Title taken from Rossini's "Thieving Magpie Overture". It has very little to do with the tone of the thread, but it has a great name!

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Josephine had cleared out of Gringotts early for the day.  After returning from Africa, she had paraded her trainee around like a prize Spaniel who had retrieved exactly what was expected – because she had, and took it as a victory.  No one else had their trainees doing international returns at this point.  Though, she imagined that was because no one else needed to.  It was a tricky balance.  Josephine preferred to not spend her time weighing pros and cons, however.  Striking while the iron was hot seemed much more… accommodating. 

It’d certainly helped her with the mask and Marat.  She kept the object at her deceased father’s cottage, rather than her London flat.   It was too dangerous to keep in a population dense location.  If a mishap occurred in the country it’d be unremarkable – until the Prophet got their hands on it, anyway. 

The return of the artifact, for one of the first times, was not to destroy, however.  Josephine had every intention of turning the object into the authorities.  The goblins had no say.  Claims of goblin ownership were readily debunked based on the iron and wood used in its creation.  West African, completely. 

In the same way she wasn’t going to let the artifact into London until it was absolutely necessary, Josephine was not going to conduct business about it there either.  Too many ears, too many interested parties.  She’d spent time in Slandermouth when she was younger, jarveys and all, so it only made sense to take advantage of the coastal village’s amenities.    It was not a long distance from where the mask was.  By the end of the evening, she was hoping to be rid of the thing – as long as everything was in order. 

They couldn’t very well do that in the cottage.  There’d be no witness, no account of where either of them had been.  It was much safer to be in public with one another than in private.  There would be a hayday of media if enough erroneous dots could be strung together. Besides, Ascendio had always been a relatively accommodating place, and their wine selection was above average.  With the right monetary incentive, she’d acquired one of the upstairs, private areas for the meeting.  She’d requested it as a business dinner – she was assured it would be treated as such. 

Confident her wishes would be maintained, St. Just landed gracefully, heels touching the floor before her ankles and she handed her broom off to the young wizard in charge of cataloguing them.  She’d played quidditch at school and was used to the mode of transportation.  It hardly bothered her.  Except for, perhaps the chill in the air.  He handed Josephine a slip of paper and she put it in her bag bag before walking in. 

She was escorted, very quickly upon introduction, toward a staircase that led to the second floor.  Considerably less populated, helped by the fact it was a Tuesday, and into an alcove.  “Thank you,” she nodded at the host and took her seat.  Menus appeared as she sat and Josephine skipped right over the food to take charge of wine.  A good deal could not happen without a bottle of wine.   

Slandermouth.  How wonderful.  This town was notorious for its vermin problems. If the reward were not so very promising, or his newest business associate so skittish, he would have requested a relocation rather than to bother with portkeying to this--

"Godforsaken, hell-hidden, worm-tongued..." a passing jarvey muttered.

"You said it, whiskers" Riordan agreed. Perhaps there was more in kind to this town than he'd originally thought. The jarvey, in response to his words, tilted his head curiously, walking towards him. 

"Keep your distance, fur-lizard," Riordan warned, beginning to move towards Ascendio.     "Slowly the mange-faced rascal crossed the square..."  The long, lanky form of the jarvey hobbled behind him, keeping himself--unfortunately---well enough out of striking range.

"--as he contemplated," Riordan joined in with his leisurely drawl, "the fine fur of the jarvey, and what price it might fetch."

The jarvey paused, blinking at him uncomprehendingly.  To make the matter clear, Riordan bent down to the jarvey's level, eyes still intensely focussed before reaching out swiftly, catching the jarvey by the scruff of his neck.  Its jaws snapped, body wriggling.   "Hey! Hey!"

Unimpressed at the lack of cursing vocabulary when it most mattered, Riordan dropped the creature back onto its feet, departing as he heard its long claws clattering away. 

The staff was instantly upon him, offering to take his cloak, seat him--Riordan held up his hand impatiently.  "Here for a business meeting," he stated, as instructed. 

