CHAPTER TWO: THE HEIST OF GRYFFINDOR TOWER
I.
I HAD A FEW goals now that I had accepted my place in the Wizarding World, and it turned out, becoming a Mary-Sue wasn't quite as easy as going down to the Gringotts Bank and asking for an Inheritance Test. For one, it was forbidden to leave the school without valid emergencies, which that did not qualify as, for two, the Gringotts Bank was not where you went to have Inheritance Tests. Come on, a bank, really?
I learnt that in the first lesson of History Classes, in the first five minutes of them before Professor Binns put me to sleep like he did everyone else, Goblins really hated humans, and tried to swindle as much gold off them as they possibly could. Remembering Goblins names was just a basic common courtesy. I couldn't bet on sporting events to make cash either, my memory of most football games in the 1990s was hazy at best, I had to wait until the early 2000s for a potential exploit, especially considering I couldn't bet until I was of age. And on top of that, I didn't even know if everything in this world was still the same as the one I'd left behind, there were no wizards in a world where the Wizarding World franchise was still dominating the big screen.
So; I started small. I was going to rob Gryffindor Tower and find any kind of evidence in Harry Potter's bedroom that would give me clues about his identity. It was an approach that I confided in Michael as we were walking across the grass at lunchtime. "He's got to have some proof. Like a journal. Or something on him, I've read books, I know how this works, impostors always make mistakes, maybe a large amount of Polyjuice stashed under his bed-"
"But even so, and if what you're saying is true, why impersonate Harry? Why not do anything drastic before now, and why something so simple as not talk back to Professor Umbridge?"
"Domino effects, mate," I said. "It's time travel basics. "Change one small thing in established events and let everything snowball out from there. This Harry might not be a time traveller but he knows that something's going to happen before it does."
"There's a way to test that. Throw a rock at him when he's not looking at him and see if he ducks."
"No, it's more complicated than that," I said. "You seen Back to the Future?"
"The one with the car that goes back in time? Yeah. My Dad was a big fan. Oh. I get you. But it's insane, how is it even possible? Time turners can't go back more than a few hours at most, and you'd have to get access to the Ministry to be able to use those and why would the Ministry send an agent to control Hogwarts if they'd already controlled The Boy Who Lived?"
"What if it was Voldemort," I realised something. It always was Voldemort, after all.
"You-Know-Who? No. He's dead."
"But what if he's not," I said. "I'm spit-balling here. What if Harry never came back from the Goblet of Fire. What if Voldemort Polyjuiced as Harry and came back to…"
"Do what?"
"Get back at Dumbledore? I don't know. It doesn't explain the lack of reaction. The knowledge. I mean, unless Voldemort just tried to-"
"Can we not, please."
"Not what?"
"Say the name."
"It's just a name."
"It's more than that. The things that he did. People are still scared. He's not just the Bogeyman – he's the Bogeyman's Bogeyman," said Michael. "Most people still can't sleep at night. They remember the war. My mum especially. She's not the same person she was."
"I'm sorry. I can't imagine."
"It's easy for you," he said. "Muggleborn. Your parents never knew. My Dad was a muggle and he knew. He had to live in our attic half the time during the war. Imagine that. Living in the attic of your own home. Mum had to pretend he was dead to save him; the Death Eater attacks were so frequent. So that's why we don't say the name. It may be a different story for Dumbledore, but he's Dumbledore. We're not."
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"It's okay. You don't know. I'm surprised you never brought it up beforehand."
"Was I a good friend, beforehand?"
"Yes," Michael said, slightly wierded out by the question.
"I don't want to lose that," I said, not risking the possibility of jeopardising the only friendship that it seemed I had in the Potter world. "You Know Who from now on, okay?"
"Yeah." Michael said, and then; "Now, how are we going to rob Gryffindor Tower?"
II.
As an apology for the radio joke going too far, Fred and George had given me it free of charge and told me about a spare classroom on the Fourth-Floor corridor that nobody uses, apparently because even Dumbledore forgot it existed, so that was where Michael and I began our plan. I'd utilised a chalkboard to draw up a plan with a map of what I roughly knew of Gryffindor Tower from gossip that I'd picked up on and its depiction in the movies. "Okay, so this is Harry's bedroom. We're going to need a massive distraction to sneak in, and some kind of disguise to get past the Fat Lady."
"Neville Longbottom's always leaving his cloak behind after lessons," said Michael. Music played on the radio softly in the background, the Radio was giving us Shakin' Stevens' Green Door. "We could wait after class and steal that."
"I have detention with him for missing my Potions lesson," I said. "He blew up his cauldron again and Snape wasn't happy."
"Snape's never happy."
