It had been several months since the conversation, but the memory of it had resurfaced in Johann's mind early that morning while brushing his teeth in Balfour's bathroom.

Peter Thackeray, curious, out of his time librarian of the Ministry had brought up Morocco  in amongst an explanation of how he had ended up working for the Ministry. It had been back in February, when Johann had spent a good hour folded into a shadowy corner of the vast Ministry library, trying to get his head straight after losing his temper with Hamilton on little sleep. Peter's presence in and around him had initially not spied him, or Johann had thought at the time, hands pressed tight over his dark curls. But once they had struck up conversation, Johann's bad mood had lifted, and he had made more of a point to hold conversation each time he visited, even when he returned stacks of books well past their dates.

Morocco was more the reasoning for Johann to be approaching the desk with an armful of books, than the fact all four books on futhark runes had been due back in mid October. His library borrowing records were anything less than perfect. It was just after eleven, ahead of the lunchtime rush where social browsing might commence, and after the initial pile of work in his in tray had been conquered.

"Morning, Thackeray." He greeted with his boyish smile. It was both in greeting to someone he enjoyed conversing with and also a little in hope that Peter would forget to mention how overdue the books were on his report to Departments.
"Some books I owe and I was wondering if I could pick your brains on one of your specialist subjects." He slid the pile onto the edge of Peter's desk, always a source of entertainment, given the weird and wonderful things one had to repair magical books with. He glanced around them both surreptitiously and lowered his voice, as if about to drop terrible news:
"Marrakech."

Peter Thackeray held a handless magnifying glass the size of his face, hunched over the great desk that fronted the Ministry Library. Behind him the many rows of towering shelves stretched into seemingly endless aisles - other Librarians pottered about, followed by curiously sentient book trollies. An old gramophone collected dust on a nearby chair.

His blue eyes danced across the vast, unfurled scroll he was examining: it appeared to be perfectly blank unless under the scrutiny of the glass. Neat arabic lettering revealed itself beneath the enchantment, dark saffron ink against ageing paper. A befuddled frown crossed the wizard's face as his lips moved to quietly enunciate the jawi[1] formatting.

Johann Storm's arrival was a welcomed interruption.

"Howsit![2] Storm!" Peter slid aside his work and tapped the desk with his wand, scroll rolling back up into itself. "My brains, eh? You may pick what's left of them." He made a mental note of the books being returned - lips twitching into a charmed smile - long past their due date. Merciful thing for either of them that nobody was on the waiting list. The linguist was a likeable fellow. Not everyone stopped to chat to the Librarians, much less about interesting matters. 

He sent the books floating serenely over to the closest trolley but kept his attention on Johann, instantly taken by the secretive manner. A little toy soldier on the desk came to life abruptly but quietly - it saluted the two men but Peter ignored it. Rascal Rosier's idea of a gift. Mention of Marrakech was too marvellous for distraction.

"Marrakech!" he repeated with a brilliant smile, corners of his eyes crinkling as he folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "You come to the right gent for that. I gather it isn't under the French Protectorate any longer but I've been playing catch up on my history." Peter could remember the dusty streets of Essaouira clearly. Its azure coastline, its multitude of tongues.

The Marrakech of today was different, chiefly for muggles, but its wizarding society travelled in the same circles as it had even for the many years before he had gone to live there in the early 1900s. "Are you going to visit?" he asked before tacking on in a more hushed tone, mirroring Johann's dramatics: "A confidential visit?"

1.	The Malay language written in the arabic alphabet. The scroll has been mistakenly handed to Peter for deciphering.
2.	South African slang for "hello".

Johann mirrored Peter's lean on the table, though his hands gripped the edge and he braced his arms. The saluting little soldier caught his gaze a moment. He was sure that it was nothing to do with repairing books, but curious all the same. He wasn't sure he remembered it from his last visit, but things were never quite the same twice in the library.

"I am," he replied to the librarian in his maintained hushed tone, eyes bright despite the usual lack of sleep. "Not for our Ministry, but on private business." He rocked back and forth once on the balls of his feet, a little excited at the prospect and tapped his nose twice, trusting Peter keep this to himself.

