Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Even you people who were not very nice!
Not much to make note of at the moment, so I'll get on with it quickly.
There's been some complaints about how far into the story we are without it becoming a crossover properly. About this, I say that one, this is a slow moving story, and two, I've known what I wanted to do here since I began writing. I'm sorry if the pace bothers you, but I'm not changing or speeding things up, as this is My story, and I'm going to continue writing it the way I want to. You're more than welcome to stop altogether if it bothers you, or for a few months and come back when there's more going on.
Now then, my irritation expressed, I welcome you to the second chapter of Part 3.
Enjoy.
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Harry wasn't sure what made him decide he would go after the author himself, and find what he knew. The many books and occasional scroll at his disposal, vast in subject, with some being lost arts, contained nearly everything he could ever wish to know on the subject of magic, and other subjects as well. Except, it seemed, when concerning the subject of Chaos Magic. Older books held only mentions of it, all of them speaking as though the reader should already know what it was, and the newer ones had nothing about it at all in them. It was lost knowledge, or maybe hidden was more appropriate. This was the type of thing that was just passed from person to person, like gossip, mannerisms, or fairy tales (back in the day). It seemed to be knowledge that moved mainly by word of mouth. It was a strange thing to Harry, who had always been able to find anything else in books (from the Library at his primary school in Surrey, to the much more vast selection of tomes at Hogwarts), to imagine this. All the same, it made no difference how the knowledge was passed, so much as it was something he desperately needed to learn. Thus, he needed to find someone who already knew about it, and, right now, with no other sources presenting themselves, this man was his best bet.
If the book was to be believed, the author's name was Mahdi El-Amin, and he was born in Dubai long enough ago that he would be in his seventies or his eighties now, which, for a wizard, was more comparable to someone in their forties or fifties, being that wizards and witches aged slower and lived longer than muggles. Harry, having little knowledge in the way of geography, consulted his map to find where Dubai was, exactly, it taking him a minute to find it, and discovered that it was farther than he had hoped, but not as far as he had feared. Dubai was in the United Arab Emirates, in the Middle East on a coast line, and it was more than two thousand miles south, and a small bit to the east, of Bogdon Stronghold.
Going there would mean going alone, and under disguise, and he would be too far away from the castle and everything else to get back in an emergency if anything were to happen here. Kreacher might be able to come find him, but the elf would not be able to apparate him back because of the distance. He had no guarantees that he would find anyone who spoke his language or who would be able or willing to help him, and, more than that, there was no guarantee he would even find Mr. El-Amin, or that, if he did, the man would help him. It was a gamble, a far fetched and dangerous one, but it gave him hope, and something in him screamed to take it.
So Harry prepared.
He looked into everything about the region that he could (climate, laws, and places to stay mainly), and packed his backpack and jacket with as much as they both could hold, stuffing a few extra things into the empty gauntlet of the armor that didn't have his wand in it. He fashioned a harness of sorts to hold the dagger from Draco against his chest beneath the jacket, and managed to find a belt that he could hook the sword from the vault onto, with a small glamour on it to hide it from the eyes of muggles. He had no formal training with either, but just having them there made him feel safer. He had no way to know for sure if his magic would cooperate when he needed it to, and he would rather he had a weapon than not; even if he didn't know how to use it.
He talked extensively with the goblins, exchanging galleons with them for the Middle Eastern equivalent (a large number of coppery gold coins with beautiful writing on them that Harry couldn't hope to understand and a picture of some kind of feline), and muggle money as well (this including several different kinds in case of a need to travel, since the different areas all seemed to have different currency). He packed everything else he thought he might need while still packing lightly, and when he was sure he was ready, he turned to the other problems.
It had taken him just over two weeks to prepare, and during that time Lucius Malfoy had been tirelessly researching the horcruxes and possible artifacts belonging to Godric Gryffindor, slowly but surely making headway. He had shown a powerful, dedicated, and single-minded attentiveness to the task Harry had asked of him, that seemed very strange when coming from a pureblood Lord (especially as it reminded him a lot of Hermione studying for Exams). Still, that dedication had Harry willing to leave the care of those objects and the New Keeper's library in his hands. He didn't think he would never trust Lucius Malfoy with his life, or with too many of his secrets, but he felt he could trust him in this. Then he rounded up the members of the old D.A. that were in the castle, showed them the great map and the marauder's map, and left them to look after everything (with Kreacher's help) under Lucius' supervision.
