Disclaimer: If I owned the HP universe, well I probably wouldn't be traveling to Kenya and that would be a shame!
A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to unique0987654321 for betaing this chapter *claps enthusiastically*.
Stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the cobblestone street, the cold January air hit their group. Nuri felt Samir's sinuous body tighten around his throat. Despite nearly hibernating since they arrived in Britain and Scotland, the boomslang was insistent on accompanying Nuri whenever he left the castle, which, albeit, was not that often. But it was the first weekend of the new term and Nuri had to meet the first of the Adepts and warriors his aabbe was sending up to assist them.
While January was the height of the summer in Somalia, in England it was far, far colder, something none of the Somalis apparently thought about before arriving. Nuri spent the first half an hour layering warming charms on the group before they could even venture out of the tavern. It was one of the first spells he learned when he arrived in Scotland. Needless to say he did not know of any African magics that did the same.
He shot a warming spell at Samir before the snake choked him and absently rubbed his throat when the coils loosened. He was going to scold the snake when Mujahid appeared beside him.
"I am not comfortable in the open market like this," he said, glancing around at the various witches and wizards walking down the Alley, many of whom were staring at the motley group. Despite four months in the wizarding world, the magic-less Somali had not adjusted to having so many magic wielders around him. "Our group has not been fully apprised of the situation here yet and you want to stick them in the middle of an unknown environment?" he asked, his eyes never landing on Nuri, instead continuing to scan and look for threats. Judging by the way he kept tensing, Nuri imagined he found many of them.
Nuri took a moment to look at their group. The Adepts stuck out amongst the British wizards. Ignoring the glaring difference in skin color, the Adepts were standing amongst snow drifts in thin, colorful ma-awis and sandals. Every one of them had munitions stored about their persons, from AK-47s over their shoulders to bandoleers and pistols strapped to their chests. Several of the Somalis were staring at the drifts in wonder, many of them never having seen snow before. Others were looking at the wizards with wariness, although more than a few looked confused. Not that Nuri could blame them. Some of the clothing styles were a bit bizarre, particularly the ones that were trying to blend in with the non-magicals.
His aabbe had made sure to send only those who were adequately skilled, meaning the majority of the Somalis in Diagon Alley had attained mastery, the rest being non-magical. Their scars stood out starkly on their bared arms and torsos. It had become a matter of pride and power to have their scars on display, so no clothing obstructed the view of the various art etched into their skin. Nuri had come to understand how unusual scarring was in the wizarding world, so was unsurprised that many wizards had stopped in the Alley, simply staring at the Adepts' markings.
Others were giving the group a wide berth, their eyes glued to the weapons they were carrying.
"They do stand out a bit, don't they?" he asked rather unnecessarily before sighing. "It cannot be helped, unfortunately. Despite the agreement, Dumbledore rarely lets me out of the castle and I won't waste the opportunity to go into the shopping lane I have heard so much about. Besides, they will have to learn about this world somehow."
Nuri gave a short signal and started off down the Alley, skirting the drifts of snow that were rapidly melting under the wands of the shop keepers. It was just after lunch and a particularly heavy snowfall, so they had to clear the way to their doors first before anyone would be able to venture inside.
They wandered past the bookstore and wand shop, pausing just across from the Gringotts bank where a dark, dank stairwell started. Several of the Somalis were murmuring to each other, pointing to the huge, stark white bank that seemed to be listing perilously. Glancing at the building out of the corner of his eye, Nuri supposed he couldn't be surprised. The bank was larger than almost any other building in Mogadishu, its white pillars towering about the wizards and witches going about their daily business. Many of the people in the militia had come from small towns and had never had the opportunity to venture into the city outside of Idris' compound.
"This way," he said, turning away from the bright bank and stepping down into the dark corridor.
Unmarked buildings loomed on either side of the crooked stair, their moldy walls seeming to lean in and block the sun out. The walls and the rusted handrail appeared to be permanently damp with neon green algae growing in large clumps.
Nuri heard the rest of the group follow him down, the metal of their guns occasionally brushing against the walls. The grating sound of metal on wood echoed down ahead of them and bounced off the walls, announcing their presence.
The stairwell abruptly stopped before long, the absence of light making the trip look a lot farther than it actually was. The stair ended in a short, fat corridor with a door that was boarded up. Nuri could hear the militia grumbling behind him as too many people tried to get off of the rotting stairs without being pushed against the molding walls.
