It was a few days before Bill and Aoife met again on the outskirts of Cairo. Aoife had spent the time trying desperately to recall what the wording had been in Ankhtifi's tomb but without success. Any time she had tried to revisit the site, all she could see in her minds eye was that massive glowing dragon. All she could feel was the panic and the fear that had been her constant companion both with Aldergrove and then with Bill. Nothing useful, in other words.
So now here she was, walking away from the wonderfully cool rooms of Cairo and into the endless desert. She looked up at the sun which was hanging at its highest point in a cloudless sky and beating down upon her as remorselessly as ever.
"Did you really have to pick fecking midday?" She asked Bill, who was looking quite comfortable dressed in khaki and with a large hat covering his red hair. It was the same as her own outfit and yet Bill looked like he was taking a stroll around Hogsmeade in the spring.
"This is when I was told he would be back," Bill answered quite cheerfully, hefting his backpack up onto his shoulders, "And we don't want to miss him."
"No," Aoife said blankly, "We certainly wouldn't want that, would we."
"Besides, it's quite a walk into the desert," He shot her a sidelong glance, "He's quite remote."
"Of course he is. It would be way too much to ask for him to have somewhere in the Bazaar, right? Convenience? Comfort? Oh no, he needs to be out in the middle of fecking nowhere! Can't get his mad old hermit membership card otherwise."
"Struggling in the heat?"
"Oh no, not at all. I love being barbecued, it's my favourite way to be cooked."
"How long have you lived here again?"
"I, am, from, fecking, Ireland, Bill!" She panted back, "You're lucky if there's five days a year you can go outside in a t-shirt!"
"England's not much different you know," Bill was trying hard not to laugh.
She was glaring at him, "Then why are you okay with it? You should be melting as well!"
"I've never had a problem with heat," He shrugged, "In fact, the warmer the better really."
"You're weird, you know that."
He laughed aloud and handed her a canteen of water, "Here, it'll help."
"It absolutely fecking won't." But she took it and drank deeply all the same, "How did you hear about this guy again?"
"Barcroft recommended him. He keeps himself to himself, but he has a wealth of magical knowledge that he'll share for a price."
"Of course. There needs to be a price, because I imagine the rent is absolutely extortionate out here."
After that, there really wasn't any breath for talking as they trekked onwards. The city receded behind them, becoming smaller and smaller until it was no more than a grey smudge on the horizon. In front of them were nothing but rising and falling dunes like the waves of some eternal sea.
It was far from a pleasant journey. Apart from sticking to her clothing in every possibly uncomfortable way, her shoulders were aching from the straps of her backpack, her legs burned from forcing herself through the soft sand, her head was throbbing from the brightness of the sun and her mouth was bone dry. She thought she might even have seen a few beads of sweat starting to appear on Bill's forehead when at last they stopped.
"There it is," Bill said breathlessly.
It took Aoife a moment to find it, blinded as she was by the light of the sun reflecting off the sand. She had in her hand a potions bottle of bubble-gum pink liquid that she drank in one go while taking in the view.
The house she saw was white and square with a domed roof and what looked like a small garden at its back. All round the doorway was littered old boots, half-buried robes and wizards hats. Aoife looked wordlessly to Bill who shrugged in reply before stepping up to the rickety wooden door. Before he could knock however, it swung open to reveal the Scholar.
He was nearly bent double with age, his skin was the texture of leather, dark and cracked in what little bits of it she could see beneath the wild, grey beard and long hair. His robes were patchwork and threadbare, while his sandals were hanging from his feet. He fixed the pair with a broad grin that revealed a few yellowing teeth as he bowed even lower.
"Welcome!" He said in wheezy Arabic. It seemed he spoke no English at all, "I have long seen you approach."
"No surprise there," Aoife muttered under her breath in English as she scanned the horizon, "We're the only thing moving in like a thousand miles."
