Chapter 3
"I can't believe you cried," Harry laughs as they walk up the airbridge into the Alexandria airport.
Draco purses his lips, but doesn't refute it. He couldn't if he wanted to, not with Harry sitting right next to him, and especially not with Draco having gripped Harry's arm like a child looking for protection. The son of a prominent Death Eater holding on to the arm of the Chosen One for dear life. He'll never live it down.
"You can pretend that was normal all you like," Draco mumbles, sticking his nose in the air indignantly, "I know better. Things that are intended to fly shouldn't feel like they're falling out of the sky."
"I told you already, it was just a little turbulence. What did you think the captain meant when he said it was going to be a bumpy flight?"
"Well you said it was supposed to be safe! You know what? I don't even care. Let's just get our bags and go," Draco huffs, a pink flush rising up his neck and to his cheeks. Harry can't help but smirk. It's not often that one gets to see embarrassment on the face of the supposed brightest star of the Malfoy family.
They follow the crowd towards baggage claim, and Harry hopes that the fact that there was no security to meet them at the gate means that they found nothing suspicious about Draco's magical trunk. Sure enough, when they reach baggage claim, Harry and Draco's are amongst the first to be out on the carousel. Harry lets out a sigh of relief.
"We'll check on the owls when we get outside," Harry says. "Let's just get out of here." Draco looks pleased to hear it. Luckily, customs going into the country seem far less stringent, and it's only a few more minutes until they're standing outside the airport.
The first thing that Harry notices is how much warmerit is than Britain, without it being overly hot. Whereas Britain is more often than not wet and miserable, in Alexandria he can feel the afternoon sun beating down on him, and the sky is clear and so, so blue.
In front of them is a long string of taxis, Arabic writing plastered on their sides in elegant cursive script. Draco drags his trunk up against the wall, and after a quick glance to see if anyone is looking, sticks his head inside. Moments later he lifts himself back out and closes it up. "They're both fine."
Well, so far so good. If things continue like this, we could be enrolled at Uagadou by the end of the day.
"So, where's the African ministry?" Harry asks, dragging his trunk towards the nearest taxi. Draco groans with the understanding they're going to have to get in yet one more muggle vehicle, but he answers anyway.
"Ever heard of the Library of Alexandria?" It sounds familiar, but Harry shakes his head. Draco lifts an eyebrow. "Must you be such an educated cretin?"
The driver gets out and gives them a look up and down, before motioning towards his taxi in silent question. Harry nods, and the driver moves to open the boot of the car so that they can put their luggage in. After doing so, they climb in the back seat. "Fein?" the driver asks, looking at Harry in the rear-view mirror. Harry looks to Draco for help, who shrugs.
"Where?" The driver repeats in a thick accent.
Oh.
Again, Harry looks to Draco. After all, its up to him from here. When it comes to the magical community, Harry isn't likely to be much help. "Library of Alexandria?" Draco asks in a high octave, clearly unsure of whether the driver will know what they're saying. Harry sees the man scowl, and he reaches over to his glove compartment for a small pamphlet. He points at the cover.
"Yes!" Draco says, pointing at it. "The Library!" With a nod, the driver plants his foot to the floor, and the taxi shoots off.
Holy crap!
This is not like any drive he's ever been on. In England most driving is laborious and careful, at least from his limited experience. This is an altogether different beast. "Where the hell is the seatbelt?" Harry yells out as the driver swings around a corner, throwing Harry straight into Draco. He looks around on the seat, but there's definitely no seatbelt in sight.
The taxi driver careens through traffic, foot planted to the floor as he weaves between cars. He's not the only one. The other cars on the road are just as maniacal, moving almost atop one another and squeezing into any gap they can find. Their car screams to a stop as a donkey of all things moves in front of them, pulled by a man on foot. The taxi driver waves his hands around wildly and yells in Arabic.
The roads in Alexandria don't seem to have any structure whatsoever. There doesn't seem to be a correct side of the road to drive on, and there's far more than just cars on it, either. Bicycles dragging small trailers on them weave throughout the traffic, and pedestrians cross the road willy-nilly, forcing cars to slam their breaks to avoid hitting them.
Harry's faced Voldemort, a basilisk, a horde of dementors determined to suck out his soul, and even a dragon, but somehow this is almost equally as terrifying.
"Merlin I hate you, Potter!" Draco whines next to him, blanching to almost the exact shade of a sheet of paper.
If we make it to the Library, it'll be a miracle.
When the car slows to a stop outside the library, it's not just Draco that scrambles out for dear life. "That was pure madness," he says, slowly getting up from his hands and knees. "Weren't you the one telling me that muggles aren't crazy?"
