I know, it's been awhile. I apologize! Thanks to everyone who's been waiting patiently for an update - I hope it doesn't disappoint.

THE STRIP, PART TWO - CONSTRUCTION

Over the course of a couple of days, they haul construction materials into a warehouse Harry and Ron procured via a favor that was owed to them by a very grateful man they'd gotten out of trouble a few years earlier. The men have breakfast each morning and Harry continues to explain his plan to his best friend.

'We need to build an exact, working replica of the Bellagio vault,' he says, his mouth full of eggs and toast.

'For practice,' Ron clarifies and Harry smiles slightly.

'Something like that.'

On the second day, Harry pulls Colin aside and helps him set down the stack of lumber the younger man brought in from the truck outside.

'Fifth task: intelligence. We need those codes, Colin. From the only man who has all three.'

'Malfoy,' Colin says and Harry pretends he doesn't hear the hesitation in the young man's voice.

'Learn to love his shadow,' Harry says and pats him on the back before turning back to the other nine people working like ants to build the vault. 'Sixth task: transportation…'

'Wait, wait, wait,' Colin says, interrupting Harry. 'All I get to do is watch him?'

Harry nods, patient as ever. 'For now. You gotta walk before you can crawl.'

Ron grins at Colin. 'Reverse that,' he says, correcting Harry.

Colin nods and Harry turns back towards the assembled team. 'As I was saying. Sixth task: transportation…'

There are days when Hermione hates the Weasley twins…and then there are days where their penchant for mischief and mayhem comes in handy.

'Well hello there, little lady,' the salesman says as she comes inside. He glances over her shoulder to where she left Fred and George jumping on the bumper of a passenger van.

'How much for those two passenger vans out there?' she asks, a glamour covering the British accent her voice has always had with a much more twangy version of a southern belle.

He's paying little attention to her, which could work in her favor if things get out of hand with the mischief twins outside. They're who he's really focusing on as he quotes her 18,500 for each van.

'Can't you go a little lower?' she asks.

'I'm sorry, darlin', but eighteen-five each is the best offer I can make you.'

She pours on the charm.

'Oh that's alright. I understand perfectly. They are beautiful vans. Well, I thank you for your time, Mister…'

He smiles at her, his attention divided between her and the twins outside.

'Denham. Billy Tim Denham.'

'Yes, Denham, like the jean.' She takes his hand in hers, rubs her thumb along the back of it. 'You know, you have lovely hands. Do you moisturize?'

Hermione wants to make the situation as awkward as possible. She wants him to lower the price just so she'll leave and take the twins with her.

'I swear by it. I try all sorts of lotions. I went through a fragrance-free period last year, but now I like this new brand fortified with rose hip. My sister, you know, she uses the Aloe Vera with the sun screen built in...'

Mr. Denham is getting more and more uncomfortable with the conversation – he's literally trying to break free of her grasp but if there was anything Hermione learned during the war it was how to build up her hand strength so as to keep hold of her wand. She won't let him go and he's beginning to panic. She can see it in his eyes.

'Uh-huh.' He's still watching the twins. 'You said you'd be willing to pay in cash?'

Hermione nods, smiles, and tightens her grip. 'I did. You know: they say cinnamon is wonderful for your pores. And ideally we should all be wearing gloves to bed, but I find that interferes with my social agenda. Problem is: I get a reaction to camphor so I can't use traditional remedies...'

Denham is practically red now. Hermione would feel sorry for him if it wasn't amusing her so greatly.

'If you could pay cash, I could probably drop the price a little. To, say, seventeen…' Hermione squeezes his hand a little and he emits a slight squeak, '…sixteen each.

Hermione lets go of his hand and smiles widely, pours on the charm once again.

'Why, that would be lovely…'

Harry watches the tailor pin a pair of dark gray pinstripe trousers to Albus' measurements. Beside him on the couch is Snape, a gin and tonic in one hand and a chewed on cigar in the other. They've been at the tailor's for almost an hour and while Harry doesn't want to rush Ablus, he'd also like to get back to the hotel before midnight.

'This is nice material,' Albus says, smoothing his hand along the sleeve of the blazer.

'It's Armani, Albus,' Harry says with a small smile.

'It's nice.'

