if you think you won, see me change the game we’re playing

[Casimir Elias Karkaroff]

2026 – January…and February

The magic dampener. An artifact, clearly ancient in origin, shrouded in mystery. Where had it come from? Who had made it? What enchantment could take away magic? Even while it had been in use, Cas doubted that there was anybody in Azkaban or the Ministry that had understood how it functioned – their interest was pragmatic, unimaginative. What did it matter to them why something worked, where that magic had come from and whether it could be revitalized and pulled and crafted into something new? Most people were simple-minded, and they never sought to question, to search, to push the boundaries of magic. They were content to use their wands as simple tools, as hammers to crush the small problems of small people. Never wondering about the magic that was everywhere – in the wand wood used by wandmakers to craft their tools, in the machinery and molecules of their enchanted items, in the blood that ran through their veins.

Cas wondered. He had been studying the dampener intently, almost obsessively, since the heist he and Ana and Leo had orchestrated at the Ministry. It could be easy to imagine, for someone used to holding all the cards and secrets, that the dampener could be a source of frustration. But no, that couldn’t be further from the truth. The magic dampener was an enigma, a challenge he hadn’t quite yet conquered. It reminded Cas of his cursebreaking days, those years he had been closest to freedom and adventure and hunting for the ancient and lost truths of civilizations that had disappeared. He knew how to research, he knew more about enchantments and artifacts than most in his field. Soon enough he would learn how to unlock the secrets of the dampener.

Deep in Knockturn Alley, Cas had taken over the Order’s safe house to study the dampener away from prying eyes. It was propped on a table now, clearly damaged but still mostly intact. Enough for him to conduct his initial investigation. Some facts came quickly. Even a cursory examination had shown Cas that there were no external controls to the dampener – nothing to activate or deactivate its properties, nothing that suggested an easy way of bringing back the magic. His background in Borgin and Burke’s required him to develop a precise understanding of when and where artifacts came from. How else could he price accurately unless he knew its value? It took time – analyzing its design and construction, comparing it to other models of similar objects he had in his inventory, but he could eventually say with the certainty of a collector that the magic dampener must be a 17th century design.

The runes he had noticed immediately, and as a diligent cursebreaker would, he had immediately turned to his books to discover their meaning and origin. This part was more difficult, if only because his own books had proven useless and Cas had needed to begin a discreet search. The runes were similar to dig sites he had seen in America – not an area he had worked often, but he had enough old friends and coworkers who were more than familiar with the Americas. Some runes he recognized on sight – European in origin and therefore easy enough to decipher. Others, he was told, were Native American, and finding the right sort of expert to confirm that had been difficult. The meaning of the runes were a dead end – nothing significant, nothing worth poring over. Only there to hold the magic in place, and they betrayed nothing about the nullifying magic that made the dampener such an intriguing object. In the end, it was the eclectic collection of runes, not ones that belonged to any one magical group, that led him to the United States. They were characteristic of the style used by early wizards in colonial times, before MACUSA was even a thought – or so he was told. Cas had enough experience with acquisitions to know that research from afar wasn’t enough -- he needed to visit the source, go abroad to get the answers he sought.

He didn’t tell Harry, or his sister. Not at such an early stage of the process. Cas traveled often for work, and nobody needed to know the specifics of his trip. He chose the most likely sorts of locations during his time abroad – Boston and Salem, New York, and even further north. They had been the hotbeds of American magical activity, in many ways still were, and therefore proved to be a useful starting point. He had contacts there, fewer than in Europe, but enough that he could make discreet inquiries about colonial wizards and their lives. Examine other surviving artifacts of theirs, conduct interviews with experts who had built their entire academic career around the subject of early magical life in America. All the usual research. Cas was determined to uncover the magic dampener’s connection to 17th century America.

Scourers. Even Cas in his pureblood bubble had heard of the word that had become synonymous with the lowest kind of wizard, a curse for some and a bad taste in the mouth for most. What pureblood wouldn’t know of the Scourers, a group meant to be the solution to the lawless jungle of America’s magical communities before MACUSA, but which had ultimately become its biggest bane? They were wizard-traffickers, the scum that had betrayed their own kind to Muggle witch-hunters to settle personal vendettas. It had dissuaded many purebloods from traveling to America, the fear of getting caught up in the Americans’ primitive squabbles. And really, their blood purity had suffered since. Suddenly some of the mystery that shrouded the magic dampener fell away, because what object so powerful and unusual wouldn’t have a bloody and ravaged history? He should have suspected the connection. Visiting the original colonies, and making stops in the magical hubs of America had quickly pointed Cas to the magical objects of the Scourers that had survived time and history. There was enough of a resemblance to the magic dampener that he could be sure it was a Scourer design.

Cas gazed critically at the small selection of Scourer artifacts the curator of this small Boston museum had laid out for him. In the dusty back room, far from prying eyes or camera, the objects looked unimpressive. Bent, broken, rusted – evidence of the hard times they had seen. They no longer fulfilled their original purpose, whatever it might have been. No, now they were only sad and broken reminders of that dark period of American history, before MACUSA had set out to bring the Scourers to justice and restore law and justice to a community that had never known it.

“Tell me about these artifacts,” Cas murmured as his eyes roved over the small collection of jewelry – pendants and rings and pocket watches. He itched to touch them, turn them over in his hands and feel the remnants of magic that lingered in their broken gemstones and bent dials. But the curator, rambling about the complicated process undertaken by colonial wizards to imbue their everyday objects with magical properties, wouldn’t stand for it. So Cas resigned himself to a sharp and critical gaze, eyes lingering on the now-familiar runes lining the sides. Taking one wouldn’t be helpful, he reminded himself – they were just as damaged as the magic dampener, and no longer possessed any of the magic that had made them so extraordinary.

