Bar Girl A smiled as she leaned forward, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret.
"Below the Pharaoh's Left Hand Auction House on Khufu Street, there's an underground casino where the wealthy from every corner of the world gather. They gamble on anything—money, people, even alchemical treasures."
Bar Girl B quickly chimed in, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I heard that not long ago, the richest wizard in the world—Count Dark Dantes himself—went there to gamble. The man who faced him ended up losing a family heirloom, a gem box, to the Count."
Old Avery's dull eyes suddenly lit up. The Count was his great benefactor, his savior. Any tale involving the Count instantly caught his attention.
"What happened next?" he asked eagerly. "What did the Count do?"
Bar Girl B smiled knowingly, enjoying his curiosity.
"The Count immediately sensed that the gem box was unusual. Right there in the casino, he broke it open. The man who had lost it began shouting and pounding his chest in regret—but when the Count took out what was hidden inside, that man could only cry even harder."
Bar Girl B paused dramatically, watching Avery's growing impatience. When she had his full attention, she continued with a triumphant grin.
"It turned out that inside the box was a grebbato magic crystal! Mr. Avery, surely you know what that is?"
Of course Ollivander Avery knew. His flight to Cairo had been because the Fire Serpent Party had stolen the grebbato crystal from Merlin City.
He gave a curt nod.
Bar Girl B clapped her hands and giggled.
"Mr. Avery truly is a learned gentleman. I've heard that grebbato crystals are incredibly rare—worth tens of thousands of Galleons apiece!"
"It's ten billion Galleons," Avery corrected, looking at her with disdain for her ignorance.
"Wow!" the two girls gasped in unison, their mouths forming perfect O's.
"Then Count Dantes must have won ten billion Galleons in one night!"
Old Avery took a slow sip of his drink and said nothing. To others, ten billion was a fortune beyond imagination—but to the Count… it was nothing.
He exhaled softly. Outwardly, his life in Cairo seemed enviable—fine food, pleasant company, and entertainment every night. But he knew better. Far from Britain, he was nothing more than a lonely ghost without a home.
Yes, a lonely ghost.
Loneliness had taken root deep in his heart, sprouting and flourishing until it bore a bitter fruit—solitude.
Whenever night fell and the noise of Cairo faded into the distance, he would sit alone on the balcony of his wizarding hotel, staring toward the faint outlines of the pyramids. The vast desert seemed endless, and the tide of loneliness would rise and swallow him whole.
He would think of Diagon Alley, of the cool evening breeze in Merlin City, and of the friends who had once called him brother.
But those days were gone. Now he wandered a foreign land, a man without roots—at best, a stray dog with some gold in its collar.
"Mr. Avery?" Bar Girl A's voice drew him out of his reverie.
"Why don't you try your luck at that casino too? Maybe you'll win something extraordinary. Even if not for money, it's full of wealthy people from all over the world. There are thrilling games every night. We've always wanted to see it ourselves, but the ticket alone costs fifty Galleons… far beyond what we can afford."
She winked playfully.
"Perhaps Mr. Avery might be kind enough to take—"
But Old Avery set down his glass and stood up before she could finish.
"Excuse me, ladies. I have something to attend to. I'll be leaving now."
"Huh? Mr. Avery, we—"
"I've already paid for the drinks," he interrupted curtly. "Until next time."
Without a backward glance, Ollivander Avery left the bar.
The two girls exchanged knowing smiles as the door swung shut behind him. Seeing the old man rush off like that, they could guess their mission was complete.
Had Gilderoy Lockhart been present, he might have recognized the pair as the same women who had once used a Memory Charm on him—if he'd recovered enough of his mind to remember it.
Outside, the cool night air greeted Avery as he stepped into the alley. He sneered quietly to himself.
Did they really take him for a fool? Fifty Galleons for one ticket—one hundred for two! Did they think he would throw away that kind of money on them?
He sighed. His businesses were gone, his fortunes scattered. Every Galleon he spent was one less to rebuild the Avery family name.
Why hadn't his son come yet?
If his son were here, the family's revival could be entrusted entirely to him. Avery's own spirit had long been broken by loss and failure. He was tired—too tired to fight alone.
Still, with no sign of his son, the old man could only keep moving forward. He couldn't just sit and waste away in foreign taverns.