"Please, enter!" The old man stepped back in his house and beckoned them in. Bill glanced back at Aoife and ignored her accusatory look before following, Aoife bringing up the rear.
There was a single room in the small house and Aoife's heart sank to see a fire crackling away in the centre of the room. A small cauldron floated above it with a ladle stirring itself. There were no chairs or tables, only colourful rugs scattering the sandy floor scattered with books and parchments. Shelves hung from the ceiling balancing all manner of bottles and jars of ingredients Aoife had never seen in Snape's stores.
The Scholar had dropped cross-legged in front of the cauldron and gestured for the pair to do the same. Aoife took the same position as the wizard and Bill sat on his knees.
The silence between them lingered as the old wizard seemed more interested in his cauldron than his guests. Aoife felt that familiar impatience beginning to bite and cleared her throat before speaking in Arabic;
"So, the beard, is it a requirement or do all you old people just share notes?"
"Aoife!" Bill hissed in her ear, but the scholar merely laughed a wheezy laugh and focused on his steaming cauldron.
Aoife felt the devilment brewing and bubbling within as surely as the liquid before her, "Do you always make purple goop for your guests or are we special?"
At last, he looked up at her and Aoife was struck by how sharp his eyes were, no matter his demeanour. His smile had not receded however and with a click of his fingers a goblet appeared in his hand. He dipped it into the liquid and offered it to Aoife.
"Drink?" he said.
Aoife recoiled in alarm from the steaming goblet and shook her head, "Tempting as it to drink the weird potion from a stranger, I'll pass, thanks"
The man shrugged and turned instead to Bill, "Drink?"
Bill gave him a long look and took the goblet. Aoife looked to him in astonishment.
"What are you doing?" She hissed at him in English.
"Drinking," He shrugged and lifted the goblet to his lips.
"Fine," Aoife folded her arms, "But if it turns you into a frog, I'm not carrying you home."
Bill took a deep gulp and took a moment to sample the taste, "Not bad actually! It feels cool," He checked his fingertips and looked back to the Scholar, speaking Arabic himself, "What is it?"
"Something to help you," The Scholar seemed pleased with the compliment, "You have travelled far to seek my advice."
"And for whatever this is, apparently," Aoife muttered under her breath again. The Scholar either did not hear her or understand.
Bill just nodded and spoke in fluent Arabic, "We need your help. My friend," He gestured to Aoife, who folded her arms over her chest stubbornly, "Needs help remembering something she saw a few days ago. It's very important that we see exactly what she saw."
"What is it you need to see?" The old man asked, stroking his chin beneath his beard. He was still watching Aoife and it was making her uncomfortable.
"A tomb," Bill answered for her, "Of an ancient sorcerer called Ankhtifi."
"Ah," The man's attention turned to Bill, "The brother!"
"You know who he is?" Bill asked in surprise.
The Scholar hummed in response and placed a hand under the mat on which he sat. He threw the handful of sand into the air where it did not fall but instead hung like fine dust; "Once, this land was ruled by an evil sorcerer; who cared little for the people beneath him. He fought great wars, committed terrible acts and performed magic so evil that it scarred the world forever."
The sand was swirling into shapes, barely defined, edgeless. It was difficult to pick out what they were meant to be, but Aoife thought she saw the outline of a city, the shapes of medjay swinging their curved swords, a figure with a raised staff and people bowing before him.
"The people suffered greatly under this evil Sorcerer but such was his might that none dared challenge him. None, that is, except two brothers. They were powerful sorcerers in their own right; brave and noble men."
The sand shifted again into the outline of two figures who stood with staffs in hand, features undefined.
"They rose up against the evil Sorcerer as he made to carry out his most evil work of magic yet, a magic of such terrible power it would have destroyed the kingdom."
More shifting shapes in the floating sand. Aoife thought she might have seen dragons colliding, figures clashing swords, people with staffs raised above their heads.