The very last thing he had to do, was say goodbye, first to the Dursleys, and then to the twins.
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"Are you sure you have to go?" Aunt Petunia looked worried, her hands twisting together fretfully and biting her lip. Harry wondered if mannerisms like that were learned or genetic.
"Yes. It's... I can't explain what's going on exactly, but I have to. It could give me a chance..."
"To kill that evil wizard?" He nodded, because, while not exact, it was the truth, and she only seemed to fret more.
"Where are you going?" Dudley was looking at him with something like resignation, and he rubbed his mum's back comfortingly.
"I can't tell you." Dudley only nodded, seeming to have expected this. Uncle Vernon huffed but said nothing.
"Well..." His Aunt paused, and then surprised him by throwing her arms around him in a hug. "Just be careful, Harry."
"I..." He slowly hugged her back, still unused to any kind of physical affection when coming from any of the Dursleys. "I will." She pulled back a bit and looked sternly at him.
"You promise me?"
"I promise I'll be careful." She nodded and let him go, and then he faced another hug from his cousin, this one decidedly more constricting. He didn't hesitate as much before returning it this time.
"Don't get into any trouble you can't get out of." Was Dudley's advice, and Harry nodded with a grin as his cousin stepped away with a slap to his back. Uncle Vernon stepped forward after that, and rather than hug him simply clapped him on the shoulder.
"You better come back in one piece, boy." He said sternly, and Harry held back a smile as he nodded.
"Yes sir." The words may have rolled automatically off his tongue as they had during his childhood, but there was none of the bitter feeling that usually accompanied them.
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The twins didn't say anything at first, when he told them he would be leaving for awhile. They just stared at him, and then he found himself wrapped up somewhere between four arms and two torsos. They both held onto him tightly, as though this was the last chance they would ever have to do so, and Harry clung back just as much.
"You're coming back, right?" Fred asked when they finally pulled away a bit. George snorted.
"Of course he's coming back!" But Fred's eyes never left Harry's.
"Yes. I'm coming back. I don't know how long I'll be gone for, but I am coming back." Fred nodded, the tension around his eyes easing some, and the redhead nodded sadly.
"Okay." He stayed with them for a few hours, talking and laughing and just spending time with them, because none of them knew for certain when they would see each other next. Then it was time for him to get back to the bank. He was to portkey to another bank in Dubai, and they would direct him to a hotel for the night, then, in the morning, he could head into one of the magical areas, and start his search.
"You look after yourself little brother."
"Try and write if you can."
"I will."
"And take this." George snapped a bracelet around his wrist. "Just in case." It was a bronze color, and both thicker and wider than the glamour bands he used. It was almost like an old shackle. He blinked at it.
"What is this?" Fred smiled sadly.
"It's for just in case. It responds to intent."
"It'll heat up and glow a little if there's anyone around that means you harm."
"It'll only react if they mean you specifically."
"Not if you're just one of many."
"It works for witches, wizards, and magical beings,"
"But not muggles, squibs, or magical creatures."
"So be careful." George looked sternly at him. "Don't try and face anything dangerous if you can help it."
"Just run. It might be cowardly but it'll keep you alive long enough to come back to us." Fred smiled. "Take some of this too. Our newest creation." He handed Harry a small bag that felt as though it was filled with sand.
"Peruvian Darkness Powder. Just throw a bit of it down and it'll make the whole area pitch black."
"In case you can't get away on your own."
"I'll miss you guys."
"We'll miss you too little brother."
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It was night when he arrived at Dabab Jandal, the main bank in the northern regions of the Middle East. Unlike Gringotts, Dabab was run by Imps, rather than goblins, though the two were apparently good allies, and worked together well, and often. Harry studied the Imp that had seemingly been appointed to be in charge of helping him, and tried not to make it obvious that he was doing so. He knew next to nothing about Imps, and the last thing he wanted to do was insult one of them.
