Thank you for continuing to read, and welcome to the Arc of Imhotep and Egypt. This time, Harry is not alone.
Enjoy!
Chapter XIV: Welcome to Egypt.
Morning came quickly, and Harry remained lying in bed, contemplating his next steps. In hindsight, his initial entry into the magical world of Great Britain had been chaotic and riddled with scandals. Back then, he believed his sole mission was to directly defeat Voldemort, and every action he had taken so far was rooted in that belief. However, after the events of the previous day and the revelations of the past few weeks, he had reached a different understanding: his purpose was not what he once thought, and neither was he.
The truth was undeniable. He had unwittingly become a figure of great interest to the wizarding community, a convenient scapegoat for a corrupt Ministry and an object of fixation for Voldemort. Despite his victory in London, which had elevated him to hero status among many, especially Muggles, those chapters of his life now felt distant. They paled in significance compared to the monumental task ahead of him.
His next steps were clear. The first was to delve deeper into the connection between Imhotep and the creation of Horcruxes. The Egyptian texts he had studied the previous day, though vague, contained vital clues. It was evident that a wizard of Imhotep's brilliance and skill might have more to reveal on the subject, and the only place to uncover those answers was Egypt. That would be his destination.
The second step, one he could undertake while traveling to Cairo, was to study the history of Helga Hufflepuff and her siblings in greater detail. If Voldemort had managed to corrupt anything tied to Helga, it made sense that her brothers, equally remarkable wizards who had helped establish Hogwarts, might hold additional secrets.
With his plans set, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose. The path was daunting, but he knew it was one he had to walk.
Harry stretched, feeling a lightness he hadn't experienced in years. There was uncharacteristic tranquility within him, and he realized, with some surprise, that the dark magic he had used to uncover the secrets of the cursed cup hadn't left the familiar stain of corruption he had come to expect. Instead, it dawned on him that his journey, the mission he had reluctantly embraced, made more sense now. While he had indeed relied on dark magic to unearth the truth of the cup, the subsequent purification rituals had balanced that darkness. His body and his magic, it seemed, had found equilibrium once again.
With optimism surging through him and his mind focused on the path ahead, an almost comical hunger overtook him. Breakfast in the kitchen of the mansion became his next priority. As he entered, the house-elves bustled about with unusual enthusiasm, their joy palpable in every dish they prepared. Intrigued, Harry finally asked why they seemed so cheerful.
The elves exchanged knowing glances before one of them stepped forward, his voice trembling with both reverence and excitement. "Master, we know what you did with that cursed cup," the elf said, bowing low. "Our ancestors told us tales of Mistress Helga—of her kindness to house-elves. She cared for us like no other wizard or witch ever has. She gave us protections, freedoms, and respect that no one else dared to grant."
Another elf piped up, their eyes glistening. "She was the reason we believe in hope, Master. And to see her memory, her legacy, saved from the taint of darkness... it means everything to us."
Their words struck a chord deep within Harry. He hadn't considered how far Helga Hufflepuff's compassion extended or how deeply it resonated across generations. The gratitude of the elves wasn't merely for his actions but for what they symbolized—the restoration of something sacred and pure.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry allowed himself a genuine smile. As he sat down to eat, surrounded by the warmth and cheer of the elves, he couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. His mission was more than a battle against darkness; it was a fight to restore balance, to heal wounds that ran deeper than he could imagine. And to honor the legacy of those who had come before him—not with grand gestures, but with the same quiet strength Helga had shown.
With his heart full and his determination sharpened, Harry knew the road ahead would be perilous. But he also knew that he wouldn't walk it alone.
As the warmth of the morning lingered, the fragile peace was shattered by the sharp ink of the latest headlines. The Daily Prophet's latest headlines were darker than ever. The first article dredged up his altercation with Theodore Nott, now linking him to Nott's mysterious death. Unfounded, absurd, but dangerous. Harry knew how rumors took root and spread like wildfire.
The second article was no less inflammatory. It featured photos from his recent outings in the Muggle world—visits to Buckingham Palace, a day at an amusement park, and a stroll through Hyde Park. The narrative, however, focused not on his moments of rare respite but on a Muggle accompanying him. Harry silently thanked himself for having the foresight to disguise Daphne's appearance with subtle enchantments, sparing her from public scrutiny. Even so, the piece painted him as an extravagant figure, out of touch with the struggles of ordinary witches and wizards.
The third article struck a more political chord. It criticized his absence at the recent Wizengamot session, accusing him of negligence and irresponsibility. Despite the staunch support of Susan Bones, leader of the Light faction, the Wizengamot tone was increasingly hostile. They pointed fingers at him for the chaos that had erupted in Diagon Alley months ago, conveniently ignoring the role of others and the circumstances that had forced his hand.
It was a calculated strategy—a trifecta of scandal, accusation, and innuendo designed to tarnish his political, social, and magical standing. Once, these attacks would have left him seething with anger, overwhelmed by the weight of public opinion. But now, Harry found himself strangely detached. His priorities had shifted, and the opinions of those who didn't understand the true stakes mattered little to him.
Still, he acknowledged the necessity of damage control. The Prophet's influence couldn't be dismissed outright, and he knew the articles would sow seeds of doubt in even his staunchest supporters. The magical community was fickle, and its faith in him had always been conditional.
As he mulled over the situation, his mind worked through potential responses. Confronting the Prophet directly would be futile; they thrived on conflict and sensationalism. Instead, he would need a subtle, calculated approach. A carefully crafted statement delivered through Susan or another trusted ally in Wizengamot. Something that would redirect the narrative without giving the Prophet more fuel for their fire.
His thoughts shifted briefly to Daphne. She had been unknowingly dragged into his world, even if only through misdirection and speculation. Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had vowed to protect her from the chaos of his life, and yet, even his best precautions couldn't shield her completely.
Resolving to act swiftly but with precision, Harry pushed his plate aside. The warmth of the elves' gratitude earlier had been a welcome reprieve, but the world outside the mansion was as relentless as ever. With a deep breath, he stood, his mind set. The Prophet's accusations might be baseless, but the consequences of leaving them unchecked could spiral out of control. It was time to address the storm before it grew into a hurricane.
Harry retreated to his study, the quiet hum of the enchanted quills and the faint scent of old parchment grounding him in the present. He sat at the desk, parchment before him, and began drafting a note for Susan Bones. The tone needed to strike the perfect balance—casual enough to avoid raising alarm, yet clear enough to convey the importance of the meeting.
Dear Susan,
I hope this note finds you well. If your schedule permits, I'd like to invite you to lunch tomorrow at La Trattoria, a cozy Muggle Italian restaurant near to the Ministry. I think it would be a pleasant change of pace, and it might be easier to discuss a few pressing matters there away from the usual noise of the magical world.
Looking forward to seeing you,
Harry
Satisfied with the simplicity and warmth of the message, Harry folded the parchment, sealed it with a quick charm, and summoned an owl. The bird, sleek and alert, took off with a flap of its wings, disappearing into the morning light.
With the note sent, Harry turned his attention to the second task. He walked over to a trunk by the corner of the study, its surface adorned with ancient runes glowing faintly. This was no ordinary trunk; it was enchanted with compartments, each holding specific tools and artifacts he might need for his journey.
The first compartment held books, tomes on Egyptian magic, artifacts, and Imhotep's history. He picked the most relevant.
