Title taken from Persian Proverb, "There are four things every person has more of than they know; sins, debt, years, and foes.”

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The truth of the matter was the item that Josephine was bringing to Hogsmeade was nothing truly important.  The connection was needed for something else, and a few baubles from the old Persian empire wouldn't have been enough to drag her to Hogsmeade when school was in session. 

But, Atash Hendurabi, was a valuable connection for a woman like Josephine.  She had an international community to deal with and international artifacts that needed to be retrieved and had a sordid history that she suspected he might be familiar with.

There was also the matter of a particular Israeli that was a constant thorn in her side, which proved to be another reason she wanted to reconnect with Mr. Hendurabi.  If it would make Cohen's skin crawl, Josephine would be interested.  It would also, perhaps, help her track down just what happened to Gomfrey.

But, all of this had to be done in secret, and Josephine was not uncomfortable with renting a space at the Three Broomsticks under false pretenses.  This pretense, of course, didn't need words, really.  Josephine strolled into the Three Broomsticks, heels clicking on the floor, and requested a room upstairs.  Madame Rosemerta's eyes traveled over the woman, and raised a questioning eyebrow, but Josephine did not falter.

The woman couldn't have remembered her, and she was more interested in getting what she needed done, not the judgement of a pub owner. So, she exchanged the key to room four from the woman with galleons enough for the night.  A crisp thank you came from Josephine and she smiled politely at the skeptical look from Madame Rosemerta before walking away from the bar to take a seat at a table facing the doorway. 

Now, it was time to wait. 

There was nowhere that so distinctively captured the feel of magical Britain as the Three Broomsticks.  Despite the unseasonably warm autumn night outside, the inn's fireplaces were all blazing brightly, sending wafts of faint smoke drifting towards the rafters.  Butterbeer was flowing, and the regulars of the evening crowd were already trickling in, made obvious by the booming exchanges of greetings and the hearty laughter that had begun to fill the air.

He had been to Hogsmeade several times before, though most of his visits had taken place more than a decade ago.  The inn hadn't changed much from what he remembered.  The crooked rafters overhead; the warm, welcoming atmosphere -- it even looked as if the same shapely woman was waiting behind the bar, a little more lined but otherwise unaltered by the passing years.

It was with neither dread nor anticipation that Atash stepped into the room.  He had dressed simply, all in black.  The small wizarding village had likely already adjusted to getting all types of foreign visitors during the tournament.  Wearing his Durmstrang cloak might not let him pass unnoticed, but it would likely draw far less interest than if he were a clear stranger in town, and it would serve the purpose of reminding his opposite for the evening of where his responsibilities currently lay.

He didn't have to look hard to find Josephine St. Just.  It was easy enough to follow the glances of the other men present to the lone figure, sitting by herself at a table.  Even in the warming air of the Three Broomsticks, her hair stood out like a blazing beacon.  Atash nearly sighed.  The long day and the recent travel were beginning to feel wearing, so late in the day.  He had let the Cursebreaker goad him into too quick a meeting.

But now he was here, and even if he was tired, it would not do to be less than hospitable.  With a faint smile, he began to pick his way over to her table, ignoring any other attention that was now drifting his way.

"Madam."  He stopped short on the approach.  His dark eyes shifted quickly over her, and then moved with purpose to meet hers.  "Thank you for coming so far to meet me," he said politely, putting a hand on the back of the second chair.  "I hope it was not too much of a trouble to you, making the journey."

The stares Josephine encountered were nothing she was not used to.  Some people in her line of work found it simpler to blend in to avoid the attention, deflect interest, but Josephine didn't necessarily play the game that way. She enjoyed getting attention, people tended to assume attractive women were vapid, devoid of interest in the intellectual or the ability to think rationally and intelligently about much of anything.  Josephine, of course, did not fit this mold, though she made efforts to appear as though she did, down to the impractical shoes she had just bought from Malkin's.  They weren't a wise purchase, necessarily, but appearances were to be kept up, and it wasn't as though she'd use them for working.

She had a large assortment of things that would be considered London wear, and then everything else.  Granted, she wasn't exactly in upscale London right now, but she didn't want to be approached by anyone.  Looking too high for a place was just another way to avoid having people actually speak to her.  A healthy air of superiority never hurt anyone.