Stepping forward, Nuri raised his wand and tapped the nails in the pattern a 7th year Slytherin had whispered to him after a particularly vigorous bout of sex. After the wand touched the last nail the sound of cracking wood made more than a couple of the Somalis jump, reaching for their guns before seeing the shifting doorway. The two sides of the door came apart, opening wide like shutters onto a courtyard just as grungy as the stair they had left.
Knockturn Alley was just where the Slytherin had told him, off of Diagon Alley and hidden past a stair. The key was in the pattern tapped into the door. There were several different patterns the denizens of the Alley knew, from ones set up for the Aurors, to false ones given out to the Light wizards who decided they wanted to brave the darkest known Alley in Europe. The elaborate system protected the people that belonged here, allowing them to buy and sell the wares they want to without fear of being sent to Azkaban.
From what he had been told, Nuri knew Knockturn Alley formed more of a pinwheel than a proper Alley, at least when all of its stores were visible. The center courtyard was the hub where most of the business was done. Several short streets veered off of the courtyard where one could find items and services of a more questionable nature. The entire place appeared to be underground, despite the fact that the stairwell had not been long enough to put them under the normal Alley. The buildings all leaned in like they had over the stairwell, and old lines of rotting clothes blotted out what little might have been visible of the sky. With no street lamps, Knockturn Alley looked to be in permanent twilight.
A small handful of people were milling about the Alley with several more hiding in the crevices, only visible if one was looking for the flick of a sleeve or the odd change in a shadow. Hags and hoods abound, many of the shoppers had their faces hidden by swathes of fabric and hoods, and the ones that did not were grotesque. Several of the shoppers and shopkeepers turned at their entrance, stopping mid-sentence at the appearance of such a large and strange group of people.
The newest arrivals shifted at the attention paid to them, a couple subconsciously drawing up their magics and waiting for an attack. Nuri could feel the shift in their stances and the magics they conjured. The wizards for their part were glaring viciously at their group, focusing their ferocity on the few Somalis Nuri knew didn't have any magics. He stepped slightly in front of the group, meeting the shoppers' eyes and glaring them down.
"Enough," he barked, turning his head to the side to face them without shifting his eyes from the wizards and witches staring at them. "Do not provoke them."
The Somalis let their magics go at his words, but didn't drop out of their wary stances. Nuri preferred they were ready for an attack, he just didn't want them to incite one. He knew it would be difficult for them to adjust from a war zone to a comparatively much more peaceful society, but they needed to stay as faultless as possible. They could certainly end any problems if they arise, they just could not initiate them without what Nuri suspected were bad repercussions.
"I told you we should have given them more time to get adjusted to these… people," Mujahid said, his eyes watching the wizards, witches and hags go back to their wares. Several of the people slipped into the side alleys, their eyes never leaving the Somalis before disappearing into the shadows. "We are going to have a mess on our hands at this rate," he snarled, startling a hag that had been staring aimlessly at a wall.
Nuri turned his head far enough to catch Mujahid's eye. At Nuri's look, the man glared before nodding sharply and dropping his eyes. "If they can handle the civil war in Somalia, these soft Britons aren't going to be a concern," he said dismissively before walking to the shop that had caught his attention.
The sign was barely visible through the layers of grime, but Nuri could still see the faded letters that spelled out 'Borgins and Burkes', although only part of each name was visible. One of the few shops that fronted on the courtyard itself, it was what caught Nuri's attention when he heard a group of 5th years whispering to each other about it. Supposedly it had a wide selection of odds and ends, particularly weapons or things that could be made into weapons.
Nudging the filthy door open with his foot, he stepped inside the dark shop. Mujahid followed closely after him, but apparently the rest of the Somalis opted to wait out in the courtyard. Nuri had a feeling they were more accustomed to sun and light and were probably disturbed by the dark Alley. He paid a brief moment of thought about what they would do when they got to Scotland during its short, winter days, but dismissed it just as quickly. They would adjust.
Stepping further away from the darkened doorway, Nuri saw that there were low balls of light slowly brightening the shop as they moved further into it. Dust floated freely in the air, lazily moving about in the stale room. The whole place smelled moldy and dusty. Nuri felt Samir shift deeper into his clothing after one flick of the tongue to scent the air.
