Aoife sighed deeply, slipped a key into the rusted lock and pushed the door open. She crossed the tiny apartment with its three-legged table propped up by books and its single rickety chair before collapsing onto the bed. A cascade of parchment tipped off and onto the already carpeted floor but Aoife did not care. She took in the coolness of the room and closed her eyes against the narrow slits of light that passed through the half-open shutters.

There was for a moment a blissful quiet, broken only by the muffled activity of the Grand Bazaar below. Aoife didn't care, she just lay there with her eyes squeezed shut, content not to think.

"I take it things went well then?"

Aoife raised two fingers wordlessly towards the wall.

"Charming," Said the same voice in a rather offended tone, "I see the meeting did wonders for your manners."

With a grunt of effort, Aoife forced her eyes open and looked up. The voice was coming from the lone painting mounted on the wall. It was of a knight, dressed in shining silver armour doing battle with a great, monstrous fire breathing dragon of intense yellow eyes and vivid red scales. Only the artist had been a better painter than enchanter, so the knight was currently leaning against his broken lance while the dragon lay curled up and dozing in the background, smoke rising from its nostrils with every snore.

"I'm not particularly interested in a lecture."

"Are you ever?" Asked the knight, whose hair fell in curly blonde locks over his shoulder, chin square and strong.

Aoife gave a snort then hauled herself off her bed. She walked over to a mirror-topped dresser that lay half open, clothes hanging from every drawer and with several potion bottles sitting haphazardly on top. She pulled open the lowest drawer with a pained grunt. She took out a potions bottle of bubble-gum pink liquid and downed it with a grimace.

The Knight was leaning forward on his lance to watch her, "What have you done this time?"

"It's fine," Aoife rolled her shoulder a few times, "It's just stiff."

The painting shook his head, "So that's more galleons spent on healing?"

"Better that than a bruised rib, or three."

"Was that your last gold?"

"Almost," Aoife was staring at the potions bottles absent-mindedly while she rummaged through the drawers. The hazel-eyed, pale-skinned and auburn-haired girl grimaced back at her from the mirror.

"How much do you have left?"

"Enough for a couple of weeks if I stretch it out?" she shook her head with a pained expression that had nothing to do with her ribs, Ankhtifi's tomb really had been her big chance.

"I take it as well from your demeanour that you've not yet been sacked?"

"Formal warning just. Probably the best I could have hoped for. Other than a pat on the back I guess but that was really pushing things."

"Do I want to know what happened?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, go on then?" The Knight sighed.

"There was a dragon."

"A dragon?" The Knight looked back at the reptile in his own painting who was snorting happily.

"Yup, a big one. Thousands of years old at least. We couldn't have taken it down with every Curse Breaker in Egypt."

The Knight sighed, "How do you have such persistent bad luck?"

"No idea, it's just a natural skill of mine."

"You said 'we' though, who else was there? Did the clerk help?"

"About as much as expected," She took a breath, "There was another Curse Breaker there."

"From Steinngard's?"

"Nope, Gringotts."

"Gringotts?" The Knight wiped his brow, "Was it the chap who's map you stole?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that? I did not steal it," She glared at the picture, "I just looked at it!"

"Of course you did," The Knight said at once, "Are you finally accepting help now?"

"I didn't need the help," Aoife lay back down on her bed, hands behind her head and looking up at the burn marks in her ceiling. "He just appeared."

She did not feel like telling him what had happened. She knew the lecture that would come from it and she was not in the mood to hear it from a painting that wasn't even working the way it was supposed to. But then, that was why she had bought it…

She instead turned her attention to the newspapers that lay at the door. With a wave of her wand, they flew to her hand.

The first one was the latest edition of the Messenger, the Irish paper. On the front cover was a picture of her mother, tall and handsome with long hair flowing to her waist. Though the black and white photo did not show it, she knew it to be the same deep auburn of her own hair. She was shaking hands and smiling with a short and portly man with a rather thin moustache and a long mullet. The headline was emphatic:

"DEAL DONE!"

Flipping over the front page, she began to read the article,

"The Finnegan and Callaghan Clans will be raising a pint across the country to Roisin Moran tonight. The Minister of Magic announced this morning that a trade deal had been secured with her French counterpart for Kinsale Primroses. The Kinsale Primrose grows only in the west of Cork and is a key ingredient in the Camouflage Solution; a recent French discovery that obscures magical rashes and boils.