Maybe it was her upbringing, and the influence of her mother from a very young age, but Josephine was very good at that particular social skill.

So, she sat alone, her bag in her lap, and watched as others passed by, coming in and meeting with their groups, the evening starting to pick up with mirth and the relaxation of a day's end.  No such thing for St. Just, however, and she sat poised and ready, despite the clinking glasses and sounds of enjoyment. 

When the dark haired man entered the bar in all black clothing, Josephine let a small smile spread across her face.  She placed the bag on the table and then pushed herself up to greet him properly.  "Mr. Hendurabi," she smoothed over, grabbing the strap of the bag and put it over hr shoulder as he continued to greet her - pleasantries, however good, were not strictly necessary to this, and Josephine did not want to dally too long. 

"No trouble at all," Lie number one.  She hated Hogsmeade, but it was a work matter, and work matters got done - particularly the ones that could put her in Azkaban for something she didn't do - and didn't even want to claim responsibility for.  "I hope it's not too much trouble for you - being that you've just arrived." 

She pushed her chair in after she pushed herself up, slinking out of the seat and pushing it in.  "I trust you've been treated well, except, of course, by the timezones," she tried to hide the laugh in her voice, but it did come out anyway - just a little bit more than she thought.  "With that in mind," she added breezily, holding up the key in her right hand, dangling off the edge of her well manicured finger, "Shall we?"

The mage blinked, and then a slight, sly smile -- nearly verging on a smirk -- slowly spread across his face.

"That is better treatment than I expected," he remarked cannily, eyeing her with a sideways glance.  Perhaps appearing as a clear stranger would have been better; that was better than rumors spreading of the Durmstrang professor who had disappeared upstairs with the finely dressed witch.  But short of declining Josephine's invitation and insisting on having the conversation down here -- in the open, where anyone could overhear -- there was little he could do to get out of it.

He regarded her for a moment, brows low, and then tilted his head to the side in a partial shrug, relenting.  This was the Cursebreaker's game.  He'd let her decide the moves.

"As long as it is no further trouble," he said politely, withdrawing his hand from the chair.  A brief nod indicated that he would follow.  "I trust that you've been well?" he asked as he fell into step beside her.  "And Leandre?  It has been several months since I've seen him.  I hope that he won't be offended that I'm monopolizing your time tonight, Madam St. Just."

The element of surprise was something Josephine quite enjoyed.  Seeing the slow smile register on Hendurabi's face showed that clearly, she had done something he didn't expect.  Good, she liked to start things off on her terms. 

Not that he would ever give away that it was.  Atash Hendurabi was not the type of man that let others see what was going on in his head.  A veritable puzzle.  He was interesting, to say the least,and Josephine found him to be a challenge that just didn't quit.

Snapping the keys back into her hand, Josephine nodded, not wanting to waste any more precious time - he would be useless to her without his senses about him, and a lack of understanding based on fatigue was inexcusable.  They just had to move upstairs to get the show on the road. 

Tucking the strap over her shoulder, Josephine led the way with sharp, precise steps. She knew where she was going, and she would lead the way - even if he was now directing the small talk, at least until real business could be spoken of.

"Well enough," she answered easily, "changes in staffing have proven... trying," she spoke carefully, thinking of her new associate, but not really enjoying the thought of her so much.  She might have preferred talk of Raizel though, instead of the sour taste that permeated her mouth when he mentioned Leandre. She tried to quell the urge to flare her nostrils and flash her eyes. 

Instead, she smiled.  "He is doing well," she answered, " I believe he's in France currently - with the family."  The family, of course, being wife-y dearest, who was, from gossip, woefully barren - or frigid, no one could really tell.  "So his concern is rather... insignificant at this point." 

She looked over her shoulder as she mounted the stairs, taking them at a quick, but even pace, "Tell me, are your students excelling in the tournament? I haven't had the chance to read much about it."

Atash matched her pace easily as he let her take the lead.  Giving a quiet chuckle, he shook his head as he began to climb the stairs, still smiling faintly.

"Yes, thank you for asking," he replied.  "Durmstrang is ahead after the First Task.  Miss Eisenberg, Miss Savitskaya, and Miss Alkaev all performed well."  Though he spoke quietly, there was a firm, precise note to his voice -- as if there had never been a doubt.  "I am afraid I can take no credit, though," he added easily.  "The three ladies are all talented in their own right, and I could not have impacted their schooling after only a year, I think."

