The sun was starting to dip by the time Aoife set out again. She allowed herself a few moments just to watch it set, as enchanted by the reds and oranges as she had been on her first day here. It was certainly a far cry from even the finest Irish summers evening.

The Grand Bazaar did not sleep with the dipping sun. Quite the opposite. As the day faded and the heat retreated, it was as though the market had fully come alive, like some great nocturnal beast rousing itself for a night of activity. A network of narrow streets with haphazardly leaning buildings, the Bazaar was the centre of magic in northern Africa. At its heart was an obelisk from ancient times, decorated in a language no one alive today could read and visible from nearly anywhere in the Bazaar. Surrounding it was the marketplace crowded with wizards and witches in robes so startlingly decorated that it made Dumbledore's pyramids look like morose funeral attire. One wizard she passed wore a turban four feet tall, with snakes slithering between the folds and swaying to the pipes being played elsewhere in the street. Yet another wizard had a vast bird of paradise perched on his shoulder, the colours so vivid that they almost distracted from its owner's long purple beard.

Aoife moved through the masses; ducking past shoppers who haggled deafeningly with the vendors for their goods. She bypassed the stalls where witches and wizards had fava beans dancing in green and blue flames, elephants-sized skewers of kebab meat that whirled like tornados. Others brewed potions as if they were on stage, theatrically releasing their ingredients into the massive brass cauldrons which belched smoke of so many colours that the whole Bazaar was covered in a thin rainbow-coloured fog that smelt strongly of hibiscus. A witch was blowing fire into the air that took the forms of dragons, hippogriffs and thestrals, to the ooh's and aah's of the watching crowd.

Aoife felt that longing temptation to linger; to spend gold she didn't have on things she didn't need. Even if she bought nothing, it would have been easy to pass the night by just walking the many streets, taking in everything it had to offer from every corner of the continent. It was vibrant in a way Diagon Alley wasn't, thrilling where that street was mundane and intoxicating where the heart of British wizardry was suffocating.

Even with so many distractions, it took only a few alleyways before she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Something was wrong. Quite what was hard to tell in the seething masses, with so much movement and noise around her. It was the fourth time that she glanced back over her shoulder that she saw him. A tall man in dark robes who was pushing his way through the crowd; face hidden behind a scarf.

Aoife turned away from the busy streets; fighting against the flow of people as they battled past her to reach the bigger attractions. The man behind was having no such problem, he was parting the crowd like a boat through the sea. He was getting closer. She could feel her heart starting to pump.

Her hand was gripping tightly around the wand in her pocket. Her breath was coming out quick and shallow. She had to time this right. If she caused a panic in the Bazaar it could be a stampede, a disaster. She couldn't let that happen. How close could she let him get?

She ducked into a side-street, crisscrossed with hanging laundry above and so tight it felt more like a tunnel. It almost completely dark and cold. It felt like the sun had never touched this patch of tone before.

Away from the crowd, Aoife could hear her own breath coming more rapidly still. She turned a corner in the alley and pressed against the wall, wand in her hand. She heard the second set of footsteps approaching, growing louder. They had quickened slightly. She counted down in her head, letting him get close. Here we go…

She leapt out from her cover, "Expelliamus!"

The hulking figure jumped as his wand flew from his pocket and into Aoife's hand. She regarded him warily and approached though staying out of punching range. She had made that mistake before.

"Did no one ever tell you it's rude to follow people?" she asked.

The man grunted. He seemed quite unconcerned to have been cornered and have a wand pointing at his chest.

"Mind telling me your name?"

He grunted again.

"Well, 'Grunt', what are you up to? Why are you following me?"

Now that they were close, she could see his skin was blotchy red, like he was allergic to the sun while his sunken eyes were a dull grey.

"Follow," he said in a thick accent she could not place. Definitely not a local, as if the sunburn did not quite give it away, "Follow." He gestured with his hand.

"You want me to follow you?" Aoife had asked the question before she could stop herself, wand tip lowering ever so slightly. He nodded, "Why? Where do you want me to go?"

"Steinngard," He said, "Wants to talk."