Roisin refused to take the credit for the deal, saying that 'Cathal Doherty and Fionn Ryan did most of the negotiating, I only popped in when I was needed to show my face.'

Orla Finnegan refuted this modesty however, telling me the other night; 'Sure, wasn't Cathal making a haimes with the wee French fella? If Rosin hadn't gone and sorted it, sure wouldn't we be standing here looking to thump the lad? She's done fierce good for this part of the country and we won't be forgetting it too quickly like'.

The deal's true value hasn't quite yet been worked out but they're saying it'll probably run into the thousands of galleons. This is another feather in the cap of the recently reappointed Minister, who is a mother to six daughters; all of whom have attended or are attending Hogwarts. Her second, Ciara, is also finding fame with the Holyhead Harpies as a chaser and helped us batter the Dutch in the recent World Cup qualifiers. Dessie Callaghan is already taking owl orders for pints over at the Traveller and will deliver them to Roisin 'next time she's in'…"

Aoife placed down the paper with a sigh of relief. Every time she saw either her ma or her sister's names in the papers now, and it was happening more often with their burgeoning careers, she felt her heart skip a beat, terrified this would be the scandal revealed. That this would be the one used to torment Ciara on the quidditch field or by her ma's enemies to undermine her every achievement; Minister, if you cannot raise a daughter, how can you run a country?

She shook her head to clear the thoughts. Why would the Irish press or the British quidditch-watching public care what was happening in Egypt? She glanced over at the photo that was stuck above her bed; the one that showed a tall and thin man embracing the same red-haired woman from the newspaper while a half-dozen red-haired girls stood around them, beaming widely.

Speaking of which…

The other paper was the Daily Seer, the English paper that covered news in Egypt. Plastered across the front page was a moving image of two men dressed in dark jackets with wands in their belts. They were scowling at the camera and trying to push the photographer out of the way; above it was the headline; "VOLEZ DENIES INTIMIDATION OF FELLOW CURSE BREAKERS".

Aoife threw down this paper in disgust.

"Not good news, I take it?" The knight in the painting asked.

Aoife shot him a dirty look, "How do you know? You're a painting, you can't even read."

"Well," The Knight began, "I-"

Thump!

Aoife shot up on the bed, sending yet more parchment to the floor. The noise had come from her front door, the sound of a fist pounding against wood.

Thump!

"Moran!" Said a voice from the other side, "I know you're there!"

"Bollocks," She leapt up, all lethargy gone. She dashed to the window and threw open the shutters. Beyond was the Grand Bazaar of Cairo, awash with colourful canopies and stalls. Beneath her window was one such stall and Aoife was fairly confident it would take her weight. It had last time anyway.

She had only managed to get one leg onto the window's frame when the door burst open of its own accord. Standing there was a tall and portly man, his stomach straining against his stained blue robes. His skin was rather mottled while his black hair was folded back in a futile attempt to hide the large bald spot there. A strong smell of whiskey filled the apartment. He drew back his lips in a snarl.

"Hi Yaghish," Aoife grinned hopefully, leaning against the window as if she were stretching, "I was busy there, didn't hear you knocking."

He ignored her, "Moran, where's my rent?"

"Rent?" She straightened up and frowned at him, "It's not the end of the month yet!"

"I want last month's rent!" He took a step into the room, his fists clenched. Aoife's hand hovered over the wand tucked into her back pocket, "You owe me twenty galleons!"

"You said I had until next week!"

"I have changed my mind!" He replied sharply, "I have found out a few things since then about you! You lied to me, telling me you have no gold!"

"I don't!" She thought of the empty dresser, "Not now anyway!"

"But they tell me your sister is a famous quidditch player! She does not have gold either?"

"So what?" Aoife scowled, feeling that defensive urge rise up within her, anger that he would even dare mention her sister.

"So if you have such wealth, I am upping the rent, I want thirty galleons!"

"Thirty?" Her eyes widened, "You want thirty galleons a month for this dump?" She rather pointedly looked up to where a slat in the ceiling chose this moment to drop out of the rafters and land at her feet with a thump, "Are you right in the head?"

"Thirty!" He repeated, "Plus the twenty you owe me for last month! Unless you want to end up out on the street!"

