11:25 pm, 21 January 2010

Headmistress McGonagall had been reluctant to meet with Minister Zephyr this late, but Persepolis had insisted.  There was no other possible time.  The darkness afforded the most powerful witch in Britain the privacy she'd require, and perhaps, the appropriate ombre as well.

Zephyr stood in the grand old tower office, a short round which in brilliantly embroidered billowing navy robes.  At her flank, the tall, sharp-edged Rosier with a lit cigarette in his mouth.  At her other side, the fair-haired young Israeli.  Her Cursebreaker Raizel Cohen.  (And not to be forgotten, somewhere unspoken lurked her Obliviator, always at the ready.  Although she had no expectation she'd need to summon him tonight.)

"So there it is," Persepolis said in a low reverent voice.  The Goblet of Fire had been moved to a small stone niche and its blue flames were only an ember in its shadowy basic.  They seemed to flare as Zephyr acknolwedged it.

"You're too kind to meet with us at such a late our, Headmistress, but you must be assured at how urgent our task."

Their task was indeed urgent.  It was a race of reason, a contest of content.  And for now, Zephyr believed she had the advantage.  Hogwarts was hers in many ways, and until the Tournament concluded, the Goblet belonged in Hogwarts.  But she dare not pressure the master of Hogwarts castle overmuch or risk losing the congeniality that made Hogwarts her ally, for it wasn't often that the Ministry and Hogwarts enjoyed such a rosy relationship.  That was unique to Zephyr and she knew it might not last long.

The Headmistress of Hogwarts was sat behind the stately desk, as oftentimes she could be found well into the night and wee hours of the morning. The look on her face was a pure mixture of curiosity and annoyance. Minerva wasn’t a fan of covert meetings in the middle of the night, and surely the Third Task of the Tetrawizard Tournament was enough excitement to keep everything else at bay, at least for an evening… This was not the case.

Minerva eyed the assembled crew, lips pressed in a thin line. There was the Minister – a friend, an ally; had anyone else asked to meet with Minerva so very late and she would have sent them packing without so much as an explanation. Rosier – a strange appointment, to be sure; Minerva didn’t believe for even a moment that an intelligent witch like Zephyr would ever let a man so uncouth into her inner sanctum… yet here he was. Then there was the other witch – obviously born and raised on foreign soil. Minerva neither recognized the lass, nor knew what her business with this meeting was, but she was here and all the elderly witch could do was wait for events to unfold.

Two chairs sat empty in front of the desk and those around could fight for them, summon another, or stand looking foolish while Minerva sat comfortably. She turned her attention first not to the most important witch in Britain, but her right hand man, “Rosier, should you wish to walk from this office the same way you walked in, I suggest you put that filthy thing out,” She turned a fierce gaze to the man – letting the threat sink in before turning back to Zephyr.

“Well,” She began, “If it’s as urgent as all that, I suppose we should begin?” It was stated rather flatly – no hint of sarcasm or annoyance found within the tones. Minerva wasn’t upset with the situation at all, in fact, she was rather curious, but to show her excitement would allow the parties present to know that the something that they had that Minerva did not was actually important – and indeed it was; knowledge is always important.

The great stone hallways of Hogwarts were nothing like those of Raizel's own alma mater.  Beit Gaddol had been gleaming white limestone where these were gray; set amidst the hills of Jerusalem, while this castle lurked alone and foreboding in the Scottish north.  But even so, a shiver passed over the Cursebreaker as she hurried along in rhythm with Zephyr's echoing footsteps.  Alone among their trio, this was her first visit to the famed British school, and even if she might occasionally make comments about the quality of education, she still felt as if she might explode with feverish excitement.

Rosier had made his caution quite clear that she was not to do anything stupid, but all thoughts of caution had flown from her head now that they were here.  This was the most delicious type of adventure, an excursion in the dead of night to examine an artifact that she had only dreamed of ever getting her fingers on, and through it all, all of these very important witches and wizards would be waiting to rely on her expertise.  The thrill very nearly made up for all of the troubles of the past few months.

