Chapter 211: Snape's Purpose Here, and Muggles Robbing a Wizard?!
At Ethan's shout, the man who had just stepped through the doorway froze mid-step. He hadn't expected to run into his apprentice at some tiny inn in the middle of Egypt. Though he had shed his usual black robes, Snape's signature greasy hair remained unchanged.
"Didn't you say you were going to St. Mungo's? What are you doing here?" Snape didn't answer Ethan's question. The moment Ethan spoke, everyone in the cramped lobby, a space no larger than ten square meters, turned their attention to the newcomer. Snape's eyes swept over the seven or eight people in the room.
"Things came up. I left the hospital early." With others present, Ethan kept it vague, offering only the briefest explanation.
"Is this a professor from your school?" Cyril had never met Snape. In fact, aside from being well acquainted with Dumbledore, Cyril was unfamiliar with nearly everyone else at Hogwarts.
Ethan glanced back at the only Muggle currently in the inn, confirming that the man was fully occupied with an animated conversation with Nadim, complete with wild gestures, and paying them no attention whatsoever. He then lowered his voice and said to Cyril, "This is Professor Snape."
"So it's you!" The instant Cyril heard the name, his face lit up with gratitude.
"Hm?" Snape looked puzzled.
"I am Cyril Shafiq, Ethan's grandfather. Thank you for the potion you invented. It's healing my old afflictions." Cyril stepped forward, stopping about a meter from Snape to express his thanks.
"Ah, it's you. You're welcome." At Cyril's introduction, Snape immediately recognized the man who looked so much like Ethan. He had, of course, heard the name Cyril Shafiq before. As the head of the Shafiq family, even if he wasn't often in Britain, he still held a certain influence within British wizarding circles. And after the revelations about Ethan's parentage at the start of his first year, the name was already familiar to Snape. He had simply never met the man in person. Ever since the potion's creation, Ethan had been intensely focused on its clinical trials. Snape had suspected that the person who needed this potion so desperately, someone so important to Ethan, could only be Cyril Shafiq. This meeting merely confirmed his suspicion.
Mael and the others exchanged glances and turned slightly away, though they continued to listen to the conversation. Meanwhile, Nadim was gesturing and explaining something to the heavily bearded innkeeper, who alternated between shaking his head and nodding.
Having expressed his gratitude, Cyril found himself suddenly at a loss for words. He'd originally planned to select a proper gift and pay Snape a formal visit after their Egyptian expedition concluded. Now, face to face with the man who had arguably saved his life, he could only offer a few dry words of thanks, with nothing suitable on hand to present as a token of appreciation.
Ethan, noticing Cyril's awkwardness, stepped in to smooth the moment over.
"Professor, are you staying here tonight as well?"
"Yes." Snape nodded.
"Nadim, add one more room for Professor Snape," Cyril called over to the wizard, who had nearly finished negotiating with the innkeeper.
"No problem," Nadim replied, handing another wad of banknotes to the man.
"Thank you." Though it was a small thing, a rare, faint smile touched Snape's usually cold features. His Arabic was mediocre at best, and communicating with locals was always a headache for him. Had he not been instructed to meet someone here, he would never have chosen an inn in a town like this, preferring instead to simply pitch a tent in the desert. Now, with someone else handling the language barrier, he was perfectly happy to accept the convenience.
Thanks to Nadim's financial persuasion, the innkeeper didn't ask to see any identification from the group, merely giving their faces a careful once-over before completing their check-in. Of course, whether such a small establishment would have been strict about it in any case was debatable.
With Snape, their party now numbered eight. They took seven rooms. Cyril and Ethan shared one, while everyone else had a room to themselves. Ethan unlocked the door and surveyed the cramped space. It would do in a pinch, but it was less comfortable than their rented tent.
Cyril had chosen this modest Muggle inn for a simple reason: it meant no one had to stand watch. This way, everyone could rest properly and be prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Magic could cleanse away the grit and dust from their time in the air, but it still wasn't entirely comfortable. Ethan took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. Feeling refreshed, he said, "Grandfather, I'm going to have a word with Professor Snape. Would you like to join me?"
