Harry gaped at the men who surrounded him the moment he apparated.

"Wizard," one hissed, a dagger in hand.

"Obliviate minorus," Harry whispered putting all his force in the spell. Oh bloody hell, I would be packing my way to Azkaban already were I in Britain.

The men slowly dropped confused, while Harry slipped the wand into his wrist holster. Their confusion was quickly replaced with their hatred again.

"Foreigner," a burly man spat.

"I come with peace," Harry said, hoping his dialect would pass as normal.

"Wizard," they hissed again.

Now what did I do wrong, Harry thought, casting the spell again.

"You had better hide," a scrawny and sallow boy said; his eyes burned out. Hiding in an alley behind Harry.

"Why?" Harry said, scooting next to the boy, hidden in the shadows.

"Wizards are bad. I am a freak," he said slowly.

"Aren't their others like you?"

"Perhaps, but we are too scared to reveal ourselves. Faith does sometimes come before blood, and magic is unholy."

"Isn't their an organization? A ministry of sorts? And what gave me away?"

"Ministry," he scoffed, laughing darkly. "No. As for your stupid attempt; no foreigner can easily enunciate Arabic with the ease you possessed."

"So what of the older wizards?"

"Some have been killed by their parents, some like my teacher have taken us in."

"May I meet him? I would like to seek refuge in Yemen."

"Europeans are nothing but trouble, what would set you apart from them?"

Harry looked into the boy's eyes, they were hard and calloused by tragedies. "How old are you?"

"Old enough. We wizards usually stick by one another, but no one will make an exception to you."

Harry sighed, "I never asked for it to be easy. can I not prove my worth?"

"Everyone proves their worth but turns against us when they get the upper hand. I cannot judge you, for I do not know you, but my teacher may test to see if you are really as worthy as you appear to be," he said after a moments contemplation.

"You will take me?" Harry said with a flicker of hope.

"You have been in his midst Mr. Potter."

Harry jerked around to face an old wizened man. A frail stick was all that was holding him upright, his cotton scarf wrapped around his head and his clothes hanging lazily upon him.

"How do you know me?" Harry asked warily.

"Severus Snape had told me of you plenty of times for me to acknowledge you in a moments notice. Besides word of your power has spread far and wide amongst all wizarding kind. Where is my former student, Mr. Potter?"

"He was killed sir. The dark wizard I fought killed him before I could help him and truly determine his loyalties."


"Unfortunate circumstances. He was the son of an Arab immigrant; Tobias Snape. His father brought him here thinking that wizardry was uncommon in Yemen unlike Britain but in his crazy hope, Severus met me. You may remove the enchantment upon you Mr. Potter, I do not like the buzz I hear near your ear."

"I don't know how sir," Harry replied sheepishly.

The elderly wizard snapped his fingers and a wave of magical energy rippled across Harry; his clothes slightly whipping around as if in a strong gust of wind.

"Ibtaa anna Mustafa,"Leave us Mustafa he said to the boy."Pardon me, my English is not up to level."

"Its excellent. Sir, if you may call me Harry instead?"

"I only call my students by their first names Mr. Potter, and you shall have to earn that right before I advance you and help you."

Harry nodded, the flicker of hope vanishing again. Who would consent to teach a murderer Harry thought miserably.

"Not all is lost,I have complete faith in your abilities to pass my tests. As for your character, that will come in time."

"Sir, Professor Snape told me to give my skills in defence against the dark arts so that you may consent in taking me in," Harry said slowly.

"He told you of me?" he asked, tilting his head and resting it on his shaky staff.

"No sir. He only told me to present my skills to the best wizard I find," Harry mumbled, hoping against hope that he would be accepted.

"What do you want from Yemen that you could not acquire in England?"

"A chance to prove myself for merit and not by name. A chance to be me."

"Are you certain you shall get it here?"

"I was hoping my fame would not have preceded me, but I can see that you are a fair judge."

"What did you see in my apprentice? The little boy?"

"He only looks little, but he has lived a full and dangerous life in his short time."

"So have all Yemenis. We have ambition, do you? Will you really be able to fit in amongst us?"

"My ambition has always been to be the best I can, But I have failed. I do not intend to repeat my mistakes again."

"In what way have you failed?"

"I am a murderer," Harry said bluntly.

"Mustafa?" the man asked for the boy, who had scurried from view.

The boy came into the alley, "Na'am ya sah?" Yes, sir?

"Inzir i shai min fadhlik ya bunaya." Bring a cup of tea please, my precious child.

The boy gave a smile to Harry and scurried away.