Hard to argue that point given the circumstances, so Harry says nothing, just helps the driver retrieve their luggage from the trunk of his car. He gives him a handful of money, probably more than he should be handing over.
"I can't believe you're paying him," Draco says. "That psycho almost killed us."
Harry shrugs. "Let's just get to the Ministry." Now that they're actually on the right continent, he just wants to get on with why they've come. The sooner he can figure out how to get rid of the broken soul within him, and learn to better defend himself, the sooner he can return home. No matter how justified he can make his decision in his head, it still feels like he's abandoning everyone back at Hogwarts to the wrath of Voldemort.
Harry gazes over the building the taxi dropped them off in front of. It's utterly muggle, very modern, and certainly not what Harry had been expecting. It's like a sloped cylinder, sitting in the middle of a city block of water, like a moat around a castle. The writing above the entrance, in multiple languages, notes it as the 'Bibliotheca Alexandria.'
"Is this really it?" Harry asks in utter disbelief.
Draco scoffs loudly. "You think wizards would really be located in such an eyesore of a building? No." Without another word he's walking away from the entrance, and further down the block. Harry follows.
"Can you feel that?" Draco asks, looking down into the water covering the rest of the city block.
Harry can feel it, like a tingle just under the surface of his skin. Magic. More than likely it isn't a feeling he would normally take notice of, or at least, not while spending any time in the wizarding world. But after a long trip through places so utterly muggle, it's an especially comforting sensation.
"But then, where is it?"
Draco looks over at him, and with a wry grin, steps over the small fence and splashes into the water, dragging his trunk straight in behind him. Harry rushes over to the edge of the water and looks down, expecting to see Draco floating in the water, but all he sees are the spreading ripples from where he landed.
He could have told me.
With an annoyed huff, Harry steps over the fence and into the water behind Draco. Strangely, the water doesn't feel wet, more just a cold, sticky presence on his skin as he falls through with barely any resistance at all. The world whirls around him, and suddenly he's landing on solid ground, feet first. He blinks once, dazed.
"That was weird," Harry says, looking around at his new surroundings. It feels the same as before, with the hot sun still bearing down on him, and the ocean can still be seen off in the distance, close enough that he can hear the waves crashing onto the shore.
The rest of their surroundings though couldn't be more different. They're definitely out of muggle territory, judging from the number of owls flying overhead. It looks like some sort of marketplace, a little like Diagon Alley, only instead of shops the business owners sell their wares from tented wooden stalls.
Harry barely spares them as much as a glance. More distracting is the most grandiose building that Harry has ever seen, comparable even to the splendor of Hogwarts castle. It's like a picture out of Greek myth, a great white structure of tall patterned pylons and a great domed roof.
"That's more like it," Draco says from nearby. "I actually feel like a wizard again."
Harry can't help but agree. Even if he's not critical of muggles like Draco, there's something that feels very vulnerable when it's just the two of them out in muggle territory. It's a strange feeling, when in reality they're probably far safer amongst muggles right now than with their own kind. But magic is such a huge part of who they are, and it's like being naked in a winter storm to be without it.
"How is this place hidden from muggles?" Harry asks. "It's right out in the open…"
Assumedly, it's hidden by magic in much the same way as Diagon Alley, though that at least is hidden amongst the London buildings and crammed into a smaller space. This though, even if hidden by various charms and enchantments, is in a wide open space, and should realistically be easily discoverable.
"Ever heard of a mirror charm?" Draco asks. Harry shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes before Draco's expected insulting response. Shockingly, that's not what Draco does. Instead, he nods understandingly. "I thought not. It can only be performed by a type of magic that isn't really practiced in Europe. It basically creates a pocket dimension over the top of what already exists. The entrance is through the water."
So it's hidden in plain sight?Draco's definitely right about one thing at least. Harry's never heard of any spell that could hide a place so thoroughly, and yet be so easily accessible by those who know how to find it. There's plenty of charms to keep things hidden from muggles, and smaller spells like notice-me-not, but nothing so effective as this 'mirroring charm.' But that really begs the question, if the type of magic it falls under isn't practiced in Europe, then what kind of magic isit?
Harry scowls. "It's some sort of dark magic that they practice at Uagadou, isn't it? That's probably the reason you wanted to come here instead of one of the other schools."
Draco shakes his head ever so slightly. "Oh, did I not mention? The mirror charm requires the sacrifice of a dozen virgins," he drawls sarcastically. "Get your head out of your ass, Potter. Just because a spell is rare and powerful, doesn't mean it's evil. That's a mistake the British ministry makes every single day."
