Potter's Eleven
By Natasha Shaitanova
Chapter 4: The List
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Ocean's Eleven or Harry Potter. Yes, it is a shame.
Previously on Potter's Eleven:
"A little…Did I rush it? I felt like I rushed it."
"No, it was good."
…
"I wonder what Sirius will say."
"You're out of your goddamn minds!"
Sirius Black, dressed in a golden silk bathrobe and bejeweled with a conglomeration of various rings and amulets, sprawled comfortably in one of the deck chairs at the poolside. He scowled at his guests across the chic lunch. Harry and Draco just smiled back.
"Are you listening to me?" Sirius was working himself up into a long rant, "You are, both of you, nuts. I know more about casino security than any man alive. I invented it, and it cannot be beaten! They've got cameras, they've got watchers, they've got locks, they got timers, they got vaults. They've got enough armed personnel to occupy Hogwarts! …Okay, bad example."
"It's never been tried," Harry protested and kicked Draco under the table to stop him from nodding in agreement.
"Oh! Psht," Sirius scoffed pointedly, shaking his head, "It's been tried. A few guys even came close! You know the three most successful robberies in Vegas history?"
Draco vaguely waved his hand in a nugatory motion, "Since when do you care for history, Sirius?"
"Since I married this city, if you must know," undeterred, Sirius brushed aside the question, "It's bad luck not to know your bride's history—you never know what might creep up. Anyhow…"
Sirius glanced around furtively, before taking out his wands and conjuring a floating screen of sorts in the air.
"Observe."
The screen shimmered before displaying an Adlai Stevenson-lookalike creeping up on a security guard carrying a lockbox. He grabs the lockbox and springs forward…only to be pounced upon by no less than five other guards. Sirius flicked his wand and the image paused, freezing on the would-be thief's expression of pure horror.
"Number Three. The bronze medal," Sirius relayed in a rather didactic manner, "Pencilneck grabs a lockbox at the Sands. He got two steps closer to the door than any living soul before him."
Harry and Draco nodded along politely as the screen switched to another sequence.
A man with scraggly long hair and purple pants (i.e. flaming hippie) races towards the automatic doors, carrying a tray-full of poker chips. As the doors begin to part in front of him, a billy club shoots into the frame.
"Second most successful robbery," Sirius recited as he again paused the film, "The Flamingo '71. This guy actually smelled fresh oxygen before they got him."
The motion resumed, causing Harry and Draco to wince as the club smashed down hard across the hippie's skull.
Sirius cocked his head to the side, "Of course, he was breathing out of a hose for the next three weeks. Goddamn hippie."
"Ok, Sirius, really, I think we get—" Harry did not get to finish his protest as Sirius started up the next sequence.
In the frame, bystanders scatter as a suited man bursts from the doors of the Caesar's, an arm-load of cash clutched tight to his chest. He races down the steps of the casino, only to arch his back in apparent agony as no less than three glass doors burst into shards behind him.
"Outside the Caesar's in '87. He came, he grabbed…he got conquered."
Sirius pointed his wand at the screen, showing the frames of bullets ripping through the robber, before dissolving the makeshift TV in midair.
"But what am I saying," Sirius put on a fake grin, "You guys are pros, the best. I'm sure you can make it out of the casino. Of course, lest we forget, once you're out of the front door, you're still in the middle of the fucking desert!!"
Harry pretended to fiddle with his napkin as Draco spoke.
"You're right," the blond turned to his companion, "He's right."
"Sirius, you're right," Harry issued a long-suffering sigh, "Our eyes are bigger than our stomachs."
Draco nodded enthusiastically, "That's all it is. Pure ego."
Sirius just rolled his eyes at his guests, "Yeah yeah, blah blah."
Harry rose to go, nudging Draco as he got out of his chair, "Thanks for setting us straight. Sorry we bothered you."
"Look, we all go way back," Sirius gestured vaguely as he downed his orange juice, "I owe you from that thing with that guy in that place, and I'll never forget it."
"Sirius…" Harry paused in his retreat and stared at his godfather, "Don't you mean for saving your life over ten years ago from Bitchatrix in the Department of Mysteries? I didn't think you'd forget so soon."
"That's the one!" Sirius slurred as he pulled a bottle up from under the table, "Now excuse me as I drown this conversation out of my memory."
"It's been our pleasure," Draco intoned as he and Harry headed for the gate.
Sirius yelled after them, "Give Dominic your addresses, I have some remaindered furniture I wanna send you."
Harry raised a hand in acknowledgement and walked around the pool at a leisurely pace. Three, two, one…
"Look," Sirius yelled, "Just out of curiosity, which casinos did you geniuses pick to rob?"
Draco stopped with a slight smirk on his face, "Oh, uh, the Bellagio, the Mirage and the…"
"M.G.M. Grand," Harry finished.
Sirius's bottle slammed back onto the table, "Those are Severus Snape's casinos."
Draco put on a surprised look, "Is that right?"
"That's right," was Harry's cheerful reply.
Sirius took a sip and waved the two younger men back, "You guys...what do you got against Severus Snape?"
Harry looked bemused, "What do you have against him, that's the question. And judging from your distant history…"
"He torpedoed my casino!" Sirius exploded, throwing his chair back as he stood up, "Muscled me out. Now he's gonna blow it up next month to make room for another fuckin' eyesore! Don't think I don't see what you're doing."