"No, I don't know him well. An unexpected visit from me would just make things awkward for both of us." Cyril shook his head, then quietly outlined his own plan to Ethan.
"All right, I understand. I'll be off then." Ethan nodded.
"Professor, are you free right now?" Ethan knocked on the door to Snape's room.
The door creaked open. Snape sat in a worn, rickety chair. Ethan entered, noticed the room's layout was similar to his own, and perched on the edge of the bed.
"Professor, before the holidays you said you'd be brewing potions for St. Mungo's. What brings you to Egypt so suddenly? Did you finish? And what about Little Black?"
Snape cast a privacy charm before answering slowly. "That pet of yours? I left it with Hagrid before I departed. Don't worry, it won't die."
"That's good." Little Black, originally named Black Dragon, was the fire salamander Professor Kettleburn had given Ethan as a reward. It was also the first salamander to undergo the transformation. Though the creature was incredibly low-maintenance and Ethan generally paid it little mind, letting it roam freely in a corner of his dormitory, he always entrusted it to Snape's care during the long holidays.
"The potions were brewed and delivered to the Healers at St. Mungo's. I came to Egypt for a bit of sightseeing." The excuse was clearly flimsy. Who in their right mind would choose a tiny, nondescript town like this for a holiday?
After offering this weak explanation, the professor countered with his own questions. "And you? What are you doing in Egypt? And those people with you, where do they come from? They seem to take orders from your grandfather?"
"They're employees from the dragon reserve. We're here on vacation too," Ethan replied, using the same flimsy excuse.
"Is that so?" Snape said flatly. "If there's nothing else, you should go. I need to rest."
"Wait, Professor. I was joking," Ethan said, not moving from his spot.
He put on an exaggerated air of mystery. "We're actually here searching for treasure! A massive treasure!"
Snape regarded him with a blank, unimpressed stare.
Seeing his complete lack of curiosity, Ethan sighed and relented, offering a sliver of real information. "All right, fine. We're looking for something very important. Based on our clues, it's buried somewhere underground here in Egypt."
It was the truth, but it revealed essentially nothing.
"Hmm. I'm also here looking for something." Snape nodded, offering an equally vague glimpse into his own purpose.
"What a coincidence," Ethan remarked, surprised.
"Egypt is full of buried relics. It's not that unusual." But even as he verbally dismissed the coincidence, Ethan found it plausible. Snape, however, was far from calm inside. *How could such a coincidence be possible?* *Have others also learned of this?* *Are they searching for the lost pyramid as well?*
Unaware of Snape's inner turmoil, Ethan shifted the conversation to the healing potion and its effects. Before leaving, he asked, "Professor, could you give me your home address? We plan to pay you a proper visit once we're back in Britain."
"We can discuss that when we return," Snape replied, clearly unwilling to have visitors at his home on Spinner's End.
"All right." Ethan left, slightly disappointed.
Back in his own room, he recounted the conversation to Cyril. The older wizard, with his greater experience, sensed there was likely a reason for Snape's reluctance and did not press the matter. "If he doesn't want to share his home address, then I'll simply visit him at the school once your term begins again."
"That works. My professor is passionate about potion-making. A gift related to that would probably be the best choice," Ethan suggested.
"Agreed. We'll put our heads together when we get back." Cyril nodded.
With the basin ready and a drink and water prepared to rinse away the bitter aftertaste, Cyril took out a vial of red potion. He drew a deep breath and downed it in one go. As Ethan monitored Cyril, who was taking the dose he should have had that morning, Isaac began his own clandestine activities.
The sudden move to such a distant location forced him to prepare a new message for Gis and the others. His single room afforded him more privacy, and the thin walls gave him a better sense of what was happening in the neighboring rooms. He was halfway through writing the letter, detailing the route they'd taken that day and a description of the town, when someone knocked on the door. By the time he finished writing, Ethan was still inside the room. Too wary to venture out while Ethan was around, Isaac waited.
Finally, when he heard a door open and close a second time, signaling Ethan's return to his own room, Isaac decided to make his move. He opened his door, ready to slip out, just as the door directly across the hall swung open as well.
"Going out? Where to?" Noé asked.