Khufu Street lay hidden like Diagon Alley itself—concealed from Muggle eyes by magic. Its entrance rested at the base of the eastern side of the Khufu Pyramid.
Avery passed through the shimmer of a Muggle-Repelling Charm and found himself standing before a great stone wall. He drew his wand, tapped a white-painted stone near the bottom, and waited.
The stone sank inward, pulling the surrounding blocks after it, folding into themselves like gears turning in a lock. Within seconds, a doorway opened before him.
Beyond it stretched a sunlit avenue lined with palm trees and low houses, the air thick with the scent of sand and spice. Wizards in colorful robes strolled about, bargaining, laughing, and smoking long silver pipes.
This was Khufu Street—the hidden wizarding district of Cairo.
The bar girls' story echoed in his mind. The casino might be a trap, but it was also a chance. Whether he won money or not didn't matter; what mattered was meeting other wealthy wizards. If the Avery family was ever to rise again, he would need allies and opportunities.
Far from Britain, he had lost every connection he once had. Rebuilding meant starting over—networking anew, one handshake at a time.
He had spent weeks haunting bars, hoping to overhear the right name or rumor. Now, he finally knew where the real players gathered.
He had no time to waste.
The Pharaoh's Left Hand Auction House loomed before him—a grand sandstone structure decorated with hieroglyphic carvings and golden torches that burned with emerald flame.
Tonight, it was quiet. No auction was scheduled, and the marble halls echoed with emptiness.
Avery stepped inside. Almost at once, an attendant approached—a tall Black man dressed in flowing white linen trimmed with gold. His accent was Egyptian, his smile professional.
"Welcome, sir. Are you looking to buy something—or to sell?"
The man's face seemed vaguely familiar, but Avery couldn't place it. He wasn't good at telling faces apart, especially among foreigners. He didn't realize that this same man had been present the night the Fire Serpent Party attacked Merlin City.
"I heard there's a… casino here," Avery said cautiously.
The attendant's eyes darted left and right.
"Ah—sir, please, mind your words. We are merely an auction house," he said with a polite chuckle. "However… there is a private auction taking place at the moment. Perhaps you would be interested?"
"What are you auctioning?"
"Luck, sir," the man replied, smiling mysteriously.
Avery almost laughed aloud. Auctioning luck? How ridiculous—and yet, wasn't that just another word for gambling?
"I'm interested," he said. "Take me there."
"Of course, sir. There is an entrance fee of fifty Galleons."
The man's tone was apologetic, but his grin didn't waver.
"You understand, I'm sure. Those who attend our auctions are people of wealth and status. We must maintain a certain… threshold."
Avery frowned but reached into his robe and drew out a heavy pouch. He counted out fifty Galleons and placed them in the man's open palm.
The attendant meticulously counted each coin one by one, his fingers slow and deliberate, until Avery's patience nearly snapped.
"Fifty Galleons," the old man growled. "Not one more, not one less."
The man beamed, evidently satisfied. He gestured toward the tiled floor near the front desk, pointing to one tile slightly darker than the rest.
"Please stand on that spot, sir. It will take you down to the auction chamber."
Avery eyed him suspiciously but stepped onto the tile.
The moment both feet touched the stone, a faint hum rose beneath him. Magic gathered around his boots—then, without warning, the tile sank, and the floor swallowed him whole.
Avery felt his stomach twist as he descended through darkness. Then light burst around him—a vast underground hall filled with soft golden glow and the hum of enchantments.
Rows of masked guests sat in silence around a central stage where a silver sphere floated, spinning slowly. Every few seconds, runes flashed across its surface, pulsing with light.
He exhaled sharply, adjusting his robes.
"So this is where the wealthy come to gamble," he murmured to himself.
In the corners, waiters glided silently with trays of glittering drinks. The air smelled of perfume, money, and danger.
Avery straightened his back and walked forward, determined. Whatever strange games were played here, he would play them too.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something flicker in his chest—ambition.
He thought of his father's crest, now gathering dust in some forgotten vault, and of the Avery name, once proud among purebloods. He would not let it fade into obscurity.
Even in exile, even in a foreign desert, he would gamble everything—his gold, his pride, even his last shred of luck—if that was what it took to rebuild his house.
After all, what else did he have left to lose?
End of Chapter 163 — Old Avery's Miserable World (I)
For more chapters
patreon.com/Liamlivingstone