Curse Breakers!

In the security of her Ministry office, Doris Battersea seethed. She sat back in her comfortable chair and took refuge between its encompassing arms. She read the note again, then, looking to heaven in exasperation, she said a very bad word indeed.
She thought for a moment and then decided to pay a visit to 'Tours and Antiquities.'

She was greeted pleasantly by the guards as she made her way through the magically cooled halls. Her position as Junior Head of Station went a long way to speed up procedures; still, though, she was entering 'enemy territory.' Security became increasingly tighter as she descended level by level towards the heart of the Ministry building.
On paper, the Tours and Antiquities section was a think-tank of academics and 'hospitality experts' whose job it was to ensure both the safety of tourists and local monuments. That was fine for being 'on paper.'
In reality, Tours and Antiquities, or 'Whores and Iniquities' as it was sometimes waggishly known, was the Ministry of Magic's counterespionage and intelligence-gathering arm in Cairo. It was an ideal setup -- they kept helpfully abreast of every visitor's comings and goings, maintained surveillance on important locations and were even known to make an extra Galleon or two running camel rides.
Yes, thought Doris, steeling herself, this is a job for Gloss and the Iniquities. It was such a shame she hated spies...especially Granville Gloss.

Battersea burst into the office, sending three cats scurrying behind the desk.
She held up the note. 'Have you seen this?'
Gloss leaned back in his leather chair and lifted the corner of his silk sleepmask.
'Yes, I've seen it. You wear that suit every Thursday. That grey makes you look like a monument.' He let the mask drop back into place and stroked a bicolour Persian that sat grumpily in his lap.
'The note, Gloss, have you seen the note?' she snarled.
'Ah, that. Yes.' From somewhere under the desk a cat meowed languidly.
'Well, what do you intend to do about it?'
'To nap. I do find that my best ideas come to me whilst I slumber. I've asked the Ministry to install a bed in here for years, or at least a chaise lounge, but--'
Doris placed her hands heavily on the desk. She was not getting any younger and did not have time for frivolity. The Persian stared mournfully at her.
'What are you going to do?' she asked again.
Gloss smiled coldly.
'I shall wait and then, when the time is right I shall act. Fear not, Doris, I can be deadly active.'
'I want to be kept informed.'
'Of course, dear girl, you'll be second to know -- after the Old Boy himself. 'Course, should he snuff it, why then you would be first.'
'Gloss, I am no more a "girl" than you are a "man."' A red-faced Battersea spun on her heels and stormed from the room, the door slamming heavily behind her.
'Buy a new suit, Doris!' Gloss shouted after her. 'You look like bloody Tower Bridge!' He wasn't quite sure of what it meant, but the images of impaled heads rotting in the open air soothed his fragile nerves. He listened as her footsteps faded into oblivion.
'Poor puss,' he whispered, petting his cat.

On the other side of town, after much trial, error and complaint, Bill Weasley had completed his 'shopping list' -- a list of equipment required for the expedition and an estimation of its cost. He sighed and looked about him. The Professor sat hunched over his notebook and scrolls, still deciphering the inscription that he had taken from the scarab. Anne Strathmore, the latest addition to the Cairo office, was busily organizing quills and parchments on her new desk. She stood and leaned forward to throw something into the waste paper bin. Looking at her legs, Bill thought to himself that maybe having a woman around the office wasn't such a bad idea. He blushed when she caught him staring.
'I was,' he stammered, 'wondering where you buy your boots?'
Anne stared at him in surprise.
'Oh, I bought these in Panama City.' She looked at him closely. Who would have guessed, she thought to herself, though I suppose it is getting harder to tell these days.
Bill wilted under her scrutiny. 'I'm going to run this over to Accounting. Be back in a minute.'
'I'll come with you,' said Anne, following him.

It was absolutely scandalous, decided Bill. How was he supposed to get any work accomplished when they saddled him with some girl? And a girl who wore distractingly short skirts?! He felt her trying to catch up to him. She wasn't what he would call beautiful, but she definitely wasn't plain. I'll allow her 'nice', he thought, she looks nice.
'Bill?'
'Nice...' he answered. 'Er, yes.'
'Do you know Desmond Ashfield...from Accounting?'
Bill laughed.
'Oh, yeah, I know Dez. Useless smarmy bastard. He's the head of Accounting, the one we'll have to talk to. Mind he doesn't get any grease on you when you shake his hands. How do you know him, then?'
'Oh,' huffed Anne, pushing past him into the Accounting office, 'the smarmy bastard is my fiance.'

