The Sun of Knowledge | Altair

[Nabih Al-Azma]

Sunday September 2nd, 1973
Around 5pm

Nabih walked along Knockturn Alley, Nael in tow. Term had just started, but something about Nael's new school robes had been completely off. They had been sent to Hogwarts, as per Julia's request when she'd been shopping with Nael and so he had only seen last night, that they didn't fit right. He'd grabbed Nael, taken him and the robes back to the tailor and demanded the man to fix them right then and there. Given how the man had treated Nael on his first visit, Nabih had not been particularly friendly about it all.

Robes now all fixed, Nabih needed to make one more stop. He'd already tried his usual channels to get his hands on this particular book, but none had come through, which left Nabih with one adress to go to.

Muspell.

Holding the door open, Nabih waited for Nael to slip inside the hallway that opened up behind it. The boy looked around a little confused, but Nabih just placed his hand on his back and gently pushed him along the corridor with the cloaks and hats until they got the main room of the store.

Rows of bookshelves lined the store and Nabih stopped when Nael took a right turn towards one of them. "What are we doing here?" Nael asked him, their conversation as usual in Arabic, his fingers running along a few of the books on the nearest shelf. "Two things. Replace that book you destroyed the other day, and ask about another," Nabih answered sternly. It made Nael drop his hand from the books on the shelf right away as he looked up at him, rather unhappy. "I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean to do that." It wasn't the boy's first apology, of course, but Nabih was still annoyed about the whole thing.

Tapping lightly on the glass desk, Nabih looked around. Now where was the owner of this store?

[Altair]

Altair raised his head, looking up from the pile of books that he was currently shelfing, in what appeared most like random order. He was hearing voices, and since they spoke a very foreign language he took a moment to stand completely still.

There was one young, child-like, and one older.

Spirits?

He remained, listening for a little longer.

No, they were probably people.

So, he put down his books, and took the shorter way around the shelves of the South-Western corner of the shop to the entrance, changing up one of the shelves as he passed, and caught a glimpse of them.

Not only had the man brought hils child, thus getting through the no-children ward without setting it off, but he was looking (- Altair considered, for a moment, whether he should have put up a please park your child here-sign on the street out to Knockturn, which was stricly unnecessary because the only people to ever bring their children here in the first place were most likely to be --) properly uppish and pureblood.

Now, these were going to be a lot.

"How can I be of help?" he asked, but he was not by the desk. He was standing behind them, a tall man in a heavy black cloak, a furrow between his brows and arms crossed over his chest.

Then he realised he'd been mistaken - this was not the usual black-magic-is-cool kind of uppish.

This was much, much worse.

[Nabih Al-Azma]

Nabih did not care much about what other people thought of him. He carried himself with enough authority that it was rare for people to disrespect him to his face, and those who did, ususally did not fare well. It had been like that for a long time now, and it was just who Nabih was. When he entered a room, people knew not to mess with him. In turn, he had the ability to see the same in other people. While people in general did not scare him, it was always good to know who you were standing face to face with.

Nabih noted that Nael had moved back towards one of the shelves, looking them over. The 14 year old had no interest in the conversation the two men, now facing each other, were about to have. His eyes fell away from the boy and onto the man, who had appeared and offered assistance. Black cloak, crossed arms and a look that expressed whole heartedly  what the man thought about good customer service.

Yes, Nabih was in the right place.

"I'm in need of a new copy of The Black Veil Compendium." It was not a very rare spell book, but due to the nature of the spells in there, it was currently restricted by the ministry - at least in this country. Nabih could get it elsewhere, but since he was here already, and needed to inquire about the other book, it was worth a try. There was one spell in there he needed for one of his lessons, and he had not gotten the chance to finish his preparations. "Mine got destroyed." His dark eyes briefly flicked over to Nael, who opened his mouth to say something, but he just gave him a slight shake of his head and the teenager remained silent.

Nabih knew that a store like this did not just have a book like this sitting on one of the shelves. But that did not mean, this man didn't have it.

"I also want to inquire about another book. It seems to be lost, even though it does belong into my family's collection." Nabih paused briefly, observing the man's reactions. Something told him, it wasn't going to be easy dealing with this man. However, Nabih did not have the patience to play games. "I was told you are good at finding lost books. It's called Shams al-Ma'arif. Ever heard of it?"

It was unlikely, as it was entirely in Arabic and there were no known translations of it anywhere.

"Do not touch anything, Nael!" The command was quiet but sharp, his accented voice cutting through the store. Nabih's eyes did not move from Altair, but he'd still seen the boy reach for something on the shelf in the background.

"Are you going to be of help?" Nabih did not have all day, after all.

[Altair]

It was hard for him to avoid falling into the change of atmosphere. The authority with which the other man carried himself did not mix with the looming shadow of Altair and so they separated, like oil tring to mix with water. It had everything to do with the fact that Altair had no history with this man. With the fact that Nabih Al-Azma was not just any pureblood, but was a Ministry official, and also the professor of Magical Defence at Hogwarts.