"I haven't been since I was knee high - if one can believe I ever was." He shrugged, "Wanted to pick your mind on where to see if you only have a weekend. To both enjoy and say… impress another who likes a little adventure." He grinned.

The last time he'd been over to Morocco, it has been as a child, about thirty years, and his memory was not to be relied upon. Then again, perhaps Peter had been for longer, Johann hadn't asked. Whatever he could tell him was still an opinion, and besides, he had always wanted a better excuse to linger and distract Thackery from his work. Then he might persuade him down the pub to hear a little more of him.

"Flooing from here to Casablanca," Johann explained, "and on from there. Will have very late Friday, all of Saturday, most of Sunday, just the two of us." His right hand lifted from the edge of the table to plant a fingertip on an empty space before him as if walking them across the surface as he spoke. He anticipated there would be a lot of walking in Marrakech, though that didn't phase him at all, nor did he suspect it would Balfour.

"We'll end up in the Medina.. souks at some point, but perhaps the El Badi Palace, do you think? Indulge in hammam? What about the tombs?" He looked intently to Peter. "It's deciding what and how to pack it all into a weekend."

"Not for our Ministry, but on private business."

Ah. That sort of visit, then. Johann was the sort who liked to plan surprises and apparently he liked to plan them well. Peter was not of an organised disposition. His entire life was falling from one haphazard plane of existence to another, nails scrapping for purchase but failing entirely. But it was a good life and if his experiences could be of help to anyone at all...

Marrakech. Where to begin with y'Allah, where to begin with Marrakech? The markets, palaces, vistas of daylight. Tea houses, bazaars, Masjids of evening. The athan that cries across the city, that every other city is empty without.

He drew a long quill from his robes, licking the tip as a short stretch of parchment slinked from a pile of clean papers. The toy soldier on the desk gave a serious little salute and he returned the salute distractedly before giving Johann a quick smile.

"Firstly, don't pack anything in or you won't be having a delicious getaway. Take your time with Morocco and she will waste none with you." Peter scribbled several places down - in roman lettering alongside the Arabic, which would be easier to show locals if one got lost. And he fully suspected they would get lost. "I'll give these to you now. Palaces and ruins, fairly busy in the day but you'll want to visit at sunset during the Maghrib prayers."

He paused, leaving a gap at the bottom of the parchment before he wrote two other entries in his confused handwriting. Blue eyes snapped up to his eager visitor, a little bit of archaic mischief in them.

"There's a tea house in Medina, I correspond with its owner to this day. Granddaughter of an old friend." Peter rolled up the list deftly before he handed it over, still leaning against the desk. "You must go. I will write to let her know, and you shall have the rooftop to yourselves. The view... I am not poet enough to describe it." The wizard's grin turned rueful and he felt a slight pang in his chest. Nostalgia was painful.

Anything worth experiencing is. "I shall send further advice to your desk, and a little book on useful trivialities of the protectorate, if it would please." The Librarian in him snuck into the exchange, thoughtful.

Thackeray's advice was received with intense attention. Johann's stray thoughts dissipating with the explanations and the list. He was absolutely fascinated by the script Peter wrote beside the recognisable letters and the differing direction. He nodded sagely at the mention of prayers. Although Johann didn't believe in any higher being he had picked up the exclamation of exclaiming to Merlin while his Muggleborn counterparts exclaimed God. Peter to his observation, spoke to someone else entirely in his responses.

He glanced from the paper to Peter as the other wizard looked up. Both of them stared at each other a moment, mirroring intent blue gazes. It was as if this was a rather secret mission and the pair of them were conspiring. It was all a lot of fun and Johann was glad he'd come down to visit.

Johann's intense stare did not leave the librarian's face throughout his explanation of the tea house.
"… I am not poet enough to describe it."
"Sounds perfect." He replied quietly, and blinked suddenly, considering Balfour's interest in poetry and the inspired lines he came out with in their moments entwined in calmer moments. Perhaps in such a place he would be equally inspired.

"It would please," Johann confirmed with a rather formal nod. He grasped the proffered list in one hand and shook Peter's hand firmly with the other. "Thank you. I owe you more than a few drinks now, Thackeray. When I get back, you'll take me up on that." He waggled the list at his face with no malice intended and grinned, saluting the toy soldier before he left.


End