Open Hand, Iron Fist

Where once stood a neat modest house only charred remnants remained. Local authorities swarmed over the site. The curious gathered in small groups discussing the matter among themselves. Albus Dumbledore, in local garb, stood with another man eyeing the rubble and speaking in low tones.

"I cannot believe Abdul would be so careless as to leave a fire unattended," Dumbledore said.

"And in daylight," commented Reza Shamoon. He was a man of late years and slight of build but his bearing was authoritative and confident. He served as the head functionary of the city's Guild of Masters, the most prestigious in the Middle East.

"This is not right. They could not have stayed inside and let the fire burn on. It's not logical. And there is the scent of petrol. The place reeks of it."

"The police say a petrol tank must have exploded." Reza snorted. "One of us using a ... a vehicle? Ridiculous. That is not all that is suspicious, Albus. Abdul missed our guild meeting three days ago. Concerned, I visited him. Abdul intimated that he was brewing something unique and very important. I expected him to tell me what it was but he did not. Neither he nor Hema would reveal anything."

"Secretive is not a word I would use lightly where Abdul is concerned. He must have had a good reason."

Reza sighed. "I have asked the other masters. They all confirm that Abdul has not been seen much. What ... what activity could have consumed him so? I know of no extraordinary research assigned by the Guild, beyond the normal work, of course."

Dumbledore stroked his beard lost in thought. He had come to visit Abdul to discuss Khalil's future in more detail. The wizarding schools of Luxor were very competitive and he so wanted Khalil to have the right sponsor and mentor. That was no longer a possibility. "Have you been able to investigate further?"

"A few of us were able to sift through the rubble, what there is of it, before the authorities arrived. The fire was thorough. Their remains are ash. Why did they not apparate? What was happening to trap them inside? Too many questions. We were able to salvage a few things but nothing that tells us anything about what happened." Reza said.

"What kinds of things?"

Reza led Albus to his home on the next street. The two men sat down in small parlor. While Albus refreshed himself with a cool glass of juice, Reza brought out several items from a drawer and laid them down on the table in front of Albus. Arrayed were a half melted vial stained yellow, a mortar and pestle and, strangely, a small wooden box the size of a book.

"The vial stain is from liquid amber. The mortar and pestle is clean and has a protection smell about. Unusual. I believe it was protected as a preliminary step to being used. The box is intact and the protection is very strong. We have not been able to open it." Reza pointed to the mahogany box inlaid with intricate, geometric patterns.

Albus immediately recognized the box and picked it up. "Ha! I gave this to Abdul on his wedding day. A puzzle box. I said that once he was married he would have no more secrets from Hema. So, if he had secrets he had best put them in here. It will open only for the recipient and the giver. Let me see if I remember the steps correctly." Albus' deftly pressed and pushed two hidden panels in the box. The box expanded and a side panel opened wide. Peering inside, the two men found a worn journal such as would be used by a master to record his notes, some gemstones and some folded pieces of paper.

Reza took out the master's journal and began to skim through the pages. Albus pulled out the folded papers. They were letters and what looked like a charm written on rough paper. He began to read. Dumbledore's own eyes widened in shock as he read each damning word for a second time.

Abdul,

I hope this finds you well and prosperous. Time is critical and so I will make this brief.

Remember, two years ago when Minerva and I visited you and Hema? Over dinner we talked of ancient potions and their uses. There was one you mentioned that could make one forget their heart's desire. I do not know the exact name but I clearly remember what it was supposed to do.

As you are the finest potions master in Egypt, I am commissioning you to make this potion for me. I am prepared to pay whatever price you specify. I cannot say more until I see you in person. Only know that I make this request with the best, most loving of intentions.

Inform me today of your decision,

Piers

Beside him, Reza exclaimed "By Allah! Not the Forgesi Deziro!"

Albus sat senses blind to his surroundings lost to the awareness of the very act of breathing. He was immersed in his mind's eye remembering his last glimpse of Minerva as he left the camp. His fist spasmed recalling the comfort of her touch on his arm as they posed for pictures. Little things flooded his mind - her delightful laugh, the concentration on her face when she studied the tomb slab, their first kiss in his tent, the maddening heat of their joining and there was too much to remember. Slowly, he became aware of another presence marring his memories - a man's laughing face — Piers's face.

