Edward took the badge from Lucius and felt the cold metal settle against his fingertips. A Portkey. It was one of the more common ways wizarding families crossed long distances when Floo connections were inconvenient and Apparition was too undignified for children and luggage. Pure-bloods had even managed to make being dragged across space feel like a matter of breeding. That was almost impressive, in the same way a peacock was impressive until it opened its mouth.
"Hold on tight," Lucius said.
The world twisted before Edward could answer. The white magnolias and the fountain of Malfoy Manor dissolved into a smear of pale light. Wind screamed in his ears, his stomach rose unpleasantly, and for a moment there was nothing under his feet but pressure, motion, and the faint metallic taste of magic at the back of his tongue. Then the force released him. He landed lightly, more steady than he expected, inside a carriage waiting beneath a hard, bright sun.
Draco had clearly used a Portkey before, but that did not stop him from talking as if he had personally discovered international travel. "The pyramids in Egypt hide all kinds of ancient magical relics," he said, leaning toward the window before the carriage had even started moving. "Father says the wizards there still preserve some of the oldest sacrificial rituals. And their magic street sells snake-shaped wands. Proper ones, not those plain sticks Ollivander makes. I heard they sell spices that strengthen spells too. I am buying some. Several bottles, if Mother does not ruin everything."
"I ruin very little," Narcissa said calmly.
"You ruin expensive things," Draco muttered, which was brave for a boy who still depended on her purse.
Edward sat against the inner wall of the carriage and watched the desert move outside the window. Sand flashed gold under the sun. Low buildings, palms, and distant stone forms passed in pieces as the horses pulled them away from the arrival point. He listened to Draco, or rather to the shape of Draco's voice. The words reached him through a layer of glass. His thoughts had remained in the Black library, among old books, broken runes, and the flame that kept answering questions no one had yet asked properly.
Narcissa noticed. She always noticed more than she said, which made her one of the more dangerous adults in Edward's life and also one of the gentlest. She poured him a cup of warm black tea from a small silver flask and placed it in his hands. The aroma rose through the carriage, strong enough to cut through the dryness of the air and the lingering nausea of the Portkey.
"Are you settling into the old house?" she asked. Her voice had none of Lucius's polished testing. It was soft, but not weak. "Kreacher is taking care of you properly? If anything troubles you, Edward, you are to tell me. The Malfoys do not forget family."
Edward looked at the cup in his hands. The warmth seeped into his fingers, and for some reason that small kindness struck deeper than it should have. He had known hunger, cold, and silence. He had known adults who noticed him only when he was inconvenient. Narcissa's concern was not grand enough to be suspicious. It was worse than that. It felt real.
"Thank you, Aunt," he said. His tone was plain, because he did not trust it if he gave it too much room. "Kreacher takes good care of me. There are no difficulties."
Narcissa's eyes softened. "Do not carry everything on your own. You are still a child."
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The words landed poorly because they were kind. Edward's hand tightened around the cup, and he lowered his gaze before anything could show on his face. "I know."
Lucius, who had been watching the exchange with the patience of a snake pretending to be furniture, chose that moment to speak. "Draco tells me you have spent most of the holiday studying ancient magic. What is so attractive about moldy books that even Egypt must compete with them?"
Edward did not answer immediately. Lucius Malfoy did not ask idle questions when a useful one could be sharpened instead. Draco's letters and stories had clearly been enough to interest him. Edward was a Black heir, unusually composed, too talented for comfort, and already marked by oddities that adults liked to call promise when they wanted ownership of them. Lucius was not being hostile. That did not make him safe.
Edward set the cup down. A faint smile touched his mouth, mild enough to seem like a boy trying to be polite. "I grew up in the Muggle world, Uncle Lucius. I had many questions when I entered ours. One of them was simple. Where does a wizard's magic come from? The books in the Black library had some records about elemental transformation, and I found them interesting. Ancient wizards seemed to believe magic could resonate with the natural world. Fire, wind, water, earth. I wanted to understand what they meant."
It was true, which made it useful. A lie could be caught. A careful truth could be dressed well and sent to dinner.
Lucius studied him for a moment. Then his lips curved. "A better question than most children ask. Better than learning three flashy hexes and thinking oneself a prodigy. Ancient magic is not fashionable, but fashion is usually the pastime of people who cannot afford depth. The House of Black has produced worse habits."
Draco made a face. "I know more than three hexes."
"And yet you understood the insult," Edward said.
Narcissa hid a smile behind her cup. Lucius looked amused despite himself, and Draco stared at Edward as if deciding whether friendship allowed violence.
The carriage crossed through a hidden gate marked by old wards. The air changed. The Muggle road vanished behind a ripple of heat, and Egypt's magical street opened before them in a burst of color. Stalls crowded the narrow road, shaded by bright cloth canopies. Wizards in robes of red, blue, green, and gold bargained in voices that rose like birds. Some wore turbans, some masks, some belts embroidered with hieroglyphs. Charms hung from cords. Brass lamps burned smokeless flames. Jars of Nile water gleamed in blue glass. Snake-shaped wands lay in velvet-lined cases, their carved heads set with chips of ruby or lapis.
A broad-shouldered man in traditional Egyptian wizard robes came to meet them. His skin was a warm brown, his belt was worked with symbols, and an Eye of Horus pendant rested against his chest. He smiled as if he had found old friends rather than rich English guests, which was either sincerity or excellent hospitality.
"Lucius," he said, opening his arms. "You took long enough. I began to think Britain had finally sunk into the sea."
"Not yet, Set," Lucius replied, embracing him with practiced ease. "Though the Ministry keeps trying."
Set laughed and turned to the children. "Your son, and the young Black? Good. They look less fragile than most English boys. The sun may spare them."
Draco straightened, pleased by any comment that might be interpreted as admiration. Edward bowed his head politely. Set's gaze lingered on him for a moment, curious but not intrusive, before he led them deeper into the street.
The next hours passed in a blur of sound and heat. Draco moved from stall to stall with the focus of a small blond conqueror. He inspected snake wands, bought a charm that claimed to repel scorpions, nearly argued with a merchant over the authenticity of spell-strengthening spices, and finally acquired a polished wand of dark wood wrapped in thin gold thread. He held it as if Ollivander himself had been defeated in single combat.
Edward followed without much interest in shopping. His gaze kept drifting to the things others ignored. Fire symbols carved around braziers. Wind patterns etched into charms. Clay jars sealed with water marks. Stone figures bearing the angular signs of earth. Each time he looked too long, heat stirred beneath his skin. The flame at his fingertips did not appear, but it pressed close, like an animal waking behind a door.
He said nothing. Egypt had many eyes, and adults liked mysteries only when they were the ones holding the answers.
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