This got him a quick escort upstairs.  He was not exactly surprised.  The woman--Mlle. St Just--had contacted him and seemed a particular sort of woman.  Still, any sort of candidness coming from Gringotts was unexpected--and welcome.  It was much easier when they were forthcoming.  He wondered, though, why he had been the one and not Carstairs or Pratt.  Some sort of reputation must have preceded him.  He would be interested in knowing what, exactly, that reputation was.  The sketch he himself had drawn of her was full enough.  The penmanship of the letter had been fine--long and looped and narrow and neat.  Riordan had taken a course or two in forensic graphology to draw some sort of profile: the neat, narrow loops of the e's showed a skepticism of others, a determination to not be swayed.  The dotted i's showed an impatience at the inadequacy of others--and a certain level of self-criticism.  The s was inquisitive, ambitious...

But all these were subtle indications.  Far more telling was the way the letter had burst into flames moments after reading it, nearly setting his desk aflame.  Flair, perhaps.  Maybe a bit of anger? Or perhaps just quaintly, elegantly paranoid.  He would not blame her.  Any Gringott's worker was likely to develop a strong case of backwards shoulder-glancing.  Working with goblins long enough meant you were either quite foolish  or very good at playing the game.  He would have to see how many of her fingers she still had before he could say for sure, though.

A slim, elegant witch with a sort of soft severity to her features. It was about what he was expecting.  Her hair matched the flames of her note. He raised his eyebrows in greeting.  She was looking at the wines.  Sensible, at least. 

"Riordan at your service," he said, offering his hand for a firm handshake.  He hoped she didn't exactly believe that.  As he settled across from her, he tapped his fingers over the menu.  "This going to burst into flame, too?" he gave a lazy, lopsided smile.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Riordan was making his way toward her table.  She’d seen his picture in the Prophet more than once, as deputy head.  He seemed personable, but that was not the key attribute that made Josephine contact him.  She had considered Carstairs as a primary contact, but there was always the need for buffers.  When dealing with Law Enforcement, it was always good to have someone who wasn’t at the top, but top adjacent at your side.
 
Plus, Josephine had very little interest in the publicity that could potentially come from this exchange.  She’d give it to the DMLE, allow them to savor their “success” and she’d move into her next endeavor.  She’d probably also send one of her special little notes to Marat about it, or perhaps even a copy of the Daily Prophet.  He would adore that. 

Greeting him with a closed-lip smile, Josephine lowered the menu when he offered his hand.  She returned the gesture, standing from her chair just a little bit to shake his hand.  “A pleasure, Riordan.”  She believed she matched his demeanor, interested but aloof and she chuckled lightly at his comment about the menu. 

“Not through my intervention this time,” Josephine responded easily and flicked her eyes back to the wine list.  She would perhaps allow him to pick the wine, as no good business venture could begin without a bit to drink.  Plus, before Josephine would hand over the very valuable and very dangerous artifact, several things needed to be sorted out.  Mostly, she needed to be assured that she wasn’t going to Azkaban for this. 

She had… little to do with what happened after the mask was stolen.  But everyone who could say that was unfortunately, either four feet tall and reeked of mold or was six feet under and probably also reeked of mold… amongst other things.  “I’m glad we could meet at such short notice,” she nodded in acknowledgment, “but I do believe it is a time sensitive manner.  So, I appreciate your cooperation.” 

Josephine lifted her chin a little and tried not to look too suspicious of him.  It was hard, as she constantly felt that way.  “The last person I spoke to was Madame Raynor,” Josephine put it into the air, “and we had an agreement, of sorts.”   Raynor had been a school companion, a person she’d respected and had an understanding with.  She left the door open for him to walk through.  He either knew or he didn’t and that would guide the rest of the conversation, surely. 

Riordan looked at the wine for a brief moment--eyes skimming and settling instantly on the Portuguese.  Duoro--good. Price point--good.  "I think the Quinta de la Rosa Reserva," he said, tapping the name of the vintage port before closing the menu and setting it aside.  It was for him to make the decisive move on this: the rest was up to her. She'd called the meeting, she had the preconceived expectations on what agenda might play out.  He could certainly be decisive with the wine.