Old, corroded weapons lined the walls and tall, leaning shelves were stacked up throughout the center of the room, making the entire shop look like one giant jigsaw puzzle. Stacks of books were set randomly on the floor, requiring that Nuri step over and around, contorting in order to slip between two sets of shelves and get a better look at the bottled potions ingredients on one shelf.
"See anything you like?" a crackly, old voice floated out from behind a tall counter. "Five eyes for a galleon, mix-and-match if you choose. Two tails for a sickle, except the mermaid tails. Those are fifty galleons." The hissing voice trailed off in a coughing fit.
Nuri stepped around the last set of shelves, ducking under a slimy string of tentacles before stopping in front of a line of counters. An old man unfolded himself from a crouch, his rolled shoulders shaking with short coughs and white, lanky hair shielding his craggy face. When he finally hacked something up into a dirty cloth, he turned to face the two Somalis standing in front of the counter.
"Is there something in particular I can help you find?" his voice cracked, sounding shaky and beleaguered with pneumonia. "We have a large array of weaponry from the last goblin rebellion that just came in. Those goblins are surprisingly creative sadists. Or perhaps you would like a cursed watch for your ex-wife's new husband? Guaranteed that his testicles will never grow back," he wheezed, his laugh reminding Nuri of coffins creaking as they were closed.
Looking around the shop curiously, Nuri turned to the ancient man. "Do you have any daggers?" he asked, ignoring Mujahid's disgusted look as one of the hanging tentacles reached down to grab his ponytail.
Some more wheezing laughs came from man's wrinkled throat, the liver spots jumping with each laugh. "I do, my boy. I do. Come with me," he gestured, heading over to a long counter on the other side of the room. Its glass was thick with grime, making it impossible to see through. With a wave of the shopkeeper's knobbly wand, the glass disappeared, showcasing a large array of intricate daggers. "We have daggers that are laced with liquid silver, self-refilling. Some come preloaded with poison, your choice between snake and spider. If you have another poison you wish to use, it costs extra."
The shopkeeper gestured towards a group of rather nondescript knives. "These are cursed daggers, from organ shriveling to blood boiling. There is one particularly interesting one that curses the wielder to kill all their pets, a funny story behind that one," he laughed, coughing with every chuckle. "This beauty down here is vampiric. Never been able to find another one like it. What do you need to kill?" he asked, his eyes surprisingly clear when he turned to Nuri.
"Wizards," Nuri said absently, his eyes running down the assortment. He would definitely need to speak with the Builders about all the ideas the wizarding world was giving him. Charming the weapons. Brilliant. "And werewolves. Maybe vampires, but I do not find that likely."
The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at Nuri. "Wizards? Any kind of wizards in particular?"
Nuri glanced at the old man from the side of his eye. "I believe that may be none of your business. I wish to buy several of these… cursed daggers. Only the painful ones. And all of your silver daggers."
The old man stood still for several moments, simply looking at Nuri, before nodding sharply and levitating a dozen knives out of the case and straight into a bag that looked far too small to fit them all.
When the last dagger disappeared into the spelled shopping bag, the shopkeeper turned around with surprising agility, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes," Nuri said, his eyes wandering across the dusty shelves. "What else have you for weapons?" he asked.
A smile cracked the old man's face. "Many, many things. Let me show you!" he slipped through the narrow aisles lightly, making Nuri question just how old he really was. Putting it out of his mind he followed behind him, albeit at a much slower pace.
It was just short of an hour when Nuri emerged from Borgins and Burkes, carrying a single small shopping bag that was entirely misleading. He figured he had half the weaponry that had been stored in that dingy shop shrunken down into his bottomless, weightless bag.
Without having to focus on the day-to-day strife of a war zone, the British wizarding populace had come up with many creative ways to overcome hurtles with their magics. While Nuri was certain a Somali somewhere would have certainly thought of some of these things, that individual having the time or means to develop them was unlikely.
Nuri blinked as he stepped out of the shadowed shop and back onto the courtyard where the militia was lounging around, speaking with one another while waiting for him to finish up in the small shop. While Knockturn Alley still looked like it was bathed in perpetual twilight, it was significantly brighter than the darkened shop had been and it took a moment for Nuri's eyes to readjust to the sudden influx of light.
At the sight of the Warlord's heir the Somalis stood, all their attention on the boy. But Nuri's mind was elsewhere, running through the hundreds of different ideas he wanted to discuss with the Builders when he returned home. He stepped further into the courtyard, not even noticing Mujahid's signal to form up and follow.
