Mulciber leaned forward, looking over the miniaturized cat goddess with a careful eye. He pulled a magnifying pair of spectacles from his robes, setting them in place on the bridge of his nose, to save Gretchen the trouble of charming it back to original size.
"I saw one once, not nearly in such good condition," he said, his old-woman voice sounding strange for telling the tale. "The bloke who brought it to me claimed it awoke if its owner was bruised or cut in any way, and kneaded a sort of balm into the owner's sore spots to help its healing. Flogged it that night to a colleague of mine for a few hundred Galleons. Good egg, that one. Did a bit of boxing, so he reckoned it would give him a advantage." He shrugged. "Turns out it was an assassin's toy. It woke up that night and slit his guts open. It was meant to kill me, but got him instead. Too bad."
He leaned back a bit, looking at Gretchen with enlarged eyes from behind the spectacles. "As far as I can tell, this one does nothing. No charm, no ward, nothing special. It's pretty. That's about it." He leaned forward, blinking. "Unless you're holding out a vital bit of information, that is."