Besides, he didn't like to be distracted in affairs such as this; not that affairs such as this arose all that often anymore.  He missed it: the dance of hidden meanings and interpretations.  Years as a prosecutor had taught him the reward that keen focus and steady eye contact could yield--particularly with those who were either clever enough or cautious enough to say less than they meant, with those who might not be either entirely candid or wholly forthcoming.  In a past life, Riordan would have set his sights on cross-examinating a woman such as this: withheld, assertive, and clearly full of expectations of her own.  He had no doubt that the woman across from him would likewise be testing his acuity as much as his general mood--but perhaps he thought too highly of himself.

She began the proceedings directly.  Riordan inclined his head in a slight acknowledgement of his cooperation.  At the mention of Tamis Raynor, the prior Department Head, Riordan's eyebrows went up expectantly. "Well, St Just," he eyed her to see how she took the name.  Best to take out the questions of Mlle's or Ms's or Madame's.  "I am all ears and will, to the best of my abilities, endeavor to meet it."

Josephine loved to hear the wine suggestions and ideas of others.  It revealed so much about a person: there was a frugality in him, but obviously he did not shy away from the more extravagant things in life.  A dessert wine was an interesting choice, but one she wasn’t against.  It showed he was straightforward, had a mission in mind, and did not expect to linger on pleasantries:  Josephine felt much the same way.

Snapping the menu shut, she placed it on the table in front of her before settling her hands on her lap under the table.  Her eyebrows raised at her name – no title, interesting.  No nonsense, indeed.  Her lips curled into a smirk and she nodded her head.  “I located an object of interest to the DMLE,” vague was always better for the time being.  “Based on the proven capabilities of the object in question, it was understood that the retrieval of it would not tie me – or my place of employment,” she threw that in there, just to see, “to the events, and we would not be held accountable for the actions of those who held it previously.” 

Pursing her lips together, she wet them just slightly as her eyes narrowed.  She wondered, briefly, if she should delve further.  For all Gringotts was aware, they’d retrieved a simple piece of jewelry in Africa.  It was a risk to put forward her employers.  But, realistically, if the goblins did not necessarily trust their human staff, a ministry worker, particularly for Law Enforcement, was not going to be looked at with any amicable feelings.  She supposed that could wait for whether or not the expectations had changed. 

It was a damned shame Raynor was not on hand to corroborate any of this.  Unfortunate--and perhaps also strategic for St. Just.  Not that she would have had anything to do with Raynor stepping away, but  St. Just could easily have seen an opportunity there to hide in the confusion of the turnover.  He didn't think it above anyone hoping to get ahead to tell a bluff now and again.

She brought the goblins into it.  That was interesting, but not something he'd overlooked, given her profession.  He would come to that later. Give her too much to work with, and it would be hard to sift this to the few crystals of truth that he needed.

"And you are handing us this object of interest out of...?" he said, letting the air hang heavily in a pregnant pause.

Josephine had prepared for this question.  Why was she doing this?  It had played through her mind so many times.  She could have stowed the damn thing away at Gringotts and no one would be the wiser.  But, she needed a bargaining a chip.  She needed that grain of good will that the DMLE could offer in the event that the Goblins were indeed up to something. 

She hardly trusted them.  So, allies on any front were appreciated.  It wasn’t as though she could tell them that though! 

Sniffing delicately, Josephine let the beat pass. “It’s been through quite a few hands.”  Indeed, from Rippringham-Gomfrey to Marat, it had seen quite the journey.  It would have to end sometime, and Josephine could benefit by it ending on her account.  “And as I’ve read, the DMLE is not enjoying the luxury of a glowing public reputation?”  She quirked her eyebrows for a moment ,”Another closed case could help with that.”

Well.  Josephine St. Just had obviously studied a time under some politicians he knew. It was uncanny: her ability to answer a direct question with something so sterile and detracting that it said absolutely nothing at all was only rivaled with the likes of Zephyr herself.  Perhaps all those sorry bastards at that Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (the most unfortunately and accurately named Department to date).  Hell, even Carstairs...even himself, well, anyone dodging a question they didn't want to answer.  She did it easily, relying upon what likely she had proved to work: a direct dazzling of charm and confidence, all perched neatly beneath a tantalizing, dangling carrot to redirect conversation.