The second contained magical tools: enchanted knives, a warded amulet, and a collapsible staff for intricate spells.
Harry paused, considering his next choice. The third compartment contained potions, healing draughts, emergency antidotes, and a few vials of Felix Felicis. Though he rarely relied on luck, he couldn't dismiss the potential dangers of his quest. He took one vial, placing it carefully in the pouch on his belt.
Finally, he opened the fourth and largest compartment, which housed his travel essentials. Robes designed to blend seamlessly with the Muggle world, a map of Cairo enchanted to reveal hidden magical landmarks, and a lightweight cloak that offered limited invisibility.
Once everything was packed and organized, Harry stood back and surveyed his work. The preparations were meticulous, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. His hand instinctively brushed against his chest, where the small scar from the cursed cup lingered. It served as a reminder of the stakes and the cost of mistakes.
Determining not to waste another moment, he closed the trunk with a sharp click and activated the shrinking charm, reducing it to the size of a small briefcase. He placed it by the door, ready for departure.
His gaze returned to the desk, where a new piece of parchment lay waiting. He considered leaving a brief note for Daphne—something simple to let her know he would be gone for a while. After a moment's hesitation, he decided against it. The fewer people who knew his plans, the better.
Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned back in his chair. The pieces were falling into place, but the path ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty. For now, he would wait for Susan's response and use the time to prepare his mind as thoroughly as he had prepared his belongings.
Harry arrived at the quaint Italian restaurant an hour before the agreed time, his thoughts preoccupied with the enigmatic story of Imhotep that had consumed him over the past weeks. La Trattoria was nestled on a quiet street, its warm wooden décor and soft lighting creating an inviting haven from the bustling city outside. The air carried the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce, mingling with the faint strains of a vintage Italian ballad playing softly in the background.
Choosing a corner table near the rear of the restaurant, Harry appreciated its strategic position, secluded enough to ensure privacy, yet with a clear view of the entrance. A flick of his wand cast discreet concealment charms over his table, masking the true nature of the book he was studying. To a casual observer, it would appear he was leisurely reading a novel.
He ordered a glass of Sangiovese, its deep red hue catching the candlelight as the waiter poured it with a practiced hand. The first sip brought a moment of calm, the rich and velvety notes grounding him as he set to work. From his enchanted bag, he retrieved a weathered tome chronicling the life of Imhotep, along with his own notebook for observations.
Harry turned to a passage that had captured his attention earlier:
"Imhotep, trusted advisor to the pharaoh, master of clairvoyance and dark enchantments, sought to transcend mortality by crafting vessels to contain the fragments of his soul corrupted by his forbidden arts. Each vessel was a repository for his sins, an attempt to cleanse himself while evading the wrath of the gods."
As Harry read, he made careful notes, detailing Imhotep's descent into paranoia and obsession. The dark wizard's life had been one of brilliance and terror, his mastery of necromancy unmatched in the ancient world. Yet, his fear of death had driven him to create enchanted jars to hold his fragmented soul, a process that mirrored the Horcruxes Voldemort had used to achieve his own twisted immortality.
A map of ancient Egypt was spread out on the table, overlaid with notes and sketches. Harry's attention lingered on Memphis, the city of Imhotep's birth and the site of his most profound magical achievements. Memphis, once the vibrant capital of the Old Kingdom, was home to temples, tombs, and relics steeped in magic. If Imhotep had hidden his jars, Harry reasoned, it was there.
He scribbled a note in the margin of his notebook: Memphis: Investigate connections to Imhotep's jars. Potential parallels to Nagini? Confirm use of tracking spells.
The sound of laughter drew his gaze to the door, just as a familiar figure entered. Susan Bones spotted him immediately and strode over with an easy smile, her casual outfit blending seamlessly into the Muggle world.
"Well, well," she teased, pulling out a chair opposite him. "Harry Potter, completely absorbed in... what is that, the history of pasta-making?"
Harry smirked, closing the book with a soft thud. "Not quite. I think you'd find the subject a bit more...morbid."
Susan grinned, setting her bag on the chair beside her. "You looked so serious, I almost thought about leaving you to save the world alone. But then I remembered how terrible I'd feel if you went hungry while doing it."
Her light-heartedness brought an unexpected warmth to the moment, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He set his notebook aside, giving her his full attention.
Harry swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze distant. After a moment, he set it down and leaned slightly forward. "About the last mission…" he began, his expression serious.
Susan took a sip of her tea, her brow arching slightly. "Go on," she said, her curiosity evident.
Harry hesitated briefly his voice measured. "My methods may not always be… conventional," he admitted, meeting her gaze.
She set the cup down gently, her expression thoughtful. "As I've told you before, your methods may not be the most traditional," she began, her tone steady, "but in the end, they served their purpose."
Harry tilted his head, studying her. "Did you run into any problems?"
"A few," Susan admitted with a faint smile. "But nothing I couldn't handle. In the end, the results were what we sought, and Neville had no choice but to accept them."
Harry's gaze grew sharper as he leaned forward. "You need to understand something, Susan. My methods may not align with what's considered conventional, but I've learned through years of missions across the globe that they are the most effective. They achieve the results I've been entrusted to deliver."
Susan nodded slightly and her expression was unreadable. "I understand."
"And Neville needs to understand this," Harry said, his tone resolute. "The objective matters, not opinions, not tradition. You trust your instincts and accept the consequences." He paused, letting his words sink in. "With integrity."
Susan exhaled softly, her gaze shifting momentarily to the flickering candlelight between them. "Neville is a good leader," she said, her voice quieter but firm. "He's guided us for thirteen years since Dumbledore's death. But you need to understand, his journey hasn't been easy. Even as students at Hogwarts, his path was riddled with trials. And considering Dumbledore's role in his life, the weight Neville has carried is immense."
For a moment, silence settled between them, filled only by the murmur of other diners and the clink of glassware in the restaurant. Neither seemed in a hurry to break it, their thoughts lingering on the conversation's deeper implications.
"I understand perfectly, but you need to realize that philosophies and ideologies can't be viewed in binary terms," Harry said, his tone laced with subtle reference to Dumbledore. Susan immediately caught the implication. "No matter the emotions or sentimentality involved, our duty, leader or not, is to exercise our own judgment, act decisively, and with unwavering conviction."
Susan's expression turned serious. "But that doesn't justify resorting to necromancy to solve things," she replied firmly. "I understand your point, but we can't fight fire with fire—not because we lack conviction, but because our own morality and judgment weren't shaped solely by what others taught us. They were forged by what we've come to believe is truly the right thing to do."
The two locked eyes, the tension between their perspectives palpable. Harry refilled his glass with a calm, deliberate motion, then gestured toward Susan. She hesitated for a moment before setting aside her tea and accepting his silent offer to share a glass of wine.
The quiet was momentarily broken by the waiter, who approached politely to take their orders. Harry glanced at the menu briefly, ordering roasted duck with a side of honey-glazed carrots and truffle mashed potatoes. Susan followed, opting for grilled salmon with lemon-butter asparagus and wild rice pilaf.
As the waiter left, the silence returned, heavy yet contemplative. Each was lost in their thoughts, the flicker of the candlelight on the table casting shadows on their faces.
"If you're standing by Neville and advising him," Harry finally said, breaking the silence as he reached for a piece of bread, spreading it with garlic butter, "then he's incredibly fortunate."