Persepolis Zephyr had stopped to make a polite greeting once they'd arrived in the office, but Raizel's eyes were already only on the Goblet.  It sat alone, a glimmering jewel made out of simple wood, the dancing blue flames just barely visible above its rim.  The fingers of her left hand were already curled around her wand; the only reason that she'd held off this long on casting Goleya was so that she wouldn't be overwhelmed by all of the blindingly brilliant magic that had to be inherent to the stones here.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes.  Let's begin," she interjected bluntly.  As far as she was concerned, that had been more than enough of a lead; Raizel wasn't about to wait for silly things like Rosier putting out his cigarette or more formal introductions when there were mysterious artifacts to examine. 

"Is this where you normally keep it?"  She was already making a beeline for the Goblet, and she fired off the questions with the same rapid briskness of a Healer demanding information from a beleaguered patient, but her attention was barely on the elderly witch who was currently serving as the master of the school.  "Do you pay much attention to it?  Does the flame usually look like this?"

Bluster and billows! She certainly got down to it.  Zephyr was used to a plodding beurocracy that at the least required a nod of the head of all ranking quorum, and so she fluttered like an unsettled purple fowl when Raizel Cohen took the Headmistress's impatient call to action as an actual call to action. 

Ah well.  "Indeed," agreed Zephyr as she let go of the minor faux pas and gave into her own curiosity, her general relief that this step was being taken.  Cohen certainly was just what they'd need for the 'beg forgiveness' part of this strategy.  Zephyr gave a calming, reassuring sort of smile to McGonagall as she followed Cohen over towards the Goblet of Fire.

"Rosier, the paperwork.  I do hope you've forgotten it."  She really did.  This whole affair needed to be completely off the record just in case anything was found that supported the goblins' claims that the goblet belonged to them, that it was goblin-made or goblin-chanted.  In all honestly, it was an astonishing lack of files, information and documentation that was trussing up the Ministry of Magic's slight of hand in managing to evade Gringotts demands thus far. 

It wasn’t long before Minerva realized that there shouldn’t be any issue as to who was going to be seated… the answer was none of them apparently. As the witch from Gringotts headed toward the goblet and the Minister asked her smokestack about paperwork, Minerva looked on flabbergasted. The Headmistress was certainly not used to people coming into her office and acting as if they owned the place.

She stood from the chair and headed over toward the goblet, waiting for both witches to finish speaking before answering the questions. The Headmistress’s curiosity was peaked, to be sure. With the tournament in full swing, a random meeting cloaked in darkness to discuss the Goblet of Fire was a major case of red sparks. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one that felt that way, as the painted eyes of several portraits followed her walk to where the goblet sat.

“When not needed in the Great Hall, the Goblet stays here – at least during Tournament years. On off years, the care of the goblet is entrusted to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, which I’m sure you already knew. It doesn’t require much attention, honestly. It sits and doesn’t do much. Occasionally the house elves come in and give it a wipe down with a dry cloth. As for your last question, I assume that it is like this often. It’s possible that when I’m not around it puts on a grass skirt and does the hula. Now really, what is this all about?” By the end of the question answering, Minerva was a right fair bit cross. What didn’t she know? Why didn’t she know it? Whatever the case, she expected to get some answers.

Yes, the time had come.  Minerva McGonagall's hospitality and trust was not infinite and needed to be nurtured like any others'.  Persepolis smiled and approached her friend, her colleague, her peer.  She was a witch unmatched and no amount of bullshit would be satisfying to her.

"It's about preserving our traditions.  The Goblins of Gringotts have come forward, yet again, with a list of demands and among them at the forefront: that we release the Goblet of Fire to them," she said.  Then before anyone could say anything, Persepolis flourished her hands and furrowed her brow.  "A preposterous demand! They have absolutely no claim.  No evidence to suggest the object is goblin-wrought."