True magic carpets were extremely rare. They were handed down from generation to generation with great reverence. Reza's family had such a carpet. It was stretched high above the parlor when not in use. When it was used, only for the greatest of reasons, it flew straight and true and, best of all, it surpassed the very wind for speed.

"There are times I feel quite fortunate to be descended from a long line of viziers. There is nothing more relaxing than being away from the noise of the city," Reza pondered reclined against several stuffed pillows and puffing on his smoking pipe. The man opposite him did not share in Reza's decadence or relaxation. Reza looked at his friend. They had known each other a long time yet Reza had never seen Albus so tightly wound as if one touch could send the powerful wizard springing up into action. And not good action, he thought. "Albus, try to rest. Drink some water and hydrate. We have a few more hours yet."

"I cannot." Albus flexed his back and arms. He needed to pace but on a magic carpet whistling above the desert and punching through the clouds that was not a feasible action. He sipped water and nibbled on some cheese to please his friend but his mind remained on Minerva and the information gleaned from Abdul's journal. " Tell me again of the steps necessary to brew the potion."

"Albus, I have done so four times already."

"There must be an antidote ... a deterrent. Perhaps, the key is in the making of it."

"Abdul is respected not only for his power and knowledge but the meticulous method he employs in potion making. If he set out to make the Forgesi Deziro, which is what he seems to have done, then it is a potent one. If Minerva ingests it, any resistance will be futile. I'm sorry, Albus."

"But it's not permanent you said."

"Unless the charm is invoked while the drinker is in the act of ingestion." Reza blew a perfect smoke ring before continuing. "The charm was written on one of the pieces of paper. To me that shows preparedness. Abdul must surely have given the potion to Piers and taught him the charm."

"And paid dearly for it."

"You are ready to condemn a man with insufficient proof. That is not like you."

I do not want to believe but I know what I know. Piers lied. He was supposed to have been in Cairo yet he was in Luxor the entire time. He contracted Abdul to make the potion before he left camp." Albus slammed his glass on to the tray. "I need no other proof of premeditation."

"He may have done so and all proof is positive so far. However, that shows only intent not action."

"If he has harmed Minerva, I will -"

"You will do nothing." Reza sat up.

"But a criminal act is -"

"Albus, we have no proof that a criminal act has been committed. We do not even have a case of poisoning."

Albus exploded. "It is criminal to induce another person to drink an ... an illegal substance!"

"The Forgesi Deziro is not illegal here but merely restricted. A master receives a specific recognition that allows them to receive commissions for it. Anyone can commission it and the master is under stricture to express to the purchaser its exact nature and consequences. It is only illegal if it was brewed by someone without recognition."

Albus was dumbfounded.

"This is not England, my friend, no matter the colonialist mentality." Reza sipped his drink. "Here, the Forgesi Deziro is sometimes used to, shall we say, coax a reluctant woman to fulfill her obligations. If a dutiful father has arranged a good and proper match for her, one that will be of benefit to her, and she proves unwilling, then the father has the right to give her the potion."

"That is appalling! That potion borders on the Dark Arts."

Reza sighed. "Your sensibilities are so English despite the years of tutelage under Flamel. I would think you of all men would have a more worldly view. To us, magic is magic. It is the end result of that magic that is good or evil."

"You are condoning the forced manipulation of another being."

"Laws should not strip a person of free will or volition in matters personal to them or their family. That is what we believe. A man's conscience shall bear his guilt.

"If you will not deal with him, then I will."

"I did not say that I would do nothing but first a crime must be proven then action will be taken. I still cannot believe that he would do such a thing especially with Minerva. They seemed quite devoted to each other."

"Do you think that anyone can sway Minerva's mind once it is set? She will break off with him and he will use it. I know he will."

"We are making assumptions. I am not only head of my guild but a magistrate of Egypt. I cannot and will not make assumptions. I will verify the crime and pass judgment."

"And if I do not like the judgment?"

"Albus, surely you do not need great imagination to think of, what was that word you used, yes, appalling, to think of what appalling punishments I could employ," said Reza. "As I said, this is Egypt. We have no concept of parole. Any punishment I mete out will be final."