"Thank you," Susan replied simply, taking a measured sip from her glass.
Harry leaned back slightly his tone, steady yet firm. "Your point is valid, Susan, but remember this: you can't watch water spilling over and ask for permission to turn off the faucet," he said, his voice sharpening with conviction. "And if turning off the faucet is impossible, you can't just let it flood. If you don't have a bucket to catch the water, you do what you can with what you have, no matter what gets left behind in the process."
"On that note, my dear scandalous Lord," Susan said with a chuckle, her tone laced with playful sarcasm, "I completely agree with you. So, the key word here is respect."
"I'll drink to that," Harry replied, lifting his glass with a grin, his laughter blending with hers.
Susan's expression shifted subtly as she set her glass down. "On another note, as you're aware, our sources within the resistance are often vague. The few we manage to maintain are… unreliable, and even when we do receive information, it's often too late to act on it." She glanced around the bustling restaurant, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass.
"Don't worry, Susan," Harry said, leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence. "That's precisely why I chose this place. Crowded with Muggles, noisy, it's perfect. It gives us the advantage of blending in. Besides, thanks to a few discreet charms I cast before your arrival, anything magical or suspiciously out of place is completely undetectable. I'd wager the only person here who even notices us is our waiter, and that's for entirely mundane reasons."
Susan raised a brow, her lips curving into a sly smile. "I should've known you'd always be one step ahead."
"What can I say? Occupational hazard," Harry replied, mirroring her smirk.
Susan took another sip of her wine, her tone turning serious. "A reliable source, if we can call it that, recently revealed your escapade at Malfoy Manor. Neville and I have been poring over the details for weeks now. While the sheer display of dark magic was… impressive, we're struggling to piece together your plan. And what's more unnerving is Voldemort's response, or lack thereof. His silence these past few weeks has been nothing short of chilling."
Harry couldn't help but admire Susan's sharpness. She knew how to navigate a conversation, weaving her questions seamlessly. He was on the verge of responding when their meals arrived.
"Bon appétit," Harry said, pouring himself another glass of wine before cutting into his dish.
The waiter discreetly set their plates down: a perfectly seared filet mignon with a side of roasted asparagus for Harry and a delicate lemon-infused salmon atop a bed of quinoa for Susan. The aromas mingled pleasantly with the restaurant's ambiance, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint hum of background music.
Susan picked up her fork, her expression contemplative as she glanced at Harry. "I assume you're about to tell me the Manor incident was all part of some grand plan?"
Harry met her gaze, his lips twitching into a cryptic smile. "Let's just say, sometimes the loudest move is the one that draws no reaction at all. But for now, let's enjoy dinner. Strategy can wait for dessert."
Susan rolled her eyes but smiled, taking a bite of her salmon. The conversation paused, but the tension lingered in the air, an unspoken reminder of the weight they both carried.
The tension between Harry and Susan simmered beneath the quiet hum of the restaurant. The dim lighting cast flickering shadows across their table, but Harry's expression remained steady, a mask of calm masking the storm of his thoughts.
Susan set her wine glass down, her sharp gaze fixed on him. "Harry, you don't just dive headfirst into situations without reason. So why now? What pushed you to act like this?"
Harry took a measured breath, his fork hovering over his plate before he finally set it aside. His eyes met hers, firm but tinged with heaviness that couldn't be ignored.
"It wasn't just one thing," he began, his voice low. "It was everything. My arrival here, my position… the choices I've made."
Susan leaned forward slightly with her brow furrowed in confusion. "What choices? You're neutral when it comes to all this—politics, allegiances. None of this should've involved you."
Harry's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "That's what I thought, too. But neutrality isn't as invisible as it sounds. People notice when someone new shows up, especially someone like me, who doesn't fall in line."
Susan tilted her head. "So, this all started because you didn't pick a side?"
"Partially," Harry admitted, his tone sharpening. "But the real trigger was what happened at the Leaky Cauldron. Two Death Eaters decided to make their move, and I had no choice but to handle it. That was enough for Voldemort's people to consider me a problem. The attack? A twisted welcome message."
Susan's breath caught. "The attack? You mean what happened with… the waitress?"
Harry nodded, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before meeting Susan's again. "The same, her name was Natalie and yes she was who showed up in the papers months ago. The one everyone talked about. Yes, Susan—I was with her that night."
Susan's hand froze midway to her glass. Her expression was unreadable, her voice softer now. "You were with her? And then…?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "She was dead by morning. A message, loud and clear. She wasn't the target—she was collateral damage. Voldemort's way of letting me know he was watching."
Susan inhaled sharply, her composure slipping for just a moment. "Harry…"
He cut her off gently, his voice resolute. "That's why I couldn't let it slide, Susan. That's why I went to the Malfoys. They wanted to send a message. I sent one right back."
Susan stared at him, searching his face for answers—or confirmation of what she feared. "That's why you stormed Malfoy manor? To… respond?"
"To make it clear I wouldn't be intimidated," Harry replied, his tone steely. "They wanted to play games. Fine. But they needed to understand I wasn't going to sit quietly and take it."
Susan exhaled, leaning back in her chair. The weight of Harry's revelation hung between them, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across her conflicted expression.
"And what now, Harry? Do you think this ends here?"
"I doubt it," Harry admitted, his voice calm but firm. "But that's the thing about lines in the sand. Once they're drawn, you can't just ignore them."
For now, Harry's explanation had done its job, cloaking his true intentions in a shroud of half-truths and veiled honesty. Susan's skepticism seemed to ebb, replaced by reluctant understanding—but Harry knew better than to assume it would stay that way.
Susan leaned back in her chair, arms crossed as she regarded Harry with a mixture of caution and curiosity. "Alright," she said at last, her voice calm but edged with skepticism. "I'll take your word about the Malfoy situation. But I can't ignore the timing of all this. It feels like you're constantly in the thick of something, Harry.
Harry gave her a faint smile, but his expression was serious. "I didn't choose to be. The attack in Diagon Alley was the last thing I wanted. But when a group of Death Eaters decides to target you directly, it doesn't leave much room for diplomacy."
Susan's brow furrowed. "You're saying that wasn't just an ambush, it was deliberate?"
"Very deliberate," Harry replied. "They wanted to paint me as rogue, a destructive dark wizard tearing through the Alley for no reason. The goal wasn't just to harm me physically, it was to damage my reputation, Susan. If they succeed in twisting the narrative, it could get worse."
She let out a slow breath, her eyes narrowing slightly. "That explains why you're asking for my help. But I'm still not entirely convinced you're telling me everything."
Harry's gaze didn't waver. "You know me better than that. I have no interest in playing the part of some political figure. But I can't afford to let their version of events take root, especially not while I'm away.
Susan tilted her head, studying him. "Away? Where are you going?"
"The Cairo Magical District," he answered. "An old contact reached out. There are a few jobs involving cursed artifacts and rune stabilization—technical work, nothing destructive. But it means I'll be gone for a few weeks, longer."
"And in the meantime, you need me to hold down the fort," she said flatly.
"Not just hold it down," Harry corrected. "I need you to represent me in the Wizengamot. Make it clear that what happened wasn't my doing—that I was defending myself and the people in the Alley. You're respected, Susan. If you take a firm stance, it'll keep the factions from running wild with accusations while I'm gone."
