Irresistibly, Miss Dempsey's story reminded him of the genie and the lamp in One Thousand and One Nights, though she'd run a comb through her hair, not a lamp through her fingers. He wondered if she'd gotten three wishes out of it... but he wagered not.

"There's the curator of Magical Museum of Miscellany — young Charles Operine. I will write to him... though I haven't heard from him for a while", he warned so not to get her hopes up. Operine had been cursed himself, and Arven sadly would not have been surprised if he'd ultimately fled the glares and scowls and gasps his visage attracted. He couldn't help but think that if Operine was still around, he would've reached out to Miss Dempsey himself.

"Otherwise..." he ran a hand through his disheveled golden hair, then clicked his fingers in realisation; "there's my nephew, Somersby Fudge. He's an apprentice curse breaker at Gringotts. Seems a bit of a reach I know, but perhaps Somersby or his colleagues may have some idea — but I imagine they'd need to see the artifact. Was it... confiscated?"