At this, Aoife sighed. If she had a galleon for every time Yaghish had threatened to kick her out, she'd be living it up on her own Caribbean Island somewhere. She could not help but think of the mountains of gold. If only she had thought to scoop some up…

Still…it was probably as cheap a place as she was going to find in Cairo.

"You cheat!" It was the Knight on the wall. He had dropped his lance and was now shaking his armoured fist at Yaghish, face contorted in fury. In his anger he had awoken the dragon who was watching him with a mild but wary curiosity, "You have the nerve to charge in here and demand gold when you have been robbing this lady blind! Scum! You are scum, I say!"

"You…" Yaghish had started towards the painting with his fists raised but Aoife stepped between them hurriedly, now holding her wand.

"It's fine, Yaghish!" She said loudly. She waited until he had backed away before wheeling around and marching not to the dresser but her bedside table. She pulled out a bag and counted the coins within.

"Here," She shook the coins into a smaller leather pouch which she threw at him. He caught it awkwardly, "Satisfied?"

Yaghish did not reply but instead opened the bag and tipped the coins out. He counted each carefully before closing the cord with a snap, "I will be back."

"No doubt," She beamed at him again, "Do you want a cup of tea before you," He slammed the door shut, making the whole room shake, ",go?"

Aoife went to close the shutters and the powerful cocktails of spices hit her nose like a mermaid's tail; cumin, nutmeg, cardamom, turmeric and caraway. She closed her eyes, just enjoying the heady aromas.

"You are a fool," Said the Knight in the picture from behind her, "Why do you keep paying that cur? This is why you have no money!"

"He's welcome to it," Aoife inhaled slowly, as if hoping to suck up the cakes that were cooking on an open green fire beneath her, "It's leprechaun gold, a present from home. He's got a few hours with it before it disappears."

The Knight looked at her in wonder, "You never learn, do you?"

Aoife gave him a grin and went to stretch. A pain ran through her side as if she was being sliced open with a knife. She brought her hands down to her hip at once, wincing and letting a sharp gasp escape through clenched teeth. This, she knew with an awful sinking feeling, had nothing to do with her ribs.

"It's hurting, isn't it?" Asked the Knight softly.

"It's fine," Was the curt reply. She took a deep breath as she took her hands away and gave them an irritated look.

"You should have Murtlap Essence-"

"I told you," She interrupted him stubbornly, "It's fine."

The Knight gave her a long, searching look before he shrugged, "So what are you going to do now?"

"Head to the Maktaba Man Alsahara, I suppose," Aoife looked about at the piles of parchment, "And see if any of these are worth following up on."

"And the landlord?"

A grimace, "I'll deal with that when the time comes."

The Knight shook his head but before he could say anything, there was a knocking on the door.

The two of them fell silent. Aoife regarded it warily before eyeing up the window, judging whether she had time to make it before the door burst open again. The seconds stretched on.

There was another tap-tap-tap on the door. This was not the pummelling of before, more like knuckles being politely rapped against it.

She knew she should not open the door, but in the end her curiosity defeated her caution. She approached the door with one hand in her jacket, holding her wand just in case.

Her eyes widened in shock.

"Good afternoon," said the visitor kindly. The first thing that struck her about him were his quite unique robes, blue with yellow pyramids and camels. Next was his hair and beard, both long and silvery grey. Finally, her eyes fell upon his hooked nose and kindly blue eyes that were twinkling behind half-mooned spectacles, "I hope this is not an inconvenient time.".

It took Aoife a moment to find her voice, simply staring the wizard up and down as if sure she was dreaming, "No," Her reply was a little breathless, "No, of course not, Professor Dumbledore. Please,"

Dumbledore swept into her apartment and looked around with his hands held behind his back. He took in the propped-up table, the wobbly chair, and the piles of parchment with an expression of great interest.

"Sorry about the mess," She wasn't particularly sorry at all, but it was the polite thing to say. Her ma would have been proud, once she had recovered from the state of the place, "Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Something a little stronger?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Good," She exhaled, "I don't have anything stronger left."

Dumbledore smiled at that.

Aoife clicked her fingers. There was a rustling of paper and out from behind a pile of books came a little square brass teapot. It ran across the room on three stumpy little legs like a corgi but came to a screeching halt in front of Dumbledore. It gave a frightened little squeal, steam pouring from its spout, before it turned on itself and dove back into its little shelter.