Susan frowned. "Harry, the Wizengamot isn't the only battlefield. The press is already tearing you apart. Some call you dangerous, others reckless. This isn't just politics, it's perception."
Harry nodded. "I know. That's why I need your help finding someone who can handle the legal side of things, a lawyer who knows how to deal with this kind of smear campaign. I don't care what they say about my personal life or whatever rumors they spin about women. That's noise. But I won't let them frame me as a political threat or some loose cannon with destructive magic."
Susan considered this, tapping her fingers against the table. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. But this won't be easy, Harry. You're asking me to put my reputation on the line for you. If you make one wrong move while you're gone..."
"I won't," Harry interrupted, his tone steady. "This isn't about me, Susan. It's about keeping balance. If the wrong people get the upper hand because of this, it won't just be my name on the line—it'll be everyone's."
Susan studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Fine. I'll take the lead on this. But you'd better not make me regret it."
"You won't," Harry said with a small, sincere smile. "Thank you."
She gave him a wry look. "Don't thank me yet. Let's see if we can stop the Wizengamot and the press from tearing you apart first."
"Fair enough," Harry said, raising his glass in a quiet toast.
Susan sighed and clinked her glass against his. "Here's hoping you know what you're doing, Potter."
Susan lingered near the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame. Something about her demeanor suggested she wasn't quite ready to leave. She turned back to Harry, her expression thoughtful but determined.
"One last question," she said, her tone weighted with meaning. "Where do we stand, Harry?"
Her words hung in the air, layered with significance. Harry tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting hers. He didn't need to ask what she meant; he already knew.
"Exactly where you've always been," he replied evenly, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of steel. "This war is yours, Susan. It always has been. I'm nothing more than an extraordinary variable—a wildcard in a game that was already in motion before I arrived."
Susan folded her arms, her gaze unwavering. "But you've been changing the way the game is played," she said, her voice firm.
"Have I?" Harry asked, a faint edge creeping into his tone. He leaned back slightly, his expression now one of careful seriousness. "Because from where I'm standing, nothing has changed. Muggleborns are still victims of a twisted conspiracy orchestrated by Voldemort through the Ministry. Fear and chaos spread through the magical world daily. Tell me, Susan—what exactly have I changed?"
His words were precise, almost surgical, and the weight of them made Susan falter for just a moment. She lowered her eyes, the silence that followed his statement, making it feel more like a rebuke than a simple observation.
"Your confrontations," she began, her voice quieter but still steady, "they've shifted perceptions. They've made people—"
"—Notice me?" Harry interrupted his voice, still calm but now carrying an unmistakable edge. "Perhaps. But they're just that, confrontations. Reactions. Susan, every move I've made has been a response to something I didn't provoke. And the consequences? They're nothing more than the inverse—a reflection of the aggression aimed at me."
Susan sighed, shaking her head slightly. "You're frustratingly complicated, you know that?" she said, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. "But I can see what you're doing—trying to deflect by turning this into a debate about guilt and responsibility."
Harry's gaze didn't waver. "You asked me where you stand, and I've given you an answer," he said firmly. "But if you want it spelled out, fine: I'm not here to rewrite the rules of your war, nor to change the game. I'm just a wizard who's been dragged into an endless conflict between Voldemort and the rest of you. Yes, things have happened that seem to involve me, but they're just reactions to being pulled into a fight that isn't mine. My mission isn't to defeat Voldemort, nor to end this war. It's not my fight, Susan."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her stance firm. "You've changed the game, Harry," she said with quiet conviction. "Even if you won't admit it, even if you refuse to see it—you have. And whether you like it or not, you've already set new rules in motion."
Harry held her gaze but said nothing, his silence a tacit acknowledgment of her words, even if he didn't agree with them.
Susan exhaled, shoulders relaxing. "For now, good luck," she said, softer now. "I'll handle it. Try not to make things worse."
She smirked, then walked out.
Harry watched her go, unreadable. Then, with a sharp inhale, he refocused. The game wasn't over.
Navigating through Muggle transportation had become second nature to Harry over the years. His neutral stance in the wizarding world often forced him to tread carefully, and the anonymity offered by Muggle spaces was an unexpected relief.
Shortly after meeting Susan, Harry arrived at Heathrow. The shift from politics to travel left him oddly energized. With only a last-minute ticket and no baggage, check-in was effortless.
At security, however, things took an amusing turn. As Harry passed through the metal detector, a small alarm beeped. The officer waved him aside with a practiced gesture. "Step over here, sir. Random inspection."
Harry, unfazed, complied, emptying his pockets. A pocket watch and a slim leather-bound notebook drew the officer's attention.
"Nice watch," the officer commented, examining it.
"Family heirloom," Harry replied, his tone light.
The officer's gaze flicked to the notebook. "And this?"
"Just notes. Personal notes," Harry said with a small smile. The notebook, of course, was enchanted—its contents legible only to him—but the officer didn't need to know that.
Satisfied, the officer handed his belongings back. "You're all set. Safe travels."
"Thanks," Harry said, tucking everything back into place before heading to his gate.
The terminal was bustling with travelers, the air filled with a mix of languages and announcements. Harry, not one for idle waiting, settled into a quiet corner near his gate, nursing a coffee and observing the crowd. Families wrangled children, businesspeople typed furiously on laptops, and a group of tourists debated their itinerary with growing frustration. It was a strangely comforting chaos, reminding him of the world beyond the wizarding sphere.
The flight was uneventful. The food was bland.
Harry skimmed his notes, mind elsewhere. When the plane dipped into descent, Cairo stretched beneath him, a web of golden light against the dark.
Clearing customs at Cairo International Airport proved to be its own adventure. The customs officer, a stern-looking man with a thick mustache, gave Harry a long, suspicious look as he scanned his passport.
"Purpose of your visit?" the officer asked.
"Business," Harry replied smoothly.
"Length of stay?"
"A few weeks, maybe longer."
The officer raised an eyebrow. "No luggage?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Traveling light. I prefer to pack as I go."
After a tense moment, the officer stamped his passport and handed it back. "Welcome to Egypt."
The challenge began in the arrivals hall, where taxi drivers descended like vultures. Harry weaved through the crowd, brushing off aggressive offers until a middle-aged driver with a friendly demeanor approached him.
"Taxi, sir? Best rates, no tricks!" the man said with a grin.
Harry chuckled. "I'll hold you to that."
The drive into Cairo was exhilarating. The streets were far with honking horns, laughter, and the scent of street food wafting through the air. Harry's driver, Kareem, was both a skilled navigator and a natural entertainer, recalling him with stories about the city's history and quirks.
"You must visit the Khan el-Khalili bazaar," Kareem said as they sped past a crowded market. "Everything you could want, you'll find there. Even a bit of magic, eh?" Harry smirked, amused by the man's unwitting accuracy.
When they finally arrived at the Al-Masri Grand Hotel, Harry tipped Kareem generously. The hotel's grand facade, bathed in soft golden light, exuded elegance. Inside, the lobby was a masterpiece of modern luxury and traditional design, with intricate tilework and towering columns.
At the reception desk, a sharply dressed attendant greeted Harry. "Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"
"No," Harry replied, sliding a neatly folded set of banknotes across the counter, "but I'll need your best suite."
The attendant's smile widened as he processed the request. "Of course, sir. Welcome to the Al-Masri Grand Hotel."
