The trunk hung, suspended in light above the large wooden work table in the engineering portion of the office. Ziyad flicked his wand and it began to spin rapidly, first clockwise and then counter-clockwise as he and Thara assessed it for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“I’m at my whit’s end, nothing is working,” he moaned, flicking at it again and sending the hulking object into rotation again on a slanted axis.
Thara, who had been consulting a relatively contemporary-looking book, slammed the tome shut and looked back up.
“The closest reference I have yet been able to find is in the British reports of the school days of Harry Potter, a boy who defeated one of the greatest dark western wizards in recent history.”
Ziyad raised an eyebrow. Though the ripples of Second Wizarding War of Great Britain had hardly been felt in Bahrain, he along with most had heard some news of those events. Ziyad had even felt a sense of affinity with the boy as he had recalled the admittedly dissimilar struggles of his own youth in Yemen.
“It seems that one of the boy’s professors, Alastor Moody, was in possession of a trunk bearing ten locks that opened onto ten different compartments. Evidently, he was actually imprisoned in one of them himself,” she said slightly wistfully in a way that hardly complimented Ziyad’s frustration. “Anyhow, as you can see, this one is ornamented by three locks in much the same fashion.”
“Thanks, Thara,” Ziyad said with a sarcasm that seemed to escape his partner as she smiled slightly and nodded her veiled head. He mumbled, “I wonder if his trunk was also built to withstand alohomora and every other lock-breaking spell on the books.”
“I’m not sure.”
Ziyad led out a small scoff, spinning the trunk faster.