Douglas paused and threw out the final bait.
"How about this."
"Hogwarts is willing to renounce all ownership and discovery rights to these smaller tombs, and transfer every piece of related information to your department. Free of charge."
"In exchange, that dangerous, worthless Ankh-Ka curse site gets entrusted entirely to us for closed academic research. What do you say?"
"We cover all maintenance and research costs ourselves. We guarantee not a single trace of the curse escapes."
"Your side walks away with real wealth, gets rid of a problem nobody wants to touch, and earns an international reputation for championing academic freedom."
Airtight. Every angle covered.
Director Hassan's eyes lit up like a pair of Galleons.
He glanced at Imani, the question plain on his face.
Imani nodded without a moment's hesitation.
Trading a massive liability for several potential gold mines. Even a student fresh out of magic school could do that math.
"Deal!"
Hassan slapped the table. This time, the smile was genuine.
"However," he said, eyes shifting as the politician's instinct kicked back in, "to reflect the breadth and openness of this collaboration—" He paused for effect. "I suggest we invite Uagadou, the African school of magic, to join as a co-organizer."
"A tripartite agreement."
"The actual academic research, of course, remains led by Hogwarts."
Douglas understood immediately.
This was about face.
Pull Uagadou into it, and the whole thing could be repackaged as a grand pan-African revival of magical civilization, led by Egypt, not an awkward fire sale of an unwanted liability.
"I completely agree." Douglas smiled and nodded. "A brilliant proposal, Director. It speaks to your foresight."
The agreement was drafted quickly. When the signatures of all three parties fell onto the parchment, a brief flash of magical light sealed it. The contract was binding.
They walked out of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic into Cairo's midday sun, which was bright enough to make your eyes water.
"Doug," Bill let out a long breath, the kind that comes after a battle. "I almost feel sorry for them."
"Don't," Douglas said.
He put on his sunglasses, hiding the amusement in his eyes.
"We gave them exactly what they wanted — gold and face. And we got exactly what we wanted , a quiet, undisturbed classroom."
"This was a perfect deal."
He draped an arm over Bill's shoulders, and the two of them walked side by side through the clamor of Cairo's streets.
"Everyone walks away thinking they got the better end of the bargain."
"That's what you call a win-win."
---
Cairo in the morning was like a freshly polished bronze coin.
The air still carried last night's mist from the Nile, laced with the smell of flatbread baking at a corner stall. Douglas and Bill sat in wicker chairs at an open-air teahouse, drinking Egyptian red tea , dark crimson, nearly the color of garnets.
"I kept you from the match," Douglas said, taking a sip of the scalding tea. It was a second apology for pulling Bill away from the Quidditch World Cup.
Bill just waved it off. His long red hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, caught the morning light with a healthy sheen.
"Watching a crowd chase a golden ball around the sky?" He smiled. "I'd rather watch you run those Ministry bureaucrats in circles. Much better entertainment."
He passed Douglas the latest issue of The Daily Prophet. The paper had gone slightly limp in the humid heat. On the front page, above Rita Skeeter's characteristically incendiary expression, a massive green skull-and-serpent symbol dominated the page.
QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP NIGHT OF TERROR: DARK MARK APPEARS OVER PITCH , MINISTRY OF MAGIC'S SLUGGISH RESPONSE DRAWS FIERCE CRITICISM!
They read through it together, word by word.
When they reached the paragraphs about the "Peace Guardian Charm" and the "Stunning Flash Bombs," the corner of Bill's mouth curved into a knowing smile.
"An invisible bubble. White light brighter than a hundred Lumos Charms." He read the words quietly off the page. "Rita's prose is as overwrought as ever."
"She's not wrong this time, though." Douglas shrugged, unbothered.
"The Peace Guardian Charm was just a small gift I made for a few Hogwarts students before the term started. Shaped like a badge , pin it to your robes or slip it in your pocket. The moment it detects a jinx, it generates a one-way buffering field. The stronger the spell thrown at it, the harder it pushes back." He paused. "Like throwing a punch into a pile of cotton."
Douglas turned his teacup slowly, watching the liquid swirl.
"As for the flash bombs, those were the first batch Sirius sold to the Ministry. New toys for the Auror Office." He stated it as plainly as if he were discussing someone else's product. "Honestly, even if I'd been there, the right move against that scale of chaos would still have been containment, not confrontation. Going head-on only causes more panic, more trampling. Much more efficient to let the Aurors field-test their new equipment on live targets."
He looked at Bill, something sharp and satisfied flickering in his eyes.
"Besides, nothing beats free advertising for Marauder Power Company."
Bill smiled and shook his head. He'd long since gotten used to the way his friend's mind worked.
"Right." Douglas set down his cup and fished an old, thoroughly unremarkable teapot out of his pocket. "I'll have Dobby send you that complete collection — Ancient Egyptian Magic: A Complete Guide from Beginner to Mastery — by owl."
"Don't forget to look for it."
Bill opened his mouth to reply.
Douglas's finger was already on the spout.
"See you."
The familiar, gut-wrenching tug seized his navel.
