zebiks.cc 
Potter was silent.
“Let me rephrase that. Will you be able to get up every morning and push through difficult, almost hopeless situations? Will you be alright digging through people’s personal lives in an impersonal way, oftentimes making them uncomfortable, even causing them pain? Will you do that if it will help you reach your ultimate objective?” Igora leaned forward and held his stare. Will you wear flashing holiday jumpers if it means…She frowned. “Will you give everything to save the life of the person you’re tasked to find?”
“Yes,” Potter said.
“Yes to which?”
“All of it,” he pursed his lips. “It isn’t about me.”
There it was. Igora sighed and sat back. So the culmination of her legacy would be taking the great Harry Potter under her wing. “You’re going to end up transferring out by the holidays.”
He smiled, “I really don’t think I will.”
She eyed him. “You’ll have long nights, early mornings. If you keep your London address, the commute will wear on you.”
“I’ll get a flat here,” he nodded.
“Your personal relationships will suffer,” she stated. She shot him a coy smile. “You won’t see much of your boyfriend.”
Harry didn’t blink. “He’s a workaholic, too.” A second went by and then he’d realized what he’d said. “Hang on, how do you know about that?”
Ignora’s smile widened. “I have eyes,” she said. “Even if I didn’t, all Edinburgh talked about last week was Harry Potter’s trip and his very public arguments with Draco Malfoy.” She winked. “And your poor fashion choices which,” she nodded and looked down at his plain black suit and tie, “I’m glad to see today are solid fabrics.”
Icarus Sableton stood in the Atrium pretending to listen to Bastien Queensbury’s piercing complaints. On some level, he was grateful for his recent time spent with Cormac McLaggen as it increased his patience threshold.
“—and we’ve instituted several new inter-departmental mandates that require your full cooperation in these matters. I won’t lose another career-making case because of your ineptitude!” Queensbury glared at Icarus. “Are you listening?”
“No,” he replied and turned his head at the sight of Unspeakable Malfoy. “Excuse me.” Icarus followed the blond and joined him in the lift. Once the doors closed, he turned and asked, “Still no urge to join the Eleven?”
Malfoy slowly turned and stared at him. “No, I should think not.”
Icarus shook his head. “You’re the first person to use one of the Timepieces who hasn’t been drawn in by the power.” He’d wondered at the ease in which Malfoy had simply handed the Timepiece back, later submitting himself to testing for the Pandora problem. “You don’t feel compelled to use it again?”
“I—I thought maybe,” Malfoy stared at the lift doors and frowned. “But what would I want to mess with time for? The way I see it, I’m quite happy in the present.”
The answer almost satisfied Icarus, but he still didn’t quite know if Malfoy could be trusted. The Iniquitous Eleven—or the Ten, as they were a person short for the foreseeable future—were rumored to be divided on how to proceed with choosing a replacement for Zivantus. Some viewed Malfoy as the heir apparent since Zivantus freely gifted the Timepiece to him. Others had their own ideas about who the next should be. But on the other hand, rumors of the Ministry cracking down on wayward departments meant the eyes that knew to look at the Eleven—or Ten—were going to be very interested in the events that had recently transpired. The group might not hold as much power as they’d like to believe. Well, apart from their autocratic control of Time. It would be a dicey path going forward for all parties. Icarus wondered if the blond could prove to be great ally in the coming days of change.
The lift reached the Department of Mysteries and Malfoy exited toward his office. “You have quite the level head, Malfoy,” Icarus said.
He was answering the other man’s statement, but also couldn’t help but think of Malfoy’s suggestion the week before during his debrief. He couldn’t forget the moment Malfoy had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slid it across the table. “I’ve saved some of the inquollis anicorpus leaves.” He’d added rather ominously, “Should the Ministry ever find themselves in a similarly dire situation.”
Icarus had been shocked to find out that Malfoy knew about one of the Department’s biggest and arguably best kept secrets. Only seven other people knew of it, and Icarus still hadn’t discerned if Malfoy had figured it out on his own or if he’d been told for some specific reason. When he’d finished with Malfoy and Potter, Icarus had walked the Charm- Sealed leaves of the plant in question to a specific shelf in The Room of Things that Are Forgotten, Misplaced, Unused, and Certainly Don’t Exist.