"Oh for-" Aoife caught herself as she stared in exasperation at the book pile into which the teapot had buried itself. She could feel a little warmth coming to her cheeks, "Sorry about that, Professor. It seems to have a thing about beards."

"I see," There was amusement in his blue eyes, "Then I must apologise to your teapot for my rather alarming appearance."

"Right," Aoife shook her head and went over to the kitchen. She placed an old and rusty kettle on the stove top and, before long, the whistling of steam filled the room, "Nice duds by the way."

"Why, thank you," Dumbledore seemed pleased with the compliment, looking down at his robes, "I'm not often in this part of the world these days and so thought I would make the effort."

"Effort well spent. If I see a pair when I'm next in London with Big Ben and bulldogs on them, I'll be sure to buy you a set." Dumbledore smiled.

She took a mug out of the cupboard and poured Dumbledore and herself two large cups of tea, "Please, take a seat. Ah," She glanced at the single chair and gave a rueful smile, "Sorry, take the seat."

Dumbledore settled himself into the chair without any concern, accepted the teacup as it floated up from the table and took a sip. Aoife contented herself with sitting cross-legged on her bed with her own mug held in both hands.

"So," She said after a moment, still regarding him a little warily, "Don't take this the wrong way, Professor but why are you here?" Her eyes widened, "It's not about Ten Tall Troll Tales Tragically Told is it? Look, you can tell Beaky-er," She stopped as Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "Madame Pince, sorry, that I was going to return it, really, I was but Sally Abergale set fire to it in Charms on my last day and…" She tailed off suddenly as if she had just been punched in the stomach.

Dumbledore gave her a look over his glasses, the twinkle growing brighter in his eye as he took another sip of his tea, "The book is not why I am here, Aoife, though I will be sure to pass your profound apologies to Madam Pince when next I see her. There is also no need to call me 'Professor' any further. You are no longer in school, and I am no longer your headmaster."

"Oh, what'll I call you then?"

"Whatever you would like," Dumbledore took another sip of tea, "There's very few I haven't heard."

Aoife felt a little of the devilment rise up in her, "How about Dumby? Ever been called that?"

Dumbledore's moustache twitched as if he were trying not to laugh, "No, I think that is a new one. Though feel free to use it if you wish."

"It is very tempting," She was grinning cheekily, "But I might just stick to Dumbledore if that's grand with you."

"It is indeed 'grand' with me," He peered over his half-moon spectacles at her, "I was very sorry to hear about what happened, Aoife. I was sorry to hear about Julius. I take it there has been no further trouble from it?"

"No," Aoife shifted uncomfortably. Already in her mind's eye she could see the flash of light. She could feel the darkness closing in on her, suffocating and choking, the pain…the fear, the hatred, the anger. Her hand had dropped to her side.

Not again. Never again.

"No further trouble," She said as casually as she could manage while looking at his feet, "I'm fine."

There was another pause before she took a breath, "So if you're not here about a book, why are you here?"

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to sigh, setting down his empty cup, "I am here because I may have a task for you. Something potentially very dangerous and equally as rewarding."

Aoife considered this for a moment, "I take it you don't have a task with no danger and massive rewards then?"

Dumbledore gave a little chortle, "I'm afraid I don't, though I would be sure to pass it to you if I had."

"Then what's this very dangerous task?"

"I am afraid that I cannot describe its full scope to you, for I am not entirely sure of it myself. I am led to believe however, that you were recently in a tomb just outside the city? A tomb for an ancient sorcerer known as Ankhtifi?"

"I might have been," Aoife shifted a little, "Why?"

Dumbledore did not answer but sat back in his chair, surveying her intently. Aoife had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being scanned, "And if you had been there, what sort of things could Ankhtifi's tomb have told you about the man?"

"Am I back in school, 'Dumby?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I rather hope not," Dumbledore smiled again, "I believe Professor Flitwick is enjoying the considerable free time he gained from no longer needing to lecture you at the end of each day."

"Hey, it kept him sharp didn't it?"

"No doubt. You have not, however, answered my question."

She took a moment to think, trying to ignore the most vivid memories of very large gold piles and a stonking great dragon. She recalled the warning at the entranceway, the spells, the medjay, the goods that had been stored for his trip to the afterlife.

"He was a powerful man," She said after a while, "The funeral goods he was buried with were on the level of a pharaoh, not a priest."

Dumbledore waited and when she did not elaborate, he chuckled, "You still believe that he was be a mere priest?"