"To buy something to drink. That Muggle drink from that little restaurant was surprisingly good. I thought I'd get some more. Want me to bring you some?" Isaac's heart sank.
Noé gave him an odd look. "You have strange tastes. I didn't care for it. Don't bother getting me any. Do you even have Muggle money? They don't use Galleons."
"No, but Nadim should have some. I was going to exchange a bit with him." Isaac sighed in silent relief that Noé had not offered to come along.
Noé closed his door and knocked on the one next to it. "Right, then. I'm off to play cards with Mael."
"Mm."
Isaac exchanged some of the gold he'd acquired the previous day for Egyptian pounds with Nadim. He declined Nadim's offer to accompany him and set out from the inn alone.
Inside Mael's room, the two men had heard the footsteps on the stairs and were discussing Isaac's behavior.
"Why does he always go out at night the second we hit a place like this? Semkhet was one thing. It was at least a wizarding village. But this is a Muggle town. What's he going out for?"
"Maybe Isaac has his own reasons. Why do you care so much? What, do you want to go with him? You could still catch up if you hurry."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm married."
"Ha! Is being married supposed to impress me? Just you wait. When this job is over, I'm going to find a girlfriend who's even prettier than your wife!"
"Yeah, right! My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. No one compares to her."
Mael's smugness was more than Noé could take. "Cards! I'm going to wipe the floor with you!"
"Bring it on." Seeing Noé's irritation only made Mael grin wider.
Meanwhile, Isaac walked along the nearly empty streets, retracing the route they had taken earlier, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. As he passed a narrow alley, he ducked into it. He waited a few minutes. Once certain he was alone, he pulled out the alchemical bird with the letter attached. With a flick of his wrist, he released it, watching it vanish into the night sky.
*I hope they hurry this time. No more dawdling. If we have to move again, I'm going to run out of these birds,* he thought grimly.
Emerging from the alley, he headed toward the restaurant. Though he personally found the taste of that yellow drink rather odd, he'd said he was going to buy some, and returning empty-handed would raise questions.
After an exhausting round of gestures with the portly proprietor, who spoke no English, Isaac paid an unknown sum of Egyptian pounds and walked away with five bottles.
*Maybe I should have just told them the place was closed,* he thought ruefully on his way back. But he was soon to have far greater regrets.
As Isaac turned to leave, the restaurant owner watched him go, eyes gleaming with avarice. He'd just sold five bottles for fifty times their worth, and he coveted the unseen wealth he was certain Isaac still carried. The moment Isaac was out of sight, the man hastily shuttered his shop, grabbed a large knife from the back kitchen, and slipped out. Sizing up the difference in their builds, he decided he needed backup. He quickly rounded up a few familiar faces from neighboring shops, and they set off in pursuit.
Less than fifty meters from the inn, Isaac, still clutching his bottles, was surrounded by several large men with scarves wrapped around their faces. They herded him into a side alley.
"It's you, isn't it? The owner?" Isaac was no fool. Even with the face coverings, the man's build and clothing gave him away.
A tall, gaunt man, apparently fluent in Isaac's language, translated for the portly proprietor. "He recognized you."
The owner, still gripping his knife, wiped his face with the towel and shrugged, unconcerned. "So what if he did? He's got no proof. Tell him to hand over the cash and we won't hurt him."
Wanting to avoid trouble, Isaac reached into his pocket and handed over his cash, though he could easily have subdued them. The small stack of bills fell far short of their expectations. Their gazes locked onto his Undetectable Extension Charm bag.
"Nice bag. We'll be taking that too." They were sure he was holding out on them.
As the gaunt man reached for the bag, Isaac's patience snapped. In a flash, his wand was in his hand. "Stupefy! Stupefy!" Four flashes of red light later, everyone but the portly owner lay crumpled on the ground.
"Aksu!" The owner stared at his fallen companions, his body trembling. The knife clattered to the ground. His eyes were wide with terror as he spoke.
"You can join them!" Another bolt of red light, and the portly owner collapsed as well.
The immediate problem was solved, but Isaac knew a much larger one was looming. Using magic had been a direct violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. "Ah..." A long sigh echoed in the alley. Isaac looked down at the drinks in his hand, bitterly regretting everything.
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