"You're the one who said it's not magic that's practiced in Europe," Harry challenges. "If it's not dark, then why wouldn't it be?"
Draco pinches the bridge of his nose in a thinly veiled attempt to control his annoyance. "It's called ritual magic, and it's not practiced in Europe because it needs to be wandless. How many people do you know back home that are capable of wandless magic?"
Just Dumbledore.
"Can we just get on with this?" Draco continues. "The sooner we get to Uagadou, the sooner we can get out of each other's hair."
Harry couldn't agree more, so he simply gestures for Draco to go ahead, with Harry following close behind. As expected, the ministry is in the Greek looking building, so that's precisely where they're headed.
"This building must be old," Harry comments as they move past the giant stone pillars. He can see the age in them - magic being the likely reason they've survived even this long.
"The muggles believe it was burned down over two thousand years ago. In reality, it was hidden by magic, and now it's the biggest and most extensive library of magic in the world. There's alot of people who believe magic originatedin Africa, you know," Draco says.
Magic originated here?That's definitely a good thing. If he's going to be able to find a way to get rid of Voldemort's broken soul from inside him, then surely it'll be found here.
Just like the ministry back in Britain, the African ministry is teeming with people, all pushing past each other trying to get on with their duties. Despite it being uncomfortable, Harry's glad for it. Despite the fact that they stand out like a sore thumb, just due to the color of their skin, it'd be hard for anyone to recognize them amongst a crowd of this size.
"Do you have any idea where we're actually going?" Harry asks.
Draco frowns and looks around, though it's clearly difficult to see anything through the crowd. "I'm looking for a reception of some sort. Surely there's somebodywe can ask."
Harry almost jumps out of his skin when a strong hand lands on his shoulder. When he turns around, he's face to face with a large dark-skinned man. He's bald, though still quite young, probably only in his mid thirties. His shoulders are broad and the arms crossing his chest are thick and well toned. His form would actually be quite imposing, if it weren't for the kind smile plastered onto his face.
"You two look lost," he says with a deep voice and thick African accent. "Something I can help you with?"
"Wait, aren't you -" Draco begins before being cut off.
"Why don't you both come with me," he says, lifting the hand from Harry's shoulder and stalking past the two of them. It sounds like less of a suggestion and more of an order, and despite the fact that he's a complete stranger, Harry finds himself compelled to follow. Draco does too, albeit with a frown on his face.
"Who's this?" Harry whispers to Draco as they follow the man pushing his way through the crowd with clearly well practiced ease.
"You're kidding, right?" Draco asks. At Harry's blank look, he rolls his eyes. "That's Babajide Akingbade - the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."
"I thought Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump."
Draco shakes his head. "He was, but he was ousted after Fudge denied the Dark Lord's return," he whispers. "They let him back into the confederation when the truth came out, but not as Supreme Mugwump. Babajide Akingbade is the youngest everto hold the position."
What interest would he have in us? Unless he knows who we are…
The crowd begins to thin out as the man guides them up a nearby staircase and into a long hallway on the second floor. As Harry expected, the inside of the building is just as lavish as the outside would suggest, with beautiful artworks hanging on the walls and busts and statues taking up any spare space.
Harry and Draco are guided into an office off the hallway, with the title of Supreme Mugwump written on the door in ornate golden letters.
"I can't say I expected to find Harry Potter of all people wandering the hallways of the ministry when I got up this morning," Babajide says after magically closing the door behind them with a wave of his hand. "Does Albus know you're here?"
Crap. How does he even know who I am?Back home he's quite used to the fame of being the boy-who-lived, but he'd never have thought anybody would know him when he's practically on the other side of the world - especially by someone who isn't actually part of the British wizarding community.
"No, I imagine not," the man continues without waiting for Harry's answer. "I don't believe he'd allow you to be here, especially accompanied only by a Malfoy."
Now it's Draco's turn to be surprised. "Don't meet his eyes," he hisses to Harry.
Oh, shit.Harry quickly snaps his vision away, trying to remember anything from the disastrous Occlumency lessons he'd had with Snape.
"I don't need legilimency to know who the two of you are. I've followed the situation with this so called Dark Lord quite closely," the man explains. "Not to mention that I've actually spent a little time amongst the British ministry myself."
Slowly, Harry raises his gaze. He probably shouldn't trust the words of a stranger so easily, but for whatever reason Harry finds himself believing them. Surely he can trust the Supreme Mugwump, of all people. Then again, Dumbledore only recently held the same position, and he's been raising Harry only to die for his cause, so clearly he's good at placing trust in the wrong people.