Desmond Ashfield ran a contemplative finger over the waxed edge of his thin mustache. It was getting a tad hot, he realized, and pointing his wand skywards said 'Frigio.' All the small cubicle workers, goblin and human alike, groaned and pulled their light clothes tighter around them. Well, it's their own fault, judged Ashfield, should have dressed more appropriately. He felt absolutely fine now in his thick tweed hunting jacket. He smiled to himself. Rank does have its privileges.
'Desmond?'
Ashfield started at the mention of his Christian name. He looked up and saw a pretty girl with dark hair and glasses coming towards him.
'Anne?' he asked, standing. 'When did you get here? Why didn't you send me an owl when you got into town? Oh, Anne!'
They made to hug but Ashfield rapidly remembered the gravity of his position and of the watchful eyes of his cubicle-bound subordinates. They settled instead for an awkward handshake.
'Have you been here long?' he asked, taking her in. When they had a private moment he might make some subtle hints about her hem line.
'Only a few hours. I went to see Mr Sneerscar and he helped me get settled in.' Bill coughed.
'Oh, Weasley, what now?' Ashfield threw Anne an exasperated look that, roughly translated, said something like, 'Do you see the sort of people I am forced to deal with, darling?' In fact, if you listened very carefully, you might have heard him whisper, 'Noblesse oblige.'
'News from the front, Ashfield, we're heading out again and Sneerscar wants us properly kitted out.' Bill passed Ashfield the sheet of estimations.
The accountant's eyes flicked over the page. At intervals he laughed in a huffy sort of manner.
'Well, this is a bit much, really,' he smiled unctuously. 'I mean, you wouldn't need new lamps and braziers had you not allowed the last ones to be destroyed.'
'Have you ever been in a collapsing building, Ashfield? The last thing you grab are the ruddy braziers!' Bill felt his temper rising. Ashfield had a tendency to get under his skin, but today he found himself particularly nettled.
Anne touched his arm. 'You two boys! Desmond, Mr Sneerscar is so keen on this expedition going well, and as it's going to be my first chance to make a good impression in Cairo, I want it to go well too. Oh, it is just so important to me!' Anne batted her eyes.
Ashfield's defenses had crumbled before his fiancee's onslaught. Some part of his being, deprived too long by a monastic lifestyle, had traitorously opened the gates to the waiting enemy and even cheered the invasion.
'I'm sure that some arrangement can be made.' And for the first time in history Desmond Ashfield giggled. Bill, sadly, was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice.
She touched my arm, he told himself again, not Ashfield's. He could still feel the tingle where her fingers had brushed against his skin. What was that all about? demanded his interior monologue.

'How much was approved?' asked the Professor upon their return.
'The whole bit,' Bill told him as he filed the forms.
'No, really?' The Professor, incredulous, looked up from his notebook.
'Really. If you don't believe me ask Miss-soon-to-be-Mrs-Ashfield,' Bill grumbled, jerking a thumb at Anne. The Professor looked flabbergasted.
'It's true. Desmond and I are engaged.'
'But you've only been gone ten minutes! Oh, youth!'
Bill sighed. 'Don't be a silly ass! Now put on your coat and we'll explain it on the way to Dodgy's.'
The Professor donned his jacket and burnoose and scooped his notebook into his pocket.
'What's Dodgy's?' asked Anne.
'It's a who,' the Professor explained, holding the door for her. 'Dalton 'Dodgy' Dodge. He specialises in "Rare and Hard to Obtain Goods".'
'Why is he called Dodgy?'
'Because,' said Bill, locking the office, 'he's about as bent as Quasimodo's shadow.'

