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Chapter 2 - Heist Stonecutters song (Simpsons)

Who are the stonecutters; who are the best?

Who are they; who are far better than the rest?

Who controls the British crown?
Who keeps the metric system down?
We do! We do!
Who leaves Atlantis off the maps?
Who keeps the Martians under wraps?
We do! We do!
Who holds back the electric car?
Who makes Steve Guttenberg a star?
We do! We do!
Who robs the cavefish of their sight?
Who rigs every Oscars night?
We do! We do!

We were walking down the street, a muggle street. We were heading to the bank, the muggle bank. It was time to put the hard worked plan into action, by my father and I. The plan was remarkably simple but absurdly difficult to pull off. We were working on this for many weeks now - staking out the bank, finding what patrols go where, when the bank manager comes, and so on.

It was not easy work of course, but we did it. And now we were going to put all that hard work in action. But first, let me explain who "we" are. We as in my father and I. My name for what it's worth is Harry James Potter, believed to be dead by the modern wizarding world. My father, who is not really my biological one, is Bartemius Crouch. The wizarding world has also forgotten about him, as they believe he is dead.

"Phillip, do you remember the plan?" Father asks me.

"Yes, sir." I answer. Father calls me Phillip Lombard now; he supposedly picked it up in a muggle book. I like that name, simple yet eloquent.

"Repeat it to me." Father demanded.

"We go near the bank, wait for the patrol to come past us and follow them near the alley. Then we stun them, tie them up and use poltyjuice potion to impersonate them. After wearing their uniforms we go into the bank and rob them!" I said with a smirk looking up at my father's calm face. In reality I was extremely nervous. It was my first heist!

Usually father did the bank robbing when we were broke. It was not as easy as people think because if he used magic the aurors would come down on him faster than he can say "Dumbledore has too many names!"

Father sighed. He was a reptilian old man, shrewd and cunning. He walked purposefully and looked like royalty in his black suit. It was a hot day, yet my father never once broke a sweat. He probably used some kind of cooling charm. Wish I had done that.

Yes, amazing isn't it? Even though I don't go to a magical school I know more about it than most of the students put together. That's because my father teaches me in his spare time. Spare time you ask? Well he is extremely busy. He has been trying to form some kind of secret group for years now. Ever since he saw something like it on a muggle TV show. It was called "The Simpsons". Certainly my favorite show. One day when I was watching it my father came and started to watch with me. It was the stonecutters episode and ever since then my father was trying to put together a similar organization. With the name Stonecutters. How original.

He never tells me if he succeeded or if he progressed in his ambitions. Around me he usually keeps quiet and talks about my life such as my school work.

Muggles. They are simply geniuses. I marveled at how they invented machines that could outstrip any magical device. A TV! And it was entertaining too. Too bad wizards are egoistic and prejudiced. I met some of the pureblood ones in Ireland. They walked like they had sharp metal objects stuck up their-

I sighed as I remembered Ireland. My father and I had traveled there to help one of his friends out. In that country they had a civil war. Well two civil wars actually, a muggle one and a wizarding one. In the wizarding part of the country the purebloods and the muggle-borns were battling for supremacy, while in the muggle part of the country two groups were fighting about some petty issue or another.

I stopped. I was doing it again. I was underestimating and undermining the muggles, something I had promised myself I would not do. They say old habits are hard to break. The people that said that don't know how true it actually is. Or maybe they do, they are the ones that said it after all.

In my life, traveling was the norm. That meant I could see a lot of interesting things, but I lacked in social skills. I never had a friend in my life. Well except for that cobra. But I had to kill it when he started to bite my father. Boy, was he scared of my parseltongue abilities!

He never told me why. Maybe it has something to do with my parents? All I know about them are.... Nothing. I don't know anything about them. No matter how much I badgered my father he refused to tell me. I don't even know how he got me. Did he kidnap me or something? No, all I know is my name: Harry James Potter.

I tried researching the name, but my search yielded nothing. Well actually I kind of expected that - Who would keep old records of British people in Switzerland, or France? I think that is why my father always steered me away from England. But it was all right. Although I was curious I did not overly care. I had a good life, and I saw many things.

Take India for example. In Delhi, Cancador (a small village, now it is a city) they had elephants for transportation. And boy, were the streets crowded. The village was filled with huts and people stricken with poverty. I remember the funny thing my father did. He looted a bank and threw all the money in a big pile in the middle of the street. Of course people rushed to it and it was soon gone. That is one way to make your "transactions" untraceable. We even traveled by train one time, first class of course. The weather was scorching but it was an interesting time for sure...

Currently we were in Florence, Italy. We traveled a lot, usually keeping to the muggle world but sometimes I was allowed to see the sights of magic. Or I just sneaked there. Either way. I was fifteen years old, and all my life I traveled with my father. I have been to many places, enjoying the sights and the sounds while my father completed his criminal activities. It started to get boring after a while, especially since my father never let me come along on whatever nefarious thing he was doing next.

But this time it was different. After many hours of nagging he finally let me come along with him to heist a bank. The bank was called Malachi Ritz; in Italian it supposedly means safety or something queer like that.

So we were walking down the street, the crowded street, towards the bank which was about a few kilometers away. I looked up at my father, the only person I trusted in the entire world. He was old for sure, but his black shrewd eyes sparkled with vibrant life. He walked with his back straight, confidently commanding respect from everyone around him. The crowd parted as we walked unconsciously. We were dressed in expensive suits after all. It pays to be respected.

A few minutes later we approached the humongous building. People went through the glass doors, in and out. Two guards in green military uniforms with guns in their belts stood stationed outside; it was customary, we expected it. Soon the guards would patrol the building twice around and go home while another pair of guards took their place.