She knew Minerva would understand.  "We thought at first it must be a ploy to push us into ceding some other ground, but nothing has been revealed.  And when we looked into it, well, Minerva, we realized there was very little documentation about our Goblet.  And so here we are.  Right now we believe we know as little as the goblins do - but Ms Cohen here is obliging us and will likely give us an advantage."

"Won't you, Cursebreaker Cohen?"

It seemed very unlikely that the Goblet of Fire had ever done anything akin to dancing the hula, but Raizel took the elderly witch's strange suggestion in stride.  She stopped just short of the stone niche, her wand clutched tightly in hand, eyes moving intently over the large wooden cup.

Up close, it was far bigger than she had ever imagined it.  The Goblet was roughly hewn -- she could see the marks from a carving tool in its uneven sides -- and aside from the flickering blue flame in its center, there was nothing about its appearance that was even slightly magical.  As she came closer, the flames seemed to climb slightly higher, licking over the edges as if they were reaching out towards her presence.

Watching it was captivating.  Slowly, Raizel raised her right hand, extending it over the flames.  There was no heat coming off of the strange blue fire, not even as the tendrils of light flickered higher, as if they were reaching towards her.  She cautiously let it make contact, turning her hand over slowly as the flames lapped over her palm, dancing over her missing fingers.

"It is fascinating," she murmured.  The light from the blue flames reflected in her eyes, and though she was vaguely aware that the others were still present, her attention was solely fixed on the Goblet of Fire.  What a strange vessel for a spell like this!  It was almost as if the cup itself didn't matter; as if it was simply a hollow shell to house the strange blue fire within.  She'd seen enchanted flames before, but nothing quite like this; it was as if it were a living, breathing entity, eagerly curious and all too aware of her presence.

The Headmistress of Hogwarts was truly grateful for the relationship she shared with the Minister for Magic. Relationships between the two weren’t often very strong, and when they were strong, they weren’t usually strongly positive. She was glad that even though Zephyr had a flair for dramatics, she knew that Minerva preferred to get directly to the point, to forget the pomp and circumstance and just handle things. Today Minerva wished there had been a bit more dramatics.

She all but ignored the cursebreaker, as the cursebreaker was obviously ignoring her. There was no need to talk to the foreign witch, unless she had a question. Instead, she directed her attentions to the Minister. She stood, dumbfounded for a moment, and wracked her brains for any history she could personally remember about the goblet. Truly, Minerva had never been strong in History, and even during recent years, the goblet was simply a tool, not something that needed studying. “Goblin, you say? Surely that’s not true, the cup is wooden after all. Preposterous indeed!”

The headmistress’ nostrils flared in frustration, “Persepolis, what happens if Ms. Cohen here finds that the item is goblin-wrought? I’m afraid I would insist that they not get it back, at least not until the tournament is over. This tournament has already faced more than its share of set-backs and notoriety, it needs no more. Let them keep it on their long list of things we still won’t hand over, it’s not as if they can do anything about it,” The headmistress paused in her barrage of speech to watch as flames flickered over the top of the goblet, the cup was obviously happy to be getting so much attention.

Either that or Cohen had really nice hands.

Persepolis furrowed her brown and nodded with a frown at the most astute observation from Minerva: it absolutely was made  of wood and no proper goblin-wrought artifact had that in common with it.  Preposterous, I repeat a third time.  But it was a thin shaving to base ownership on.

And then Minerva lit upon the exact hitch that Persepolis had been taking great care to manage.  "If it is, by some ancient stroke of accursed bad luck actually made from goblin hands, why I am just not sure how we could ever broach the news to them," she said with a falsely innocent tone to her voice.

"We just aren't equipped to confirm that sort of thing, are we.  Not legally.  Although I'm quite confident that Ms Cohen here is more than qualified to quantifiably deny a goblin origin.  I consider this exercise to be..."

She searched carefully for the word she'd already prepared, and then produced it fresh.

"...exploratory. And off the record."

She smiled and shrugged a shrug she'd cooked up to show that some things were out of her hands, that some things just couldn't be helped.  And well, if need be, she rather could help them along with the help of her trusted Obliviator Mihai Zamperia who was very helpful indeed. 