He was just beginning to form a mental list of enchantable objects when the first spell flew by his head and impacted the Adept behind him, ripping his stomach open and showering those closest to him in blood and gore. Nuri instinctively crouched, his wand in his off hand before he even had time to process the fact that he was covered in blood.
Shadows were crawling along the walls of the unusually empty courtyard. Nuri was mentally kicking himself for not noticing the dearth of people in what had been a fairly full Alley. But when one of the shadows slipped out from behind a scrap pile of wood and sent a bright purple hex sailing towards him, he dismissed the thought entirely and dove out of the path.
The Somalis had already scattered behind him, taking refuge behind various carts, doors and debris that littered the Alley. It did not take long for the silent courtyard to explode in bursts of noise, the bullets from the AK-47s ripping through the empty space and tearing apart the old brick that lined the walls. Dust filled the air from the fragmented mortar and the flash of gun fire lit it up, reminding Nuri forcibly of home.
He pushed away the wave of homesickness and crouched behind a barrel, allowing flames to pool in his hand while he watched the hidden wizards hide from the gunfire before reforming behind shields. In the confusion concussion of sound and light, he vaguely saw the figures, obviously wizards covered from head to toe in black cloth that reminded Nuri of the niqab the women from the more conservative towns favored.
Brushing the errant thought aside, Nuri lobbed the fireball over the barrel like a grenade. He watched the small ball of fire land a short way from the group before exploding in bits of plasma. The flamelets caught on the niqabs, quickly turning several of the wizards into flailing infernos.
The impromptu torches lit up the dark courtyard, turning the shadows into wizards with long black robes and bone white masks. Pulling out his Firestar, Nuri took aim at the closest wizard and fired, breaking the mask in two and sending blood flying. The wizards next to the unfortunate man ducked behind a couple full trash cans, sticking their wands out from between tin cans and rotted fruit to throw spells at him.
Nuri ducked back down behind his barrel, letting the spells fly past him in a halo of reds, greens and purples, waiting for the pause that always came during battle. Usually it happened when the enemy needed to reload a gun, but Nuri was hoping the men would wear themselves out.
He took the moment to glance down at the other Somalis. Several were dead, their bodies strewn across the pavement. A surprising number of the dead appeared unharmed, making Nuri wonder just what spell had killed them. But the majority of the militia was sending a steady stream of bullets and magics across the courtyard at the bulk of the attackers. The spells being thrown back at them had noticeably diminished and the Somalis were starting to push across the courtyard to weed out the last of them.
Samir slithered down Nuri, slipping sightlessly past the barrel. Nobody was looking at the ground, too intent on the other side to pay something so unnecessary attention. Nuri heard a quiet cry as Samir reached the other side, probably biting the ankle of the first wizard he came across. Boomslang poison was not something you survived. Nuri hoped that Samir had enough in him to last for a while.
It took a bit longer than Nuri would have liked, but finally the spells from his attackers slowed down, flying past in an erratic but predictable pattern. Waiting for his opening, Nuri took a deep breath, drawing up the hot magics he had grown so accustomed to. He had another flame grenade pooling on one hand while the other was channeling the fire in a tight line continually pouring from the tip of his wand.
When the break between spells finally came Nuri moved, swinging around the barrel as he threw the fireball. He spun out of the way of a spell that was immediately sent towards him, throwing out his wand hand in an arc. The flame from his wand turned into a whip, lashing out and following the movement of his wand.
He smiled wickedly at the sound of two different screams as the whip made contact with the closest attackers. Flicking the wand again, he silenced them entirely, severing them in two.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the movement of a wand and he ducked, just barely avoiding a bright green spell as it sailed over his head and splashed uselessly against a window. He flung his arm out in the direction of the attack and a large crash sounded as the attackers' shield was destroyed.
It didn't take long for the hail of gunfire to take down the last of the wizards, particularly with Nuri aiming to rid them of their impromptu shields, and wand arms whenever he could aim for them.
He dismissed the sputtering flames as the last of the attackers fell. A cheer went up from the militia, not nearly as loud as the popping gunfire, but the sound still echoed off of the decrepit walls.
The courtyard was in shambles. The ancient buildings had not held up well to rifle caliber bullets and whole chunks of wall had caved in under the onslaught. It looked like several of their attackers had been killed by falling bricks, a truly embarrassing way to die in battle.