Harry was soon escorted to a sprawling suite on one of the upper floors. The view from the balcony was breathtaking—the Nile snaking its way through the illuminated city, framed by the dark silhouette of the desert. Exhausted but satisfied, Harry set his wand discreetly on the bedside table and loosened his tie.
For now, Cairo welcomed him. Tomorrow, the real work will begin.
The dawn in Cairo found Harry in rough shape. His head throbbed with the telltale ache of a hangover, the price of indulging in a strong local drink the previous night. He had spent hours poring over books and scrolls, tracing the dark legacy of Imhotep, the ancient Egyptian wizard whose story had gripped his curiosity. Fragments of information about necromancy, cursed jars, and Imhotep's rise and fall swirled through his mind, weaving into his fragmented memory of the night.
Imhotep's origins in the city of Memphis had been a particular focus. Once a thriving capital of ancient Egypt, Memphis was now a shadow of its former self. Its counterpart, the modern-day town of Mit Rahina, held some ruins, but Harry's research suggested most of the significant artifacts had been scattered across museums or lost to time. His notebook, now crammed with hastily scrawled notes, contained a rough itinerary of places to explore:
Saqqara Necropolis – Only a short distance from Memphis, Saqqara was the resting place of pharaohs and home to the famous Step Pyramid, designed by Imhotep himself. Harry had highlighted the area, suspecting it might contain more than just architectural brilliance.
The Pyramid of Unas – Known for its Pyramid Texts, this site in Saqqara offered inscriptions steeped in ancient spells and rituals, something Harry found eerily like the protective enchantments Voldemort had used.
Mit Rahina Museum – While smaller than Cairo's renowned Egyptian Museum, this site displayed remnants of Memphis's grandeur, including colossal statues and artifacts linked to Imhotep's era.
Dahshur – Though further south, the area was famous for its unique pyramids. Harry had noted a theory about certain curses originating here, which might tie back to Imhotep's magical experiments.
The mere thought of visiting these locations both excited and unnerved him. The parallels between Imhotep's enchanted jars and Voldemort's Horcruxes were too significant to ignore, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this investigation was leading him closer to answers and more danger.
After a cold shower, which jolted him out of his groggy state, Harry dressed and made his way downstairs for breakfast. His plan for the day was clear: eat, arrange transport to Saqqara, and get started on his search.
However, as he approached the lobby, a commotion caught his attention. Standing at the reception desk, Daphne Greengrass, always polished and composed, was locked in an animated argument with the hotel receptionist. Her impeccable outfit and confident demeanor only made the situation more amusing as her frustration spilled over. The problem was clear: language. The receptionist spoke fluent Arabic and limited English, while Daphne, despite her usual diplomacy, seemed utterly exasperated by the language barrier.
Harry couldn't help but smirk with surprise. What is she doing here? The coincidence was too large to ignore. He paused, observing the scene as Daphne gestured at a piece of paper, her expression teetering between annoyance and resignation.
He had no intention of intervening—yet. Daphne was perfectly capable of handling herself, though her presence added an unexpected complication to his already convoluted journey. While she wrestled with her predicament, Harry's thoughts drifted back to the sites on his list and the lingering mystery of Imhotep's cursed jars. His work was cut out for him, and it seemed like Egypt was going to be more eventful than he had anticipated.
"Is there a problem?" Harry asked in Arabic. The receptionist sighed in relief.
"She doesn't understand me," the woman explained. "Could you translate?"
Harry nodded. Behind him, Daphne's gaze burned into his back, half disbelief, half suspicion. "Of course," he replied smoothly.
"Harry, what are you…?" Daphne began, her frustration evident as she completely ignored the receptionist and focused all her attention on him.
"The receptionist says there's no reservation under the name Greengrass," Harry translated, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"Are you serious?" Daphne exclaimed her tone laced with irritation. "My father told me one of his Muggle contacts had already taken care of it. I've just arrived in this city after an exhausting trip from Athens! Do you have any idea how dreadful it is to travel such a long distance using only Muggle means? Hours of delays, noisy crowds—it's a nightmare! And the taxi ride here was… I don't even have words. And now you're telling me I don't have a room?"
"Well, it appears not," Harry replied, his smirk fading into a more serious expression as he raised a placating hand. "Let me see what I can do."
Turning back to the receptionist, Harry spoke fluently in Arabic, his tone light yet confident. Their conversation was sprinkled with occasional laughs, clearly easing the tension in the air. Daphne crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently, her eyes narrowing every time Harry smiled during his exchange with the receptionist.
Finally, Harry turned back to Daphne, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "All sorted," he announced. "Your room will be ready in about an hour. In the meantime, what do you say we grab some breakfast?"
Daphne's frustration softened into a more familiar expression of exasperated affection. "Breakfast?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, unless you prefer to stay here and glare at the receptionist for an hour…" Harry teased, his grin returning.
Daphne rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Fine," she relented. "But you're paying, Potter. And don't think this gets you off the hook for not telling me you were here in the first place.
Harry chuckled as he grabbed her suitcase. "Deal. Let's go before they give your room to someone else."
As they walked away, Daphne couldn't help but glance sideways at him, her irritation melting into curiosity. What exactly was Harry doing in Cairo? And why did he have to look so annoyingly charming while solving her problems?
The bustling sound of the hotel's restaurant provided a lively backdrop as Harry and Daphne settled into their table. A waiter approached, taking their orders, Harry opting for a hearty Egyptian breakfast of full medames and fresh pita bread, while Daphne, still visibly worn out from her journey, hesitated before settling on a light omelet with tea.
Harry leaned back in his chair, a grin playing on his lips. "So… from Athens to Cairo, all by Muggle means. That's dedication."
Daphne sighed dramatically, resting her elbows on the table and placing her chin in her hands. "Dedication? It was torture, Harry. Absolute torture."
Harry chuckled. "It couldn't have been that bad."
"Oh, really?" Daphne shot him for a look. "Let me walk you through it. First, there was the flight—my first flight, mind you. Do you know how loud those planes are? And the turbulence! I was gripping the armrest so tightly I thought I'd break it. The Muggles around me looked so calm, but I was convinced we were going to plummet out of the sky at any moment."
"Planes are perfectly safe," Harry said, trying to suppress a laugh. "Safer than brooms, actually."
"I'll take a broom over that flying metal coffin any day," Daphne retorted. "And don't even get me started on the airport. Do you know how long it takes to get through security? It's like they think everyone's hiding contraband in their shoes!"
Harry couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. "You do realize Muggles deal with this every day, right?"
"Which makes me respect them slightly more," Daphne conceded, though her tone was still laced with frustration. "But it doesn't mean I want to do it again anytime soon."
Harry's smile softened as he sipped his tea. "So, why exactly did you go through all that trouble? Surely there are easier ways to travel, even for someone like you."
Daphne straightened in her seat, her expression shifting to one of reluctant seriousness. "It wasn't my choice. My father still tied up in Athens handling some family matters, and something urgent came up here in Cairo—at one of our magical apothecaries in the district. He thought it would be a good opportunity for me to… 'prove myself.'"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Prove yourself?"
She nodded. "As the heir to the Greengrass family, I'm expected to take over the business one day. That means understanding how everything works—here, in Athens, in London, everywhere we operate. My father believes the best way to learn is by experience. And since Muggle travel is discreet and doesn't leave traces like magical means, he decided I should 'learn to adapt.
"That explains the taxi," Harry said, smirking.