"Oh? Is that so?" Her eyes narrowed and her wand shot back up again, "How do I know you're working for him?"

The man went for his pocket. Aoife tensed but he pulled out a golden medallion lined with rubies and inscribed with a silver scorpion.

Aoife gave it a long, hard look before nodding. She lowered her wand and tossed the man's back to him. He grunted again, turned, and whistled. Two more figures entered the alley from the street, equally as large and talkative in the same robes.

"Are you triplets, by any chance?" She asked, "Bet your house was a riot at Christmas."

None of them answered her. Instead the man she knew as Grunt stepped up and placed his hand on her shoulder, Aoife tensed in the anticipation of what was to come as he turned on the spot and they vanished.

Before she knew it, Aoife was being pressed in on all sides. Her heart rate shot up as a stabbing pain ran up her side and into her shoulder. Hot, burning, as if her bone was molten and melting from the inside out. She might have cried out in pain, she could not be sure as the darkness pressed against her eyes.

Then it was over.

She pushed off from the man, though it was rather like putting her weight against a bus as she staggered away from him. She felt as if she had been sitting too close to a fire, prickly and uncomfortable. Her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts and she knew her hands were shaking.

"Still a fan of apparition, I see." Came an amused voice behind her. Aoife whipped around to see a man standing in front of a roaring fire. The fireplace itself could have come from any royal palace in the world, curved marble bedecked with figures and complex shapes impossible without magic. In front of that were two vast armchairs of rich satin.

The man approached out of the shadow of the fire with a limp. He had the look of a strongly built man who had let himself go, with a rather noticeable rotundness beneath his dress robes while his sleeves billowed at the arms. His face was thin and cleanshaven with a rather pointed chin, his eyes dark and his black hair slicked back. He was holding two glasses filled with wine that glimmered like rubies in the light.

"Some warning would have been nice, Erik," Aoife managed to say a little breathlessly as her hand dropped from her side.

"I apologise," His accent was similar to that of her pursuer but with a more noticeable smoothness. He gave a theatrical sigh, "I had told Gunter to warn you about the travel arrangements."

"Well, Gunter didn't get the message," Aoife spared him a glare over her shoulder. At least she thought it was him. Now standing in the shadows in the corners of the room, it was very hard to tell exactly which was which, "Besides, you could have just sent an owl. You know where I live."

"Owls are not my preferred method of communication these days. They can be very easily intercepted."

"Whereas these eejits are much more subtle, naturally."

Erik laughed and offered her a glass. When she took it, he gestured to one of the armchairs. Aoife winced as she settled into the air, an audible hiss escaping her lips.

"It still hurts, does it?" Erik was watching her, his expression curious.

"Sometimes," She did not look at him but instead sniffed at her glass, "Is this elf-wine?"

"Indeed, from 988. A thousand galleons a bottle."

Aoife snorted as she went to take a sip. About fifty galleons worth of wine shot out of her nose and stained the woven carpet at her feet.

"Oh, don't worry," Erik said smoothly at her apologetic look, "It can be easily cleaned. I hear you should have been able to buy a bottle of this yourself," He gave her a careful look, "What happened at Luxor?"

Aoife raised an eyebrow, "Should I even ask how you know?"

"I have contacts at the Egyptian Ministry. They tell me you're not very popular at Gringotts at the moment."

"Was I ever?"

"You would do well not to make enemies of them, Aoife."

"Says the man who stole a gold haul from under their noses and started up a rival bank."

Erik smiled and took a deep sip of wine, "I merely acted in my own interests, as they would do. But that is not the point here. What of the tomb? Was it lost?"

"Sort of," Aoife shrugged it off, having no more desire to discuss the failure once more, even if it was to Erik, "We're not getting to it any time soon anyway."

Erik had the good grace to cluck his tongue and shake his head sympathetically, "I was there many times myself, Aoife. It is the curse of the Curse Breaker alas, that we will lose more treasure than we ever find."

"Is that so?" She said as looked up at a diamond encrusted chandelier.