He’d had to pass several dozen rows and quite a few recognizable objects that stood out among the piles of the dangerous, the unwanted, and the broken. He caught sight of the Mirror of Erised, the Cloak of Dramatic Billowing, the Pensieve of Broken Memories, but decided to put what was left of the Soul-Catcher near some bit of flesh in a jar he’d long suspected to be Voldemort’s nose.
Epilogue
“As we’ve seen, the curses are radically different from each other but related in that they each pertain to a specific Greek mythos.” Hermione stared at her wall of notes. After two weeks of work, thousands of pages of Ancient Greek texts, hundreds of scrolls depicting different myths, and four very haughty, flirtatious members of the Grecian Ghost Society, Hermione had figured out absolutely nothing about the curses contained within Pandora’s Box. “Merlin,” she sighed and collapsed into a nearby armchair. The room was barren save for the large table that stood cluttered with books, parchments, take away boxes, and the very mysterious item in question.
She stared at the intricate silver box on the conference table. Every time she got an idea, it turned out to be nothing. The forging of the box? Completely normal. The carvings on the box? Typical of their time, perhaps more intricate than normal, but consistent with other findings. Hidden writings, spells, charms? Nothing but the ridiculous lock and key that was obviously made for ease of access and optimal destruction of the world.
Hermione let out a tortured groan and grabbed a parchment off the table at random. It was the list of victims and their curses. Her notes were scribbled all over the page.
Garius Santi—Narcissus, self destructive yet self promoting, beauty?
Elphie Bloomington—Aphrodite, orgy at retreat—sudden drive to be a lovemaking counsellor
Timo Tresden—the goddess Limos—opposition to Demeter, harvest—starvation, ruined his wife’s prized crabapple orchard
Draco Malfoy—the Fates—destiny? Connection to the design
Howard Larson—Gorgon, isolation chamber St Mungo’s
Marianne Ashwell—Midas Touch—Gringott’s sublevel 118
Hermione Granger—Love and Lust—Eros
It was useless. She was never going to figure it out. The specialist from Athens was finally on his way, but she didn’t dare hope that he would find the solution. She missed Ron. She missed Harry. She missed the sunlight on her skin and the cozy warmth of her bed. Merlin, she’d slept at the Ministry more nights than at home.
“That’s it,” she decided. She’d make it home and sleep in her own bed that night next to her fiance. Hermione finished off the kung pao chicken and licked her lips. She’d made quite the mess of it but all her fruitless labors created quite the appetite. She stood and stretched, gathered her things, and then ordered the Chinese take away boxes cleaned with a thoughtless “Purimasseto.”
A red current leaped from Hermione’s chest and shot into the open take away container she’d just emptied. The top of the box closed and fastened itself shut while the whole thing vibrated for a few climactic seconds.
She stood stunned, unable to move, for nearly ten minutes. What had she said? She only meant to cast a clean up spell. Once she gathered her wits, she grabbed the closest book she could find. The Ancient Greek Reference Guide for Wizards and Witches of the Fourteenth Century only had obscure references to something similar but not exact. She threw the book behind her and grabbed the next one. Eight books later, she found the conjugation and translation and started crying.
Fieldspack’s Wonderous Epiphany of Ancient Greek Magic & Culture had an entire section on the thorough cleaning and purification process of disenchments, the often “troublesome and eccentric” cacophony of Ancient Grecian spells. Purimasseto was listed there, and she must’ve committed it to some part of her memory when she’d read the book through the first time days ago. Hermione didn’t question it, but later when they asked why she had placed the curse in a Chinese take-away box, she casually lied and said the silver box couldn’t be used to house the curses a second time.
One by one, the others came in and Hermione cast the simple spell to remove the curse, until finally, only Malfoy remained. He showed up mid morning two days later, a soft smile on his lips.
“Ready?” Hermione asked. He raised his brow and nodded, a look of uncertainty on his face. “It will work,” she assured him. “The others are all back to normal.”
He stared back at her. “Well go ahead then.”
“Purimasseto!” she cast.
Nothing happened.
She repeated the spell.
Again.
And again.
“I don’t understand,” she panicked and stared back and forth between him and the take away box. He followed her gaze.
“Is that—is that take-away from China Express?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Why aren’t you upset? The spell isn’t working! I can’t release you from the curse!”