"Yeah. We'll do that," I said. "Good thinking. There's the first Quidditch match of the season coming up too, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. That clears the House out, and the rivalry's so big that even those who aren't Quidditch fans will go. That's the whole house."
"We're going to need the password," said Michael. "I'm working on it, though. My girlfriend's a Gryffindor. I can ask her."
"Ginny Weasley? You sure she'll tell you?"
"Yes," said Michael. "She loves me."
I looked at Michael and realised something suddenly, it was like looking at a slightly Harry Potter if he'd had a good upbringing, complete with messy, unkempt hair. Ginny Weasley had a type, it seemed, and I – with blonde hair, very much did not fit the bill. I didn't want to say anything though, I could tell from the way that Michael talked about her, he was very much in love with her. "Cool. So Quidditch matches will give me at least ninety minutes."
"Unless Potter gets the Snitch within ten minutes like he did before," said Michael.
"That's why we're going to do something stupid," I said. "The Snitch, where's it kept?"
"In Madam Hooch's quarters," Michael said. "But she has weekends off when they're not Quidditch games."
"The Weasley Twins had a fake Snitch in their room that went wherever the owner wanted it to, kind of like a remote-control Snitch if you will. I saw it when they brought out their stuff."
"You're not seriously thinking of using it. In front of all the teachers?"
"In front of all the teachers," I said. "In front of Dumbledore himself. It's ambitious, but it's the only way to be sure. To guarantee at least thirty minutes, we program it to just fly as high as possible away from the stadium, which should be all I need. You're then going to release the snitch at the half an hour mark, the real one, and let it do its thing-"
"I didn't sign up for this," Michael said worriedly. "I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not stupid."
"That's why we've got a contingency plan. You're not going to be at the Stadium."
"Oh?"
"You're going to be in Detention, and there's going to be a timed-release charm on the real snitch."
"Detention? Who's going to put me in Detention during the Quidditch Match? Half the teachers will be there, if not all of them. And I'm not ruining my perfect record-"
"Filch will, he hates the sport. Trust me. Please. This could be big. I'll owe you. Remember, this can't be as bad as potentially being found stealing from another housemate. Especially if Potter isn't who he says he is."
"You're going to owe me for the rest of your life."
"I'm counting on it. Now listen. Here's what we're going to do."
III.
It was easy enough getting the Fake Snitch off the Weasley Twins, and it was easy enough getting Michael in detention, all he had to do was pull a prank on Filch. Getting the passcode out of Ginny proved to be considerably harder than expected, but eventually she caved, and offered a word of warning that we would not be welcomed there if we flaunted our House colours. Gryffindor were a tribal bunch, and I imagined most of them took cues from the ultras of the football world. The detention with Professor Snape came around quicker than possible, and I couldn't believe my luck when I found a familiar someone sitting down on the table next to me as the only other person there: Neville Longbottom. He looked slightly wierded out by a Ravenclaw student being so happy to see him, but that happiness was quickly dashed by the mind-numbing boringness of the Potions Detention that followed, where a bored Snape made us translate from what was probably Latin, Potion ingredients for his current project, despite the fact I was pretty sure Latin wasn't a thing in the Wizarding World.
I was convinced that like Binns, Snape just wanted to make us bored out of our minds. He remained aloof but I could see something was keeping him on edge. But then an idea came to mind that I thought couldn't help but be worth a shot, remembering his hatred of Harry from the books being his main defining character trait for most of them. "Professor Snape, Sir?"
"Out with it boy. We don't have all day."
"Have you noticed anything odd about Harry Potter lately?"
Neville shot me a look, and I realised too late that he might take this information back to Harry. Which would put me in big trouble.
"Beyond his usual arrogant ways, self-centred elitism brought about by a hero status and general disrespect for the laws and regulations that hold this society together?" said Snape, and I was surprised that he was even entertaining me. "Beyond that?"
"Beyond that," I said. "Like something different. He didn't speak up in Defence Against the Arts. He didn't cause any kind of trouble at all."
Snape's eyebrows arched at this. "Are you sure? That sounds… extremely unlike Potter."
"I know. Especially given his attitude to the Ministry," I played my cards carefully. "Maybe enough to warrant a further investigation?"
"No," said Snape, and I could sense his hatred of the Gryffindor as he spoke. "I would suggest that Potter is finally, after all these years… falling in line, if it were anybody else but Potter, who is simply incapable of doing so. But I would assume, just because of one minor incident, he is having, how do you muggles put it? An off day. He will be back on his usual shenanigans soon enough. And that can be counted on, as sure as there will be nosy Ravenclaws who think that they know too much about what's happening around them."