The camp came into view. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, Albus craned his neck looking for Minerva. He did not see her. However, he did see the other wizards of the team coming out of the meal tent. Before the carpet had touched the sands, Albus was off and running towards the first person he saw.

"Claude, where ... where is Minerva? I must speak with her."

"She's inside, Albus."

Without another word, Albus rushed past Claude. Distress and fury mixed to make his blood pound through his veins as a stormy river descending a steep ravine. She has to be all right. She has to be.

Inside he saw her alive and unharmed. He swallowed hard. As she turned and he glimpsed her profile he nearly went limp from sheer relief. His starved senses drank her image in to the full.

Minerva rose from the bench and approached him smiling. He returned her smile and held out his hand, waiting, calling out to her, "Minerva, you're all right?"

As she got closer, he searched her face, her eyes, for that which had made their parting bearable - signs of love and longing.

"Did Headmaster Dippet send you back so you may try harder to convince me?"

"No. Not that. Is something wrong, Minerva?"

Minerva's face was calm. There were no signs of distress. "I'm fine as you can see. Am I supposed to be ill?"

Studying her face, he saw no special spark of delight in her eyes. Her voice though congenial did not bear the warming lilt that he had found fascinating. She had not taken his hand. She had not said his name. He has done it and I am too late.

Fueled by Minerva's indifference and his own sense of acute failure, a deadening numbness began to creep along his veins and sinews sapping his will and strength.

"I thought we ... that I had forgotten something," Albus stammered. "Something vital. Don't you -"

Minerva saw only his state of dishevelment and remarked, "You are exhausted, headmaster." As one would lead a child, Minerva led Albus to one of the trestle tables where food and juice still lay from luncheon. "Sit. A good meal and rest is what you need."

Albus murmured something positive but incoherent.

"Piers, please see to the headmaster while I speak to Mr. Hamdi about accommodations."

"Summon Khalil to help his father." Piers replied from behind the table. "Stay here. I'm sure the headmaster would prefer your company."

Minerva shook her head. "Have you seen Khalil since he went off with Mr. Griffith and the Professor? Anyway, it will only take a few minutes."

"My companion will need ..." Albus began to say.

"I'll take care of it." With that Minerva left the two men alone.

Playing the gracious host, Piers poured Albus some juice and arranged some serving dishes in front of him. Albus' field of vision widened and he realized there was one other in the tent. Albus fixed his gaze on Piers then said deceptively casual, "I was visiting friends in Luxor. I believe you know them Abdul and Hema Ramallah."

Piers returned Albus' gaze coolly. "I did."

'I did' not I do. Damn him. Albus clutched at Piers' conscious admission of guilt. "Were you so very desperate that you would do this to her?"

"She was mine. She remains mine."

"Love is nurtured in an open hand not imprisoned in a closed fist."

"An open hand invites wolves like you. You dazzled her, plying your charms upon her at every meal, every encounter. What woman could resist?"

"Minerva knew her mind and her heart. Our magicks knew before we did," Albus insisted. "Minerva is not so easily fooled. You do her a disservice to think so. She never wanted to hurt you. Neither did I"

"For three years I have loved her, protected her and -"

Albus rose towering over the seated man. Rationality was returning to his fevered mind. The numbness that had enfolded his form and mind began to thaw. "I have never known love to be so twisted."

"Is lusting after another man's woman more straightforward? I think not."

"What lies between Minerva and I concerns no one else."

Piers scoffed. "Of course, even her fiancé is excluded from any consideration."

"I should have stayed and waited for you. I should not have left her here alone. She trusted you to understand."

"Oh, I understand, better than you realize," countered Piers.

Dumbledore lay both hands flat on the table. His magical energy flowed from his fingertips to the table. Food and cutlery began to vibrate and shake along the table. "You will answer for this. For all you have done."

"By your hand, easily, but think on this - she cares nothing for you now. You've seen her reaction to you. You cannot so easily ingratiate your way back into her affections, can you?" Piers stood up then leaned into Dumbledore's personal space looking the furious wizard straight. His next words were smug, superior. "You hurt me, you hurt her. Stalemate."