Fairy Tale Robbery
Chapter 3

It was with very little fanfare that Petunia stormed into Lily's quarters, lips tight and eyes narrowed. Usually she had a procession of guards and aides but today, it seemed, she wanted to keep their sisterly conversation private.

Which was a wonderful step up from two days ago.

"You summoned me?" Petunia seethed sarcastically, holding up her phone.

"I didn't summon you, I asked you to come see me," said Lily.

"Twenty-two times."

Lily almost felt bad about that. The last time she'd done a text spam she'd been massively drunk and harassing her ex-best friend. (She'd just written "fascist pig" about fifty times, with varying success in spelling.)

"I can't exactly leave my quarters, as per your instructions," Lily reminded her sister. "How else am I supposed to get you to come talk to me?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't talk to me at all."

She blew out an indignant huff. "Love you too, sis."

"Was there something you wanted from me?"

"Yeah." Lily straightened up from her slump on the bed. "Listen, can I have my MacBook back now? For good behavior and all that."

Petunia crossed her arms. "Why?"

"I'm not going to conspire against the government with it," said Lily. "Just look stuff up on the internet, as we young folk like to do."

Judging by the expression on Petunia's face, her sister was far too suspicious and unwilling to let Lily have her way based on that flimsy promise.

She would have to tell the truth.

"I'm trying to look up a bloke."

"Oh?" Petunia's shoulders relaxed a little but the disapproval on her face remained at maximum. "Would he be the same one you disappeared with at the party? Lord James Potter of Godric's Hollow?"

Godric's Hollow.

Lily silently thanked Petunia for that bit of information and smiled brightly.

"I think he and I got on rather well. I wanted to look him up and have a cup of tea with him."

"I doubt tea is what you have in mind."

A light thrumming started up in Lily's lower belly and she had to order herself to not squeeze her thighs together. No sexy thoughts until later.

"We only talked about art," Lily lied for the twenty third time. "No more, no less."

"Hmm."

Lily sighed loudly, sounding far too much like a teenager to her own ears. "Tuney, I swear I'm not up to anything terribly bad." Yet. "I just want to do a search and make some notes. Please?"

"…Fine. You'll have to wait a bit, though. It's being examined."

She stared. "Excuse me?"

"All the hardware in the palace is," Petunia waved her off irritably. "It's not about you."

"Why?" But Lily suspected she might know the answer.

"We've been robbed."

James sat on a bench in the park, looking out at the duck pond that, at the moment, housed only the fake duck used to bring the real ones in. It was supposed to make the ducks feel safe but James couldn't imagine a wooden duck making anything feel safer.

He checked his watch again and heaved a sigh.

It was ten minutes past the set meeting time, and given the nature of this meeting James was both annoyed and anxious at the delay.

For a moment he let his mind wander and, as it did every spare moment these last two days, his thoughts landed on Lily Evans.

Which was not good.

The lads still weren't speaking to him other than the occasional, discontented mutterings that he was clearly meant to hear.

Oh, well. They'd get over it eventually.

An old man sat next to James on the bench and pulled a newspaper out of his coat pocket. He opened it with a snap and flipped a few pages in.

"I heard you were careless."

James stared straight ahead at the bobbing wooden duck. "We got the job done."

"There was a trace in the system. My operative says security was increased halfway through the job, despite their efforts to make things easier on you."

"There were some unforeseen circumstances."

"Ah, yes." Albus Dumbledore peered over the top of his newspaper, blue eyes all-knowing behind those half-moon spectacles. "Apparently, the palace security is already aware of their loss."

Damn it.

"Do they know when the items were procured?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay neutral.

"No. Your tech expert may have left a trace but he made a mess of their systems. For all they know, it could have been any time in the last two days."

James blew out a relieved puff of air. "He's good."

"So you tell me." Dumbledore turned the page. "I won't lie, James—this was not up to the standard I require of my operatives."

"Technically, I'm not your operative," James said. "I'm under contract with you. It's different."

"You want to split hairs about our working relationship when I'm calling your professionalism into question? My, my, how very bold of you."

He bristled. "I have my own pool of clients," he told Dumbledore. "If you weren't blackmailing me, I wouldn't even be one of your so-called operatives. I'd be raking in my own loot. And why were we sent to rob the royals when you've got an operative inside already?"

"Don't be stupid, James, it's not a good look for you," Dumbledore advised. He paused in his charade of reading to check his fob watch. "I have a larger plan that you are understandably not a part of and for that plan I need an inside man. Now, if this inside man is complicit in a crime, how on earth can I gain information from them if they're locked up?"

"And what does this larger plan have to do with rare artifacts?" he said, now thoroughly irritated.

"Do you really want to know?"

James sighed. "No."

No, he would much prefer to be left alone to his schemes and his mates, stealing for the thrill of it rather than enacting some grand design. Let the do-gooders carry out their plans and their ideas—he'd rather just rob the lot of them and carry on in his little corner of Godric's Hollow.

