. "And half of that job is framing the story how I want the jury to see it. I had a point to make, and given the situation, that was the best way to bring them around to the point I needed. Even though it was, yes, at Spider-Man's expense."
Peter was quiet for a moment, though he gave me a funny look. I had a feeling he was trying to reconcile the 'courtroom Noa' he'd seen on TV with the 'out-of-court Noa' in front of him.
Which was fair. Entirely so.
"... so, um," Peter said, rubbing his hands together and pursing his lips expectantly. "What, uh, is your opinion on Spider-Man?"
I put my pen and notepad down on my lap, clasped my fingers, and just gave him a look, followed by a long, slow, blink.
"Mr. Parker," I started. "Peter." I looked up and gestured idly to his closet – and more specifically, to his laundry basket. "If I were to get up and look through there, what are the odds I find Spider-Man's costume inside?"
Peter gave me a blank look, before he gave a small chuckle. When my facial expression didn't change a bit, the nervous grin fell off his face, and he started to go a bit pale.
"W-what—" Peter cut himself off as he stood, wetting his lips as he raised his hands out in front, as if to ward me off. "T-that—"
"Mr. Parker," I stopped Peter. "I spent more than twenty years hiding that I'm a mutant. You're not very good at this."
"Oh… yeah, right, you're uh… yeah, you're that. Uh…" Peter paced around his room, hands behind his head and running through his hair. "You, uh… you're not gonna tell anyone, right?" he asked, turning back towards me.
"That depends," I said, pointing at his bedroom door. "Does your uncle know?"
"Y-yeah," Peter said, sitting back down on his bed. "He does."
"Then no," I told him. "I'm not going to tell anybody. Especially since your little secret is covered by the attorney-client privilege."
"It is?" he asked, somewhat incredulous.
"Mhmm," I nodded. To be fair, it was... with a generous interpretation of the rules of ethics, courtesy of Peter still being a minor, and his legal guardian being my client. "Now. Can we get back to the initial point of our conversation?" I asked. "Your recounting of events?"
"U-um…" Peter flushed a bit, in embarrassment. "S-sorry."
"It's okay," I said, picking up my notepad and pen. "Now, last I checked, you were telling me when you noticed Harry wasn't with the rest of the debate team anymore…"