They reminded Harry somewhat of house elves, with their thin limbs and large floppy ears. The similarities ended there however. Where houselves were bald, Imps had hair, and where a house elf's nose was rounded, an Imp's was long and pointed. They had horns, not unlike his own, though where he had only two, they had four, and theirs curved in a way that was reminiscent of a ram. Their skin came in various shades of reddish brown. The Imp that came to meet him was so light a color he almost looked as though he had bathed in blood. His hair was black, and slicked back in a manner reminiscent of Draco in first year, and he looked up at Harry with almond shaped eyes that had no white. They were large and black and reminded Harry very much of a bug.
"Hello."
"Welcome, Lord Black." It's voice was more of an alto tone than the baritone of goblins the teen was familiar with, and sounded vaguely feminine. The Imp didn't look female, but he could be wrong.
"Thank you."
"I am Bune. I will be helping you with whatever you need during your time here."
"Grimrok said you had prepared a place for me to stay?" The Imp nodded.
"Yes. Under normal circumstances, we would have set up a room at a muggle hotel for you, as the ones here are quite nice. They are, however, also quite expensive, and the goblins told us you wished for something cheaper that would not draw too much attention to yourself. There are several magical areas in the city, and we managed to find an Inn at one that should suit your purposes. It's on the edge of town, in one of the few areas of the city not known for wealth, but it's nice enough that it should not bother you too much. I assume this is acceptable?" The Imp spoke rather quickly, and Harry was forced to listen very carefully to hear everything he/she said.
"That will be just fine, thank you. Could you tell me where the Silver Hag publishing company is located?" They were the ones who had published the book, and it was as good a place to start as any. The Imp nodded.
"I believe that's located in the magical district to the North of the city. I can set up transportation for you, if you would like. They would be closed now, but I'm sure it won't be any trouble to go there in the morning." Harry nodded.
"Thank you." The Imp nodded, and for the first time Harry noted, and was disconcerted, by the fact that the little being had yet to make any facial expression.
"You are most welcome, Lord Black."
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The ride to the inn was an interesting experience for Harry. Unlike in magical Europe, the magical world here seemed well inclined to use any muggle technology that caught their fancy so long as they could find away to make it function around or with magic. This, of course, included cars. The car he was in moved between and past and over everything else in the same way that the Knight bus did, but it was not nearly as fast. As a result, Harry had the opportunity to see much of the city.
Dubai was huge, larger than anywhere he had ever been before. They passed by older buildings that reminded him of old movies he had seen from within his cupboard, and they were all mixed in with far more modern buildings, some of them very very tall and lit up like Christmas trees. There were all sorts of people in all sorts of dress, some Arabic, some not. The entire place was like a mosh pit of various cultures and peoples, and Harry found himself fascinated. Eventually, they passed by fewer and fewer large buildings until they found themselves in an area that was almost entirely older places. Harry shivered as they drove through a magical ward of some kind, and then began to slow down. Soon they stopped, and the driver, a wizard with dark skin and hair who hadn't said a word to Harry, nodded at the teen. He nodded back and got out with a muttered thanks.
The car sped off almost immediately, and Harry looked around. Most of the places here were dark, and closed because of the hour; except for one building, which was directly before him. Tan walls and red drapes in every window that were faded by the sun met his eyes, some with lights behind them. None of those windows had any glass, and the doorway had no door either, but just another faded drape. The clay packed walls were cracked and chipped and old. Harry smiled. He knew some of those large and beautiful buildings had been hotels, but he thought he rather liked the look of this place much more.
Outside the car now, he also found himself introduced to the climate for the first time. It was moist here, the barest hint of salt from the nearby sea floating through the air, and it was warm also, warmer than it was in the U.K. during summer nights. Harry wondered how hot it would be during the day. He walked over to the building, and parted the curtain a bit to peek his head in.
This revealed a room with old wooden floors, and many round tables with chairs at them. The room was very plain, all the walls made from the same tanned clay stone as the outside, and broken only by a another doorway with a curtain, and a set of stairs leading up. There was a counter, also, and a man with tan skin and greying hair sat behind it, dressed in off-white robes and reading a book, his brown eyes concealed a bit by rectangular reading glasses. Harry entered the place slowly, and the sound of his boots on the wood had the older gentleman looking up at him.