Aoife's eyes widened and her frown deepened as she regarded the smiling man before her, "Surely he was, Prof-uh-Dumbledore. Otherwise it would have violated their own codes, their own rules. It would have been sacrilege."

"Oh, I agree," Dumbledore said heartily, "So then the question we must ask ourselves is, why were the rules written?" When Aoife did not answer, he pressed on, "Tell me, what do you know of The Five?"

"The Five?" Aoife blinked, scraping around in her memory for any reference to that phrase, "Just stories really. The odd mention here and there, never anything concrete."

"Yes indeed," Dumbledore gave another little chuckle, "Many scholars and historians are happy to write them off as legends designed to frighten and startle, myths from a time in which our understanding of magic was so much poorer than today. And yet," He leaned in again. He had put down his cup now and was pressing his fingertips together, "And yet, I believe they were real."

"Do you indeed?" She leant back against the wall and took a sip of tea, "You've found some new evidence then?"

"I have no proof to confirm my theory outside of some very calculated guesses. I believe they were kings and queens. Great kings and queens of ancient times, each ruling over a vast empire of magic and muggles. Rulers whose power would have been unrivalled at the time, perhaps at any time in the history of mankind. I believe that they fought a war between themselves, a war so terrible that it did not merely bring about the fall of their own nations but the destruction of civilisation itself."

Her eyebrows raised, "That's quite the leap in logic."

His smile was the broadest yet, "I am known for them."

"But Dumbledore," She shook her head, "You're talking about the Bronze Collapse? There's no evidence for any of this. Not even magical historians know what caused the collapse."

"Indeed," He did not seem perturbed by her protests, "It is probable, likely even, that those who followed made a concerted effort to conceal the disaster. I believe it to have been so terrible a conflict that the magical community went into hiding rather than risk it happening again."

"They did a very good job of it then," She shook her head, auburn hair falling into her eyes, "Seeing as we have never so much as found a word about them."

"Nearly correct, Aoife," Dumbledore hummed, "We had never so much found as a word of evidence, until yesterday, when it was found by you."

"You mean Ankhtifi?" She could feel a growing dread in her stomach, "Are you about to tell me I demolished a tomb of unimaginable value? Would you mind not telling my boss?"

He chortled, "You need not worry, I do not believe Ankhtifi was one of the five. The opulence of his tomb, however, would suggest a prestige and power that no mere prophet could have possessed. I do not believe he was one of the Five, but he may well have served under one of their number."

"But Dumbledore," She shook her head again, "We've found dozens of tombs over hundreds of years. Some of the best minds in the world have studied it. There's just no evidence for any of this, outside of one inscription in one tomb."

"The inscription within the tomb of Ankhtifi is proof, so far as I am concerned, that a member of The Five ruled Egypt," Dumbledore said, "It's unlikely they would have kept their court at Cairo, Luxor or Thebes, fairly mundane locations as they were for a person of such power. They would have ruled from a city of such magic and wealth, that no rival would have dared challenge them. It would have most likely been lost during this war or shortly afterwards when their rule was ended. I wish for you to find it, Aoife."

The silence dragged on. Then from out on the street came cries of panic and the roar of some large beast that had broken free. She paid it no attention, that was just Ammon's silver bull escaping again. He kept hold of it about as securely as a gambler held on to galleons.

Aoife was now frowning, holding her cup of cooling tea and thinking fast, "So, you want me to find a city that no one has visited in thousands of years, about which no evidence survives and which no self-respecting historian alive today believes exists?"

"That," Dumbledore nodded, "Is the gist of it, yes. I will pay for your time of course; I do not expect you to carry out this work as a favour to me."

Aoife considered it in silence. It was clearly nonsense and it would hardly do well for her to spend months on end trying to find a tomb that didn't exist. What would Goghol think of that? Of her wasting her time? On the other hand, the sound of payment was very promising. If it wouldn't set things right with the bank it would at least keep Yaghish off her back for the time being. Harpham's patronising smile floated into her mind's eye, followed by Magnus' sneer.

She nodded.

"Excellent," Dumbledore clapped his hands together and rose from his seat, "I cannot stay any longer I am afraid, for I have other business to attend to while I am in the area. If you wish to reach me, you may do so via owl or Floo powder. Good luck in your search and thank you for the tea. It was most excellent."