"The brothers defeated the evil Sorcerer and broke his hold on the kingdom forever. The people wished for them to rule in his place but the brothers were humble. They desired no power, nor leadership and were content to advise a muggle ruler, beginning a golden age for the kingdom and the end of the most evil of magic."
The sand shapes itself once more into a figure sitting upon a throne with the headdress of a pharaoh. A man stood to either side of him with staffs in hand. A wind blew through the open shutters of the house and carried the sand away.
Bill was watching in amazement, "I've never heard that story before."
The old man wheezed with laughter, "It is an ancient story no longer told. A warning to those with power that it is kept only with the blessing of those they claim to rule."
Aoife was considering this, trying to piece it with everything they already knew, "What was this 'most evil work of magic' you mentioned? I don't suppose the story has any more detail than that."
"There are many versions of the story," The Scholar answered, "None give a name to the magic that he attempted to perform."
"Of course not, that would be much too easy."
Another wheezy laugh, "For countless generations, it would not have needed named, just as You-Know-Who in your own lands does not need his true title for his evil to be known. As time has passed so the meaning behind the evil has faded from memory."
"Then that makes why we are here all the more important," Bill nodded, "Aoife needs to see that memory. She needs to see the writing in the brother's tomb."
The old man peered at her with those deep and intelligent eyes, "That is difficult. Memories are deep and complex; they grow and shrink, they interweave and separate, they delight one day and terrorise the next. One image may lie down many different paths." He was no longer smiling, "Are you willing to accept this?"
Aoife had gone rigid. She could feel her mouth going dry as she stared into those eyes. Every urge was telling her to stand up, tell the old man to stick his potion where the sun didn't shine, then leave. One look at Bill put that idea out of her mind. Her stomach felt as if something was trying to escape.
"Well, how can I not," She managed though she knew her voice sounded croaky, "You've made it sound so appealing. I don't know why everyone isn't trying it."
A hint of a smile returned to the Scholar's cracked lips, but it was not a happy smile, "This is all I ask. What you shall see will be part of you, but not your whole being. Do you accept this?"
Aoife looked again to Bill, and she saw the curious expression he wore. Meeting her eyes, he gave a shrug, "It's your call, Aoife. I'll go with whatever you decide."
"Cheers Bill," She sighed back. She had wanted him to encourage her, to make her do it. That way she could blame him, have some external source of attack but no, this was going to be on her. There was only going to be one person to blame, "Alright, go on then. I just hope your hands are clean."
The Scholar gave her a warm smile and beckoned her forward. Aoife took a deep sigh to steady her rapidly beating heart and shuffled closer. The old man placed his wrinkled fingertips to her temples but continued to look into her eyes, "What is it you wish to see?"
Aoife ran her tongue over dried lips. Why was it suddenly so warm in this room? She could feel the sweat prickling at her skin. The voice in her mind was now screaming at her to run and she could feel her legs tremble as they made to obey,
"The temple of Ankhtifi," She said in little more than a whisper, "The central chamber."
"Think back," He said but his voice now sounded hollow and distant. Her vision was starting to swim, "Think to that day."
No one had been in this temple for so long. She could smell the dust and decay. It was undisturbed. The gold was piled up all around them, up to the ceiling. Danny was beside her, pale and panting but unharmed. The delight was coursing through her; she had done it! She barely felt the pain in her shoulder and in her side because she was just so elated. She took everything in; the sarcophagus in the centre, the gold, the statues, the strange words on the wall lit in fiery writing…
Then she saw Bill Weasley, tall, red-haired, angry. She wanted to say sorry. She had never meant to see his map but she couldn't think what else to do. She let herself be angry, it was easier than being sorry and she already had so much to be sorry for. She wanted him to shout so she could shout back. But Bill did not shout. He wanted to share, he wanted to give her half. He wanted to partner with her.
