milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Head scarf tucked beneath his arm but still clad in his galabayya, Bill opens the door entirely absorbed in Al-Ahram Weekly. The letters on the newsprint would be unrecognisable to most, but he's worked in Luxor for a long time and knows the language almost too well. He doesn't really seem to register anyone at the bar or even the fact he's back at the bar: he's fixated on the paper. Stumbling into the nearest table, he curses beneath his breath but sits in the closest available chair, drawing out his wand.

He uses it as a pen; it highlights the article he's reading. He sets that paper aside and takes out another one: he's got a whole stack. Next up is Cairo Live, and after that it will be the Middle East Times. He'll finish with the Egypt Daily News and that will be enough. His face falls as he reads; he finds himself highlighting more and more news stories that by themselves might be entirely insignificant but when they're read as a series... they start to fall together like pieces of a puzzle.

Fuck. These are not random acts, he thinks. No: on 12 January in Siwa, a house was set afire and all the camels' throats slit. The family who owned the property were never found. A week later at the Dakhla Oasis near Mut, a woman was found dead but no cause of death could be established. On 3 February, three eleven-year-old children were found stoned to death on the banks of the Nile near Sohag. In mid-February a family disappeared from Mallawi and another from Minya. And on and on it went: in none of these cases was motive ever established, and no perpetrators were ever caught.

"Fuck!" Bill says it out loud this time, hand wrapping unhappily round the end of his wand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck." He flags down a passing wait-rat. "Bring me a large glass of Ogden's. In fact, make it the whole bloody bottle. They're heading straight towards Cairo."

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"Of course I do. I know just how you feel. Are you still taking the Daily Prophet? I haven't in nearly a year. With Nymphadora being home with the baby, I've not heard much at all about current events in England."

Tom sips the Ogden's, a taste of the world he's left behind but is haunted by no matter how he tries to distance himself.

Bill nods. "I read it when I can, not that I trust it for a moment. Also the Times and the Mirror and as many other London papers as I can get. And Fleur reads some French papers too." He gives a small helpless shrug. "And when I see patterns like this, I think who to notify about them, because it feels as if that's all I can do at the moment. But I'm a person of action, and it feels... awkward and restrictive not to be taking action."

He lets out a breath. "But how are you? How have you been? I'm sorry to be so preoccupied; I like my time here to be a bit more light-hearted than this... but it isn't."

"When you see patterns, Bill, I think it might be best to pay attention to them. I've noticed a few odd occurrences in the paper I do take - the New York Wizarding Times."

He frowns again, his eyes on the paper still. "I didn't think overly much about them - I've been busier in the last few wees than I have in a while. Door and I decided to take a leaf out of your book - we left on a whim to get married three weeks ago."

His goofy "just married" grin returns for a moment before fading somewhat.

Bill's smile is huge and genuine, and he reaches over to clap Tom on the shoulder. "Congratulations! Oh, goodness, congratulations. I'm very happy for you. Where did you go? Was it as spur-of-the-moment as ours? I..."

His eyes soften. "I'm so pleased for the both of you." Faced with that news, discussion of unsolved incidents in the wizarding world could simply wait. There was nothing he could do about them, anyway.

"It was. We'd planned on having a wedding - a ritual made us Lord and Lady, but we'd not had the celebration. Then one day, we decided to go to our cottage in Brittany and say our vows - the Underside is not big on officiants, you see."

He's still smiling, as much at the grin on Tom's face as at his story. "This is... fabulous. I count you as a friend, Tom, and I'm always glad when my friends are happy. And the ceremony was beautiful and perfect, I trust, and Lady Door is as happy as you are?"

"She is. It was her idea, as I was following her lead on the whole dress-party-wedding thing." He ducks his head slightly and takes another drink. "Thank you for your wishes, Bill. I trust you and Fleur are doing well?"

At the mention of Fleur, Bill's face softens measurably. "Yes, we're doing very well."

His fingers twist his wedding band once, twice, three times: all habit, all for good luck, pure pattern and instinct. "She's the absolute love of my life."

"We are lucky men. Incredibly lucky."

Tom truly feels this. Despite the insanity of the bar, the chaos of the Underside, the lingering troubles in the Wizarding world, to know love like he does... it's quite a thing.

A quick shadow crosses over Bill's face. "Wait... did you say something about happenings in wizarding New York?"

He hates to break the mood, but he needs to know what Tom knows. "If there's a similar pattern..."

The rest of that sentence will remain happily unspoken, at least for the moment. Both of them know exactly what that would indicate.

And there it is, the intrusion of reality.

"I did, actually. I can't say Ive noticed a rise in killings - New York City seems to be a rather violent place at the best of times - but there have been a rash of burglaries amongst the rare bookstores and specialized apothecaries. Also, a manticore and its spawn has gone missing from its wildlife refuge in some state that starts with a M - Minneasota, Missouri? The warding charms were altered, but it was never determined how."

He stops, thinking a moment. "Come to think of it, though, the murders I've seen reported lately have been amongst the population with Muggle connections."

His eyes meet Bill's. "It's spreading beyond England, isn't it?"