He watched as the older man studied him in the same manner he had studied the man as he read. The brown eyes roved up and down his form, stopping once on the scimitar at his hip, and then resting on his face. The man's expression was careful, and he leaned back in his chair and opened his arms in a peaceful gesture.
"Welcome. How may I help you?" His English was good, though it held an accent Harry had never before encountered, and the teen wondered if all the people here spoke that way.
"Yes. I was told a room had been prepared for me?" He asked. He was glamoured, though with his usual glamour that changed very little, and he and the goblins had decided upon the name of Harry White for his stay here. Simple and unassuming, and too common to be bothered with, but still keeping his first name, so he wouldn't slip up. He found himself amused by the use of White, considering his real last name was the opposite color. The older man's expression lightened slightly.
"Would you be Mr. White then?" Harry nodded. "Ah!" He smiled and reached under the counter. He dug about and the teen heard the clanking and sliding of metal. He pulled out an old key with a tag on it that had the number four and more of that pretty writing. "Here. This one is for you. The room is on the second floor. Have you eaten dinner yet?" Harry smiled and shook his head as he came closer to gather up the key.
"I'm afraid I haven't had the chance." The man smiled and stood.
"I see. I will prepare something for you. Feel free to take your things up, and then come back down. I am sure we have some left overs I can warm up, and you can eat breakfast with everyone in the morning also. Or do you want to sleep in?"
"Breakfast would be nice. I'd like to get up early anyways." The man nodded.
"Alright. Go on now, I'll see what I can find." He shuffled out from behind the counter and put a friendly hand on Harry's arm to push him towards the stairs, then disappeared into the other room, past the curtain. Harry went up feeling relatively calm. This was a strange place, and so very different than what he was used to, but he was sure he could get along just fine if the people were all as nice as the innkeeper seemed to be.
His room was a small place, but nice. Even though the walls were chipped and cracked in places, and the furniture was old, it was very clean and well taken care of. The bed was simple, somewhere between the size of a twin and a queen mattress, with soft white linens that smelled like lavender. There was a small dresser for those staying longer periods of time, and a little square table with two chairs at either end and a lamp in the middle of it that glowed with magic rather than electricity.
The window, as he had seen from the outside, had no glass, only those same red curtains, though the room itself had a proper door. At least there were a few small runes carved near the bottom, with similarities to the writing on the coins, that he believed kept out the wind and pests. There was another door, also, inside the room that revealed a tiny bathroom with stone counters and a cramped little shower. Harry set his backpack on the floor, leaning against the dresser, and took off and tossed his sword onto the bed. He didn't really think he would need that while eating dinner. He looked nervously at the curtained window and at the door, neither having any sort of magic to them, and hoped his things would be safe as he wandered back down the stairs, making sure to physically lock the door behind him and tucking the key into a pocket of his jacket.
The innkeeper wasn't in the main room when he came down, and he opened the curtain to look into the next room. This revealed a kitchen, with stone tiles and counters, a tiny rusted stove, a sink, and a little table that looked a bit lopsided. It reminded Harry a little of the kitchen at the Burrow. The innkeeper was at the stove, stirring something up in a pot with a soft smile. He heard Harry come in and turned to look at him, glancing once at the teen's hip to see that the scimitar was gone. The slight tenseness that had been present in his shoulders before eased some.
"Ah! It is almost done. It just needs to be heated."
"Couldn't you have used a spell for that?" The man snorted.
"Food should never be cooked with magic! It is always better if done this way." He made a motion towards the stove. There was a slight hint of zeal in his voice, and Harry imagined this was something he was quite passionate about. The teen chuckled.
"I suppose so. Would you like some help? I know my way around a kitchen." The man shook his head.
"No! You are a guest! Guests should never be forced to cook their own meals. It is impolite."
"I've never seen it that way. I think that if a guest wants to earn his keep by helping, he should he allowed to."