“…and naturally for a wizard as inexperienced as myself, seeing such a spell turned back – by a Muggle no less! – had been deeply shocking. But ah, the inexperience of youth…” Cas exhaled sharply as a segment of the curator’s disconnected ramblings broke through his distracted examination of the Scourer objects, and his gaze jumped to regard the curator with a dark and intense gaze. “How is that possible?” he asked abruptly, processing the thought that a Muggle could repel a wizard’s magic. The curator regarded him with a curious gaze, peering at him from under bushy eyebrows and thick spectacles. Finally he spoke in his wheezing tone. “Ah, of course, but you’re European. How would you have known?” he murmured. He gave an indulgent laugh, the kind typical of old men who knew better, and Cas allowed it only because he desperately wanted to hear the next words that left the curator’s mouth.

“My boy, Scourers may have disappeared with the establishment of MACUSA, but they are hardly gone forever. And, ah, witch hunters in America are as common as a flu passed around at school! You can find them on the streets, you know, with their…their little pamphlets. Why, I was practically a boy the day I came across my first hunter. The key was separating her from that pendant of hers. Oh yes, the Scourer legacy is alive and well in America. Hard to say where they get those relics of theirs…well, as a collector of course I am curious. Who knows, it could even be the original things themselves! Or at least a clever modern twist. Yes, say what you will about those witch hunters, but clever they must be…”

So the old man had had his uses after all, Cas ruminated as he slowly exited from the museum – mind swirling with thoughts of spectacles and pocket watches and brooches. It was certainly not a European problem…he had never heard of witch hunters in Prague. Certainly they were a new phenomenon in Britain, if even the great Harry Potter had come to fear the witch hunters that crossed the ocean to identify the rot of magic. But the infestation was here, in Boston and America. Cas sat on a bench in the Boston Common, deliberating deeply on the issue. He needed to get his hands on witch hunter tools, there was no doubt in his mind. They were the legacy of the Scourers, and the closest living link to the magic dampener he was so desperate to fix.

If the curator could be believed, finding them was the easy part. But getting his hands on their relics…some days later, after he had had enough time to etch out the beginnings of a plan, Cas went walking in Muggle Boston. His cursebreaking days had given him enough experience in Muggle areas that he didn’t feel so out-of-place, hands in his pockets and wand safely hidden. He had been in much worse areas, more adverse to wizards and even the presence of humans at all. Even a broken clock could be right twice a day, Cas thought idly as he caught sight of the Second Salemers he had been following for two days now. They were, predictably, on the sidewalk peddling their conspiracies to any passerby who would listen. He had been watching from a distance, but now…

“Witches?” Cas gasped, eyes wide with disbelief as he accepted a flyer. He lowered his voice theatrically. “I saw them! I…I took something from them,” he whispered, letting his jacket sleeve ride up ever so slightly so the woman with her odd spectacles could take a look at the Dial Back. It was a different kind of magic to the one utilized by these Muggles, but interesting enough that he knew they wouldn’t be able to resist. “If…if they saw me…” he trailed off, gazing over his shoulder frightfully before turning back to her. “Help me, please,” he pleaded.

It was really too easy, he thought as he followed the pair back to their headquarters. Then again – entering the gates of Hell was the easy part. Exiting again would be the much more insurmountable task. They led him into what must be an office, and as they left, Cas turned slightly and raised an eyebrow as he heard the door lock behind him. Fine. Let them verify his details all he wanted, he had his wand, didn’t he? Cas didn’t quite dare to take it out from its secure spot just yet, but he immediately moved to the desk to rifle through papers. Boring, boring…no signs of the jewelry he sought. He sighed slightly through his nose, then hastily removed his wand and unlocked the desk. By the time the Second Salemers had returned, the European stranger was long gone. It would take them far too long to search the room and discover the missing pocket watch, and even longer to determine that the stranger had in fact not climbed out the window to escape.

Cas returned to Britain with his prize, and couldn’t help but turn over the pocket watch in his hands greedily as he entered The Poisoned Spindle once again. An intact pocket watch. A pocket watch that repelled magic – for a short while, at least. Any good smuggler knew that copying was much easier than creating an original, and Cas’s fingers outlined the runes for the nullifying magic as he set himself to slowly take it apart. And put it back together. And take it apart again. He wanted to know this piece of history, this unholy mix of technology and magic that witch hunters used to find his kind. And the more he studied it, the more he learned. And the more he discovered, the more the dampener simply became another piece of machinery to him. No longer the mystery it once was – now just a matter of replicating what he had found and putting the missing pieces together again. But why stop here? Why stop with one? After acquiring the pocket watch, it was only a matter of investing the time to repair the original dampener…but Cas was far too ambitious to stop there. Witch hunters were a threat to wizards, as much as the Purifiers were a threat to magical society. And Cas craved knowledge, especially secret knowledge, above all else. So why not change the rules of the game? Why not give the Order this tool that could help them with so much? And naturally, as possessive and secretive as he was…the knowledge of how the magic dampener worked and how to create more would stay with him. He studied the witch hunter magic, studied the dampener as he slowly brought it back to life. It would take time, yes, much time to produce more than one functioning magic dampener…but Cas was patient. It was time to give Harry his news. He had set up his board. Now it was time to move the pieces.

[Written in collaboration with Admin Sora !!!]