Egypt by passionlily
Tongues of fire licked at his feet as Bill Weasley stepped onto the ocean of sand before him. A desert breeze cruised through his auburn hair, like flames on the open sea. His second golden earring banged against the first, and for a moment he almost wished he had let his mother, badgering and overbearing as she may be, have the last word and majik the latest hole shut.
But only for a moment.
Zawaiet el 'Aryan beckoned at him with crooning fingers of fate and desire. The archaic archeological site was desirable for the kind of work Gringotts needed done, and he was the only *man* from the treasury to do it.
That, of course, did not eliminate the only woman for the job. Sennia. Goddess of all that is light and loveliness, as he referred to her. She was a top official at the Harakhte bank in Tetisheri; and a beaut' with majik at that. Never had he encountered such an amazing, skillful, powerful, beautiful witch... he could flow on with compliments for hours.
But there she was, before him. Another day must begin, with his polite 'salaam akikhum' and her casual 'marhaba, Inglizi'. That was what she always referred to him as, Inglizi, but he would accept anything from those soft, cloying lips of hers.
He was in love. Deep down in the bottom of the pot, by the water stains and the teardrops remaining. He would never admit it to any but her, and only if she took the plunge first - but he was in total, splendid love. His eyes never left her as she danced from foot to foot, wrapped in the glory of a new day's breath. He followed her, as a dog follows it's master, to the mastaba gravesite that lay on the far side of the digging site.
Gringotts needed a burial place for some of its most... opprobrious items. They had to work as true muggles would, for the Cairo police were suspicious as it was after Daoud's fireworks extravaganza last week. They needed a site director, one they could trust. They got him. They needed a local, who could communicate with the natives and smooth things over with the Egyptian government. They got her. Now, what to do for the poor, lovestruck boy?
Wait. Sit, and wait, and pray for the day when she might come near. Pray for her hollowed footsteps to grace him with their presence. Pray for her, in body and glorious soul.
And he could love her. He could love her, in her tanned and regal grandeur. Love her for her coal black hair, for her eyes that never remained the same color. Love her for everything! He was in love.
So he frittled and frattled the day away, thinking of what his red-headed brothers would say if they saw him in such a state. He thought and worked, mindless as the barren sun, until he looked to the sky and saw it setting in the distance.
Time to go home, then. Back to the dahabeeyah, provided by the embassy and oh-so-conveniently located right by the Cairo police force headquarters. Sennia was living there, as well as he, and he could hope for no better arrangement than this.
Thank the gods, but she was home first! That gave him, as well as the other men from Giza, Samaria, and no one knows where, the right to stand by the wooden frame of the bathroom door as she showered. He was first, but others would come; he was sure.
And so they did; Ibrahim, Aslimi, Sayid, Daoud, and Shakir. All fine men, he was sure, but in their quest for Sennia only one, if any, could come out with the raven haired belle. Please let it be he!
Inside the small, scanty bathroom, he heard Sennia; a sharp intake of her honey-scented breath, then letting the air out in one fluid, aqueous sigh. With a knock on the door, he yelled out, "Sennia, Sitt, is everything all right?"
The knob turned beneath his head, and he jolted back as she came into the hall, wrapped in nothing but a peach-cream towel and looking quite amused.
"Inglizi, is something wrong?" she asked jokingly, and he could feel his face flush the color of sister Ginny's hair.
"Uh, nothing, Sennia, but I... I heard your breathing, and I..."
he stuttered foolishly, and she grinned, in the heartbreaking manner that she always took.
"Inglizi, that is because the water is cold. You don't understand our ways, here in Egypt, apparently, or you would know how scarcely frost like this comes. I long for it, Inglizi. Do you comprehend me now?"
His facial coloring deepened, though he had thought it wasn't possible to get any redder. He let out a forced laugh, and smiled back at her.
"Yes... well, uh, maybe you would like to come home with me after the dig is finished... to experience the cold?"
She was the one to turn colors now. Reaching to a table inside the bathroom, she handed him a key, large in her small and delicate fingers.
"I'd be delighted. And maybe you'd like to wait for me to finish my shower in my room? Just for experience, of course.
He could feel Daoud and Shakir; hold, all the men present;'s withering glares. He could not hear, however, Aslimi's muttered whisper of, "foolish nur misur."
All for the better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He felt foolish.
Foolish for everything. Foolish for every even coming to Egypt, foolish for thinking he had a chance with Sennia. Foolish for taking that chance. Foolish for letting her accept.
She was beautiful, lovely, as the heights of a pyramid past the break of dawn, a site only few had ever seen. She was amazing, intelligent, strong... but they could never, ever be together.
He told her as much, and she laughed lightly (like an angel!) and pressed her warm body up against his.
"Oh, effendi," she murmured, and he smiled as he heard the name, "did you ever think we could be? We are two different people from two different worlds. Our abu... our fathers are different; though we are the same."
Her words enraged him. "You think my father would care? We are more accepting, us Englishmen, and..."