"You earn your keep already by paying for your stay. You need do nothing more. Besides, I am only heating it. It was already cooked." He stared at Harry a moment, with a look the teen recognized as similar to the ones he often saw directed at Luna; like he was very strange. "I am Sa'id." Harry smiled.
"I'm Harry."
"It is nice to meet you then. Properly. Ah, it is ready." He wandered over to one of the cabinets and pulled down a cream bowl, bringing it back to the stove to spoon some of the food into it. He filled it up and then set it at the table before one of the chairs, and Harry sat down with a grateful smile.
"Thank you." The man grinned and nodded.
"You're welcome." He moved back to the cabinets again, and Harry eyed his meal. It looked to be meat, chopped into some sort of white sauce. He had never seen such a thing before. Sa'id poured some juice into a couple of cups, pushing one over to Harry, and sat down in the other seat. "It is Shakriya. It is very good, try some." He smiled, and the teen tasted a spoonful. The meat was beef, and it tasted well seasoned. He could taste garlic in it, and the white sauce had the barest hint of a yogurt flavor that was offset entirely by the meat. Strange, but good, and Harry hummed appreciatively.
He ate in silence, Sa'id watching him with a smile as he sipped at his drink, and when he was done he was almost surprised at how full he was. The bowl hadn't been very large, but it was still filling.
"Thank you Sa'id."
"You thanked me already." He chuckled when the teen only shrugged. "Do you plan to stay long?" He asked. Harry crossed his arms and rested them on the table.
"I'm not sure yet. I'll probably be here for a couple days at least." Sa'id nodded.
"Most people, even Sahir prefer to stay in the big hotels in the main part of the city. You surprise me, staying here instead. Very few people who are not from here do so. Most of my guests live here somewhere, and only come to visit family. Did you not have enough money?"
"Sahir?"
"Ah, forgive me. They have a different word for it where you come from don't they? Sahir is a man of magic."
"A wizard then." Sa'id nodded. "Well, it's not that I don't have the money, I just prefer places like this. That's all." He shrugged and Sa'id accepted his answer with a small nod.
"I understand. Is this your first time traveling?" Harry thought about that. Technically, it was. True that he had been to Hogwarts, and Bogdon, both of which were in different places than Surrey, but neither really counted. Most of Hogwarts' students were from the U.K. and the surrounding areas, and he had never really gone anywhere but the castle, and Hogsmeade, which hardly counted. Bogdon was in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing to see aside from snow but the ocean several miles north, and he had never had the time to go there. So in the end he nodded.
"Yes. I've never really been anywhere before." The older man looked surprised.
"And you are travelling alone? Do you not have family, friends, who could come with you? No man should take his first journey without others at his side." Harry didn't answer him. If he could have taken the twins or anyone else safely he would have. He hadn't even brought Oddball or Metis with him, for fear of what might happen to them, and had instead left them in the care of Draco and Blaise respectively. Sa'id sighed. "I suppose it cannot be helped, can it? Your face tells me there is no one you could bring. What did you come here for?"
"I... I'm just trying to find someone." Sa'id didn't ask, and a little while later Harry finished his juice and said goodnight.
He wanted to be well rested to begin his search in the morning.
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Breakfast at the Inn, which Harry learned was called Sakin Bustan, consisted of a slimy greenish soup called Molokhia, that looked gross and tasted delicious, though, from some of the looks the few other guests at the inn gave Sa'id, he gathered that it was probably not normally eaten for breakfast.
"I want to feed my guests much good food before Ramadan begins!" Was all Sa'id had to say on the matter when Harry asked.
"Ramadan?" The man hummed. They stood in the kitchen, Sa'id chopping up vegetables for lunch already, and Harry doing dishes (the man only allowing it after the teen had insisted).
"You do not know?" Harry shook his head.
"Ramadan begins in a week. It is a time of fasting, charity, reflection, and prayer."
"Fasting?" Sa'id nodded.
"Yes. During the month of Ramadan, we do not eat or drink or take part in wine or the pleasures of the flesh from the time the sun rises until it sets."
"Why?" He gave Harry that strange look again, and then smiled gently the way someone might smile at the antics of a small child.
