Gunter, or 'Grunt' as he would affectionately be known as to Aoife forevermore, left her back in the same alleyway he had found her. Even when ready for the apparition, she still had to fight to hide the grimace of pain.

"Well," It was Aoife who broke the silence once they returned and the men made no move to go, "Thank you for the trip, Grunt. I would like to say it was a pleasure, but it really wasn't."

He did not reply immediately, and the silence dragged on just long enough to be awkward before he finally said in that same low voice, "I will be watching."

"Well," She was rather taken aback by that, "Thank you. Hopefully you can be a bit more subtle than earlier anyway."

He spared her one last, disapproving glare before he turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack.

Aoife shook her head and made a mental note to speak to Erik about his recruitment choices before leaving the alleyway. It had been odd meeting; Erik was very secretive these days, he said it was part of the job now and she knew he had a point. There were a dozen banks in Egypt besides Gringotts and they were fighting for a finite resource. It had, however, made him paranoid. It wouldn't have been the first warning he had given her but it was the first he had dragged her to his home to receive.

Powerful forces are moving…

Did he mean Dumbledore? Why else would he want to find the location of the Five after all? It was hardly for money, surely he had enough of that saved up anyway. Fame perhaps? As if Dumbledore needed anymore; he was already on a chocolate frog card for feck's sake! Perhaps he just wanted to thumb his nose at all those historians and expects who had denied the existence of the Five for all these years?

Now that, she could get behind.

Aoife pulled out of her reverie just as she was passing her destination. From the outside it was a shabby old church, dilapidated and boarded up with large signs warning of structural weaknesses. Though it was on a busy street, the muggles passed back and forth without so much as sparing it a glance, nor she who had stopped just in front of it. At the door was a statue of a woman holding a bowl and head bowed. Aoife glanced into the bowl. There was a scattering of muggle money at the bottom, odd bits of loose change. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a large, golden galleon which she flicked into the bowl.

Whap!

The noise rang out across the street as the free hand of the statue slapped Aoife on the cheek. She took a step back in surprise and her hand came up automatically to her stinging skin. None of the muggles passing her seemed to have noticed.

"Alright," She said after a moment to steady herself, "Recognise leprechaun gold, do you? Fair enough." She pulled out a silver sickle and tossed that into the bowl instead. The figure inclined her head further and stepped aside, revealing a slender passageway carved into the church.

The passageway opened out into a space as large as a cathedral with a high domed ceiling of glass casting a rainbow of colours onto the finely mosaiced floor. Bookcases as tall as skyscrapers lined up to her left and right out of sight. She watched one of those bookcases drop into the floor only to bounce up again like a trampoline. It had been a shock first time she had seen this but she was now used to the strange magic that filled the Maktaba Man Alsahara, the font of magical knowledge.

A golden rood screen separated her from the shelves, atop of which was the figure of a large Bronzescale dragon. Aoife spared it a pointed look before turning her attention to the desk which sat before it. For so grand a place, she had always expected the front desk to be somewhat grand, vast and imposing but it was not. It could have been cheap plywood with a single figure sitting behind it. Aoife was still not entirely sure that this being was a witch or even a human. There was something very unnatural about the way it sat, dressed in a full veil so only unblinking black eyes were visible. They were fixed on Aoife as she approached with no acknowledgement or greeting forthcoming.

"Uh, hi," Aoife said brightly, "How's things with you?"

The figure did not speak.

"How's the kids?"

Nothing.

"Catch the quidditch at the weekend? Those Cannons eh?"

Silence.

"Much as I'd love to chat all day, I'm here on business. I'm looking for information on the eleventh dynasty of Egypt please. Records and accounts from the time. Translated, if you have them."

The Librarian did not speak. Instead, they raised a single long, gloved finger and began to draw in the air. A shimmering thread was left hanging, forming the numbers '1-1-8'.

"Thank you," Aoife nodded her head, "Love the veil by the way. Is it new? It suits you!"

The Librarian did not answer. Already the hand had withdrawn back into the robes, and she was now staring directly forward as if Aoife did not exist.