The wine arrived just then, and the waiter made a mincing sort of presentation of holding out the label for Riordan's inspection.  He gave only a cursory glance, but the nod was gracious enough for the waiter to tolerate so casual a handling of the formal ceremony of Bottle Presentation.  Next was the Cork Presentation. Another--less enthusiastic--nod.  Afterwards, the Wine Presentation. Riordan swirled the wine delicately--more fuss than he'd give to this, but he was not a total heathen and probably had yet to prove that to the woman across from him.  He took a sip.  The appropriate Nod of Approbation, and finally St. Just was poured a glass, then himself.

He got it.  This place was nice.  Riordan supposed it was nice to know this before he ultimately ended up paying for the meal, but what he really wanted was to not have his timing thrown off in a delicate conversation.

In a moment, the waiter was gone, and Riordan was able to turn his attention back to the striking woman across from him who, he noted, was certainly aware of her effect and attempting to put it to use.

Riordan drew his lips tightly together, clearly suppressing a smirk.  Rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin, he regarded her with open amusement.  She was clever to have diverted--but not nearly clever enough if she thought he was going to get so damned thrilled at a closed-case that he'd charge on ahead like a bull in a china shop.

If she'd wanted that, she should have gone with an Auror--Pratt or Raynor.  But instead, she went to a lawyer. 

"Public interest. A closed case.  I am sorry to say, but no..." he drawled, his voice good-natured despite the challenge he was currently throwing at the red-head.  "That would be my interest in the matter..." He looked at her levelly, mirth diminished. "I was asking for yours.  But, since we're taking each others' motivations into our own hands, shall I try?"

He regarded her, chin tilting.  "Forgive me for saying--I mean it as a compliment, I assure you--but I am going to scratch 'philanthropist' and 'concerned citizen' and even 'misguided art collector'  off the list. Though," he said, "of course, we accept your generous donation in any case."  He paused a beat before inclining his head ever so slightly in concession, "Upon your agreed-upon terms."

Another breath before, "With a couple of questions."  His hand flitted dismissively, "Off the records if you please; your employers shall never hear it from any in our office, least of all me: Has this object-of-interest ever been housed in the august halls of Gringotts?"

He decided this was a perfect moment for the first true sip of the laboriously-filled glass, lifting his eyebrows expectantly from over his glass as he waited for her answer.

Well, well.  He was a focused person!  She had hoped, though not necessarily believed, that he would be off her tail in order to pursue his own interests.  There were huge benefits, after all, to him overlooking her motives and just taking a good thing at face value.   

She was only pleased that he wanted to take a guess.  If she knew what he thought it would help her craft the better response.  She couldn’t help but delicately laugh, tucking her chin down and covering her mouth with a napkin for a moment when he noted that her interests were not in philanthropy, citizenship, or art collection.  All true statements.  She sniffed and shook her head, “Many others who have been in possession of the artifact in question do fall under those categories,” she pointed out. 

But, the real thing she was waiting for happened: agreed upon terms were accepted.  A weight was lifted off of her shoulders and she sat up taller in her seat.  Her amused expression dimmed, a shadow cast over her features and she considered: did she trust him?  Not necessarily. 

It was in his interest to build a sense of trust to get what he wanted out of the situation.  As he was unassuming, a bit rough around the edges, she imagined it might be easy for him.  Josephine knew what a bit of tussled dirty blonde hair and a crooked smile could do: the havoc it could wreak.  It was a moment to drink and consider. 

She held the glass delicately and slowly lifted it to her lips.  When she pulled it down, her eyes rested on the red print.  It felt quite a bit like getting caught red handed.  She supposed she couldn’t let it, then. 

Josephine decided to answer.  “The vault owner required its removal: paperwork in order, to be clear.”  Names would not be given.  Not unless absolutely necessary – the clients of Gringotts, particularly those with the deepest vaults did not appreciate name giving in any capacity.  “Should that matter in its transfer of hands, I am sure I can come up with a solution amicable to all parties."