The Somalis were just starting to raid their attackers' bodies, rifling through their pockets when a loud clang went through the Alley. Guns were immediately up and pointed in random directions, looking for a new attack in every corner. Nuri had already summoned up a small ball of flame when a movement at the edge of his eye caught his attention.
The bricks that had not been reduced to dust were moving quickly and forming solid walls over what Nuri knew had just been alleys of stores off of the courtyard. Old, rotten boards slipped over the windows and doors of several of the shops that had opened up onto the courtyard itself making them look long since abandoned and not the thriving stores Nuri had seen when they had arrived. In less than a minute, all of the side streets were gone leaving one large and well lit alleyway at the far end of the courtyard, making Knockturn Alley look like a proper shopping street. Only a couple stores were still open, including Borgins and Burkes, but the wares they displayed were mild and looked completely innocuous compared to the body parts and wicked sharp weapons that had been proudly on display.
With a last loud bang, the doorway out of Knockturn Alley slammed open and wizards in maroon robes started swarming through the portal, wands drawn and held rigidly out in front of their bodies. The wizards fanned out across the courtyard-cum-alley in rough formations, pointing their wands directly at the Somalis.
The militia cocked their rifles, pointing them straight at the wizards' heads, causing more than one wizard to flinch and duck out of the way and scattering their formations into unrecognizable patterns. The wizards that didn't move looked at their colleagues with some trepidation, but kept their wands raised.
"Aurors!" one of the maroon clad wizards shouted, stepping forward towards one particularly burly Adept. "Drop your wands and put your hands where I can see them!"
The Somalis didn't move, the whites of their eyes flashing as they looked towards Nuri who had already dismissed his fire and had not raised his wand. The Adepts shifted from foot to foot, their hands moving minutely as they called up and made adjustments to their magics. The adrenaline from the battle had not yet worn off, and most of the Somalis were ramped up and ready to do more damage.
The silence in the Alley was tense. The aurors were probably already nervous about entering such a notorious part of the wizarding world. Nuri knew when they had finally seen the bodies littering the ground because they visible tensed, taking extra care to give the bodies a wide berth while keeping their eyes on what they probably saw as the perpetrators.
The first wizard growled. "I said drop your wands, or we will be forced to make you."
Nobody moved, the Somalis not understanding the command that would have been impossible, and the wizards probably unused to the lack of compliance. Both sides were getting worked up and just waiting for something to happen.
One of the aurors finally had enough, stepping towards an Adept and digging his wand into the man's neck. "He said drop your wand, you scum bag," he sneered, getting rudely close to the Somali's face.
When Nuri heard the telltale click of a cartridge being chambered, he decided to act. His commanding voice cut through the Alley, every eye turning to land on him.
"Sheel! Stop. Do not attack. I will handle this," he ordered, taking a step forward, away from the other Somalis. As soon as he moved every wand swung around to point at him.
The rest of the militia reholstered their guns, startling one auror into releasing a spell that flew wide, bouncing harmlessly off of a pile of bricks before shattering a window. The Adepts ignored her completely, turning their full attention to Nuri.
Facing the first auror Nuri finally spoke. "They do not have wands to drop."
The auror looked startled, his eyes flicking around at the Adepts before refocusing on Nuri. "They don't?" he asked rather unnecessarily. Nuri didn't bother to respond. "Somehow I don't believe you," he sneered, keeping his wand leveled between Nuri's eyes. "Then how do you explain all of this?" he asked derisively, gesturing vaguely to the downed bricks and dead bodies.
Nuri lazily glanced around the Alley, taking the time to estimate how far away from his militia the aurors were, ignoring the bodies and decrepit shop fronts with ease.
Turning back to face the snotty auror, Nuri said, "To me it looks like magics and guns." Several aurors flinched at Nuri's last word. "Just not your magics."
The wizard opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted.
"Harry Potter?" a wan voice carried over the aurors from near the entry way. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"
The other aurors started murmuring to each other, never taking their eyes off of the young savior. The wands slowly began dropping from their drawn positions as their murmurs grew louder.
"Is it really-"
"Can't be, not down here."
Nuri tilted his head to the right and saw the auror who had identified him, a younger wizard with wide eyes and sandy blond hair staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear.
He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead staring straight at the auror and responding. "My name is Nuri Idris Nasri." He heard several aurors let out the breaths they were holding but didn't bother to pause. "But I am also known by you wizards as Harry Potter."