Aoife shuddered as she stepped through the rood screen. It felt as if she had just stepped through a particularly chilly waterfall. A disenchantment barrier. No magic was permitted from this point onwards. Barcroft had always been very explicit on that, but vague on what would happen if someone did use magic. He had only ever said they would be "Fools to even try".

She had always been very, very tempted.

Aoife looked up and down the long rows of bookshelves, many of whom were bouncing up and so there was constant motion around her. There were plenty of others milling around the shelves. Some were tourists or fellow Curse Breakers while others were historians working on their research. Some were young, students from Almadrasa, the local Egyptian magical school, or even from Uagadou, out on day trips to find the knowledge they needed for schoolwork. Floating hands made of wispy black smoke drifted above her head in a never-ending stream; carrying books, rolls of parchment or candles. Some were even dusting and emptying bins. It amused Aoife how such complicated and skilled magic could be used to complete some of the most mundane tasks.

Not that there weren't staff here, for she could see at least a couple of cleaners mopping at the floor; one sallow-skinned and the other bent-nosed. The sallow skinned one in particular gave her a long and lingering look as she passed.

Aoife reached row 118 at last and turned in. There was no one working here, the long wooden table sat empty. She sighed and looked up at the endless shelves of books that now loomed up over her. She clicked her fingers and one of the smoke-like hands dove down to her eye level.

"Hi," She said brightly, "The yearly records of Egypt's eleventh dynasty please. First-hand accounts of the period and," She considered for a moment, "Any references you have on The Five. Thank you!" This last one was shouted as the hand had just shot back up into the air, leaving the faintest smoke trail behind.

Aoife sat at one of the tables where she tapped her finger impatiently, humming to herself. Studying had never been her strong suit; in fact she had always hated it, even at school. That had always been…she stopped and forced herself back to the matter at hand, back to the present as it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured into her stomach.

At least she didn't have to wait too long. The first tome was quickly placed before her by a smoking hand. No sooner had the first arrived then along came others, jostling at one another as they fought to place their payload first. One after another they dropped books beside her, old and dusty volumes bound up in leather until the shelves were hidden from view by her paper fortress.

Aoife gave a deep sigh, opened the first book; titled "The Eleventh Dynasty of Egypt: A comprehensive history" by Aminata Finmandaga and began to read.

As the days stretched on, Aoife found her enthusiasm growing weaker and weaker. As expected; there was absolutely nothing regarding the Five in her first book. Nor was there anything in "Travels through the ancient lands" by Elphias Doge or "Plenty of Pyramids; a guide of magical tombs" by Eustace Toller. The only place she had found any reference to them was in "Fables of Egypt: The Nonsense Debunked";

"Of all the myths of ancient times, by far the most fantastic is that of the Five. Quite who the Five were supposed to have been is not clear as the tale has been much inflated in the telling over many centuries. The most common story holds that they were once powerful sorcerers who held control over much the world but whose pursuit of power saw them destroy themselves. This is of course, merely a fable; meant to teach young witches and wizards the dangers of revealing themselves to the muggle community and overreaching their powers. The evidence in their favour is minimal, if not non-existent, while the evidence against could easily fill a book this size ten times over."

Well, that was encouraging.

Once, when she had been young and foolish, Aoife had thought these accounts would be a rollercoaster of adventure. She had thought they would be full of mystery and danger, sordid affairs and epic battles that had changed the world. She imagined she would be reading about mighty kings, devious priests and treacherous courtiers. But no.

Funnily enough, it turned out the sorcerers of ancient times had been no more likely to write of their sordid affairs than Fudge would be to print his in the Daily Prophet. No, what the peoples of ancient times had written about most of all, what had occupied most of their time and been foremost in their thoughts at all times, was cows.

That was never more obvious that this tome she had managed to dig up. It was thick, old and dusty even by the standards of the Maktaba Man Alsahara and it had been so far down in her pile that she was sure it hadn't been read since the author had put the finishing touches to it himself; "Full Yearly Accounts of the Eleventh Dynasty (Egypt), translated to Arabic and English by Mohammad Dhajul".