"Believe me, James, if you were interested in what I am to accomplish then I would most certainly let you in on it," Dumbledore said. "I daresay your team is particularly well suited for such a thing. Not that they know it."

Dumbledore folded his newspaper back up and stood, his elegantly carved cane supporting his weight as he rose to his feet.

"No new assignment today?" James couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I'll let you alone for a while," said Dumbledore. He tucked the newspaper back into his coat pocket. "Go enjoy your 'pool of clients' outside the Order. Whether or not this is a punishment or a reprieve, I'll leave that to you to decide."

He strolled off, cool and casual, looking every inch the elegant old man who'd never hurt a fly. Such was Albus Dumbledore's image.

Crooked old fart.

"What are you doing here, miss?"

Lily whirled around. "Susan," she said sweetly, smiling despite her heart beating so hard she thought it might be trying to escape. "Hullo."

Susan looked over Lily's shoulder. "Isn't that the security room?"

"Susan, darling, listen," said Lily, "all I want is my computer back. That's all. Then I'll go back to my room, quiet as you like, and I won't bother anyone at all."

"Miss…"

"I'm not causing any trouble!" she insisted, still smiling. "Just having a look. You would too, wouldn't you?"

Susan sighed. "Is it your computer you need specifically, miss?"

"Well, not specifically…"

"Because the library has a set of computers that have already been looked over."

Lily nearly jumped for joy. "Susan, you absolute genius of a woman!" she hurried over and clasped the maid's hands in her own. "Don't tell my sister I was out, will you?"

"…If she asks, miss, I'm not going to lie," said Susan.

"That's alright," she agreed. "I wouldn't fault you for that. All I want to do is look one little thing up and then I'll be back in exile. That's a promise."

Susan looked doubtful but Lily just beamed at her until the maid nodded slowly.

Half an hour later Lily had snuck down to the library, evading any of the palace guard who knew of her quarantine. Most of them seemed distracted by the NCA Officers, who were strutting around the palace with a lot more authority than they ought to have, considering that nothing had turned up yet.

The computers were in the back. Old things, they were—relative junkers.

"Suffer, Evans," Lily muttered, booting up the nearest computer.

At least the robbery had managed to get the attention off her.

After James had left, Lily's night had gone down like a shot bird. Petunia had, at least, waited until after the part was over to give Lily the scolding of her life, which really was saying something considering the number of scoldings she'd given Lily in the last six years.

That wouldn't have been so bad if not for the entire army of guards, maids, and staff surrounding them. Vernon had stood off to the side, shaking his head furiously and turning an unpleasant shade of puce.

Nothing was off the table. Lily had never been so slut-shamed in her life, and even then she'd insisted that she had only talked with James instead of shagged him silly.

Angry and irritated as she was with Petunia, Lily couldn't deny the sting of it all. Relatively speaking, it was just a dress. A risqué dress, certainly, and a little inappropriate for the occasion and her public image—the public image Petunia kept up despite Lily's best efforts—but she hadn't done anything truly radical that people would care about.

This robbery was turning out to be a blessing in disguise, because now Lily's attire was not the worst part of Petunia's week.

And honestly, Lily hadn't been a fan of the artifacts in the first place. All treasured heirlooms of Prime Minister Riddle's ancestors? As if they should be honoring a rightfully toppled monarchy's living heir. How stupid of Vernon.

How stupid of the public, really, to elect a man with both rightful claim to the throne and aspirations toward power into the highest office of the nation.

The computer finally turned to the home screen.

"Alright, James Potter," Lily said to herself. "Let's see what you're made of."

She typed "Lord James Potter Godric's Hollow" into the Google search bar and waited a little impatiently for the search engine to get on with it.

Nothing.

At least, nothing noteworthy. No Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or even an abandoned MySpace account. There were no pictures of his face, not even when Lily clicked on the "Images" option. All she got there was a picture of a younger version from a newspaper article announcing thirteen-year-old James' sudden inheritance of the Potter fortune—and the title of Earl—after his parents died of pox.

Her heart squeezed a little at that, but she didn't linger.

Lily changed her search parameters to include "party" and managed to come up with some newspaper articles that had side mentions of him.

"…and Lord James Potter, making an appearance. Following him was Lady Jeanne Ashbury and her escort…"

That sort of thing was the fruit of her efforts.

She leaned back in her chair and groaned.

He existed. He definitely existed. James Potter might not have a social media presence, nor was he a well-documented figure of the nobility (hard to believe, considering how handsome the man was), but he wasn't completely hidden from the public eye.

Lily opened a word processor window and started copying-and-pasting the parties that James had attended, compiling a list.

She had a new search to make.

James had a stack of folders filled with information for potential clients piled up next to him, but he couldn't concentrate at all.

I have a larger plan that you are understandably not a part of.