"Alright, lets circle back and wait. Don't do anything quick or suspicious, just smile and walk calmly, confidently and collected. Remember the three Cs I drilled into your head." Father whispered to me. We did exactly that. We walked to the side of the building and waited in the alley. And we waited some more.

Soon two guards came, walking arrogantly and talking about going to a casino later at night...

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

We simultaneously whispered the stunning spells at the two men. They fell to the cement like rocks.

Soon we were looking and were dressed as guards. Father and I walked to the back entrance of the Malachi Ritz bank; it was an inconspicuous entrance that appeared haggard and dirty. After many weeks of observation we concluded that the guards must have the keys with them to open the back door. So we searched in our pockets.

"Aha! Here is the key. Ok let's go! Remember, we go in the middle of the bank, shoot the gun into the air and tell everyone to drop to the floor. Then we tell the clerk to put as much money as she can into the bag I magically charmed." He said as he looked at me,

"I have a bad feeling about this. Be careful, son."

I nodded my head. This must be serious; he never showed emotions if he could help it. He opened the door and entered. I followed him into the passageway that must have lead to the main office area. We followed the passageway and soon enough we reached the enormous room. People were working and rushing here and there as the chatter seemed like a thousand drums smashed into my ear. Saying it was merely loud was an understatement.

My father, who I shall now refer to as Mr. Lombard, walked into the middle of the room. I stood to the side. He raised his gun from his hostler on his waist and pointed it towards the ceiling. He shot the gun with a bang. Silence reigned upon the bank as everyone stopped and looked towards the source of the commotion.

"STOP EVERYBODY! SLOWLY LOWER YOURSELF TOWARDS THE FLOOR. NOBODY TRY ANYTHING OR ELSE YOU WILL GET HURT. JUST STAY OUT OF IT AS IT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" I marveled at how calmly he shouted this as if he was reciting what he had for breakfast today. He looked positively dangerous and I saw many people immediately doing what he ordered. It was amazing how he could command such respect anywhere he went, like a strange ghostly quality... What did the muggles call it? Charisma?

Mr. Lombard walked like a panther over to a clerk who was cowering in fear. He whispered to her slowly, but I could hear it as everyone else could too in the deep silence.

"Get as much money as you can and put it into this bag here. Just keep getting money. If you try anything strange I will kill you and everyone else in the bank." Mr. Lombard said coldly. I was without a doubt that he would do it too. My father was a dangerous man when he wanted to be.

I knew my job. I was supposed to cover for him. If anyone tried to stab him in the back, so to speak it was my job to eliminate them. I was not sure if I could do it, I had never killed anyone before. I had got into fights, but killing! Harsh life this is...

The clerk nodded her head as fast as she could, and gulped. She was visibly frightened. I cast my eyes around the room. By now, everyone was on their knees on the floor. Slowly I looked towards the door. The other guards! I had forgotten about them in my excitement. They were sneaking slowly as they opened the glass door and walked towards Mr. Lombard aiming their guns towards his back while he faced the clerk.

I steadily grabbed the gun from the hostler and took aim. It was the first time I had shot a person before and my heart was hammering away. I wished I could use magic but I am sure that the Italian aurors had wards around here and would come and arrest us in minutes. I for one did not want to go to prison.

As I steadily aimed for the first guard's lower abdomen, the easiest part to hit, and pulled the trigger. I did not even notice the sweat running down my face as I promptly shut my eyes when I heard the bang. I opened my eyes slowly and looked at the crouching guard's blood running down from his stomach. I felt like vomiting.

The other guard looked shocked as my father turned around and shot him between the eyes without hesitation. I was quite shocked myself. Never had I imagined he would kill so ruthlessly without thought. But I supposed in his criminal line of work it was to be expected.

But I was scared. Not of my father, but of the excitement I felt when I saw the guards being killed. It shocked me. I just kept staring at the two guards groaning and screaming in pain with half joy and half disgust. It felt good to shoot that gun; I could not deny that.

When I looked back to my father, I saw that he was done. I also saw a bullet lodged into the forehead of the clerk! I looked suspiciously at my father who just shrugged.

"I told her to follow my rules..." He just said. The other customers of the bank looked scared and shocked as well.

Mr. Lombard just walked out of the bank by the main entrance and onto the street. I followed him reluctantly. I think, now that I recall that I was in a state of extreme stress and anxiety that I just felt hollow- kind of like I was given the dementor's kiss. My father took my hand and apparated us out of here to our apartment. It was luxuriously spacious with expensive furniture bought in Malaysia.

He took me in front of an extremely large window and seated me in a green and gold patterned armchair. He sat in front of me on a stool and looked me in the eye. I could tell he was serious and was ready to give me one of his "talks".

"Listen, Phillip. I want to tell you something." He began. I turned to him and paid my utmost attention. This looked important.

"Yes, father? What is it?" I said while my father looked at me strangely and sighed.

I did not know what he was thinking but I knew this was pretty strange. Maybe it was about my parents! Or it could be about my snake talking abilities? Hmm, maybe it was about the murder today at the bank. I was still horrified about that.

But it was neither.

Father looked uncomfortable. That was a first. I raised my eyebrow in surprise and looked at him questionably. He started talking.

"One day son, you will have to do this. And then you will know how hard it is for me to do it." A pause.

"What I wanted to talk to you about was...."

"Yes father, what is it?" I asked impatiently.

"Sex!" He blurted out.

My jaw dropped. What the hell!

"Look son, when a man and a woman meet each other and get attracted to each other they do things. And these things give them pleasure. It is really a very normal thing to do... You don't understand do you? Well don't worry, that's normal. Let me explain in greater detail..."