The paper chase
The civil registry office was a chaotic mess of people, paper, and bureaucracy. The moment they stepped inside, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were hit with the full force of Cairo’s government efficiency—or lack thereof.
The room was hot despite the fans whirring weakly overhead, the air thick with the scent of old paper and ink. A long, winding queue stretched from the counter to the entrance, filled with people shifting impatiently, balancing folders, muttering to each other, and occasionally arguing.
Severus, who had clearly done this before, marched straight up to the counter. The Marauders followed, only to be immediately overwhelmed by the sheer number of voices shouting over each other in Arabic.
A man with greying hair, a thick moustache, and a pen tucked behind his ear sat at the counter, shuffling through stacks of paperwork with the air of someone who had seen it all before. His name tag read Mahmoud.
Severus cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
Mahmoud didn’t look up. “One second.”
A very long second passed.
Finally, Mahmoud lifted his head and gave Severus a once-over. His eyes flicked to the four foreigners behind him, their confusion painfully obvious. He sighed deeply. “Let me guess. You need ID papers for them?”
“Yes,” Severus said. “Temporary residency, no work permits.”
Mahmoud exhaled through his nose, already reaching for a stack of forms. “Passports.”
Severus turned to the Marauders. “Give him your passports.”
They fumbled through their pockets, pulling out their British passports and placing them on the counter. Mahmoud barely glanced at them before shaking his head.
“You need Form 17-B first,” he said, pushing their passports back.
Severus blinked. “We do?”
“Yes. You can’t apply for an ID without the foreign national registration first.”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where do we get that?”
Mahmoud pointed vaguely toward the back of the building. “Second floor, office 23.”
Sirius groaned. “Of course it’s upstairs.”
They trudged up the stairs, squeezed through a narrow hallway, and found office 23. It was closed. A sign on the door read: Back in 30 minutes.
Remus sighed. “Of course it is.”
They waited.
Thirty minutes turned into forty before a bored-looking man finally returned and handed them the forms without even checking who they were.
Back downstairs, Mahmoud barely looked at the forms before shaking his head. “No, no, no. You need a residency confirmation paper first.”
Severus’s eye twitched. “We were just upstairs.”
“Office 14,” Mahmoud said, already moving onto the next person in line.
Back upstairs. Different office. Different queue.
Then back down.
Mahmoud took the new papers, flipped through them, and sighed. “You need photos.”
Severus scowled. “There wasn’t anything about photos on the list.”
Mahmoud gave him a look that said ‘That’s your problem, not mine’.
Severus inhaled slowly, exhaled through his nose, and turned to the Marauders. “We need passport photos. There’s a shop outside.”
Sirius looked appalled. “You’re telling me we weren’t done?”
“You haven’t even started,” Severus muttered.
Out they went, into the blinding sun. They found the photography shop, where an elderly man took their pictures with a camera that looked older than any of them. The prints took another half hour to develop.
Back to Mahmoud.
Mahmoud took the photos, stapled them to the wrong papers, unstapled them, then stapled them to the right ones. Then he handed back another form.
“You need a proof-of-address document.”
Severus was about to strangle someone. “That wasn’t on the list either.”
Mahmoud shrugged. “Office 7. First floor.”
Back up they went. Another queue. Another official who barely looked at them.
When they returned, Mahmoud glanced at the form, nodded, and set it aside.
Then he slid another paper forward.
“You’re missing Form 9-G.”
Severus stared at him. “You didn’t say anything about Form 9-G.”
“You didn’t ask,” Mahmoud replied, completely unbothered.
James looked at Sirius. Sirius looked at Peter. Peter looked at Remus. Remus looked at Severus.
Severus took a very deep breath.
And then they went back upstairs.
Three hours later, sweaty, exhausted, and defeated, they finally had all their documents.
Mahmoud took one last look at the stack of papers, nodded in satisfaction, and stamped them with a heavy thunk.
“Come back next week,” he said.
Sirius let out a strangled noise. “Next week?”
“Processing takes time,” Mahmoud said lazily.
Severus rubbed his temples. “Of course it does.”
James groaned. “I hate bureaucracy.”
Severus snorted, stuffing the receipt into his pocket. “Welcome to Egypt.”
They trudged out of the office, heads aching, bodies sore, and patience completely drained.
“We survived Death Eaters,” Remus muttered, “but I don’t think we’re surviving this paperwork.”
Severus didn’t disagree.