"No, no effendi," again she crooned. "Not that father. Not he at all. But perhaps, someday, you could even come to Tetisheri with me, to see what I tell you."
He tossed a few locks of her onyx hair through his fingers, musing in silent absence, then gave her a puzzled stare. Receiving no response, he simply blurted the words his heart was screaming out.
"Who, then? Who would oppose us? Your people, my people, they can not be so prejudiced as this! We could at least propose it to them..."
He trailed off as her laughter cut into him, sharper than the wasteland sun. Her eyes were blue today, and held a certain barbarous quality he had never encountered before. His mind told him that this was as close to snow as he would get here. As ice in the morning of a winters cold, their pierced his soul and his heart, but he still loved her.
That was his weakness - he would always love her, no matter what.
"Fool! Do you truly think that it is these people of which I speak? Come now, be reasonable." She was still laughing, colder and crueler than he had ever imagined possible. He looked in her eyes again, though, and saw a flickering light jump through; they were a beautiful lavender, and she was looking like a Nubian princess in the summers daystar.
"Who, then?" he cried, as words began to abandon him and he could feel his heart slipping. "Is it you? Me? Someone else? Tell me, before I go mad!" The last words were a plea, as if her hushed manner would truly drive him wild.
Fine, then, she thought to herself, and twisted her body in the bed. Still wrapped in sheets and discarded clothing, she finally flipped to the other side to show him her branded, stained shoulder.
"The... the dark mark of he-who-must-not-be-named," he whispered in horror, and she nodded.
"Now, you know. But what do you chose? Stay here with me? Or leave? It is up to you, love. You yourself said that our fathers would accept our differences. You would not turn back on your word, would you, my effendi?"
His green eyes softened, and she knew the answer. Wrapping herself in his arms, she whispered, "Do you love me still?"
She needed not an answer, but he gave it. "Like the moon loves the sun. It does not exist without the other."
And as they faded softly into their own night, he said, "It is only... only a small difference between us. We can resolve it, surely." He was hesitant, but his voice sounded untorn and devoted.
Fool, she thought but only said, "Yes, effendi, my dearest Bill. After all, anything is possible, in Egypt."
Maas salama; Allah yibarek f'iki.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling and Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Press, October 1998.
Please, tell me of EVERY mistake that I made in this piece so I can correct them, no matter how small or inconsequential they may seem! Thank you!
All comments welcome! Oh, this is a prequel to another piece, people. Not a self-insertion, in the slightest. So if you liked it, come back for more soon; otherwise... don't. ^-^;;
Tongues of fire licked at his feet as Bill Weasley stepped onto the ocean of sand before him. A desert breeze cruised through his auburn hair, like flames on the open sea. His second golden earring banged against the first, and for a moment he almost wished he had let his mother, badgering and overbearing as she may be, have the last word and majik the latest hole shut.
But only for a moment.
Zawaiet el 'Aryan beckoned at him with crooning fingers of fate and desire. The archaic archeological site was desirable for the kind of work Gringotts needed done, and he was the only *man* from the treasury to do it.
That, of course, did not eliminate the only woman for the job. Sennia. Goddess of all that is light and loveliness, as he referred to her. She was a top official at the Harakhte bank in Tetisheri; and a beaut' with majik at that. Never had he encountered such an amazing, skillful, powerful, beautiful witch... he could flow on with compliments for hours.
But there she was, before him. Another day must begin, with his polite 'salaam akikhum' and her casual 'marhaba, Inglizi'. That was what she always referred to him as, Inglizi, but he would accept anything from those soft, cloying lips of hers.
He was in love. Deep down in the bottom of the pot, by the water stains and the teardrops remaining. He would never admit it to any but her, and only if she took the plunge first - but he was in total, splendid love. His eyes never left her as she danced from foot to foot, wrapped in the glory of a new day's breath. He followed her, as a dog follows it's master, to the mastaba gravesite that lay on the far side of the digging site.
Gringotts needed a burial place for some of its most... opprobrious items. They had to work as true muggles would, for the Cairo police were suspicious as it was after Daoud's fireworks extravaganza last week. They needed a site director, one they could trust. They got him. They needed a local, who could communicate with the natives and smooth things over with the Egyptian government. They got her. Now, what to do for the poor, lovestruck boy?
Wait. Sit, and wait, and pray for the day when she might come near. Pray for her hollowed footsteps to grace him with their presence. Pray for her, in body and glorious soul.
And he could love her. He could love her, in her tanned and regal grandeur. Love her for her coal black hair, for her eyes that never remained the same color. Love her for everything! He was in love.
So he frittled and frattled the day away, thinking of what his red-headed brothers would say if they saw him in such a state. He thought and worked, mindless as the barren sun, until he looked to the sky and saw it setting in the distance.
Time to go home, then. Back to the dahabeeyah, provided by the embassy and oh-so-conveniently located right by the Cairo police force headquarters. Sennia was living there, as well as he, and he could hope for no better arrangement than this.
