Title take from Schubert’s Quartet for Strings.  I’d say the tone pretty accurately matches the thread here, so feel free to listen while reading!

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The arrival of a strange little note[1] at her flat had been anything but expected.  Josephine had done her best to keep her head down and leave as few tracks behind as possible, including the retrieval and forwarding of all inquiries regarding the jars away from the museum.  She’d taken all of the files and effectively oblivated the squib.  All traces of the find had been eliminated from the site. 

So, she was ultimately intrigued and after analyzing the note, its paper, ink, and the very beast that had delivered it (Josephine did not have an affinity for birds), so determined only an investigation into one A. Grimm would determine how she handled this and if she included her protégé or not. 

Rapid (and independently sought) inquiries at the bank provided her with enough information to be comfortable: an old family and connection to the Department of Mysteries.  Their relationship to the law was painted in about as many shades of grey as Josephine’s.  At the outset, it didn’t appear to be a set up.  And surely, he wouldn’t have sent her a letter that didn’t combust offering compensation if he did not want to be complicit in the removal of the jars from Cairo.  As a precaution, however, the note also remained in her home. 

Informing Eisenberg that they had a late meeting and to meet in the square in front of the bank prepared to apparate with her was all the notice she had given before departing to retrieve their newest haul.  She hadn’t dared bring them to the bank.  She also hadn’t removed them from the bag that Eisenberg had packed them neatly into. In this particular instance, she elected to be only the collector. 

The research on this likely dark object could (and would) be happily transferred for whatever sum A. Grimm had in mind.  She met her stern student as directed and handed her the bag to carry, as she did, before offering a stiff arm for her to grab onto.  As soon as she did, the whip crack of apparation had them hurtling toward their destination: Grimm Manor.  Its name was certainly fitting, she thought as they approached the looming grey façade.  She stopped short at the door, heels digging into the pathway before she reached into her cloak pocket to withdraw her watch. 

Josephine flipped open the delicate silver casing, glanced down and snapped it shut.  Punctual, as usual.  “This should prove interesting,” she looked over at Eisenberg before replacing the watch with her wand in order to seamlessly lift the heavy wrought knocker and evenly give two raps.

1.	Build Me Up for Sin So Fit

Alberic was pleased at the prompt arrival.  He himself had only made it a point to arrive 15 minutes before. The less time spent conversing with his parents, the better. As luck would have it, they were not even at home.  He had free reign of Grimm Manor for the evening, it would seem. Even were that not the case, his parents had made quite clear that he was welcome at any time.  Usually, this had the uncomfortable underpinning of some form of social interaction with his parents. Tonight, though, there would be no such unpleasantry.

Alberic was just trimming the wicks of the candles in the main entry way. The servants were horribly remiss. It could not have been the house elves; the height prohibited that.  It was for this reason and other manual labor that the Grimms even bothered with human servants at all.  He would need to talk to his parents on this later.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Alberic checked himself in the mirror, straightening his cravat before opening the door.

He did not bother with unpleasantries--he knew precisely how the journey would be from Cairo to here. He had just made it himself.  Any cretin with eyesight knew how they weather was.  And he didn't care how Josephine St Just or--he looked to the shorter waif beside her--well, the other one fared.  "Come in," was all he said before stepping in, a small gesture towards the interior.

As far as wizarding homes went, this one was probably not as grand or ornate as some that St Just had probably seen, knowing her clientele.  It was ancient, it was well-maintained, and it was respectable enough to earn the attention of the wizarding community as a whole.  But hardly worthy of comment or a tour.  Besides. He wanted this as brief as possible. That's why he'd chosen to meet him here at all, and not in his daily habitation in London.

He ushered the cursebreakers up a wide staircase, moving past richly decorated walls: portraits of forbearers from the ancestral and august Houses Grimm, Grimlish, Grimmauldi.  Through a hallway adorned with finely curated art ranging from modern statuaries to busts of wizards of note.  Finally, they settled in a spacious study, warmly lit at this time of night by candlelight and gas lamps.

Alberic preferred to conduct business here.  It was his parent's home, yes. But his birthright--even more so, now with Hestia being disowned.  It was a safe distance from his everyday residence, but not overly inconvenient.  It provided sufficient cover: Yes, Devona and Ryce Grimlish were while well-connected, did very little to raise an eyebrow, their efforts focused on charities, galas, and securing the family name. 

Truly, the greatest risk Alberic faced in bringing St Just and her assistant here would Devona's reaction to seeing St Just in her home with him.  Alberic was sharp enough to know she was uncommonly beautiful. He hoped at least that his mother would know by now that he was uncommonly adverse to developing attachments--of any kind.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a chaise lounge.  He silently summoned up an overstuffed chair--a relic of his great-grandmother's decorating, he suspected. Brushing his coattails out, he settled on the seat. Alberic's long fingers gestured out to the bag Magda carried.  "May I?"

The sharp tap at the window was an cursory formality. The window had been kept open, the room soaking up the cold evening, combating English humidity (and the recent, lingering Egyptian elements) with something a little more familiar. Magda dropped a white, fluffy robe on the edge of her bed and poked her head through the bedroom door, spotting the creature she knew would be waiting. Alexei, beautifully aloof, and regal for it.