And had already helped her on a few occasions.

The fire crackled; it danced; it swirled and pirouetted before her vision.  It took some effort to tear her eyes away, to reluctantly withdraw her hand once more.   Raizel could have stood there gazing into the flames all day, but that wasn't why she had come; nor did the blue fire hold any clues in itself as to whether or not it had once been goblin-made.

The wooden vessel hardly seemed worth noticing when compared to the flames housed inside it; it was no wonder that the brilliant blue fire was what leant the Goblet its name.  Raizel studied it silently for a moment, her eyes moving over the hewn wooden surface once more, and then she twined her fingers carefully around her wand and murmured, "Goleya."

Her vision shimmered suddenly as the spell took effect.  The magical blue flames were even brighter now, almost blinding, and Raizel had to shield her eyes to see past them.  But the surface of the Goblet -- oh!  Now it was shining too, as dancing copper runes seemed to snake across it, weaving into each other and fading one into the next as they shimmered across the surface of the wood.

Raizel watched, breathless, paying no heed to the conversation of the two witches behind her.  In all her days as a Cursebreaker, she was certain that she had never seen anything quite this intricate, or nearly this old.  Whoever had woven the spell had done so masterfully, and she was certain that not witch or wizard alive could come close to matching it.

Except --

The first aberration struck her senses like a gong -- silver where it should have been gold, shocking in its abruptness.  Raizel reared back, startled, her eyes widening.  It was like when her music box, in the middle of the tune that felt so familiar, suddenly struck a wrong note.

"Has this been modified at all?" she asked sharply.  She'd turned on her heel to look back at the other two women, but she'd forgotten about Goleya; the magic throughout the Headmistress's office was like a wash of blinding white light.  Grimacing, Raizel shielded her eyes, gritting her teeth as she jerked her wand to cut the charm off.  "You've cast another spell on it?" she demanded, rubbing at her eyes.  "Or altered what was there?"

Whatever Persepolis had been saying was cut short when the Cursebreaker began her work and a bright light eminated from the goblet.  The Minister of Magic stepped back and shielded her eyes from the glare, her delicate purple-tinted spectacles not nearly functional here.  Magic and light squirled around the Cursebreaker and the goblet in a wondrous fare, but deciphering what it revealed was not in her capability. 

And in an instant, Cohen ended the spell and Persepolis blinked away the stars as the room returned to normal.  The goblet's flames returned to a simmer. 

Persepolis looked from Cohen to the Headmistress and back again.  Cohen was demanding answers, and not at all in the fashion Persepolis would expect someone to address the Headmistress of Hogwarts.  But there it was.

"Cohen, what are you saying? It's been tampered with? How can you tell?" 

Unfamiliar with the Cursebreaker's spellwork, Persepolis couldn't understand how upon inspecting the Goblet for the first time one could determine what magic upon it was native and what had been added later.  With nothing to compare it to, how could one make that distinction?

Rosier stood in a dark corner of McGonagall's office and watched the scene with a keen interest. He invested a lot of time and energy in this case and so was naturally curious about the outcome of today's meeting. He remembered that the last time he found himself in this office in the dead of night was when he was sixteen years old and presented with some unpleasant news regarding his family. He however decided not to dwell on old memories, even though this place reeked of them.

The Minister naturally wanted all this off the record and Rosier agreed with it, but some things were easier said than done. He worked hard to cover their tracks. Not so long ago, Rosier would be eager to visit Hogwarts because that meant staying for a drink or ten down in Hog's Head, but not today...Not even any time soon. He also worked very hard on turning his life around. It was not exactly pleasant when the Daily Prophet calls you an unstable alcoholic. So, there would be no late-night excursions and foul beverage degustations with his young Israeli friend.

