Potter's Eleven
Chapter 1: London to Atlanta
Disclaimer: I don't own the Ocean's Eleven script and I don't own Harry Potter.
The room was barren except for a simple, wooden chair placed in the middle, right in front of a small panel of several members of the Wizengamot.
He walked across the hardwood floor in a casual manner, not holding his head too high or too low. Sitting down, he tugged a bit at the sleeve of his grey fatigues as he looked up at the presiding members,
"Please state your name for the record."
He vaguely recognized the woman from his trial a couple of years ago. Who was she? Oh yes, Susan Bones.
"Harry Potter."
"Mr. Potter, you were convicted of attempting to rob Gringotts, as well as implicated, although never charged, in numerous other crimes—"
"As you said, I was never charged…" Harry leaned back in his chair, almost lounging in front of the somber-faced panel.
"What the council is trying to decide, Mr. Potter, is why you chose to commit this crime…or why you simply got caught this time."
Harry seemed to take some time to think over the question, before placing his elbows on his knees and cradling his chin in the palm of his right hand. "My wife left me. I was upset. I fell into a …self-destructive pattern."
"Upon release, is it likely you will fall back into a similar pattern?"
Harry just smirked at the panel. "She already left me once. I doubt she can manage to do it again just for kicks."
"Mr. Potter…what would you do if released?"
Harry leaned forward again and one did not have to look hard to see the gears turning behind his narrowed green eyes. But whatever the former convict was plotting was not meant to be known by the Wizengamot as he simply smiled.
Harry walked out of the precinct wearing a ragged black suit and looking like he desperately needed a shave. He took a moment to stop and breathe in the air around him, only to end up pulling a rather tragic face. No, exhaust fumes definitely did not constitute as the scent of freedom.
Walking toward the apparition point, Harry rifled through the package he had been given upon release. Formal papers, the gold wedding band, his cellphone, some of his "honest" cash…and no wand.
"Damn." No wandmaker in England was going to sell to him, not even that hag in Knockturn Alley…
"America it is." Harry called up a taxi company and ordered a car for the trip to London's International Airport.
The music buzzed loudly through the semi-circular rooms, not at all softened by the mirrored walls and raucous conversation. The green felt table looked inviting as it sported little columns of chips and a wad of dollar bills. A hand flicked a couple of the chips over the tanned fingers before tossing them next to the cards.
"Twenty. Dealer has nineteen. Not a bad start."
Harry just nodded with a polite smile and moved the chips back. Atlanta City was certainly welcoming after four wasted years.
"I'm on break now. Ramon will take over for me."
Harry looked up as a black man came up and took the spot on the other side of the Blackjack table.
"Hello, Dean." Less than a day out of the joint and here was a familiar face. Harry couldn't help but grin.
"I'm sorry, sir," Dean shot Harry a meaningful look, while glancing side to side at the adjacent tables, "You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Ramon, as you can see right here." He pointed to the little bronze plague attached to his uniform and dealt the cards.
"My mistake," Harry looked up at 'Ramon' from under his brows and turned the cards over. Twenty-one. "Table's cold anyway."
Dean glanced at Harry's doubled chips but chose not to comment. He waited until his circling boss passed by their table before speaking in a thoroughly professional tone. "You might want to try the lounge at the Caesar's. It gets busy there around one o'clock."
"One o'clock?"
"Yes, sir."
Dean followed Harry's retreating back with a frown. It looked like his career as a professional dealer was coming to a swift close.
Harry nursed his bourbon and took a sip as he glanced at his watch. 12:58. He turned back to the New York Times.
Surveying the pictures on the front page, Harry did not know whether to laugh at his good fortune or spare a frown for his old friend. The caption declared boldly: Vegas' Paradiso to be Razed; Former Owner Denounces Claims.
Only Sirius Black would have carried through with a casino named "Paradiso", Harry thought. His scowling image in the paper, however, left no doubt as to the fate of his pride and joy.
"Catching up on current events?"
Harry looked up as Dean took a seat next to him behind the counter, "You could say that…Ramon?"
"Glad to meet ya," Dean lounged comfortably on his stool and smirked. "Dean Thomas wouldn't get past the gaming board. When'd you get out?"
"Just yesterday. Wasn't planning to stick around in Mother country any more than needed."
The two sat quietly for a moment, allowing the conversation to languish. Harry sipped his bourbon, looking for all the world like a brooding old gambler. After all, that's what bars at casinos tended to constitute of.
He finally spoke after the last drop of alcohol slid from the glass rim and he slammed the tumbler on the counter. "You seen him?"
Dean shrugged, not at all thrown by the question. "Last I heard he was in L.A., teaching movie stars how to play cards."
Harry pulled a face at that piece of information but Dean cut him off before any sardonic comment could arise.
"Why? You have a plan already?"
"Are you kidding? I just became a free man again." Harry looked sideways at his companion, but try as he might have to keep a straight face, the grin slipped through nonetheless.
Harry and Dean walked out of the Caesar's and proceeded down the sidewalk, away from the milling crowd. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the smoky interiors of the lounge.
"It's tough now, our line of work." Dean was talking to his feet, but he knew that every word counted regardless. "Everybody's so bloody serious. Too many guns, too many computers…What're you doin'? Gonna steal from them ordinary people?"
"That would be criminal," Harry talked lightly. No mention of magic was going to be brought up—when the business started, they agreed not to stoop so low as to use that against muggles. If they were to steal from muggles, they would steal like muggles.
"What's left? Banks don't carry real money, it's all electronic…Only place that still takes cash is…"
Harry grinned, "Casinos."
"…You're bloody kidding me."
"Nope," this was the part Harry had been anticipating since his release from the correctional facility.
"When?"
"Soon. Interested?" Harry asked as though 'No' was an option.
Dean just smiled.
A/N Alright, readers. A few points of clarification: this is going to follow the script pretty closely. I hope that only adds to the appeal since I don't want to risk crippling the plot too much. Also, I realize that there is an infinite number of ways to assign characters to match the actors, so don't complain too much if mine is not ideal to you. It's impossible to please everyone…
Finally, enjoy and review! Review because we all want to see Daniel Radcliffe grown up and sexy like George Clooney ;)
NS