He gave a modest smile, "I was fortunate, exceptionally so. Most Curse Breakers end up like poor Roger Barcroft; too slow to chase you youngsters and too careless to fight the challenges when he does beat you. I take it he's still there?"

"Yup, still handing out the assignments."

"The poor man," Erik shook his head, "He was doing that when I joined ten years ago."

Aoife gave a non-committal shrug.

"I asked him to join me, you know. When I started up my little venture, but he declined. He felt like he owed something to the goblins," A derisive snort, "A sentimentality that has not served him well. Curse Breakers are not what they were in my younger days, Aoife. These upstarts from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons," A dismissive wave, "Ignorance and ambition do not mix well."

"We're not all bad," She said, though Magnus' face floated into her mind as she said it, "Barcroft trains us up well."

"And yet I would wager a considerable fortune none are as skilled as you."

"Are you including Tobias Harpham? Can I get that in writing?"

Another pointed look, "Harpham could not have endured what you endured."

Aoife looked away, wine forgotten, "You didn't drag me here to talk about that, did you?"

"No I didn't," Another great sigh, "Am I right in thinking that an Albus Dumbledore visited you today?"

"An Albus Dumbledore? You think there's more than one?"

"Please don't be glib, Aoife. I know it's your default setting, but this is important."

"Fine. Yes, he did. Why?"

"Was he looking for anything in particular?"

"Knitting patterns."

"Aoife…"

"Fine! He was asking me to do a job, to look into the Five."

"The Five…" Erik had set his glass upon a small wooden table and was now leaning in, frowning deep in thought, "So Dumbledore believes they were real?"

"He does," Aoife drained her glass only to find it filling once again, "He thinks there was one here in Egypt. He wants me to find out where they are."

Erik's eyes widened, "That is quite the task."

"Tell me about it, but he's paying me for it at least so it won't be a complete waste of time."

"You know if you were ever short of money-"

"I have told you before Erik, I owe you enough without adding that to the list." She leant back and sighed, "Why? Interested in the Five?"

"I always have been. They were a favourite tale of mine as a child. They were always taught to us as fables; a warning against the evils of ambition and greed." He shook his head, "Did he say why he wished to find them?"

"He didn't," Aoife was watching Erik with a frown, "You don't actually believe in them, Erik? I mean, they're a fairy tale, a myth. Superstitious nonsense passed down the generations; like that one about rubbing a toad on your stomach curing piles."

"That may be," Erik was leaning forward and frowning now himself, "But I ran around enough tombs to know that a lack of evidence is not the same as them being non-existent."

"No, of course not. How silly of me to assume there must be evidence for something to exist."

There was a long silence before Erik heaved a deep sigh and looked into the fire, "I have brought you here to warn you, Aoife. Today is not the first time I have heard the Five mentioned in recent times."

"Oh?" Aoife put her glass down and watched him curiously, "Who else is involved?"

"I did not hear names; only mention of the Five and that powerful forces are moving in connection to them."

"Are you trying to keep me away from this job?" Her tone was stubborn now, as if daring him to agree.

"I know you, so I wouldn't waste my breath," There was no mirth in his face now, "All I ask is that you are careful. You English-"

"Irish," Aoife closed her eyes and sighed at the ceiling, "Irish, Erik."

"You English-speakers," He corrected himself without a smile, "You have never really understood the story of the Five. You were always fascinated by your 'Deathly Hallows', 'Babbity Rabbit' and other such childish things. For us, the Five are held up as an example and a warning. They are the greatest power that could ever be imagined, even more so than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or Grindelwald. Many grew up with that tale, Aoife, and plenty will do anything to seize it for themselves, no matter how slight the chance. Beware other Curse Breakers, you already know more than most the cost of greed."

She blinked, frown lifting as she too looked into the fire. Not really thinking. Any time she tried to think about that time, to revisit it in her mind, she found only pain and anger.

"Alright," she said at last, "Fine, I'll watch my back."

"I know you will. Thank you," He bowed his head in gratitude, "Gunther will see you back to Cairo."

"Any chance we could go via broom this time, please?"

Another laugh, "You could certainly, if only we were somewhere that a broom could reach."