Harry has known Albus long enough and they've been through enough to know when the old wizard is scared and right now, staring at his reflection in the tailor's mirror, Albus Dumbledore is terrified. Harry stands and asks the tailor for a minute. The man disappears and leaves Harry, Ablus, and Snape alone in the fitting room.

'Albus, are you sure you're ready to do this?' Harry asks, his voice low.

Albus turns away for a minute and when he turns back to Harry, his blue eyes have gone icy and there's a stony expression on his usually warm face.

'If you ever question me again, Harry, you will not wake up the following morning.'

They stare at each other for a moment longer before Harry breaks eye contact and nods to Snape. 'He's ready,' he says.

Albus looks into the mirror once more. They shaved off his beard and cut his hair earlier in the day and the man who had taught most of the wizards in the world was practically unrecognizable. With Harry and Snape paying for the suit, Albus clears his throat and affects an eastern European accent.

'My name is Zerga. Lyman Zerga…'

It's just before two in the afternoon when Ron sits down beside Colin at the slot machines and starts to insert quarters.

'So tell me about Malfoy,' he says to the younger man.

Colin chuckles slightly. 'The guy is a machine…He arrives at the Bellagio at 2 p.m. every day. Same Town Car, same driver. Remembers every valet's name on the way in – not bad for a guy worth three-quarters of a billion dollars.'

Almost on cue, Draco Malfoy, perfectly coifed and dressed to impress, walks through the front doors of the casino, not far from where Ron and Colin are seated. They wait for him to pass before getting up and following at a distance.

'The offices are upstairs. He works hard, hits the lobby floor at seven on the nose.'

They lose sight of Malfoy for a few hours, but he reappears on the balcony above them right at seven o'clock and a taller man, dressed in a grey suit that doesn't fit over his biceps too well, approaches him.

'He spends three minutes on the floor with his casino manager,' Colin says as they watch the two men.

'What do they talk about?' Ron asks.

'All business. Malfoy likes to know what's going on in his casinos. There's rarely an incident he doesn't know about or doesn't handle personally.'

They watch the blond-haired man make his way through the casino floor. He stops and talks to people, knows names, mentions events. They watch him chat up Lyman Zerga and Ron grins at Albus' ability to handle himself so well in an unfamiliar suit and unfamiliar situation.

'He spends a few minutes gladhanding the high rollers. He's fluent in Spanish, German and Italian and he's taking lessons in Japanese. He's getting pretty good at it. He's out by seven-thirty when an assistant hands him a black portfolio. Contents: the day's take and new security codes. Then he heads to the restaurant.'

They wait by the restaurant for him, obscured slightly by a potted plant and a quickly muttered veil that Colin throws up just in case. When Malfoy doesn't appear immediately, Ron looks over at Colin.

'Give him another 10 seconds,' he says and Ron nods.

Sure enough, within ten seconds Malfoy appears at the restaurant and heads inside.

'As I said: a machine.'

'And that portfolio contains all the security codes to the cages downstairs?'

Colin nods. 'Two minutes after they've been changed, he has them in hand.' Colin drops the veil and they begin to walk away from the restaurant. 'I'll tell you: you guys picked a helluva target. He is as smart and ruthless as they come. The last guy caught cheating here, Benedict not only sent him up for ten years, he got the bank to seize the guy's home and bankrupted…'

'His brother-in-law's tractor dealership,' Ron finishes for him and Colin nods, wide-eyed. 'I heard about it.'

'He doesn't just go after your knees, he goes after your livelihood and anyone-you-ever-met's livelihood…'

Ron frowns at him. 'You scared?'

Colin frowns back. 'You suicidal?'

'Only in the morning,' he says and flashes the grin that often got him into trouble in school. 'Now what?'

Colin grins. 'Now comes my favorite part of the day.'

They stand at the bottom of the grand staircase, Ron with an oversized shrimp cocktail in his hand and Colin with his hands shoved into his pockets, and watch as a beautiful red-haired – and painfully familiar – woman walks down the stairs towards them. Ron turns his back as she gets within sight distance and waits for her to walk past.

'She works in the museum upstairs. She's the curator.' Colin watches on, oblivious to Ron's discomfort. 'I don't know if we can use her yet. I haven't figured out her name.'

'Ginny,' Ron says, his voice tight.

'What?' Colin asks, finally taking his eyes off the woman's retreating backside.

Ron tosses away the remainder of his shrimp cocktail. 'Her name is Ginny.'