Cairo's noise and heat vanished in an instant. The world stretched, warped, and collapsed into a spinning blur of color , red tea, old newsprint, warm spiced air , all of it spiraling away at once.
Then cold, damp London air flooded his lungs.
Douglas landed in front of his own fireplace without so much as a sway of his coat hem.
The living room was unrecognizable.
It was no longer a place for quiet reading. It had become , clearly, unmistakably , the London research and development branch of Marauder Power Company.
The long oak table that had once held an antique vase was buried under components: semi-transparent magical resonance crystals still waiting to be polished; a Muggle circuit board with scorched edges trailing wires in half a dozen colors; sheets of parchment scrawled with cramped runes, weighted down under heavy spellbooks.
The air smelled of ozone from magical overload, and underneath it, the sharp tang of burned parchment.
---
PS: The following content does not count toward the main chapter word count.
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QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP NIGHT OF TERROR: DARK MARK APPEARS OVER PITCH , MINISTRY OF MAGIC'S SLUGGISH RESPONSE DRAWS FIERCE CRITICISM!
, Exclusive: A Mysterious Force Saves the Day, Aurors' New Equipment Proves Its Worth in Combat, Percy Weasley Rushed In to Speak for the Ministry!
[Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter, Reporting from the Scene] The Quidditch World Cup pitch in the early hours of August 26th, 1994, should have settled into a celebratory hush after the match. Instead, it became the stage for a scene that sent a shudder through the entire wizarding world. While Irish fans were still raising their glasses in triumph, a mob of masked figures surged out of the campsite, wands raised, hurling filthy slogans into the night. What should have been a bloodbath was , inexplicably , stopped cold by a mysterious and unseen force.
"It was like someone slapped a bridle on a charging bull!" said eyewitness Alistair Tewkesbury, a wizard farmer from Devonshire, shaking as he spoke to this reporter. Multiple attendees confirmed the same: the rioters' spells went soft the moment they left the wand tip, and their advance stalled as though they'd walked into a swamp of honey. "I saw Avery try to cast the Cruciatus Curse , and all he got was a few sparks!" a third-year Hogwarts student confided in a whisper. "It was like an invisible bubble had wrapped itself around us. Could it really be the legendary Peace Guardian Charm?"
Even more heartening was the performance of the Aurors. These guardians in navy-blue cloaks, armed with sleek new equipment that gleamed cold in the dark, moved decisively before the situation could spiral further. Three sharp explosions rang out. Three Stunning Flash Bombs split the night sky and detonated into white light , brighter, witnesses say, than a hundred Lumos Charms combined. This reporter watched with her own eyes as Avery, the elder Crabbe, and the elder Goyle, three notorious figures, locked rigid, every muscle seized, their expressions twisted beneath their black hoods. Their wands hit the ground one after another, the clatter ringing out loud in the sudden silence. "This is the Ministry's newest 'Lightning Capture System,'" one Auror, who declined to be named, said with evident pride. "Precision targeting. Instantaneous takedown. We owe it all to that mysterious inventor."
The triumph, however, did not last. At the very moment the Aurors were escorting their prisoners away, the sky above the pitch tore open , and a great Dark Mark materialized, its skull and serpent slowly rotating in shades of sickly green. Every righteous witch and wizard knows what that symbol means. "It appeared from nothing!" said Professor Aurora Sinistra, Hogwarts' Astronomy professor, her face ashen. "No spell fluctuation. No wand trace. It was like a ghost of dark magic , there, and then real."
Amid the chaos, Hogwarts Head Administrator Sirius Black demonstrated the kind of leadership one rarely sees outside of wartime. The wizard in the battered leather jacket moved through the screaming crowd like a gust of wind, snapping orders , "Heads down! Against the wall! Don't touch anything that's glowing!" and organizing an evacuation that got even the most terrified first-years safely out to the perimeter tents. "Head Administrator Black? He was actually , gentle? More than the rumors suggested," one young student said, her cheeks quite pink. It seems certain stories from a few years back may be ready for retirement.
The Ministry of Magic, by contrast, delivered a performance best described as glacial. While the Dark Mark hung overhead, Ministry officials were reportedly still debating inside their tents whether they ought to "file a preliminary report first." It was not until six in the morning that Percy Weasley finally appeared , standing in temporarily for the absent Bartemius Crouch Sr. as head of event security , and addressed the press. The young official, gold-rimmed glasses polished, every hair in place, delivered the following in immaculate bureaucratic form: "The Ministry of Magic is conducting a full investigation. Our preliminary assessment is that this represents an isolated incident carried out by a small number of extremists. We ask the public to remain calm and to trust in our legal system, "
He did not finish. The reporters drowned him out. Mr. Weasley, how do you account for the Dark Mark? Where was Sir Crouch? Who supplied that new equipment?
Percy's lips pressed flat. He turned on his heel and tossed back a single phrase before disappearing through the tent flap.
"No comment."
As of this printing, the origin of the Dark Mark remains unknown. Rumors have begun to circulate that the event may be connected to the long-vanished "Dark Lord, "
➤ Next: Fudge's Face Twisted in Anger! A Thank-You Letter from Italy!
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