"…1st Month of Shemu, day 20 in the fifth year of Nebhepetre Mentuhotep, second of his name, Seankhibtawy of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra, did the city of Pithom provide upon his majesty the quantity of 500 heads of cattle, presented at Luxor to Bennu, seneschal of the pharaoh, by Hapastus, Nome of Pithom…"

By God, they could not get enough of them. Page upon page upon page of tributes cow from countless cities, some of which she recognised but most she did not. She knew Barcroft would be having a fit at her lack of attentiveness. He would shaking his head and telling her not to read the words but between the lines, to see the story the authors had written without intending to. She could not see it, all she could see was fecking cows.

"...1st Month of Shemu, day 13 in the sixth year of Nebhepetre Mentuhotep, second of his name, Seankhibtawy of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra, did the city of Naucratis provide upon his majesty the quantity of 400 heads of cattle, presented at Thebes to Chenzira, seneschal of the pharaoh, by Aphitah, Nome of Naucratis …"

Her parchment lay unrolled beside her, and a quill was ready in her hand yet all she had done so far was doodle a little cow, to which she had added tentacles and an angry face so it looked like the giant squid from Hogwarts.

"...1st Month of Shemu, day 18 in the seventh year of Nebhepetre Mentuhotep, second of his name, Seankhibtawy of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra, did the city of Tanis provide upon his majesty the quantity of 400 heads of cattle, presented at Thebes to Chenzira, seneschal of the pharaoh, by Ur, Nome of Tanis…"

It was getting late in the day, the babble of the library had faded away now as people filtered out. Only a few hardcore researchers were left but even they were packing up their bags and handing their books back to the wispy hands. At this rate it going to be just her, the hands and the nice Librarian on the front desk. She wondered how long she would have to keep this up before she could go back to Dumbledore and tell him he had been wrong. What a cheery thought that was.

"...1st Month of Shemu, day 9 in the ninety-first year of Sankhkare Neferkare, first of his name, Sankhtawyef of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra, did the city of Tlacopan provide upon his majesty the quantity of 2400 heads of cattle, presented at Itjtawy to Asim, seneschal of the pharaoh, by Coyote, Nome of Tlacopan…"

Well, she thought, Tlacopan had certainly been generous. The scribe had probably had to go change his robes after noting down that entry. They probably talked about nothing else for months.

Wait…she glanced at the last entry again, reading it out loud to herself, "The ninety-first year of Sankhkare?"

How had it jumped from the seventh year of one Pharoah to the ninety-first of another? She checked the margins of the page, where Dhajul had added his own notes; "Mistake by scribes, most likely meant first year of a new reign."

It was certainly possible, even likely, that it was simply a mistake. They had been known to happen from time to time.

But what if it wasn't?

She pulled up another book she had long discarded; "The Pharaohs Chronicles: A Compendium of the Lives and Deaths of the Rulers of Egypt from the First Dynasty to the Ptolemies."

She flicked through it until she saw at last what she was looking for.

"…2nd Month of Peretor, day 22 in the seventeeth year of Amenophis Mentuhotep, first of his name, Seankhibtawy of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra did go forth to Ra."

It was a fancy way of saying he had died. The next entry was the first then for Nebhepetre, his successor.

"…2nd Month of Peretor, day 23 in the first year of Nebhepetre Mentuhotep, third of his name, Sankhtawyef of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra did ascend to Ra's side."

Aoife felt a building excitement as she flicked through the pages; accounts of droughts and famines, harvests and festivals until she found what she was looking for;

"…1st Month of Akhet, day 4 in the twentieth year of Nebhepetre Mentuhotep, third of his name, Sankhtawyef of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra did go forth to Ra."

And the next one?

"…2nd Month of Peretor, day 23 in the first year of Thutmose Mentuhotep, fourth of his name, Sankhtawyef of Horus, Netjerihedjet of the Two Ladies, Smatawy, son of Ra did ascend to Ra's side."

No mention of Sankhkare…it could easily have been a mistake. She doubted the authors of these books had done much cross-referencing when translating the ancient scrolls but even so. It was something to latch on. Then there were the dates.