Draco raised a carefully-plucked eyebrow, "What are we doing, Sirius?"
"You gonna steal from Snivellus, you better goddamn know. This sorta thing used to be civilized. You'd hit a guy, he'd whack you. Done. That's how muggles deal and that's how it should be in their business. But Snape..." Sirius bristled, "At the end of this, the s.o.b. better not know you guys are involved, cuz he'll kill ya! And then he'll get our good ol' minister to go to work on ya."
"That's why we have to be careful," Harry fought hard to keep the smug grin off his face, "We have to be precise. Well-funded."
"You gotta be nuts too, and you're gonna need a crew as nuts as you" Sirius tried to keep a straight face, but a bit of excitement slipped through, "It'll be just like school days again…Who'd you have in mind?"
Harry and Draco sat in the outside patio of a fancy café, sipping away at fruity drinks. Sun reflected merrily off their shining khaki suits. Draco straightened his collar.
"Alright, who's in?"
"Dean Thomas is in," Harry looked down at what appeared to be a list and checked off one of the items, "He's recently developed a severe case of bronchitis and is putting in for transfer to warmer climates."
Draco nodded at the paper, "What does he do nowadays?"
"Black jack dealer. Transferring from Atlanta City to Vegas."
Dean Thomas coughed forcefully into a lacy handkerchief, hiding a smile as he looked across the bureau table at his boss, signing the papers.
In less than twenty four hours, he was lighting up a thick, aromatic cigar as he exited the taxi, ignoring the driver. Inhaling the thick smoke and desert air, he grinned toothily at the proud red and yellow sign across the road.
"Welcome to Las Vegas!"
"Good…" Draco sipped his cocktail, "What about drivers?"
"I talked to Fred and George yesterday."
"The Weasley twins?" Draco frowned.
"Yeah, they're six months off the job back in London," Harry scribbled on his sheet, "And I got the sense they're having trouble filling the hours."
"You better be sure about this one. Remember Los Angeles?"
"Which one?"
"The one where they dragged their brooms to the bank heist," Draco glared across the table, "Or maybe the one where they obliviated all of the sales clerks. Or maybe that time that they entered the Monster Truck contest with a flying Hummer!"
"Your point?" Harry looked up, "They're efficient."
"They're crazy. How do you explain to them the no-magic policy on this job?"
"You take away their wands, their toffees, and their brooms and then tell them that they are chucked if they don't stick to the deal," Harry seemed perfected unworried as he replied, already moving on to the next entry on his list.
A thick cable stretched between the two skyscrapers of downtown London, attached to the roofs at each end. A length of rope, tied to the cable and dangling toward the bustling traffic below, bounced up and down as the weight on its end fell face first off the shaking parapet.
Hoots and cheers could be heard from one of the skyscrapers' roofs as a garden gnome scowled and growled mournfully, swinging back and forth on the end of the rope.
The rope suddenly sagged, causing a yelp out of the gnome, as a tall, redheaded, young man walked foot over foot across the cable, hands outstretched at his sides. Or at least…he made it in ten feet at most before slipping sideways and dangling down next to the gnome on another stretch of rubber cord.
"New record! That's three feet more than last time!"
The shout was accompanied by aggravated yelps as the redhead strove to fend off a furious, swinging and kicking gnome.
"Fine, but I'll blame you when Snape owls the Ministry," Draco scowled momentarily, "Anyhow…electronics?"
"Neville Longbottom."
"Ok, Potter, are you on medication that you forgot to tell me about and forgot to take it?"
"Stop being cliché, Draco," Harry answered blithely as he drank his pina colada.
"Look, the kid's a klutz and his nerves are wired! How the hell is he going to work?"
"He'll be fine, just give him a chance," Harry slid the list across the table, "He's doing freelance surveillance work for the FBI mob-squad."
An unmarked white van sat discreetly on the side of a park, revealing nothing of its contents to the cheery pedestrians.
Inside, Neville Longbottom sat hunched over a TV screen, a set of headphones clamped tightly over his ears. On the screen, two black-suited looked around furtively as they exchanged briefcases.
"Hey, hey! Don't t-t-touch that!"
Neville seemed to come alive as he gestured at the two FBI agents occupying the other half of the mobile surveillance facility. One of the fibs had began twisting dials on a switchboard, causing an electric squeal to emit from the headphones.
"Why?"
Neville bristled, "Do you see me grabbing the gun out of your holster and w-waving it around?"
The fib pulled a face, "Hey, RadioShack: relax!"
Draco pushed back the list, "Munitions?"
"Seamus Finnigan."
"Dead."
Harry looked up, surprised, "No shit! On the job?"
"Nope, skin cancer."
"Bullshit," Harry frowned.
"Alright, that's what his wife was told."
"You send flowers?"
"Dated the wife for a while."
Harry mulled over the list, "Well, then that leaves…"
Draco grinned. "Yup."
A/N: woohoo! Quick update! You'll find out who'll be the explosives guy next time ;) For now, REVIEW! See, I got plenty of reviews for the last chapter so this one came out fast. What does that tell you? Ahah, I knew you guys were smart.