Dalton Dodge had always wanted to find a Djinni in a bottle. Unfortunately for him, dreams just never worked out properly.
'Shall I tear off your head? Perhaps I shall tie you down in the desert and let the buzzards peck out your eyes!' The Djinni lifted Dodge off the ground with one hand and shook him again as a small man holding an antique lamp looked on.
'Come...on...now...Jacques!' Dodge wheezed between shakes. The Frenchman nodded to the Djinni and it lowered Dodge to the ground.
'Now, Dalton, I am pressed for time. Yes? Give me the money and I will disappear and mon petit ami with me. Otherwise...'
'Otherwise?' whined Dodge.
The Djinni took up a Middle Kingdom canopic jar in his hand and crushed it into a fine dust. Dodge let out a moan.
'I just need a little more time, Jacques! One day.'
'Bien sur. Always another day. Me, I am a business man, Dalton. I have not the time to play "the ponies" and carouse. I must see to my business, yes?' The little Frenchman smiled sadly and turned to the Djinni. 'Break something.'
The Djinni let out a deep bellow and smashed his fist down through a glass display case sending shards everywhere.
'No, mon ami, ' corrected the Frenchman. 'Break something...on him.' He indicated Dodge's limbs with a jutting of his chin.
'Certainly, my master!'
'Now wait a second!' howled Dalton as the Djinni grabbed his arm.
'Accio lamp!' came a shout from the doorway, and the dusty lamp shot across the room into the hand of Bill Weasley.
The Djinni addressed Bill. 'Hail, master, great among the greatest, what is it that you wish of your servant?'
'Put Dodge down.'
The Djinni gently lowered Dodge to the floor where he collapsed.
'You are making a mistake here, I think,' the Frenchman told Bill. He had his wand out but remained very still. The Djinni eyed his former master malevolently.
'Dodgy here said he'd have your money tomorrow. I believe him, don't you?'
'Ah, yes. It is as you say. I shall return tomorrow.'
'Shall I not slay him now, master?' asked the Djinni greedily.
'Put a lid on it,' ordered Bill and, closing the lamp, the Djinni disappeared in a puff of smoke. Bill handed the lamp back to its original owner.
'Stay out of trouble.'
'Au revoir, mon ami,' replied the Frenchman icily as he made his way out.

Now that they were alone, Bill helped Dodge to his feet.
'All right, Dodgy?'
'''Course, Bill, another minute and I would have had him.'
Dalton Dodge was as unprepossessing as they come. He had oversized tinted prescription glasses in outdated frames, shoulder-length unwashed hair that wasn't quite brown and very little chin to speak of, but having nearly found himself the owner of a pretzel in place of an arm, he did manage a relieved and almost endearing smile at his savior.
'How much do you owe him?'
'Bits and pieces, not much....three hundred.'
Bill whistled.
'Well, its doubly lucky for you I'm here then, Dodgy.'
Just then Anne and the Professor came tramping up the stairs.
'Are you sure the car will be safe? I didn't like the look of those boys, you know.'
'I'm sure it will be fine, Professor.'
Professor Ceggerson waved cheerily at Dodge as he entered the shop.
'Hello, Dalton! Bill, I just saw the damnedest thing. A man coming out of here was giving a Djinni an earful, and in French no less!'
'You don't say,' laughed Bill.
'I speak a little frog myself,' revealed Dodge, and turning to Anne, he slurred, 'Enchante.'
Anne giggled and Bill felt his hackles rise.
'Let's get to business.'

Anne and Bill spent the better part of two hours going over Dodge's inventory and putting down special orders. Often times they would have to make do with what was on hand, but for a few products Dodge was able to assure them 'almost overnight delivery.' Meanwhile the Professor sat contentedly in his chair working out the translation in his notebook.
As Bill and Anne argued over pickaxes, Dodge approached the Professor.
'Doin' the crossword? I like a good jumble myself.'
The Professor beamed, delighted that someone would take an interest in his work.
'Actually, Dalton, I am working on a translation of the inscription that is making all of this.' Ceggerson waved his arm expansively over the piles of 'must-have' equipment. 'What, you publishin' one of those memoirs of the pharaohs things? Can't see why you'd have much call for so much rope.'
'No, you see, it's more like a treasure map. All the instructions are spelled out right here.' The Professor held out a scribbled page.
'Well, I never--'
Bill snatched the book out of Dodge's hands.
'Time to go, Professor,' he snapped. Dodge innocently returned to his invoices.
Bill looked out the window. It was dark.
'You interested in getting some dinner, Professor?'
'No, I should be getting back home. I've nearly cracked this.'
'Well, I could eat a horse,' revealed Anne. 'Er, they don't eat horses here, do they?'
'Not unless you pay extra. You're not dining at Chez Ashfield tonight?'
'Desmond is going to be working late.'
'You two have a nice dinner and afterwards stop 'round my place. I'm sure I'll be done by then.'
'Deal, Professor,' said Anne, helping him with his things.
Bill turned to Dodge.
'Dodgy, I'll be back tomorrow for the stuff, and don't try any excuses or I'll be worse than your friend in the nightlight.'
'No problem, Bill. Anything for you, mate.'
Dodge waited a few moments after the three curse breakers had left, then, with a gesture of his wand, changed the sign in the window to read 'Sorry, We're Closed' and, locking the shop behind him, he headed out into the streets.