Speaking of Cohen, Rosier knew this was her area of expertise and he knew how much she enjoyed examining the goblet. He had no idea what to expect, so he let her work without any interruption. Squinting at the bright light, he tried to make sense of what Cohen was saying now. Of course Zephyr was first to speak. He looked at the Headmistress as well, but somehow doubted her involvement in any sort of tampering with the goblet. "What is it, Cohen?" he spoke after a long silence, his voice even harsher than usual. "Would you be able to determine when this spell was cast?"

The indignation was clear on Minerva’s face, from the thinned lips to the scowl and glare of her eyes. With a flare of her nostrils, the headmistress let out a loud huff, staring down the odd cursebreaker. Surely this witch had done something wrong, not the least of which was talking to the headmistress of Hogwarts in such a way. Minerva ignored the others in the room as she glared at Cohen, perhaps it was a cultural difference, but one simply didn’t step into someone else’s office and start accusing them of tampering with an historical magical artifact.

Even so, a nagging sensation took Minerva by surprise. Was it possible that someone had been in a position to tamper with the goblet? Not under her watch, surely, but had there not been two other heads of school during the tournament? True, Snark hadn’t been around at the start of year, but she’d been a major player in the organization of the tournament, and it wasn’t uncommon knowledge that she wasn’t the most trustworthy of women. And even so, had the goblet not been tampered with once before? By Crouch, Jr.? Under the watch of Albus Dumbledore, no less.

“I can assure you, Madam Cohen, that I, nor my staff, have had any part in any tampering or spellweaving on the goblet – and I’d appreciate a bit less hostility, thank you very much,” Minerva’s words were clipped, but not overly unfriendly. It wouldn’t do well for the headmistress to upset the witch, even if Minerva only wanted to send the witch and her boorishness from her office without a backward glance. “In what way has it been altered? Is it an old spell, perhaps remnants from the last tournament?” The headmistress tried to cover questions not asked by the others in the room, yet questions that needed answers. Preferably answers that didn’t point fingers at Minerva without any shred of proof.

Why did people always want to know how?  Clearly, it was magic -- explaining the how of a spell was rather like convincing a Muggle that she really could vanish a door if she wanted to.  Raizel sniffed, eyeing Minister Zephyr for a moment.

"From the spell," she said, as if this should be obvious.  "Goleya.  It breaks down the --"  She paused, cutting herself off.  Explaining to a British audience exactly how a Semitic spell worked was something of a losing proposition.  "Well, it lets you see magical auras," she said, waving a hand.  "Mostly active spells that were cast, but some other traces too.  With the Goblet, I can see the spell that makes it work, but there's something wrong with it.  Like someone tried to alter it.  Some other enchantment is stuck on."

Rosier and then the Hogwarts Headmistress chimed in.  Raizel's eyes flicked first to the Minister's assistant, and then to Minerva McGonagall.  The older witch was somewhat baffling.  When had she been hostile?  She hadn't even shouted.  British manners; she'd never understand them.

"I could find out what it is, if I examine it further.  I might be able to tell when it was cast."  She frowned, her gaze drifting back to the Goblet.  Even from across the room, its blue fire reflected in her dark eyes.  "But it would take more time.  Separating apart charms like that -- it isn't easy, not if you don't want to break something."

This was a puzzle.  Persepolis's normally poised expressed was darkened with concentration and a sense of foreboding.  She wasn't sure what she'd expected by this clandestine inspection of the ancient artifact, but now there seemed to be more questions than answers.  Even more mystery than before. 

The Cursebreaker was clearly not accustomed to working before an audience, and McGonagalll was getting testy.  It wasn't sure how much longer she'd politely tolerate this intrusion upon Hogwarts's autonomy.  They would have to cast lightly lightly lightly.

"Your expertise is clearly beyond reproach.  Our trust in you is not misplaced, Miss Cohen, I feel sure.  Perhaps you would indulge us further. Could you, Cursebreaker, glean any more about the origins of the original enchantments? Is there some trifle of secret that has been lost to the casual observer over the years?  Seers forbid, there is no danger lurking?"

The Minister of Magic was still searching for some kind of tidbit, some kind of datum that would give her some leverage over the goblins of Gringotts.