Thank the gods, but she was home first! That gave him, as well as the other men from Giza, Samaria, and no one knows where, the right to stand by the wooden frame of the bathroom door as she showered. He was first, but others would come; he was sure.
And so they did; Ibrahim, Aslimi, Sayid, Daoud, and Shakir. All fine men, he was sure, but in their quest for Sennia only one, if any, could come out with the raven haired belle. Please let it be he!
Inside the small, scanty bathroom, he heard Sennia; a sharp intake of her honey-scented breath, then letting the air out in one fluid, aqueous sigh. With a knock on the door, he yelled out, "Sennia, Sitt, is everything all right?"
The knob turned beneath his head, and he jolted back as she came into the hall, wrapped in nothing but a peach-cream towel and looking quite amused.
"Inglizi, is something wrong?" she asked jokingly, and he could feel his face flush the color of sister Ginny's hair.
"Uh, nothing, Sennia, but I... I heard your breathing, and I..."
he stuttered foolishly, and she grinned, in the heartbreaking manner that she always took.
"Inglizi, that is because the water is cold. You don't understand our ways, here in Egypt, apparently, or you would know how scarcely frost like this comes. I long for it, Inglizi. Do you comprehend me now?"
His facial coloring deepened, though he had thought it wasn't possible to get any redder. He let out a forced laugh, and smiled back at her.
"Yes... well, uh, maybe you would like to come home with me after the dig is finished... to experience the cold?"
She was the one to turn colors now. Reaching to a table inside the bathroom, she handed him a key, large in her small and delicate fingers.
"I'd be delighted. And maybe you'd like to wait for me to finish my shower in my room? Just for experience, of course.
He could feel Daoud and Shakir; hold, all the men present;'s withering glares. He could not hear, however, Aslimi's muttered whisper of, "foolish nur misur."
All for the better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He felt foolish.
Foolish for everything. Foolish for every even coming to Egypt, foolish for thinking he had a chance with Sennia. Foolish for taking that chance. Foolish for letting her accept.
She was beautiful, lovely, as the heights of a pyramid past the break of dawn, a site only few had ever seen. She was amazing, intelligent, strong... but they could never, ever be together.
He told her as much, and she laughed lightly (like an angel!) and pressed her warm body up against his.
"Oh, effendi," she murmured, and he smiled as he heard the name, "did you ever think we could be? We are two different people from two different worlds. Our abu... our fathers are different; though we are the same."
Her words enraged him. "You think my father would care? We are more accepting, us Englishmen, and..."
"No, no effendi," again she crooned. "Not that father. Not he at all. But perhaps, someday, you could even come to Tetisheri with me, to see what I tell you."
He tossed a few locks of her onyx hair through his fingers, musing in silent absence, then gave her a puzzled stare. Receiving no response, he simply blurted the words his heart was screaming out.
"Who, then? Who would oppose us? Your people, my people, they can not be so prejudiced as this! We could at least propose it to them..."
He trailed off as her laughter cut into him, sharper than the wasteland sun. Her eyes were blue today, and held a certain barbarous quality he had never encountered before. His mind told him that this was as close to snow as he would get here. As ice in the morning of a winters cold, their pierced his soul and his heart, but he still loved her.
That was his weakness - he would always love her, no matter what.
"Fool! Do you truly think that it is these people of which I speak? Come now, be reasonable." She was still laughing, colder and crueler than he had ever imagined possible. He looked in her eyes again, though, and saw a flickering light jump through; they were a beautiful lavender, and she was looking like a Nubian princess in the summers daystar.
"Who, then?" he cried, as words began to abandon him and he could feel his heart slipping. "Is it you? Me? Someone else? Tell me, before I go mad!" The last words were a plea, as if her hushed manner would truly drive him wild.
Fine, then, she thought to herself, and twisted her body in the bed. Still wrapped in sheets and discarded clothing, she finally flipped to the other side to show him her branded, stained shoulder.
"The... the dark mark of he-who-must-not-be-named," he whispered in horror, and she nodded.
"Now, you know. But what do you chose? Stay here with me? Or leave? It is up to you, love. You yourself said that our fathers would accept our differences. You would not turn back on your word, would you, my effendi?"
His green eyes softened, and she knew the answer. Wrapping herself in his arms, she whispered, "Do you love me still?"
She needed not an answer, but he gave it. "Like the moon loves the sun. It does not exist without the other."
And as they faded softly into their own night, he said, "It is only... only a small difference between us. We can resolve it, surely." He was hesitant, but his voice sounded untorn and devoted.
Fool, she thought but only said, "Yes, effendi, my dearest Bill. After all, anything is possible, in Egypt."
Maas salama; Allah yibarek f'iki.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling and Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Press, October 1998.
Please, tell me of EVERY mistake that I made in this piece so I can correct them, no matter how small or inconsequential they may seem! Thank you!
All comments welcome! Oh, this is a prequel to another piece, people. Not a self-insertion, in the slightest. So if you liked it, come back for more soon; otherwise... don't. ^-^;;