"Please, you can't tell him we're here," Harry pleads.
When Babajide takes a step closer to him, Harry almost wants to take a cautious step back, but instead he holds his ground. He stays still as the man lifts a hand to gently run a finger down the length of the scar on his forehead, his pale blue eyes focused and curious.
"Very interesting," he murmurs.
Interesting? Surely he couldn't know…
Babajide sighs before backing off and gesturing over to his desk, waving a hand and summoning two plush looking armchairs in front of it. Harry's eyes widen. He's seen Dumbledore perform a few small spells wandlessly, but conjuring is some of the most advanced kind of transfiguration magic, widely regarded to be the most difficult subject, at least at Hogwarts. To perform such difficult spells wandlessly…he's definitely skilled.
Harry moves to sit down, with Draco hesitantly following behind him, looking more cautious than Harry's ever seen him, as though he expects Babajide could jump across his desk and begin strangling them at any moment.
"Well, I can understand why you'd want to run… especiallybeing who you are," Babajide says.
"I am notrun-" Harry starts, but Draco reaches over and claps a hand firmly over his mouth.
"We're here to request amnesty by right of asylum."
Babajide leans back in his chair looking entirely unsurprised. "I guessed as much," he says simply, now directing his unflinching stare towards Draco.
Draco shifts in his seat, obviously unsettled by such a firm gaze. "I am certain we meet all the necessary criteria," he continues with an air of confidence that is eerily reminiscent of his father's. "Our own government is at war with a dangerous megalomaniac, and both myself and Potter are caught-" he stops when Babajide swipes his hand through the air, as if magically spelling away Draco's concerns.
"Believe it or not, young Malfoy, but as Supreme Mugwump I am required to understand such International Magical Law, even the old and mostly forgotten like those related to Amnesty."
Draco snaps his mouth shut, and Harry can tell that he's itching to get in his own snide comment. Thankfully though, he keeps his mouth firmly sewn shut. Snapping back at the man who is probably in the best position to actually help them is probably not the best idea in the world.
"But forgive me if I'm mistaken, but are you not the son of one of Voldemort's most loyal followers? I don't necessarily believe that all sons must follow their fathers, but do you truly expect me to believe that you do not believe as your father does?"
Harry's heart sinks. He knows absolutely what Draco believes in his core, and he's certainly not a good enough liar to make Babajide think otherwise. That's if Draco doeslie, and it seems out of character for him to ever pretend to be anything other than who he is, even under the current circumstances. Either way, its unlikely to make this any easier.
"Just because my beliefs may coincide with… his," Draco says, and Harry doesn't know whether he's speaking about his father or Voldemort. In the end, it probably doesn't matter. "That doesn't mean I have to want to join him in the genocide of all muggles and muggleborns."
As hard as it is to admit, considering Draco's more than liberal use of the slur mudblood towards Hermione and every other muggleborn he comes across, the point is a good one. Sirius told Harry once that the world isn't split into good people and death-eaters, and even though Draco's sympathies clearly lie with the idea of pureblood dominance, he doesn't necessarily have to want to join up himself.
"I appreciate your candour," Babajide says, lifting an eyebrow, more in admiration than surprise. "But I wonder if you know what you are actually asking. Have you considered the consequences for this choice?"
Draco doesn't hesitate for even a moment, though whatever consequences he's talking about are entirely lost on Harry. "Yes. Do you think I would be here asking if I didn't know what it meant?" Draco snaps, his formerly controlled patience now beginning to fray. "Is this possible or not?"
Babajide knits his fingers together atop his mahogony desk. "Yes, it's possible."
"Wait," Harry interrupts. "What consequences are we talking about here?"
Babajide lets out a deep sigh, but it's Draco he looks at, not Harry. "You didn't tell him?"
Draco rolls his eyes. "Potter is prone to displays of foolishly noble sentiment," he says, as if that's a perfectly valid answer.
"Tell me what?"
Babajide turns to face him, and Harry can't help but catch the flash of sympathy in his eyes. Harry looks from Babajide to Draco, who's now looking purposefully away. That in itself is odd. Draco has never missed a chance to not only enjoy Harry's misery, but often enough be the cause of it himself. If he doesn't want to see Harry's reaction to whatever this Amnesty Law entails, that doesn't bode well at all.
"Tell me," Harry presses.
Babajide's mouth twists slightly. "From the moment you accept asylum, Harry Potter must cease to exist."
Harry frowns, about to tell him that's exactly the point, but Babajide doesn't stop there.