"Don't remind me," Daphne muttered, her hand going to her forehead. "The driver got lost twice, and he tried to overcharge me when we finally got here. He assumed I didn't know any better."
"Well, you made it," Harry said, his tone encouraging. "And you're handling things, even if it's not how you're used to."
Daphne's gaze softened, and she toyed with the edge of her napkin. "I suppose. But it's exhausting, Harry. Being constantly watched, constantly expected to meet impossible standards… Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for it."
Harry leaned forward slightly with his voice steady. "You're stronger than you think, Daphne. You wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't."
Daphne looked up at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Harry replied, his confidence unwavering. "And if you need help while you're here, you know I'm just a conversation away."
She hesitated, her lips curling into a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Harry. That… means a lot."
The moment lingered between them until their food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Despite the chaos of Daphne's journey, the atmosphere at the table grew warmer, the chemistry between them undeniable as they shared stories, laughter, and plans for the days ahead.
Daphne tilted her head slightly, her curiosity evident. "So, what brings you to Cairo, Harry? It's not exactly a weekend getaway destination."
Harry hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup. "Research," he said vaguely, offering a casual shrug. "Something about a wizard called Imhotep. An old contact reached out saying he needed help with a few enchanted objects tied to him. Figured it was a good excuse to get out of England for a while."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Research on Imhotep? That's… specific. And very unlike you to drop everything and fly halfway across the world for it."
"Let's just say," Harry replied, his tone lighter than his words, "that I was feeling a little… boxed in back home. This seemed like the perfect distraction."
She studied him, as if weighing the truth behind his words, but decided not to press further. "So, what's your plan for today, then? Besides solving ancient mysteries?"
Harry leaned back, recounting his itinerary with deliberate nonchalance. "First stop is Saqqara—the necropolis where Imhotep's Step Pyramid is. It's a short trip from here. I'll also check out the Pyramid of Unas and its inscriptions. If time permits, I might swing by the Mit Rahina Museum."
As he spoke, he couldn't help but notice the way Daphne's eyes lit up, her interest barely masked. She didn't say it, but the unspoken desire to join him was palpable.
Harry sighed inwardly, already regretting what he was about to say. But the chemistry between them, the way their conversations felt effortless, made it impossible to resist. "You know," he began, his voice carefully casual, "if you're not too busy sorting out your apothecary business, you could tag along. Could be… fun."
Daphne's lips curved into a delighted smile, and she didn't bother hiding them. "Are you sure you won't mind the company?"
"Positive," Harry replied, though he wasn't entirely sure if he was lying to himself.
Before they could discuss it further, a staff member from the hotel approached their table, addressing Daphne. "Miss Greengrass, your room is ready. You can check in now."
"Thank you," Daphne said politely before turning back to Harry. "I'll need some time to freshen up, but I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour."
Harry nodded, watching as she rose gracefully from her seat. She looked back over her shoulder, her smile lingering. "Don't leave without me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his tone light but his gaze lingering on her retreating form.
Once she was gone, Harry leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. He raised a hand to signal the waiter. "Something stronger, please," he said with a rueful smile.
Half an hour later, in the hotel lobby
Daphne stepped into the lobby, dressed perfectly for the occasion. She had swapped her travel attire for a light linen shirt tucked into comfortable yet stylish khaki trousers. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop her sleek, dark hair, and a pair of sunglasses hung from her neckline.
Harry raised an eyebrow appreciatively. "You look ready to conquer the desert."
"I'm always prepared, Potter," she replied, smirking. "I even brought water and sunscreen—two things I suspect you didn't think of."
"Touché," Harry said with a grin, motioning towards his modest backpack. "But I did bring a notebook. Priorities."
"Of course, you did." Daphne rolled her eyes but smiled. "So, are we taking a taxi or charming a camel to fly us there?"
"Taxi," Harry chuckled. "The muggle way. For now."
As they walked out together into the bustling Cairo morning, the sense of adventure was palpable. Saqqara awaited, and with it, answered more questions—about Imhotep and the mysteries he left behind.
The taxi wove through the dusty streets of Cairo, leaving behind the chaotic bustle of the markets. Daphne stared out the window, her hair tied back in a ponytail, though a few rebellious strands escaped to frame her face. Beside her, Harry kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, though his thoughts wandered through the intricate history of Imhotep and what they might uncover.
"I still can't believe you ordered mint tea in a country where coffee is practically a religion," Daphne remarked, breaking the silence. Her tone carried a hint of playful teasing.
"I don't like coffee while I'm working," Harry replied flatly, not bothering to look at her.
"You're telling me that someone who faces curses and hunts down dark artifacts can't handle a little caffeine?" she quipped, turning to face him with a smirk.
Harry sighed, finally glancing at her with a raised brow. "I prefer to keep my head clear when I'm about to risk my life. But thanks for the unsolicited psychoanalysis."
Daphne laughed, the sound light and unguarded. For a moment, the tension between them lifted. The taxi driver, who had been eavesdropping with mild curiosity, chuckled under his breath but said nothing.
As they neared Saqqara, the landscape began to shift. Paved roads gave way to sandy paths, and the hot desert air carried the faint scent of stone and ancient secrets. Finally, the taxi came to a halt near a secluded area. Although Saqqara was a historical site, this corner seemed abandoned by tourists, something Harry found convenient.
"We're here," the driver announced, turning to look at them. There was a subtle unease in his eyes, as if the place held an unspoken warning.
Harry paid him and stepped out, with Daphne close behind. The desert stretched before them, dotted with ruins and half-buried tombs. The silence was unsettling, broken only by the faint whisper of the wind.
"Well, this is charming," Daphne said, adjusting the strap of her backpack.
Harry pulled out his wand, murmuring a detection spell under his breath. Almost immediately, the air grew heavier, thick with traces of dark magic. He frowned, his gaze narrowing on a small structure partially hidden by sand dunes.
"There," he said quietly, his voice taut with focus.
"Let me guess. Those ominous enchantments and the general 'too many people died here' vibe aren't a coincidence?" Daphne asked, crossing her arms.
"They're not," Harry replied, his tone serious. "This match everything I've read about Imhotep. The place is steeped in dark magic and necromancy. It could be where he hid one of his artifacts."
Daphne watched him, noting the intensity in his expression. Before she could respond, a sudden movement to her right made her jump. A small lizard scurried across the sand, eliciting a startled yelp from her.
Harry couldn't suppress a laugh. It was rare, almost foreign to hear, but undeniably genuine. Daphne, still recovering from the surprise, shot him a glare.
"Find that funny, do you? It could've been a snake!" she protested.
"That snake was about four inches long," Harry said, his smirk lingering.
She huffed, but the tension in the air lit up, if only for a moment. "Harry watched her, drawn by her presence, her willingness to face the unknown alongside him. It stirred something rare within him." For so long, he'd been accustomed to working alone. Yet here she was, part of his shadowed world of curses and magic.
"Daphne," he said at last, his voice softer but resolute. "This place is dangerous—not just because of the traps, but because there are forces here even, I don't fully understand."
"Are you asking me to stay behind?" she interrupted, one brow arching in challenge.
"I know you won't," Harry admitted with a faint smile. "But if we're going to do this together, I need you to follow my lead. No improvising, no unnecessary risks. One wrong move here could kill us both."
She held his gaze, weighing his words carefully. Finally, she nodded. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong, don't you dare blame me."