To have ruled for ninety-one years would have been absurd in the ancient world, even for a pharaoh. Even Pepe the Second had only ruled sixty-eight years at best guess. For any muggle to have even lived so long, let alone ruled, would have been impossible.

But not for a sorcerer.

With that excitement welling up inside her, she turned over the page.

It was gone.

She could see the remnants sticking out of the spine, not torn but clean cut. Someone had done it carefully and deliberately. Her eyes narrowed and she felt her mouth go a little dry. None of the books in the Maktaba Man Alsahara were damaged. There were powerful enchantments on them to keep them from being destroyed in fires, or floods or careless accidents. Someone had done magic in the library but how? More so the point, how had they gotten away with it. Perhaps most pressingly of all, why had it been removed?

She suspected she would find no further answers here. She checked the entry of "Full Yearly Accounts of the Eleventh Dynasty (Egypt)" again,

"…presented to Asim, seneschal of the pharaoh…"

She knew the name. It had been a big discovery just a few years ago, one of the oldest tombs ever discovered. It was located in the Valley of the Crescent Moon, the tombs of the ancient sorcerers. That had to be her next destination.

She rose from her seat. It was now very late in the day and the golden light from the rose windows high in the walls was deepening into a blood red.

The shadows were growing long around her, the shelves casting long and foreboding shapes against the wall while her own was elongated and spectral. Aoife stopped. Her heart felt like it had frozen.

There was another shadow beside hers. In its raised arms was a long staff.

Without thinking, Aoife jumped sideways. The wooden staff fell upon her chair with a great crash of splintering wood. It was the sallow-faced cleaner who now held his mop in both hands, each end narrowing into a sharp, threatening point.

Aoife drew her wand from her pocket, "Expelli-"

Before she could finish the spell however, one of the ghostly hands from above had shot down and grabbed her wand, attempting to pull it out of her hands. She just about managed to keep hold of it as the cleaner jumped at her again. Staff raised over his head to strike. She kicked the remains of her chair at him. The broken frame caught his shins hard. He collapsed to the ground with a loud curse.

Aoife raised her wand at his prone form, "Acci-oh, come on!" Again, a hand had darted down to wrap wispy fingers around her wand and attempt to tug it from her grip. She felt the wood sliding through her fingers and she had to clench to keep it from being stolen from her grasp. Her attacker was now climbing to his feet again, weapon in hand. The cosy evening light showed his unpleasant snarl through broken teeth.

Aoife did the only thing she could do.

She ran.

Her footsteps rang out on the tiles as she made for the exit. It couldn't be that far away surely. The steps of the man behind her were practically deafening her, almost drowning out her own panting breath, her heart thumping in her throat. He must be right on top of her.

Aisle after aisle she passed. Each as empty as the one before. Where was everyone? How could this place be so bloody empty when she least needed it to be! A shape appeared in front of her and her heart leapt momentarily with delight, only to plunge back down into her guts.

It was the bent-nosed cleaner. He too was holding his mop in two hands, bracing it against his side like a spear, tip pointing right at her heart.

Aoife veered down the first free aisle ("Bewks wiff kwestionabel sphelen"). She could hear two sets of footsteps but only one was behind her. The other was…beside her? Down the next aisle. He was going to cut her off. Sure enough, there he was. He was holding his staff in both hands, a nasty grin on his face.

The bookcase beside her shuddered. It suddenly dropped into the floor, a brown blur as it fell to ankle height. Without a seconds hesitation, Aoife vaulted the bookcase. It trembled under her hand and no sooner had her feet touched the ground than it bounced back up to full height. She heard the bent-nosed man shout something at his companion.

One set of footsteps was still behind her. She dared not turn to look. Though, were his footsteps fading? She must be outpacing him! She allowed her heart to lift. She was going to make it to safety!

She turned down another aisle. This had to be the last one before the entrance! Surely it had to be close! She had run so far, her breath was catching in her chest and a stitch burned in her side.

Aoife came to a screeching halt. There he was. The bent-nosed man stood with his staff out-stretched. His eyes were narrowed, and his yellow teeth were bared.

From behind came the sallow-faced cleaner, hobbling slightly. He was no longer grinning but his expression was no less malevolent than his companion's.