(Altair always kept a keen eye on both institutions, but he'd lost what little influence he'd felt he had when Anneka, Pryce and Calypso had all abandoned their positions, in quick succession.

For the first time he'd ended up a truly free radical.)

Now he tried to get a read of the man.

"I'm in need of a new copy of The Black Veil Compendium."

That was easy enough. But there was a pause, one that told that this was only the first piece of information, and not even the main one. So Altair said nothing, merely registering the tension that existed between father and son.

"I was told you are good at finding lost books. It's called Shams al-Ma'arif. Ever heard of it?"

That brought about a reaction in him, a mildening of his expression, a slight tilt of his head. Meanwhile, the other grew impatient. Rather than answer the last question, Altair moved into action then, striding around the pair to take up his spot behind the counter. Long fingers reached for his ravenfeather quill to scribble something down in black ink.

"I have," he said, looking up from the parchment with a penetrating blue eye. Still trying to get a read, it was hard for him, then - Ministry or not - to pretend that he wasn't intrigued. "I have a keen interest in Arabic alchemy," he admitted.

(Among other things.)

"And it is the same copy that you lost that you want retrieved? Do you have any idea where it may have gone to?"

His gaze flitted, for a moment, to the son.

[Nabih Al-Azma]

The other man was careful, unreadable at first, not reacting to his first request at all. Nabih kept observing him anyway. It was the little things that told him more than people thought they did. In turn, his own expression remained as neutral as it always was - void of any emotions. It was rare that Nabih let anyone, especially a stranger he'd just met, see what he was truly thinking or feeling.

He'd perfected this as a teenager and it had served him well throughout his life. When dealing with different Ministries and their officials, muggle politicians and numerous aurors it was of utmost importance to be as unreadable as possible. Especially when all Nabih truly cared about was his family - protecting them and gaining more power and influence outside of Syria.

He was working for the British Minstry now, but for Nabih it was a means to an end. Steer aurors away from his family illegal dealings and the collateral damage that came with that. Get insights, have connections and establish a foothold in this country.  With Bellestorm as Minister, things were going in the right direction. The man knew power when he saw it, and Bellestorm surely had done his homework when it came to the Azma family. At least the official parts of it.

Nabih noticed the change in Altair's expression at the mention of the book he was hunting. It got the man finally moving and as he started writing down something, Nabih relaxed a little more, while keeping an eye on Nael. He'd half expected a no, a shake of head, or a confused look, but this was quite promising. If the man had an interest, chances were, he would help him.

"There are many books on Alchemy. This particular one is much more than that." It was one of the most potent books out there - not more than three copies existing even - which was one of the reasons Nabih had taken it upon himself to get it back.

"It was taken from the library in Damascus, which holds all books owned by my family. I have reason to believe it was taken to Europe. France to be specific." The head librarian had spilled everything rather quickly once Nabih had started to ask the questions. Not that it had saved the man from his fate.

No one stole from the Al-Azma family.

[Altair]

It took little effort to understand that this was a man that was used to moving about the world. One that cast a shadow, and who knew how to use it to his advantage. Furthermore, Altair was familiar with that mask of neutrality, the veiling of emotion. They were alike in that matter, and that was reason enough to be careful.

People like them had secrets.

I revealed vulnerability, peaking his curiosity, morphing the atmosphere into something slightly more humane.

And yet, there was no doubt that theirs was a meeting of two powerful predators.

It must have been a curious display for the boy, to watch the adults consider each other in such a careful manner.

"There are many books on Alchemy. This particular one is much more than that."

Altair said nothing. It was not uncommon for a customer to lecture him about their books. Once upon a time, when he was younger, he would have quipped back, but now he merely inhaled, exhaled, let it go. Reminded himself that it was quite possible that the book held secrets that were missing from the version he had stored on the lower floors of Muspell.

Besides, his Occlumency helped navigate rowdy waters.

Damascus. Europe. France.

He didn't write now, putting the ravenfeather down on the clear glass. His tall figure leaned forward over the counter slightly, palms down against its surface, considering.

Altair had history with France, even if he'd never learned the language. He'd once taught there, in Beauxbatons, a subject as dubious as Theory of the Dark Arts. He'd liked their inclination to allow such a subject in the first place.

Again, his eyes found the other's, stayed with them. Things would usually stand or fall with the following question.

"Would you be open to a performance of psychometry?" he asked, delivering it as straight forward as possible. Letting him into their home, with all that this entailed, was something not everybody were too keen on.

"It would require me to go to Damascus and have a look at said bookshelf. Which should remain as untouched as possible."

In the case of specific objects, psychometry, especially when coupled with his strings to the spirit world, was his most powerful tool. It revealed the webs that he needed to follow its journey. In the case of missing objects, that psychometry became even more important, as all divination might have to be performed indirectly.

"Discretion guaranteed," he added, unable to hide the fact that he wouldn't mind, really, having a look at this particular collection.

And he knew that taking on this job was either going to be a triuph, or a disaster.