Harry shook his head, still smirking. "Stay close, then. And for Merlin's sake, don't scream at the lizards."
With that, they began making their way toward the structure, their steps sinking slightly into the shifting sand. As they walked, Harry felt a rare sense of inner conflict. For the first time in years, he wasn't alone on a mission. It was unsettling—but it also made him feel, for the first time in a long while, just a little more human.
The sun beat down relentlessly as Harry and Daphne made their way toward the shadowed structure. The air seemed to hum faintly, as though the very ground beneath them whispered secrets long buried.
Harry raised his wand again, murmuring another incantation. Soft, golden threads of light extended from the tip, floating outward like gossamer strands. They drifted aimlessly at first before converging on a specific point near the entrance of the structure, glowing brighter as they formed a tangled web.
"Residual dark magic," Harry said, his voice low but steady. "It's been here for centuries, but it's still potent." He crouched near the entrance, his fingers tracing faint hieroglyphs etched into the stone.
Daphne watched him work her arms folded across her chest. She wasn't newie to magic, but the precision and fluidity with which Harry cast his spells were mesmerizing. Every movement seemed deliberate; every word spoken with purpose. He wasn't just skilled—he was in his element.
"What do you see?" she asked, stepping closer.
"These symbols—protection runes, reinforced by necromantic energy. They're meant to disorient intruders, make them see things that aren't there," Harry explained, his voice calm despite the weight of his words.
Daphne tilted her head, impressed not only by his knowledge but also by his composure. He just didn't know what he was doing, he owned it. His rugged appearance only added to the image: the dark, weathered jacket, boots scuffed from countless expeditions, and the sharp glint of determination in his eyes.
Harry stood, brushing sand from his hands. "We'll need to neutralize the runes if we're going any further."
"Do you always sound this serious when you work?" Daphne teased, though her tone was lighter than usual.
Harry glanced at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "When the stakes are this high? Yes." He motioned for her to step back as he raised his wand again.
She obeyed, watching intently as Harry cast a complex series of countercharms. His wand moved in intricate patterns, the spells flowing from him as naturally as breath. The glow of the protective runes began to dim, and with a final flick of his wrist, they faded entirely, leaving the entrance unguarded.
"Impressive," Daphne said, her voice soft. She meant it.
Harry turned to her, his brow raised. "You didn't think I could, do it?"
"I didn't say that" she replied quickly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "I just… don't see this kind of magic every day."
He gave her a brief, almost teasing look before stepping through the entrance. Daphne followed, the cool shade of the tomb a welcome relief from the desert sun.
Inside, thee air was thick, stale, centuries of decay pressing against their lungs. Their footsteps echoed, Harry's wand casting flickering shadows. Daphne stayed close, her senses sharp, but her eyes kept straying to him.
There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself: the calm confidence in his every move, the subtle rasp in his voice when he spoke, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness as though nothing could hide from him.
"See something you like?" Harry teased her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"No," she replied, too quickly. A faint blush betrayed her. "Just… keeping an eye out for traps."
"Good," he said, his tone unreadable. "Because I think we're about to find something interesting."
They entered a wider chamber, the walls adorned with faded hieroglyphs and symbols. Harry paused, his eyes narrowing as he pointed his wand at a cluster of markings near the center of the room.
"This is it," he murmured. "This is where Imhotep's magic lingers the strongest."
Daphne's heart raced, though whether it was from the looming danger or the sight of Harry so intently focused, she couldn't say. As he worked, scanning the room with deliberate precision, she couldn't help but feel a strange mix of admiration and something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name.
"Careful," Harry said, glancing back at her. "This isn't just any old tomb. One wrong step, and it could be our last."
His words should have unsettled her, but instead, they only deepened her trust in him. He was brilliant, capable, and unwavering. And, she realized with a faint smile, completely unaware of how utterly captivating he was in moments like this.
For now, though, there was no time for distractions. Whatever secrets lay buried here, they were about to uncover them together.
As they stepped further into the chamber, Daphne's eyes scanned the walls, her fingers brushing lightly over the faded hieroglyphs. Something about the arrangement of symbols caught her attention.
"Wait," she said sharply, stopping Harry mid-step.
He turned, his wand casting a soft glow over her face. "What is it?"
"These aren't just decorative," Daphne murmured, her brow furrowed. "They're warding glyphs—ancient ones. Whoever designed this place was meticulous. The protections aren't just physical; they're layered to trigger magical countermeasures if tampered with incorrectly."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You can read them?"
Daphne nodded, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve, Potter. My family has specialized in protective magic for generations. I've been studying runes since I could hold a wand."
She knelt near one of the glyphs, tracing its edges carefully. "This sequence is designed to detect foreign magic. If we try to brute-force our way through, the whole chamber could collapse—or worse."
Harry crossed his arms, watching her work. There was precision to her movements, an elegance in how she analyzed the runes as though she were solving a complex puzzle.
"What do you suggest?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Daphne glanced back at him, her smirk widening. "I suggest you let me handle this one."
He stepped aside, gesturing for her to proceed. "Be my guest."
Rising to her full height, Daphne flicked her wand with practiced ease, muttering a soft incantation under her breath. A faint shimmer of magic spread over the runes, highlighting their interconnected structure. With another flick, she adjusted the energy flow, carefully redirecting the magic without disrupting its core function.
"There," she said after a moment, stepping back. "The detection glyphs are disabled, but the structural integrity of the ward remains intact. We can pass without triggering anything."
Harry stared at her, a mixture of surprise and admiration in his expression. "That was… impressive."
"Surprised?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe a little," he admitted with a small grin. "You don't exactly advertise your talents."
"Unlike you, I don't need to," she quipped, brushing past him.
The tension of the moment gave way to a shared chuckle, but the relief was short-lived as the air around them suddenly grew colder. Ahead, the chamber opened into a narrow corridor lined with statues, each one clutching a weapon.
Harry frowned. "This screams trap."
"Agreed," Daphne said, her grip tightening on her wand.
As they stepped cautiously into the corridor, a faint grinding noise echoed through the air. One of the statues shifted, its stone arm raising a spear that began to glow with an ominous red light.
"Move!" Harry yanked Daphne back as a spear shot past, scorching the stone.
They hit the ground behind a pillar. Statues groaned to life, magic flaring. A gauntlet of deadly projectiles filled the corridor.
Harry exhaled sharply. "It tracks movement. We need a plan."
Daphne, breathing heavily but still composed, scanned the scene. "There's a sequence, look at the statues. Their eyes light up a fraction of a second before they fire."
"Good eye," Harry said. "We'll need to time our movements perfectly."
He glanced at her, their gazes locking. "Follow my lead."
They moved together, darting from one cover to the next in a synchronized rhythm. Harry's reflexes and Daphne's keen eye kept them ahead of the traps, but the statues adapted, their attacks growing more precise.
As they reached the end of the corridor, a final statue loomed before them, its weapon glowing brighter than the rest.
"This one's different," Daphne said, her voice tight. "The rune sequence on its chest—it's a master glyph. It's controlling the others."
"Can you disable it?" Harry asked.
"Not without time, and we don't have much of that."
Harry stepped forward with his wand raised. "Then I'll keep it busy. You handle the glyph."
Before she could protest, he launched himself into action, firing a barrage of spells at the statue. The creature absorbed the attacks, its glowing weapon charging as it prepared to strike back.