That was what I was hoping for, what I was really hoping for, but decided not to bring anything up at the risk of pushing Snape too far and the conversation was not discussed until after the lesson, when Neville pulled me aside leaving the classroom at around 8pm. At first I was worried, thinking that he'd discovered the fact that his cloak that he'd taken off at the beginning of the class and left in the cloakroom was missing, but there was no sign of malice when he spoke: only concern. We walked down the corridors to the sound of thunder and clattering weather. "Harry's changed ever since You-Know-Who came back. It's like he's different. Maybe he just took the loss of Cedric Diggory pretty hard. Merlin knows, we all did."
"You believe he's back then? You-Know-Who?"
"Yes. If Harry and Dumbledore believe he's back, that's good enough for me. But Harry, you're right. He would have challenged Professor Umbridge. And he's become more distant lately, I don't even see him with Ron and Hermione that much anymore. It's like he's become more reclusive. Why do you care about him so much? You're a Ravenclaw. I thought you lot looked out for yourselves."
"It's a long story," I said, and that seemed to be enough for Neville, as we were walking back to our respective common rooms, not noticing his cloak sticking out of the back pocket of my trousers. "Listen. Can you do me a favour?"
"Depends on what it is."
"If things start to go, you know, wrong, can you let me know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, if Harry starts behaving odd. Even more odd than normal," I didn't know what I was going to do about it, but I'd been paying more and more attention to the books, not the Rowling books, actual, honest-to-god, books, living up to my reputation as a Ravenclaw, and If it came down to it, maybe I could go head to head with Harry himself one day. Although that day was a long day off.
"I can't promise much," Neville said. "I'm not about to betray my own that quickly, for a Ravenclaw I barely know. Something big would have to happen for me to even consider."
"Don't think of it as a betrayal," I said. "It's not a betrayal. We're looking out for Harry. I'm not trying to hurt him. I want to help him. I want to be wrong; I want to believe that he's just the same person, I'm just… making sure. Call me a concerned third party, Oh, and by the way? I'd stay clear of that corridor if I were you. Filch goes through there on his rounds and my friend Michael has a prank laid down for him."
Neville took a step back. "Wait… why are you pranking Filch?"
"Michael's fed up with his negative attitude towards the students and wants to do something about it," I said, not wanting to risk Neville letting slip to somebody else that I was planning on using Filch as a distraction, at least not yet, and carefully keeping his cloak out of his reach. "We should make ourselves scarce. He's due around here in about half an hour."
"Right. Although I thought you Ravenclaws were smart. You do realise he's only going to hate us more after this if you humiliate him?"
"I tried telling him that," I lied, and left the corridor going up the stairwell as Neville went down, showing Michael the cloak as completion of my mission. I bumped into Michael waiting at the top of the stairs. "Neville says Harry's been acting odd. Like, it could be more than grief."
"Longbottom? You mates with him, now?"
"No. Just it might be helpful to have a spy in Gryffindor Tower."
"Can't he look in Potter's room?"
"He's going to be at the game. He won't abandon his House for us."
"And I will," Michael said, waiting by the stairwell to be caught 'red-handed' by Filch. "You know, you're going to owe me. BIG time. If anything goes wrong, we're both going to be in serious trouble."
"That's why nothing is going to go wrong," I said, not entirely convinced. "You got to believe me, Michael. Please tell me you got the Password."
"It's…. Gryffindor," said Michael with a sigh, and I looked at him. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Guess there had to be a Wizarding equivalent for naming your password, well, Password.
"Really?" I rolled my eyes. "That's it?"
"Really. I tried it and everything, that was my reaction too. The Fat Lady must be having an off day. You got Neville's coat?"
"A lot of people are having off days lately. I got it. I talked to him and he didn't even notice I had it."
"You know… I think this might actually work," Michael said, looking at me in the corridor. A cry of alarm went up from down the stairs, with the prank kicking into effect. "You better bolt. Go. Quickly. I got this. Don't let me down."
"I won't," I said, hugging Michael before leaving. Michael sat down on the floor, and burst out laughing loudly, putting it on as convincingly as possible in a bid to draw Filch's attention. Maybe if things went south for him in the Wizarding World, he had a career in acting after all.
I retreated to my bedroom, and not being able to sleep, turned on the radio and found a muggle channel, and an eerie voice filtered through again: "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," a voice was saying through the radio, flickering and disorientated with the cracks. It was the voice. It was my mother's voice, and she was crying. "Maybe this will get through to you somehow. It's your old copy, that you used to read when you were young. Look, it's got the replacement cover and everything. You read it too many times. Let's see: what do you remember. Here we go. Okay."
There was a pause, a hiss of static, and rather than shutting off the voice, I embraced it, knowing it was – could it be? My only link to that world. "Chapter One. This opening line, I don't know… it always works on me. Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."
And then, just like that, the line of communication to whatever I had that resembled home was gone, and I found myself crying myself to sleep ahead of the big day this weekend.