The envelope was as sharp as the bird, expensive pin-slim parchment and her name in an elegant hand. Its contents were equally slim, a no-nonsense summons to a place far more inefficient with its splendor. Magda flicked her wand past Alexei’s perch as her eyes scanned the note. The metal door atop a small, square cage (nestled mostly out of view of guests) lifted itself: out floated a white mouse, squeaking in protest. But the nocturnal pest had hardly the time to ponder its airborne condition. A claw shot out, snatching the offering, and then a beak did the rest.

Magda turned away from her feathery Ural companion, not out of disgust so much as practicality. Thoughts of a thick bath robe were replaced by a need for the black cloak hanging near in her entryway. And gloves, if their recent contraband were a good judge of tonight’s calling.

---

The bank at night— after close and the last dawdling of its disagreeable drones— was a shadowy fiend, its cool marble and gold detail magnified and transmuted, marking that difference between all things goblin-wrought and her mentor’s sleeker restraint. The wintry floor Magda so admired in the daylight made the pair of witches targets under the burning candles in the lobby. Thus their meeting at its outskirts.

There was hardly time enough to dwell on such routine things as goblin security guards (and the hired wizard or two) who made rounds every hour. Magda looked down at the familiar bag, the prize of their trip to Cairo. Wherever they were going, she knew it wasn’t the bowels of Gringotts.

A firm grasp of Josephine’s sleeve and a turn of their heels, and the ornate bank disappeared. The new landscape flooded her vision like wet paint being poured chaotically on a canvas: it dried without ceremony, with some bit of magic, froze up… and then thawed just a little as Magda stood up right and oriented herself. Her feet were stubbornly rooted to the soles of her boots, which were affixed in dirt in front of a pretty manor house. The temporarily hard disposition was a childhood habit, a side-effect of side-along Apparition. So hard that it looked a little puerile. Her step was always heavy for a few feet after landing. Ever mistrusting.

Magda cocked her head at Josephine, already transferring that mistrust to the house as her eyes moved from the witch to the gray mass. Its pleasant, utterly English stone facade culminated in too-severe peaks, and one could feel the magic smoldering invisibly, warning trespassers. But scared was not an emotion she’d been bred to show. Her feet came to life, following along, a careful two steps behind the redhead.

Besides, they’d lived through stealing from the Egyptian museum— which came with the backing forces of the Egyptian government, the Egyptian auror force, and international pirates a plenty. Her gloved fingers flexed around the bag’s straps.

The man at the door did not look nice in the least, but his eyelashes were so pretty that Magdalena wondered after his vanity. He seemed to suit the house. She stepped in, unblinking, at his succinct invitation. Did he live here alone? She wondered. But the eyelash mystery was solved, at least, as they climbed the stairs. Portrait upon portrait proved his family had been blessed in the hair department. It reminded her, strangely, of Lyov. They could not have been more different in disposition.

The cavernous study, though, reminded Magda only of her own family. She could almost see her grandfather sitting behind that desk. Something told her the man had not picked out the vase of flowers, either.

Just as she moved to sit, Magda paused, employing that same heavy-but-limber pose she’d held outside the house. Her eyes moved to Josephine’s, expectant. “Can he?” She asked, feeling quite suddenly both young and a little annoyed that she’d even had to ask. She hid it behind a mild frown. She was not a witch to hand over her spoils to a stranger, not without knowing his intention. Even if she assumed they were here for to show off what they’d found.

“I’d only use double-layered dragon hide if I were you,” she added, once she had relented and moved to sit. “Are you an artificer?”  Her eyes moved back and forth between them, gauging the reactions of both. “A collector?”

Was Josephine above selling it? Was she?

Josephine eyed the interior of the home with an appraiser’s eye.  There were plenty of beautiful things, but those were far less eye catching than the interesting things.  Portraits and busts were fine, but she preferred more unique artifacts.  Given that there were few and far between in the rich, but not ostentatious household. 

It went without remark, of course.  Alberic Grimm did not seem the type to enjoy small talk and Josephine wasn’t either.  Conversations that suited no purpose were a waste of time and there was business to attend to.  When they entered the office space, Josephine lifted her chin, looking the room from the top to the bottom.  If the windows weren’t so large, she would have thought it was the most outwardly sinister of the rooms. 

That wasn’t the point of this whole thing, however.  The contents of the bag were why they were here.  It was good that they got straight to it.  Taking a seat on the indicated chair, Josephine delicately crossed her ankles and looked over at Magda who was still holding the pouch. 

A little burst of pride surged in her chest as Magda asked for her permission first.  The corner of her lip tugged upward for barely a second before she became resolute again, nodding her head.  She gestured forward just slightly and watched the bag switch hands.  Eisenberg gave the right advice and finally took a seat; both would make this transaction easier. 

But then there was the hint of surprise at her student’s question.  She tried to control her reaction, but even she could not help but let her eyes widen just a bit.  “Something of the sort,” she flattened her expression and turned her chin slowly toward Alberic and the bag. 