It did not take long for his guide to locate their destination.  Miss St. Just obviously knew where she was going -- either she had used this location for a meeting before, or she'd had time to scout in advance.  Either explanation was not doing very much to diminish the unexpected and entertaining turn that this evening had taken.

"Thankfully, I am sure that the other schools will show well in the challenge next month," he observed, waiting patiently as she undid the lock with her key.  "So I do not think that you will need to fret for the fait of your alma mater just yet, Miss St. Just."

She had opened the door, and he started inside at the unspoken invitation -- eyes sweeping over the interior of the room out of habit more than anything else.  It was clean, neat; nothing to imply that there was anything unexpected here.  The mage glanced briefly at the rings on his left hand, and then, apparently satisfied with whatever he found, began to remove his cloak.

"I do hope that the circumstances of this meeting won't cause any harm to your reputation," he remarked politely, hanging his cloak on the hook on the back of the door.  With a cough, he turned to face her, faint amusement dancing in his eyes.  "What service were you hoping I might render, Madam?"

It wasn't really a surprise that Durmstrang was faring well in the tournament.  It was the kind of competition a school such as that thrived on - true to it's Eastern European heritage.  It was nice to hear, knowing that there would be a good amount of talent - and that he was somewhat humble about their successes.  She smirked, "Well, I'm sure your teaching could have only helped - even in a minor capacity." 

"Though I suppose, I shouldn't be so glad they have a suitable teacher - considering the performance of my alma mater, as you so graciously pointed out."  She smiled over her shoulder before pushing the door open and letting him into the entryway.

He paused, so typical, surveying the bare, but functional room.  Modest, non-bothersome, clean, but woefully plain.  She would have preferred something a bit more flashy, but you couldn't do much better in Hogsmeade.  So, here they were and this was the best she could do. 

"I apologize over the... quaintness of this accommodations, but - best one can do on short notice, you know," she smirked she shrugged before swaggering further in, dropping the bag on the small room table. She let out a low chuckle at his suggestion that it might ruin her reputation and Josephine waved her hand dismissively.

Her eyes dragged over him, from the top of his head, crowned with dark curly hair, over his strong features, then following the line of his simple black robes.  He was tall, certainly, and probably fit, she imagined.  "There are worse people to 'harm' my reputation with," she smirked, "If I even had a reputation that could be ruined."  She was very aware of her reputation.  It wasn't one that could actually be tarnished, when it was already built on a steady foundation of what-ifs and speculation.  "In fact, I'd be more worried about yours," she smirked.
 
That was enough of that though, and she briefly laughed as he asked about services.  Ah, the joys of double entendre.  "Nothing quite so reputation destroying," she murmured, unlatching the satchel, "at least not tonight," she added with a brief glance and knowing smile. 

She withdrew the jewelry from the bag - three bracelets and two necklaces - Persian baubles with symbols she didn't recognize on them.  "Care to look at these?"

The sense of faint amusement quickly faded from the mage's expression.  He waited patiently, a look of keen interest crossing his face as Josephine removed the objects, his attention immediately focused.

Three bracelets, two necklaces -- all of varying design and make, but with similar metalworking between them.  And all with a bright blue stone as its centerpiece, each inscribed with some sort of intricate writing, an unrecognizable language in a strange cursive script.

Raising his eyebrows, Atash glanced at the Cursebreaker, and then stepped forward to take the first necklace from her.  The blue oval-shaped stone was set in silver, with tiny raised triangles running along the metal setting, interspersed with dotted designs.  The necklace was strung of blue, green, and silver beads of varying sizes.  From the pendant hung strands of other, smaller beads, blue and silver.

Atash examined it silently for a long moment, tilting it carefully to the side to let it glint in the light.  "The stone is --"  He paused, pressing his tongue to his teeth.  "Lajvard.  In English, it is called Lapis[1], I think?"  He glanced at her to confirm; the Cursebreaker would be far more familiar with the proper terms for semi-precious stones.  "The quality looks as though it came from Sar-i-sang."[2]

He ran his thumb carefully over the stone and then turned the necklace over in his hands, examining the back of the setting with focused intent.  After a moment, he set it down and picked up the other necklace, which had the same hanging blue stone as the centerpiece.  This time, the gem had been smoothed into a cylinder; it hung simply from the necklace with no setting, but the same strange calligraphy ran all the way around in tiny, neatly lettered rows.