The sighs of relief quickly sounded strangled, one man actually choking on his surprise. The original auror who spoke to him was gaping like a fish, his mouth opening and closing in a most unattractive manner.
An auror with several stripes lining the sleeves of his robes stepped forward, reholstering his wand before barking out orders.
"Beauvoir, Scott and Templeton, check these wizards to see if any of them need medical assistance or if we just need to call the mortician." He gestured vaguely to the bodies littering the ground. "Devier and Armstrong, you two check out Mr. Potter's men and see if any of them could use a mediwizard. Zucker, put out these fires. Crowley stop gaping like a fool and start fixing these storefronts. We don't need any more of these bricks falling down on our heads."
The aurors snapped out of their stupors and started running around the Alley at the behest of what Nuri assumed was the head auror. Wands were out, scanning the bodies for signs of life. From the way they were shaking their heads and the ferocity of the battle, Nuri doubted they would find any. He felt the touch of something moving on his boot and forced himself to stay still as Samir slithered up his pant leg. His coils wrapped sinuously around his calf until he had a firm hold and he stayed there. Nuri imagined that the snake didn't want to deal with the wizards any more than Mujahid probably wanted to.
"So, Mr. Potter," the head auror said, stepping carefully over bricks and bodies to reach his side.
"Nasri, please," he said, his tongue rolling over the familiar name with ease.
The auror paused, one foot in the air before nodding and stepping over a large beam. "Mr. Nasri. We received an urgent alert at the Ministry not fifteen minutes ago about extremely high levels of magical activity in Knockturn Alley. We came down here expecting a full scale war and we find a cold battlefield. What happened here?"
Glancing around the alley Nuri could see that the aurors were not giving his militia any problems, aside from scanning Somalis that did not want to be bothered. Assuring himself that his countrymen were fine he turned his attention to the auror.
"We came here to pick up supplies. As we were leaving, these men ambushed us," he said, nodding towards the dead wizards. "We defended."
Looking down at the bodies the head auror raised an eyebrow and looked back at Nuri. "Quite the defense," he said. "I don't think my aurors could have defended themselves half as well. Nor would they have done it so viciously," he said, gesturing to a body that had been ripped open by close range rifle rounds.
"Ahh," Nuri said, nodding slowly. "Unfortunately our guns do not kill as cleanly as your magics."
The head auror's eyes flicked down to the butt of the AR-15 strapped to Nuri's back, a permanent accessory whenever he left the castle even though he rarely used it anymore. The auror just nodded, turning and crouching over an intact body lying near his feet.
"Death Eaters," he said simply, pointing to the bone white mask that covered the man's face. He turned his head, eyes traveling over the debris of the battle. "And it looks like a rather large contingent of them. Your men were lucky."
Nuri scoffed. "Hardly."
The head auror's eyes darted back up to meet his, wariness dancing behind his brown irises. It only lasted a moment before the wizard turned his eyes back to the body, hooking the tips of his fingers under the edge of the mask before pulling it off. With a low pop the mask came off and a fall of platinum blond hair fell out and fanned out on the grimy cobblestones. A sharp nose and chin jutted up towards the sky, a nose Nuri imagined the man had only ever looked down from at the world. The skin was fair and unblemished, the kind of skin that could only belong to an aristocrat.
The auror sucked in a sharp breath before letting it whoosh back out, gaping at the dead man's face.
The man looked familiar, and when Nuri saw the glassy grey eyes, he knew why. He was going to be in so much trouble when a certain blond found out.
Niqab: The veil worn over a face in conjunction with a hijab. While a burqa would be more apt for the uniform of the Death Eaters, I thought the likeliness that he would have seen and known about such a garment low given the time periods he was in Somalia.
Sheel: Stop (Somali)
Authors Notes: I loved writing this chapter and took liberties with the Harry Potter world, although I did try to tie it back to canon as much as possible.
Good news and bad news! The good news is that I will be traveling to Kenya to work on a water and garden project in Kisumu in January. So excited!
The bad news is that the development project is more time intensive than I had initially anticipated and while I'm excited for the experience, I will not have much spare time in which to write. I won't be able to update at all January through March and it is looking like the chance that I will have to update before I leave is quite low.
I will try to carve out some time to write, but it may well be April/May before I get a chance to update again. :-( With that said, thank you so much to everyone that has stuck with me for what I know has been a long ride. I will never abandon this story; I have too much of it planned out!