Bill took Anne to a cozy little restaurant not far from where he lived. He thought he might feel more comfortable on his 'home ground', as it were, but nothing in this country felt like 'home' even after having lived here almost a year.
He really hadn't realised how much he missed the Burrow until he sat down to a good meal with someone close to his own age and with an accent similar, if not identical, to his own.
'I had thought curse breaking would be a bit of a lark, really. It would take me to places I had never been and wouldn't have a chance to see normally. There would be danger, excitement, intrigue and the chance to get filthy rich. When the Gringotts representative visited Hogwarts I was in a dream world. It all seemed so glamourous, so far away. I hadn't really expected that I would get the job. When the owl came I didn't believe it,' Bill rambled, waving a breadstick.
'How do you deal with living so far from your family? I only have my father now. I can't think what it would have been like growing up with so many children.'
Bill grinned.
'It's much more quiet. And I don't have to wait so long for the bath to be free. When I was at home, I felt I had to get out. Now that I'm here...hold up! I've been answering all the questions! What are you doing in Cairo, Miss Strathmore?' He pointed the breadstick at her accusingly.
'If it pleases your Lordship, I'm here to be closer to my fiance.'
'Oh yeah. Him.'
'Yes, "him." Anne swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully. 'Desmond is a very, very good man.'
Bill saw that nothing would be gained from disagreeing.
'How did you two meet?'
'I went to Mrs Le Fay's School for Witches and he was a student at the boys' school, just the other side of the Quidditch pitch.' Her eyes took on a dreamy look. 'He was very good-looking and very popular. He was the captain of the Quidditch team, you know. He was being scouted by the Montrose Magpies, but then his back injury forced him to stop playing.'
Bill, not having played Quidditch in a manner that could be called anything but 'recreational', was impressed despite himself.
'How did he hurt his back?'
'Got knocked off his broom one too many times, I suppose. Still, it ended up all right. He had more times for his studies. I did miss meeting him secretly some nights after I would sneak out to see his team practise!'
Bill decided it was time to steer things into less romantic waters.
'Did you join Gringotts because he did?'
'I'm not a brainless puppet, Bill. I liked the idea of curse breaking, the same as you did. The fact that Desmond was going to be working for the bank as well was just an added bonus. In the end, he was sent here to Cairo and I was sent to South America.'
'But you got a transfer?'
'Well,' Anne hesitated, 'yes. I mean, we had been engaged just after our graduations and this sudden long-distance relationship seemed to be...I just thought it might be easier if we were at least in the same country. And the Machu Picchu team of curse breakers are pigs.'
They laughed and finished their wine.
'One last thing.'
'Yes?' Anne rose from the table.
'Are you and Ashfield very much in love?'
Anne looked away.
'I like to think so.'
'Good, then you can tell him that I charged this dinner to the expense account.'

It was close to midnight when they arrived at the Professor's flat. Slightly tipsy, they were still chuckling over a story Bill liked to tell about the time he had to ride the Apis Bull rodeo-style, when Anne, suddenly quiet, pointed to the door -- the frame was cracked.
They both took out their wands and Bill pushed the door gently. It swung open silently, revealing blackness. Knowing full well what ideal targets they made with the city lights pouring in behind them, they slipped into the darkened apartment.
'Professor,' Bill whispered. 'Professor Ceggerson.'
There was no response.
Bill gritted his teeth and said, 'Lumos.'
His wand glowed brightly, lighting the room. Anne gasped. The flat was in a shambles. Furniture lay broken in heaps, papers and scrolls covered the floor in discarded heaps.
'Oh, my God.' Bill ran to a toppled bookcase and began to right it. A foot stuck out from beneath the wreckage.
With Anne's help he was able to dig out the Professor. The poor old man wasn't dead, not yet, anyway. A sudden fluttering caused them to draw their wands again, but it was only the Professor's pet falcon, Adams. Bill quickly dashed off a note and tied it to the bird's leg, instructing it to deliver the message immediately to Gringotts Security. He knew from experience that the bank's security forces were much faster and better prepared than the police.
As Anne applied what little first aid she knew to the Professor's wounds, Bill searched frantically for Ceggerson's notebook. He found no trace of it.