There was little mistaking the purpose of it.[3]  Written magic might not be as common in Western magical traditions, which tended to focus on more flashy practices like charmwork and hexes, but it was far more well known in other places.  Nordic runes, Egyptian hieroglyphs, and here, ancient calligraphy -- a written language that dated back nearly as many thousands of years.

"The metalworking looks Afghan to me," Atash said at last, giving St. Just a passive glance.  "But the script is Avestan.  How did you come across these?"

1.	Lapis lazuli
2.	Sar-i Sang: The traditional source of lapis lazuli in antiquity, located in northeastern Afghanistan
3.	Example of a similar clay cylinder with inscribed writing

Josephine had an appreciation for certain things.  Dexterous fingers, swift eyes, and concentrted looks were just a few of them.  Mr. Hendurabi exhibited all of these things - and more - as he stepped forward to examine the gains of Josephine's latest acquisition.  It had been a completely legitimate find - locked away in an abandoned vault - the family line had died out, the last miserable son of a witch that led the clan passed and as such, valuables were confiscated and examined. 

When dealing with personal collections, the items didn't necessarily get examined before they were put in the vaults, and Josephine had no knowledge of how long these things had even been sitting in there, where they'd come from, and how they'd been attained.  Unfortunately, Cornelius Hamidi-Webb was dead, and his memories were lost. 

So, she did a preliminary on them, nothing with wands, she had figured - but there was strange writing - she couldn't make heads or tails of it - and it seemed a bit beyond the skill level of some of the other cursebreakers in house.  Josephine took it upon herself to call in an outside source, who was currently critically looking at the items in a manner she knew he would.

It was not typical that Josephine put trust in anyone but herself, but she had to ask for the help, and Atash Hendurabi was enough of a resource.  He knew his stones, and when he looked to Josephine, she nodded, confirming his thoughts - cataloging the name of the location he indicated the lapis lazuli was from.  Sari-i Sang.  Intriguing. 

"It was in a vault," she answered easily, "family line passed and we acquired its contents. These were amongst the items inside."  She gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders, picking up one of the bracelets.  She twisted it in her hands, looking at the inner inscription - appearing to be at least in Aramaic - if she was right, one she still could not read - but recognizable nonetheless.  "This is the only one with an inscription," she held it up, "I was hoping it might offer some insight." 

"Hmm," said Atash, as he set the necklace aside.  With a frown, he turned it over, regarding the inscription.

He examined it for a long moment, his expression intent, and then turned it over, carefully looking over the design and the familiar stone on the outside.  He glanced briefly at Josephine, giving her an inquisitive look, and then drew his wand.  Pointing it at the bracelet, he murmured, "Goleya."

His vision shone.  As always, it took him a moment to see past the greenish glow that emanated from his own enchantments; furrows forming in his forehead, he squinted at the bracelet.  The jewel was glowing as well, a steady -- though faint -- pale blue.  Still frowning, Atash examined it for a moment, and then jerked his wand to end the spell.

"There is some sort of active enchantment," he said, setting the bracelet down with care onto the bed, placing alongside the other items.  "But you know that, I think.  If I had to guess, I'd say the pieces were old -- very old."  He met her gaze, his expression carefully guarded.  "I could try to set off the enchantments, but I do not think that I would be the most qualified for that.  And," he said politely, though with a hardened look to his eyes, "I do not mean to presume, but this seems as though this has been an awfully long way to come, simply to inquire after some jewelry that you acquired from an old family vault, Madam Cursebreaker."

Josephine nodded knowingly.  It wasn't hard to tell there was something going on with it, but it was probably harmless.  These trinkets, though valuable, had very little to do with anything, and the family was old, and wealthy, but not particularly connected with any dark magic, at least from Josephine's research. 

These were matters that every cursebreaker took into account when they were doing their job.  They had to know the family, know the connections, make the logical jumps to the correct conclusions or someone could end up with a nasty curse hanging over their head, or a hex that was St. Mungo's worthy.  Josephine hadn't had many bad experiences with her conquests, well, until recently, and that was its own unique circumstance.