What on earth was that old coot on about yesterday? Since when did the Order of the Phoenix have any other plan besides "steal what you can" and all that nonsense James had signed up for? Just how long had this supposed plan been in place? Had James ever unwittingly aided Dumbledore's grand scheme?

Ugh, he wasn't supposed to be worrying about this. He didn't have to contend with the Order for a while now.

At least he wasn't thinking about Lily Evans.

…Now he was.

"Shit!" he hissed, slapping his palm on the desk.

There was a knock on his door.

James stopped moving, stopped breathing, listening hard.

No one had his flat number—no one except Sirius, and Sirius was right pissed at him. He wouldn't be coming around for drinks for days. So unless it was the super…

The knock sounded again, a light, non-threatening rapping.

James stood and opened his desk drawer, pulling out his handgun. He didn't think he'd have to use it but it would always be that one time he didn't grab it that someone would try to kill him.

The person behind the door knocked yet again just as James approached the peephole. He peered out—

And blinked.

No. Surely not.

And yet—

"Is that you, lover?" Lily Evans called lightly. "I can hear you moving around."

James checked the safety on his gun before tucking it into the waistline of his trousers. He tucked his shirt over it and took a moment to collect himself.

Slowly, James undid the locks on his door and pulled it open.

"Well, isn't it about time," Lily said, waltzing inside as if he'd invited her. "I was hoping the long wait meant you'd just gotten out of the shower and I could get an eyeful—but this will do."

"Lily," he greeted her warily. "How did you find this place?"

She spun in place, her sundress twirling with her. She looked every inch the good girl James had first been expecting: light makeup, modest clothing, low heels, and what looked like a woven bag on her arm. A pre-approved wardrobe, no doubt.

"Oh, let a girl keep her secrets," she said with a sweet smile.

Tense as he was, James couldn't help but admire her. This "innocent darling" look of hers was almost as unbelievably sexy as the daredevil appearance she'd donned the night of the party.

He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone," she sighed loudly. "I have access to my brother-in-law's staff, in case you didn't realize. It was easy to convince them to give me your contact information—which they had due to your attendance the other night—and say it was to return a dropped handkerchief. Gullible things they are. Even after all this time they believe me."

"Lily—"

"You know," said Lily, waltzing around his desk with sashaying hips that held his attention, "I'm surprised the Earl of Godric's Hollow is living in a one room flat like this. You don't even have matching furniture. Is it a game? A fun way to deceive your friends?"

"You tell me," he said. He didn't let his surprise show at the casual use of his title. "Apparently, you're the expert on deceptive appearances."

Lily stopped walking and tapped her fingernails on the glass top of the desk. "And you're the expert on cons."

His blood froze. He could actually feel ice crystallizing in his veins.

She laughed. "You didn't realize that when I had my tongue in your ear, I felt something metallic stuck inside. I had to go back again just to make sure I wasn't imagining anything."

The comm link.

"But what really clued me in that something suspicious was happening," she continued, "was the wire and mic taped to your chest. You didn't think I wouldn't feel that when I was pressed up against you, did you? Careless. You should have more practice with this by now."

"I'm plenty practiced at pulling off a con," James defended himself, a little irritated at the way she wagged her finger at him. "I just don't usually—ever, that is—shag the mark."

"I was the mark?" she raised her eyebrows. "How strange. I didn't have my ten billion pounds worth of precious artifacts nabbed from my double-enforced vault with extra security around it. Perhaps you grabbed the wrong—"

"That's how the con works," he said. "Bloody hell, I shouldn't be saying this—I was supposed to keep you in the ballroom so I could keep your sister and brother-in-law's attention on us. That's what I should have been doing."

"Instead you fucked me against a wall."

"Among other things, yes."

Lily pursed her lips.

James sighed and sank onto his sofa. "Listen, I understand if you want to turn me in," he told her. "You probably feel betrayed by me. Also because I'm a criminal, but…I feel you should know, I've never done anything, with anyone, like I did that night with you."

"You mean you were a virgin?"

"No!" he snapped. "No, I mean, I've never shagged a mark. I'm not a prostitute, I don't get paid to have sex. I just…well, you were…you're sort of…"

"Irresistible?" Lily suggested coyly.

He shrugged. "That's not exactly wrong."

"Well I hope you're a professional, despite your little slip up with me—slip in, I should say—because I want to hire you."

James blinked.

What?

Of all the things he'd been expecting when Lily showed up on his door (not that he was able to expect much), this wasn't even a fathomable possibility.

"Hire me," he repeated.

"You and your crew, yes," said Lily. "I want something done and I need someone much more talented than I to do it. And I can pay you."

"Depends on what the job is," James said cautiously.

Lily smiled sweetly. "Nothing so terribly dramatic as a jewelry theft. I only want to break into the Prime Minister's offices, steal the hard copy of the Registration Bill, and plaster it everywhere on social media and the news."

"Only," he echoed faintly.

His earlier assessment of her was correct: a naturally occurring phenomenon, indeed.

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