"It is a way that we give praise to Allah. Ramadan teaches us charity, and the ways of kindness, and love. It shows us restraint and patience, and helps us grow to become peaceful." Harry listened with curiosity.
"Peace?"
"Yes. The taking away of the food and drink is only a means to an end. If one can train themselves to push aside such things, one can train themselves to be patient. Patience teaches us how to be better people. It teaches us how to be better to our brothers and sisters, and to Allah, and thus make peace, so that war is avoided."
"Who... Um," Sa'id sighed, and gave him a long-suffering sort of look as though he had already begun to grow used to how little Harry knew.
"Allah is the Almighty. He is our God." Harry nodded, beginning to understand. It was a religious thing then. He turned back to the dishes. He himself didn't really believe much in anything spiritual. He never gave those kinds of things much thought. When he was a child, his Aunt and Uncle, and even his teachers in Primary school would sometimes talk about God, but he had never been religious himself. He didn't think that he ever would be. Still, the meaning behind this Ramadan had merit. Using patience to train yourself to be a better person and push aside warfare.
What would the world be like if there was no war?
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Silver Hag Publishing Center was a modern building just outside of the main city. It was a simple rectangular building with arches that seemed to be common in this region. The windows had proper glass panes on them, and the inside contained white tiled floors, palm trees in the corners, and an American woman wearing a colorful shawl over her hair at the front desk who was talking on a phone; a strange thing to see in the magical world. She put it down not long after he came in, and smiled up at him.
"Hello sir, how can I help you?" He smiled back at her nervously and shifted on his feet.
"I... Well, I'm looking for someone actually. It might be an unusual request but I'm trying to get in touch with the Author of a book you people published."
"I see... If you could please have a seat over there," She pointed at a small grouping of chairs in the corner he hadn't noticed before. "I need to call my supervisor." Her grin was as false as the nails on her fingers, but he nodded and listened to her anyways.
The chairs weren't very comfortable, and he sat on the edge of one and bounced one knee impatiently. The woman spoke into the phone for a few minutes and then put it down and picked up a magazine, not even casting a glance in his direction. Harry grew steadily more and more impatient until finally the metal elevator at the back wall of the foyer opened up and a man dressed much the same as Sa'id stepped out and came over to talk with the woman. He was short and stout and a large portion of his face was obscured by a beard. They whispered back and forth for a few minutes and then the man came over towards him, so he stood.
"I am Fadil Samara." The man had a very deep voice and a strong grip when Harry shook his hand.
"Harry White. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Samara." Maybe some of Lucius' teachings had actually rubbed off on him.
"Ms. Corner tells me you wish to get in touch with one of our authors?" He asked. Harry nodded.
"Yes. I was hoping to speak with him in person about something he mentioned in his book." Mr. Samara nodded with a hum.
"I'm afraid that usually we don't give out information on our authors, for the sake of privacy you understand." Harry's shoulders slumped, and the man seemed to take pity on him. "If I may... Who was it you wished to get in contact with?"
"Mahdi El-Amin." Mr. Samara started, seemingly recognizing the name.
"You know him?" The man scrutinized him.
"Mr. El-Amin has written a few books for us. You say you wished to speak within regarding something he wrote?" Harry nodded, and reached into his jacket. Mr. Samara seemed to take note of the scimitar at his hip for the first time, and took half a step back. Harry pulled the book out and showed it to the man.
"He mentioned something in here that I've been trying to research. I haven't been able to find very many books that even mention it, and his is the only one that does so where the author is still alive. It seemed like he knew more about the subject so..." Harry shrugged.
"The subject?"
"Chaos Magic." He said so carelessly, and then watched the other man straighten up. Mr. Samara seemed to study him in depth for the first time.
"May I ask, why this subject interests you so?"
"I..." Harry tried to think of an excuse. "I'm afraid I can't say."
"Well then I'm afraid I can't help you." The man immediately turned and began walking away and Harry floundered.