Besides, it appeared her colleague was very much onto her.  It didn't surprise her, Mr. Hedurabi was one of the most intelligent men she had come across in her studies and adventures.  He was also one of the most guarded and obtuse,  so she tried to match his expression - impassive, but resolute.

"Could you give an estimation as to what manner of enchantment is on them?  Then I might give them to the appropriate cursebreaker," she offered, trying to keep the conversation neutral, the items that she brought at the center, so that she might edge out from them herself.  She knew he was probably adjusting to the differences in food, climate, and time, which would do nothing to brighten his mood, but Josephine had an agenda, and she didn't want it soured by an impossible attitude. 

She smoothed down the front of her dress, a tight lipped smile gracing her features.  "Well, true, it was a long way for just these," she walked around the table, passing one of the bracelets between her two hands, "But there is another matter I did want to discuss.  Perhaps a more social component to this visitation?" she smiled, stilled and clasped her hands behind her back, "Were you acquainted with a Mr. Rippringham-Gomfrey?"

He was watching her more closely now, fingers of his right hand still as he rested them on his arm.  There was little to read in his expression: no reaction to the request, no acknowledgement of the name.  From the beginning, there had been a good chance that this entire meeting had been some sort of ruse.  Josephine St. Just, like most employees of Gringotts, did not often come out and say directly what she meant.  Even the request now -- the social component -- was possibly not the true reason for the visit.

Games within games.  It was impossible to trust the Cursebreaker's motives.  Nothing she really wanted would come out straight.  But then, he'd accepted this game-playing when he'd replied to the invitation -- he couldn't very well bristle over the fact that it was now happening.  He let out a quiet breath.

"No.  I'm sorry to say I was not acquainted with him."  Atash raised his eyebrows, regarding her mildly.  "How long ago did he leave the present tense, your friend?"

Intriguing, no reaction.  She wasn't surprised, she knew how he operated, the exterior he operated under, but it wasn't his exterior that she was trying to engage.  If she was right, which she anticipated she might be, the man's mind would either be too curious or too involved to stay away for long.  No matter what he said, she was going to highly doubt the veracity of it, and as a result, keep her ear pressed to the ground, just in case there was even the slightest slip up.

It was just unfortunate that a man like Atash was so unlikely to make the kind of mistake she needed him to.  It would be a grand game, of sorts, certainly.  "Not quite so long ago," she answered easily, "It was in the Prophet," she added, a bit of a bait, for him to look for it later, examine just what happened - if he wasn't aware.  She somehow doubted it.

But, there was no proof, and where there was no proof, Josephine could only conjecture and supply with bait enough to make it work in her favor.  "Quite a brutal passing, actually," she added, "murdered, in the Tower."  She commented on these things as though she were talking about the weather, and examined her recently manicured nails. 

"Some runic business, turned him completely inside out," her lip curled in disgust. "Apparently a right mess."

Atash was watching her silently, his expression perfectly bland.  If he found either the name or the circumstances familiar, there was no hint of it.  Murders -- even brutal murders -- were not uncommon in the magical world, especially in the circles that they both occasionally frequented.  He knew too well that death was often unavoidable as a consequence.

She was throwing around scant details now, as if hoping to hook him in.  Atash gave her an unremarkable, bland look.  "I'm sorry: which tower?" he inquired politely. 

Runic business -- runes had never been his strength, and he had no doubt that the Cursebreaker knew that.  That fell far more under the purview of Gringotts than it truly did him.  Turning a man inside out -- that sounded far more like some sort of horrible ancient curse, though it could very well have been anchored by runes.  It was certainly dark magic.

Which meant it was not difficult to guess why she might desire to discuss it.

"I apologize, but I must have missed the story in the Prophet."  He met her gaze steadily as he spoke, his voice mild.  "I do not keep up very well with English news, and even with something so horrible, if I do not know any of the parties involved, I am unlikely to follow it."  Rippringham-Gomfrey -- the name sounded absurdly British.  "If there is some service that you would like me to render you in relation, though," he continued, his voice forcibly polite, "I hope that you would feel able to simply ask, Madam St. Just.  You know that I remain at your service."