“She is right,” she added, in regards to the gloves.   “I’ve never seen anything of the sort,” she explained further.  “The entire set is there, you’ll note it’s from the same time and maker.  I’m unaware of any other by the same hand as the style is very distinct.”  Josephine folded her hands on her lap, wand rested against her thighs underneath.  “Though, I’ve refrained from making any independent inquiries.”   

[Sorry! Forgot about this!!]

St. Just presumed to know what sort he was. Well. Either she knew something he had not said about himself, or she was making the sensible move to instruct her pupil to question their clients less. He'd have rathered handle the answer himself--that vague sort of response was suspicious. Though he could hardly quarrel with St. Just's handling her pupil, if that was indeed what had transpired.

They were in far too risky an endeavour to desire details. That was where the devil lay. And St. Just, at least, seemed to have the basic common sense in this arena.

"I've refrained from independent inquiries."

"Sensible," was Alberic's only response as he pulled on a pair of soft dragonhide gloves. They fit his long, thin fingers to perfection. He moved towards the leather bag, pulling at the ties and revealing a series of canopic jars.

"You need not explain it to me," he informed, stiffly, as he crouched down to eye-level, looking at the hieroglyphs intently. So many cursebreakers felt they had a monopoly on artifactual knowledge. He didn't know of any cursebreakers who bothered to show up to handle the outbreak of chaos at the Egyptian Wing of the British Museum, however.  "In fact," he said, glancing up briefly to catch eyes with St. Just, "you are not the only one to have an association with Mlle. Daher." His lips formed a thin line of disapproval. "A word of advice: consider Obliviating all memories regarding yourself, if you do not wish to leave a calling card."  He pulled himself back up to his full height. A rare, slight smirk as he added, "I knew it could only be a handful of people, though, and your Obliviation did bring an interested buyer your way." Not that he hadn't reached out to several parties. There had been nearly a dozen people of overtly magical acquaintance in her memory, that he'd found. And nothing recent. "Perhaps that is what you were after, after all."

The gray area that existed in Magdalena’s newly adopted career field seemed to expand with Josephine’s answer. The Dane’s ears peaked like a dog’s, if it were possible, but she held her tongue. She had little love for virtues, but patience had been instilled (sometimes the hard way) at Durmstrang. It had only been reinforced in the whilrwind adventure of Cursebreaking: the lull between questions and answers was as long and painful as the trips were brief.

The man’s occupation would have to wait. Magda’s cold eyes darkened at the mention of a calling card. “We didn’t leave anything behind,” she bucked, before she could stop herself.

The ice chips in her eyes were all for Alberic, but Magda’s gaze shifted swiftly to Josephine as if realizing she’d made a mistake. Her blood settled in her veins, her body loosened cautiously in the chair. “Has someone shown up with charmed duplicates?” She asked, her voice settling for calm banter, a rebuke and a friendly ceasefire both. Even the best witch would be able to magic a passable copy. “Or our finger prints. Or questions…”

Her eyes again swung from Alberic to Josephine. If someone else were making ‘independent inquiries,’ surely they deserved to know. The wizard seemed to have made plenty of his own. Magda longed to practice Legilimancy on such a man. It was the less humble way of begging answers.

She was too proud, at least, to ask whether he was the buyer in question. She was suddenly annoyed her boss had not told her more.

Watching his eyes rove over the jars, Josephine couldn’t help but wonder the motivations here.  She knew where her own interests stemmed from, and while she had some intelligence on Mr. Grimm, it was wholly unremarkable.  She supposed he designed it that way.  She couldn’t imagine his interest would be in these artifacts if he were the same person he appeared to be on paper.  He also wouldn’t think he knew everything about them either.  Her eyebrows quirked only slightly at him and Josephine dipped her head. 

She took his advice in stride.  Josephine had her methods for things, and she certainly didn’t reveal all of the cards in her hands when it came to these kinds of meetings.  Magda was less skilled in that area this early in her career, but it was fine.  It would ebb with time, which was what prompted Josephine to just give her a stern look.  It was a nod to stand down: Josephine would handle it from here.  “We didn’t leave anything we didn’t mean to,” she corrected gently, her eyes shifting from Magda back to Mr. Grimm. 

After all, it was only a calling card if the person knew how to read it. 

The ghost of a smile crawled over her lips and Josephine shifted a bit in her seat.  She stretched her neck, just a bit, and considered what Magda asked.  The expression on her face was hard, as icy as her homeland.  Unfortunately, it was without merit.  She spoke too quickly.

It was almost impossible to imagine it, but Eisenberg needed just a hair more self-restraint.  “I’m not worried about that,” her voice was sharp, but not angry.  She had been thorough at the scene; she knew what she was doing.  It was perhaps a moment to catalogue that she needed to extend a bit more trust toward her trainer.   

“Do you need anything else from us?” Josephine offered.  If he were not interested, she’d take her goods and go.  If he were, they’d have a larger conversation on the subject.  At this point, it was truly up to him.