Daphne didn't waste a second. She moved swiftly to the statue, her wand tracing intricate patterns in the air. The glyphs on its chest flared as she worked, her focus unshakable despite the chaos around her.
"Almost there!" she called out.
"Hurry!" Harry shouted, dodging a blast of energy that sang on the ground beside him.
With a final incantation, Daphne deactivated the master glyph. The statue froze, its weapon dimming as the corridor fell silent.
Harry lowered his wand, breathing heavily as he turned to face her. "You've got a knack for this, Greengrass."
"And you've got a death wish, Potter," she shot back, though there was a hint of a smile in her voice.
They stood there for a moment, catching their breath. Despite the danger, Harry couldn't help but admire her composure and skill.
"You were brilliant back there," he said.
Daphne gave him a sidelong glance, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Don't get used to it. I'm not saving your neck every time."
Harry chuckled, the tension easing as they prepared to move forward. Together, they had proven to be a formidable team—and they both knew this was only the beginning.
The air grew heavier as Harry and Daphne advanced deeper into the tomb. The light from their wands barely illuminated the room ahead, a vast chamber with a black stone floor etched with glowing red lines. The runes vibrated ominously, and a faint hum vibrated through the air, as if the place itself were alive.
Daphne hesitated. "This… this magic feels wrong."
Harry glanced over his shoulder his face unusually grim. "It's not simply wrong. It's ancient and corrupt. Be on guard."
The room was littered with skeletal remains, some humanoid, others distorted into grotesque shapes. In the center, a pedestal bore a thick, blackened tome bound in leather that seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the dim light. Around it, several jagged obelisks emanated dark energy, forming a protective barrier.
"It's a trap," Daphne said quietly, her instincts screaming at her to leave.
Harry nodded. "Of course it is. But that book—whatever it is—might hold the answers I need."
Before Daphne could protest, Harry stepped forward, his wand raised. The air grew colder with every step he took, and shadows began to shift unnaturally around the room. Daphne could only watch as Harry worked, his face set in a mask of concentration.
His movements were precise, each incantation stripping away a layer of the obelisks' defenses. But as the magic resisted, his spells grew darker, harsher. The room seemed to respond, the shadows thickening and writhing as if alive.
Daphne shivered. This wasn't Harry, she'd come to know—the resourceful, sometimes cheeky wizard who seemed to thrive under pressure. This was something else entirely: a man willing to wield any magic, no matter how dangerous, to achieve his goal.
Yet, even as she felt a flicker of fear, admiration swelled within her. He was relentless, unyielding, and utterly brilliant.
Finally, with a burst of dark energy, the last of the obelisks shattered, their protective field collapsing. Harry stood in front of the pedestal his breathing heavy but triumphant.
Daphne approached cautiously. "You could have warned me about the dramatics," she said, her voice light, though her eyes betrayed her unease.
Harry gave her a wry smile but said nothing. His attention was on the book, which seemed to call to him, its pages fluttering faintly as if alive. He reached out, but before he could touch it, Daphne's voice stopped him.
"These runes," she said, pointing to a set of carvings on the wall. "They mention… containment. Something about a 'vessel of corruption.'"
Harry turned to her, frowning. "Show me."
As he leaned in to examine the runes, Daphne's gaze drifted to a nearby alcove. Nestled within was an intricately carved jar, its surface adorned with intricate hieroglyphs and protective symbols.
Her heart raced. "Harry," she called softly, moving toward the jar.
He looked up just in time to see her reaching for it. "Daphne, don't!"
In an instant, he was at her side, grabbing her wrist before she could touch the jar. The sudden closeness caught them both off guard, and for a moment, they froze, their faces merely inches apart.
Daphne's cheeks flushed, and her breath hitched. "I-I wasn't going to touch it," she stammered, though her wide eyes betrayed her nervousness.
Harry's grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "This isn't a game, Daphne. That jar could kill you."
"I know," she shot back, her voice firm. "But leaving it here is worse."
Harry exhaled sharply, releasing her. The tension hung between them, thick as the dust in the air. He raked a hand through his hair, equal parts exasperated and something else.
"Alright," he said finally, pulling a small, ornate box from his bag. "We'll take it. But it goes in here, and you don't touch it."
Daphne rolled her eyes but nodded. "Fine. But for the record, I could have handled it."
Harry gave her a look but didn't argue. Carefully, he opened the magical box, its interior lined with silver runes designed to contain cursed objects. With his wand, he levitated the jar into the box, ensuring it didn't make direct contact with anything.
As the lid clicked shut, the oppressive atmosphere of the chamber seemed to lift slightly.
"That's it, then," Harry said, his tone resolute. "We've got what we came for."
Daphne glanced at the pedestal. "And the book?"
He hesitated, his gaze lingering on the tome. "Not now. Whatever it holds, it's not worth the risk—yet."
Daphne nodded, surprised by his restraint. As they turned to leave, she couldn't help but steal another glance at him. Harry Potter was a man of contradictions—reckless yet calculating, dark yet principled. And at that moment, she realized her respect for him had deepened into something far more complicated.
Daphne stepped closer to Harry her eyes fixed on the ancient tome resting atop the pedestal. She could see the conflict in his expression—part caution, part frustration. For all his precision and readiness, it was clear he was weighing the risks, but she could also see the undeniable pull the book had on him.
"Harry," she began softly, her voice carrying an unusual mix of encouragement and determination, "I know the jar was the main objective, but… think about it. If this book is here, sealed under such protection, it's for a reason. There could be knowledge within its pages—knowledge that might make all the difference."
He glanced at her, skeptical. "Or it could be a trap, another layer designed to ensnare anyone foolish enough to reach for it."
Daphne shook her head. "Maybe. But if we've proven anything today, it's that together, we can handle whatever this place throws at us. You've seen the traps, the layers of magic. Whoever placed this here was protecting more than just secrets; they were preserving something important. If you leave it behind, it might be lost forever."
Harry's jaw tightened as he considered her words. She could tell he wasn't fully convinced, but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Her reasoning wasn't just sound, it struck at the heart of his own relentless pursuit of understanding.
"And if we trigger another test?" he asked finally, his voice low but tinged with hesitation.
"We'll face it," Daphne said firmly. "Like we've faced everything else today. I'm not just here to observe, Harry. I'm here to help. You don't have to do this alone."
For a moment, he stared at her, his piercing green eyes searching for her. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. "All right. But if this backfires, Greengrass, I'm blaming you."
Daphne smirked in amusement. "Fair enough. Now, let's get that book before I start thinking you're afraid of a little challenge."
With her encouragement bolstering his resolve, Harry stepped toward the pedestal, his wand raised. Daphne moved beside him, her own wand at the ready. The air grew thick with tension as he began casting a series of countercharms, his movements swift and precise.
The pedestal pulsed, runes flaring to life. Magic crackled in the air.
Harry didn't stop.
Daphne's pulse thundered, but she held firmly. They were past fear. Past hesitation.
Then, silence. The glow died; the tension snapped.
The book was theirs.
Daphne exhaled slowly, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "See? Told you we could do it."
Harry looked at her, a rare grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
"I'll take that as a compliment," she shot back, her confidence glowing in the dim light.
As they secured the book alongside the jar, Daphne felt a surge of pride, not in just what they'd accomplished, but in the trust they'd forged. Whatever mysteries lay ahead, they would face them together.