"Wait!" The supervisor stopped, and the woman at the desk glanced at them once. "I... Please sir." Mr. Samara turned towards him and crossed his arms, jutting out his chin. Harry bit a lip. "Please. I..." He grimaced. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell anyone here. But... He put out his hand, palm up, and with a glance towards the woman, to make sure she wasn't paying them any attention, he let some of his magic rise up. It danced visibly along his fingers and palm like an electric current; twisting and twirling about unpredictably. He pushed it back down and let his hand fall to his side. Mr. Samara's eyes showed comprehension. "I can't control it. I..." His voice wavered as he tried to explain, and the other sighed wearily.
"I'll take a look at our records." His shock seemed to amuse the other greatly.
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Mr. El-Amin, as it turned out, had given the publishing company his address so they could get in touch with him if needed. He actually lived just a little outside Dubai, in a small magical area that was, essentially, a village for people with little money who worked in Dubai itself. It was several miles away, and Harry decided he would return to Sakin Bustan for lunch, and then go looking for the place.
Sa'id seemed happy to see him, and the man served him, and the only other patron who had returned or stayed for lunch a dish that was essentially hollowed out and cut up pieces of cucumbers stuffed with meat, veggies and okra. It was good, and Harry wondered how a man so good at cooking had ended up as an innkeeper rather than a chef. He obligingly washed the dishes after eating, getting to it before the innkeeper had a chance to tell him otherwise.
"Are you leaving again for the afternoon?" Sa'id asked him, once again already preparing for dinner, chopping up some sort of meat this time.
"Yea. I have to go to..." He paused, thinking back. "A place called Darandar. Do you know where it is?"
"I do, and it's Daran Dar." He looked up. It was the other patron that had stayed. He was young, probably not too far from Harry's age, his skin dark but lighter than Sa'id's or Mr. Samara's. His eyes were brown and his head was shaved, something that seemed to make Sa'id frown in disapproval. "I could take you there, if you want." He handed Harry his plate to be washed.
"Really?" Harry smiled, though the other didn't return the expression. "That would be great. Thank you." The young man just nodded.
"We can go when you're done." He walked out after that, and Harry watched him go with a small frown.
"Don't mind him." He glanced at the old innkeeper before turning back to the dishes. "He's just grumpy. He's been that way since he got here. I'm surprised though."
"Hmm?"
"Ah. He usually stays in his room. He's been staying here for awhile, but he's normally very quiet. Not much of a social person, if you will." Harry nodded, understanding, and the two of them were quiet after that.
Harry found the young man waiting for him in the dining room when he was done, dressed in long tan cargo pants and sandals, and a baggy white shirt. He had seen similar dress in other parts of Dubai, and this seemed to be the norm aside from white robes, at least among those who were Muslim. There were a lot of different peoples living in Dubai.
"I'm Harry, by the way."
"I know." He sighed, and the other walked out without another word. He followed him irritably. Would it kill the guy to at least give him his name?
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They took a bus most of the way there, and then walked the rest of the way. Harry, having taken a taxi right up to the Publishing center (since the magical area there just blended in with the muggles) learned for the first time, the hard way, that he was not so unaffected by temperature as he had originally believed. True that he could probably get away with standing naked in a snowstorm and not have his balls freeze off, but in the heat, it was another matter entirely.
It never got hot enough in the summer in the U.K. for it to have been a problem there, but Dubai was hot. Hot and extremely humid (given its' being on the coast) and between the armor, his normal clothes, boots, and the leather jacket, Harry found himself sweating uncomfortably and picking at places on his clothing to try and get it to stop sticking to him. He had to wipe his face several times, and more than that had to constantly push his hair out of his face. It was long now, and brushed his shoulders in more places than not, but it usually didn't bother him, except that now it was limp with sweat. The grumpy patron (as he now called him in his head) snickered at him.
"It's your own fault you know, for dressing that way."
"..."
"Only an idiot wears layers in the desert... In the middle of summer."
"Shut up."
"You should have dressed lighter. Or at least learned some spells to protect you from the heat." He had done that, but with his magic acting up he was more likely to turn his blood to ice or burn his skin off than protect it. He glared at the other, who hadn't done any magic to help himself at all and yet still seemed entirely unbothered, and then growled as he was forced to push his sticky hair away again. The young man snickered. "Here." He pulled some twine from his pocket, and handed it to Harry.