"Understand exactly what I mean by this, and the effect that it will have on your loved ones. Nobody you know will have any idea where you are. They won't know if you're safe or not. Given the state of things in wizarding Britain, some might worry that you're dead. Any contact or access of resources from your home will break the Amnesty and you will be forced out of the African wizarding community."
No contact. None at all. They might think me dead?
"Absolutely not," Harry says, shaking his head. "I can't do that to them. Not even contact them without telling them where I am to let them know that I'm okay? I just can't."
Draco lets out a sigh and looks at Babajide. "See?"
"You should have told me, Malfoy. If you knew I wouldn't agree, then why the hell would you even bring us here?"
"Much as I am loathe to admit it, you are not an idiot. You knew deep down that you wouldn't be able to have any contact with Granger and the Weasel. Whatever your reasons are for leaving, does this actually change anything?" Draco says, the unexpected voice of reason.
The answer is no, or at least, mostly no. There is still a piece of Voldemort inside him, and it needs to be dealt with. He also needs to learn, something that will be much easier away from the looming threat of Voldemort and the disaster zone that is wizarding Britain right now. But even so…
"What if Voldemort attacks or something, and I'm not able to do anythingabout it? What if with my disappearance he becomes more brazen?" Harry says softly, more of a whisper. It's not that he thinks Voldemort is afraid to face him, but the prophecy does state that eventually, one of them will end up killing the other. If Voldemort knows it too, and Harry is gone, then what's left to stop him?
Babajide has a serious look, and is stroking the bottom of his chin as though in deep thought. Draco though, begins to laugh. "Oh Potter, only you could be so arrogant!"
Harry's lips tighten into a thin white line. For a moment its easy to forget that Draco doesn't actually know about the prophecy. For him it probably does seem like arrogance.
"You think the Dark Lord isn't brazen already? I have no idea what would make you think he would be frightened of a sixteen year old wizard of average talent, but I assure you, he isn't." Draco might have been laughing before, but his words now haven't the slightest hint of amusement.
He's right. Even without knowledge of the prophecy, Draco has hit the point home. Even if Harry was there and Voldemort attacked, he doesn't have the power or talent to do anything about it. The best chance to stop Voldemort is still studying at Uagadou. If Harry has to let his friends worry about him in order to gain the power to defeat Voldemort, then it's worth it.
"Damn it," Harry huffs, throwing his hands in the air and letting his head hang over the backrest of the chair. "Fine. So we aren't allowed to have anything to do with our lives back home. How do we go about this asylum thing?"
"You can leave that to me," Babajide says. "Once, we had a ministry department dedicated to hiding those requesting Amnesty, though the time for it to be needed has long since passed. I think it best in this situation that only a few people know. I'll inform the Minister, and for safety's sake, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Are they trustworthy?" Draco asks, eyeing Babajide warily.
"If you want Amnesty, you have no choice but to trust them."
Draco mutters something under his breath, but he knows Babajide is right. Harry can actually understand where he's coming from though. The both of them are more or less placing their lives and futures in the hands of three strangers. Three high ranking strangers to be sure, but strangers still. It's not a comfortable feeling.
"For now, I think you should book into the hotel nearby. Your new identities will take a few days to organise. Also, I don't think a couple of charms to disguise your appearance would be a terrible idea. Not too many in our community would be likely to recognise you, but we do frequently have visitors from around the world, so its best to err on the side of caution."
Draco frowns. "Sure, but how are we supposed to use magic? We both still have the trace."
Babajide smiles. "I wouldn't worry about that too much. Nobody will bat an eye if they catch you casting a few minor charms here and there."
"But it's called the International Statue of Secrecy because it's worldwide, isn't it?" Harry asks.
"Yes, but it is up to the individual nations ministries to uphold that law. We find that we can trust students who have a few years study under their belts. So long as you don't go casting spells in crowded muggle areas, there won't be a problem," Babajide answers.
Harry lets out a sigh of relief. As comforting as it is just to be in a magical community, it's nothing compared to the feeling that they can actually use it themselves. Clearly, the laws here are far less stifling than in Britain, or at the very least, less enforced.
"But I have quite alot of work to do, so I'll be in contact," Babajide says, rising from his seat behind the desk. "Make sure you keep yourselves disguised, and remember - no contact."
No contact…
"Right," Draco says, unfazed. "Hurry up, Potter."
Just as they're about to exit the office, Babajide's deep voice follows behind them.
"While you're here, you should visit the Library. You might find it quite… enlightening."
Harry could be wrong, but he would swear that Babajide was staring right at Harry's scar as he said it.
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