She was trapped.

They were closing in on her. Thoughts raced through Aoife's mind as she felt her breath grow shorter, her muscles tense unpleasantly and her stomach churn as if she were dizzy. She looked around frantically for something to throw, something to defend herself with but saw nothing. These tables had been wiped down and she could hardly throw the table itself, not without magic. There was nothing she could do. Nothing to defend herself with, not even her wand…

Her wand!

Aoife glanced up at the stream of hands which glided lazily between the shelves. She pointed her wand to the ceiling and shouted, her voice strangely high-pitched and breathless, "Reduct-"

A hand broke out of the stream and flew down to grab hold of her wand. She resisted the firm tug and shouted again, "Reduct-"

Another hand joined the first. Now both were pulling against her. The wand slipped an inch through her grasp. The two cleaners had stopped their advance. They were watching her warily now as she called again.

"Reduct-! Reduct-! Reduct-!"

Each time she tried to complete the spell, another hand joined the crowd until it looked like her arm was wreathed in smoke. It was difficult to resist them now, arm groaning from the effort of holding on against so many. She was having to use two hands just to keep hold, to keep control. She was barely on her toes, as if she were trying to stop a hundred helium balloons from floating away.

Her attackers seemed to have at last realised her plan. With a shout of anger, they charged her.

"Reduct-"

That did it.

With a final hard pull, the hands had flung her up into the air. Aoife was briefly floating with legs and arms flailing gracelessly. She lunged out and grabbed at the nearest shelf. Books tumbled from the case like rain but the hands flew like swallows to catch each and every one before they hit the ground.

Aoife allowed herself a deep exhale as she hung limply, hardly daring to believe herself that it had worked. Then she felt the bookcase tremble.

She glanced down and saw the two men climbing the shelves, staffs still gripped in their hands. Their eyes were fixed on her and they were climbing rapidly. They would be on her in moments. Up here, she was completely defenceless.

Still hanging, she scrambled with her legs for a foothold and felt the shelf wobble slightly. She tested it again. Again it trembled beneath her boot. The one on which she was hanging for dear life was no stronger. It too shook when she tested it. It was a foolish idea. Ridiculous. The chances of it working had to be a hundred to one…but those were better odds than anything else she could come up with.

Looking down, she watched the two men draw closer. She had to time this. Too early it wouldn't work. Too late and it wouldn't matter if it worked or not. She tried to control her breathing but no matter how deeply she inhaled, her breath came out in quick gasps. Her fingers were starting to go numb from the effort of holding herself and her shoulders were burning.

They were so close now. The tips of their staffs were just inches from her heels.

With a deep breath and a quiet word of prayer, Aoife slammed her weight down hard on the shelves.

They collapsed. One after another they gave way and like a dam bursting, the books poured forth in a raging torrent. Aoife felt them strike her, one after another, hard edges catching her face, her head and her arms as she fell. She heard the yells of surprise and pain from beneath her.

She hit the floor with a loud though muted thump. She looked down to see that she had landed on the two cleaners who were lying groaning on the floor, eyes closed and with thick, book-shaped bruises on their arms and faces. Not a single book had hit the floor and when she looked up, she saw the hands stacking them neatly back up atop the mended shelves.

Aoife dropped to her knees with a gasp, kicking away one of the staffs and grabbing the other. It was warm and sweaty, almost slimy to the touch. She felt her stomach churn but gripped it firmly all the same.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

A dozen whip-like sounds broke the sudden silence and before she knew it, Aoife had been grabbed roughly by the shoulder and pushed to the floor. A man was holding her down, all but his eyes concealed beneath his magenta kaffiyeh. He was shouting at her in rapid Arabic, a wand pointing between her shoulder-blades. The others, dressed in the same manner, were kicking the two men over and covering all three of them with their wands.

One of them turned to look at her and she saw his eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing to mere slits. He pulled back his kaffiyeh to reveal a rounded face with a narrow, pencil moustache and slightly chubby cheeks.

"Miss Moran," He said in perfect, though heavily accented English, "We meet again. You are once more under arrest."