In a flash, Aoife felt herself lift away from the tomb…
Her first day and nerves bubbled up in her stomach. The castle was so big! So much bigger than anything back home. There were so many stairs! So many corridors! So many rooms! She would never find her way around them all and yet with the nerves she felt the excitement. This was a whole new world opened to her, new places to explore, new places to get into trouble. She couldn't wait for this class to be over, so she could start to see what this school had to offer.
There was a disturbance ahead. She looked over the shoulder of Barnabas Bletchley to see two fifth year Ravenclaws were picking on one of her classmates, a small and thin boy with curly blonde hair. They had knocked his books to the ground and they were laughing. He was standing against the wall, terrified, unable to speak. She could see even from here how his eyes shone with tears. Anger coursed through her in that moment; an urge rose up within, a desire to protect, to shield him. Better they pick on her.
"Hey!" She heard herself shout as she stepped out of the line, "Leave him alone!"
"Or what, Red?" The closer boy sneered, "You want hexed along with jumpy Julius here?"
He reached for his pocket. She knew he was going for his wand but she was quicker. She had always been quick on the draw. She pointed her new wand at him and shouted, "Tangelo!"
His robe whipped up and wrapped itself around his head. He ran into the wall. Ha! Take that! The second bully looked alarmed and tried for his own wand but she was ready for him, "Magna Pondus!"
His trousers fell to his ankles. The corridor was laughing, and she drank it in as the curly-haired boy pushed him over. She could feel the satisfaction pumping through her as surely as the anger had done just moments ago.
"Moran! Edgecombe!" She started at the sharp voice. Professor McGonagall stood there, tall and thin, nostrils narrowed. Aoife had the sense to look at her feet, "What do you think you're doing! Five points from Ravenclaw each and detention! I've never seen such behaviour from First Years. Inside, now!" She snapped.
Aoife waited until the class had passed and it was her and the curly-haired boy. His eyes she saw were blue and warm. He had a nice smile.
"Thanks," he said.
"No bother," she answered and stuck out her hand, "I'm Aoife."
He shook it, "Julius."
Another lurch in her mind. Aoife was starting to feel sick, her heart now thumping against her chest. She knew what was coming. She didn't want to see it.
She was blind. Smoke filled her vision. The ground was cold and hard beneath her. Her cheeks were stained with tears. And her side…pain. She had never felt anything like it. Someone was pouring molten lava into her skin, letting it spread through her veins. She wanted to scream but she had nothing left, her voice was hoarse and weak. Her fingertips were raw from dragging herself across the stone. She needed to find her wand! She had to have it!
A shape appeared in the fog like a giant above her. Featureless. It stopped in front of her.
"No," She moaned through gritted teeth as another hot surge of pain pumped from her side, "No! Please! Help! Julius! Please!"
The shape did not answer. It simply watched her. Then without a word, it disappeared back into the swirling smoke. Numbness seeped into in her mind, paralysing her.
"No! Help! Julius! Please! Please!"
A deafening crunch filled her ears and she was trapped. She felt the darkness closing in around her, weight pressing in from all sides. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She was going to die here…
Aoife's eyes opened with a shuddering gasp.
Silence filled the hut. The Egyptian sun shone in through the shuttered windows, but Aoife felt nothing but an icy cold dread. Her breathing was uneven and shallow, and her heart beat furiously in her chest. She could feel tears stinging her cheeks.
"Aoife," Bill asked in alarm as the Scholar withdrew his hands, "Are you okay?"
He went to touch her but Aoife threw him off with a snarl, "What the hell was that?" She demanded of the Scholar as she jumped to her feet, "What the hell did you do to me?"
"Nothing that was not already present," He said sadly. She hated the pity in his eyes, the sorrow in his expression.
Without a word, Aoife turned on her heel and stormed from the house.
"Aoife!" Bill followed, "Aoife! I don't understand; what happened?"
"Oh, feck off Bill!" She shouted at him, wiping her eyes furiously, "Just feck off!"
Without letting him answer, without even looking at him, Aoife turned on the spot and disapparated with a pop.