"... What am I supposed to do with this?" The young man rolled his eyes and took it back, and then reached up and yanked on Harry's hair. The teen's arms flailed and he yelped as he was bent into a bow and the other began pulling at his hair. "What are you doing?!"
"Just shut up and keep still!" He did so, very confused and wincing occasionally as the other manhandled his hair. "There. All fixed you big baby." He pulled away with a glare that became a confused expression when he realized that his hair hadn't fallen back into his face. He felt upwards and then back and discovered that his hair had been tied at the base of his neck. Only a few uncooperative strands were left out, and they didn't bother him. The grumpy parton looked at him expectantly.
"... You carry string in your pockets?" Grumpy snorted.
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Daran Dar was a tiny dirty little town that made Harry feel a bit sad to see it. He had taken to carrying his jacket above his head to block out the sun before they got there, and he pulled it down and wiped at his forehead when they hit the beginnings of it. Harry could tell already that most of these people were probably even worse off than the Weasley's, who had to go though a great deal just to make sure every mouth got fed and every body was clothed.
How had someone from here become an author of all things?
He showed his companion the paper Mr. Samara had given him with the address on it, and the young man led him through the dank streets passed old battered buildings and a handful of shops, some closed, to a dingy little house near the far end of the town. It leaned dangerously to one side, the entire place crooked, and was one of the few buildings here built from wood rather than stone. No sounds or movement came from the place, and the grumpy patron waited a few paces back while Harry approached the door.
He knocked carefully, though the whole thing still seemed to shake as a result. A woman answered the door, a long lavender shawl covering her head with wisps of dark brown hair peeking out the sides in curls.
"Na'am?" He blinked.
"Um, do you speak English?" She waved a hand at him and jabbered something out in what he believed was Arabic, but might not have been. He took that to mean no. "Um. Hold on." He turned back towards his companion, who seemed to be busy picking his nails. "Hey?" The other looked dully at him. "Uh, I- Could you help me?" The young man rolled his eyes and gave a drawn out sigh that had one of Harry's brows twitching irritably. He came up to them.
"What is it?"
"I, um, she doesn't-" The young man's eyes fell on the woman and he said something in a droll tone that she seemed to understand, because she responded in her language.
"What do you want me to tell her?"
"Uh... Could you ask her if Mahdi El-Amin is here?" The young man barked something out in the woman's native tongue that was, hopefully, what Harry had asked. It seemed to contain the name at any rate. He couldn't understand what she said back to them, but the shaking of her head made it clear enough, and Harry's shoulders slumped a bit even before the grumpy patron turned to him.
"He doesn't live here anymore."
"Does she know where he moved to?" Harry asked. The other asked her, but she shook her head again when she responded, chattered something out, and then waved a hand at them and shut the door.
Harry walked a few paces away and then found himself squatting on the ground with a hand on his face. He had gotten his hopes up too high when Mr. Samara had willingly handed over the address. What was he supposed to do now?
"You okay?"
"Yea..."
"We could ask around town."
"I guess." Harry sighed and stood back up, and moved to walk away, but a noise behind them had them both turning. A teen came out of the run down house, dressed much the same as the grumpy patron, (though with shorts instead of pants) and ran up to them.
"My mother said you are looking for Mahdi?"
"...Yes." The woman's son grinned.
"My mother did not want to tell you. It is supposed to be secret. He left a couple years ago." Harry took a step forward.
"Do you know where he went?" The teen nodded.
"He went to Ibri. I don't know if he lives there, but I have a cousin who does. Mahdi said he would stay with him for a few days, so he might know. I can give you his address. You could find him."
Harry couldn't keep the smile off his face when he nodded.
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A new direction, isn't it?
I apologize if the influx of OCs bothers anyone, but Sa'id fades out, and while Mahdi plays a bigger role, he fades too. The only one that's really permanent is our Mr. Grumpy. I have some things that need to happen before we can move on to getting rid of old Moldy Warts.
I'm not feeling too well at the moment, so I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter. I, on the other hand, am going to go pass out.
Sincerely,
Mr. Hate