He could just weep. But he's Bill and he doesn't. Instead, he simply nods, then finishes his glass of Ogden's and pours another.

"It already has."

"I suppose it has."

He stares at the table.

"They tried to get into London Below last year. I sealed off the Knockturn Alley entrance into the Underside. Pity we can't seal off the world."

Bill looks at Tom sadly: how can they seal off what's everywhere?

"If only it were that simplistic." He lets out a sigh. "If all the world were as small as Diagon Alley. There's not a chance we could station people at every entrance to our world." He's thinking about the vortices the Death Eaters used before: he was able to figure out where some of the Egyptian ones were and where they led, but it begs the larger question: why would those only be in place in Egypt? Why not worldwide? Egypt is special, but it's not an epicentre of magical activity.

And then Bill's face falls even more with something he'd not before considered: why stop with those on one small and seemingly insignificant planet? Why not spread them throughout the universe? He glances over at Tom, solemn and sombre, trying to read invisible words on the table's surface. The Voldemort he knows will stop at nothing to achieve his ends.

But this man isn't Voldemort. He's Tom. He's not Voldemort.

Fuck. Bill's eyes close; his voice is tight.

"I'm glad you were able to protect London Below."

He hopes he can do the same, or some approximation thereof, for his family and loved ones when it's necessary.

"That was just the one entrance," he said. "There are many ways to get there through Muggle London, but so far, so good. I don't think he knows there's another world to access there, though there were always rumours about the strange world of the sewers and tunnels."

Bill nods. He knows the stories, they all do. He has a fleeting image of a rat in a sewer, but he doesn't say a word: that's not part of this Tom's story, or at least it isn't part of it yet. "It seems that every wizarding... place, for lack of a clearer term, has an underside. Hogwarts and its chambers. London and London Below. I hesitate to think what might be under the sands of Luxor now."

He imagines New York with its subways and sewers and... the possibilities are so overwhelming he can hardly make sense of it. It would take a brilliant mastermind to coordinate all of that.

The seed of that brilliant mastermind is sitting at this table with him, drinking Ogden's, talking about protecting his loved ones. Bill trusts this Tom.

Clearly, though, there's room to wonder.

"Every major city has an Underside. The older the city, the larger the Underside. I don't know about Luxor - I'm not certain if Undersides continue to exist once the cities they existed beneath cease. It's something to think about."

And it is, actually. It makes Tom want to travel, to delve, to find out what's there under the sands and ruins of ancient places. There must be magic and knowledge undreamed of.

In this way, Tom's not changed. Voldemort is a very curious monster.

"I think he's more focused on the Topside right now, though. Perhaps you ought to owl Dumbledore. Let him know what you've found."

Bill nods. "I was preparing to do just that. In fact..." He pulls a piece of parchment out of the pocket of his galabayya, along with a Muggle-style pencil. "No ink needed..." His voice is almost apologetic as he writes, magically copying the newspaper articles to the parchment, folding it, sealing it, and addressing it.

Then he looks up. "Have you been to Luxor's wizarding bazaar?" He knows Voldemort has.

Worlds are colliding, and they're doing it in more ways than one.

"No. I never made it there. I spent a few months in Alexandria, though, and the short visit to Cairo. Alexandria was..."

He trails off. His time spent there was spent doing nefarious deeds and finding out things he'd have been better off not knowing, but it had been an amazing time. The rush of new discoveries, the layers of power he'd acquired - it was something that gives him a shiver to remember, followed by a wave of guilt mingled with a surprising amount of resentment for not being able to be proud of his great achivements. For they were great.

"It was quite a city."

"It's beautiful."

Bill nods, conflicted: Tom's never been anything but good to both him and to Fleur and he knows it. But as much as he likes and trusts Tom -- this Tom -- he grew up to be Voldemort in Bill's reality and that's something that can't be as readily forgotten. But he takes a deep breath hidden by a sip of Ogden's.

"If you ever want a tour, you know who to ask." He's not offering merely for the sake of keeping an eye on Tom while he's there, but the thought crosses his mind. He'll get there eventually. It might as well be with friends.

"I might take you up on that sometime."

He would like to know more of the place, and Bill is an expert.

"Perhaps it will be safe to travel at some point soon. I shall think twice about taking Door and the children anywhere for a while."

"Understood." Bill nods. "Any time at all, Tom, and I mean it. But now I should be getting home to Fleur; I don't want her to worry. She reads the papers too."

Not in Arabic, of course, and not unless he points something out, but he's filled with an overwhelming desire to return to her immediately.

War is a troublesome business. It's even more troubling when she's in Luxor alone and he's at the end of the universe. He waves his hand at the Ogden's in a help yourself gesture before standing and gathering his newspapers. "Best to Door and Ingress."

"And my best to Fleur. Do take care of yourself."

Tom sits for a moment, thinking over this spate of bad news as Bill leaves. He'll be paying more attention to the paper he receives. Maybe it's time to take the Daily Prophet again, loathe though he is to do so.

He pours another drink, quietly finishes it, and then returns to the House of Arch.

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