The Heist pt.1
The alleyway was a narrow gash between towering buildings, the cobblestones slick from an earlier drizzle. Remus Lupin leaned against the damp brick wall, his breath misting in the chill. James, his co-captain and eternal partner-in-crime, stood beside him, a crooked grin playing on his lips.
“Alright, mates,” Remus began, his voice low and steady. “Tonight, we dance. The Black Family’s annual ball—the pinnacle of high society. And guess what? We’re crashing it.”
Lily, Mary, and Marlene huddled together, their elegant gowns a stark contrast to the grime of the alley. Lily adjusted her jeweled necklace, her green eyes alight with mischief. “We’ll dazzle them, won’t we? The unsuspecting royals won’t know what hit them.”
Marlene’s smirk was a blade. “And while they’re busy ogling us, Barty and Evan will plant the bomb. Tick-tock, gentlemen.”
Barty, his maniac smile plastered on his face as usual, nodded. “Trust me, it's going to be one hell of a show. The ballroom’s chandelier—boom! Chaos ensues, and we slip away.” he motioned with his hands.
Evan, something dark and unhinged behind his eyes, adjusted his gloves. “Timing, lads. Not a second too soon or too late.”
Peter, lurking near the alley entrance, shifted nervously. “I’ll be waiting, mates. The getaway carriage is primed. Just give the signal.”
James leaned in, whispering to Remus. “ And we don't have to worry about a way to get in now do we? Those two little guards. They owe us for that brawl at the Three Broomsticks.”
Remus smirked. “Indeed. They’ll unlock the servants’ entrance. We’ll slip through, as easy as that.”
“Careful Lupin, we don't want to jinx anything now,” Marlene hummed as she adjusted the top of her dress, showing a little more than necessary.
His mind raced. The map—the cryptic parchment they’d earned as a reward from a past job—burned in his pocket. It led to the heart of the Black Family’s estate. Beneath the polished façade of the grand ball, secrets lay buried—jewels, gold, and the kind of wealth that could buy kingdoms.
Remus wondered if anyone would even notice the thieves amidst the glittering crowd. The Black Sails had studied the guest list—the pompous lords, the powdered ladies, the masked intrigue, they were all too stuck in their own silly scandals ever to notice anything. Who is having an affair with who, whose stocks are rising and whose wealth is slipping between their fingers, it was all just too easy.
It was too easy.
As the crew dispersed—one by one—into the opulent ballroom, Remus felt the weight of their mission. The Black Sails would rise or fall tonight. And somewhere beneath the castle, hidden in a vault, lay the jewels that could change everything.
He glanced at James. “Ready, old friend?”
James clapped him on the shoulder. “Always, Remus. Let’s steal the sea’s secrets.”
And so, the rest of the crew melted into the crowd, shadows weaving through silk and jewels, their laughter echoing off ancient stone walls, while Remus and James slipped to the back. The Black Sails sailed on, their destiny entwined with the hidden mysteries beneath the Black Family’s palace.
The moon hung low, casting a silver veil over the castle walls. James and Remus crouched in the shadow of the ancient oak, their breaths misting in the frosty air. The guards—two burly men more loyal to their coin purses than their king—stood sentry at the servants’ entrance.
“James,” Remus whispered, his voice a blade in the darkness. “Our illustrious hosts await. Shall we waltz in, or shall we tango with the guards?”
James grinned, his eyes glinting like stolen gold. “Waltzing is for debutantes. Tango it is.”
They crept forward, boots sinking into the damp earth. The guards, wrapped in woollen cloaks, huddled by the door, their breaths visible in the moonlight. Remus’s mind raced—a thousand scenarios, each more treacherous than the last. But this was their dance, and they knew the steps.
The Three Broomsticks. The memory flickered—a haze of firewhisky, laughter, and a bar brawl that left half of Hogsmeade’s finest nursing black eyes. James had challenged the innkeeper to a drinking contest, and Remus had bet on the underdog. The result? A broken table, a bruised ego, and a lifetime ban.
“Remember that night?” James murmured, his eyes on the guards. “When we sang ‘Molly Malone’ so loudly that the windows cracked?”
Remus chuckled. “And you tried to juggle tankards. Ended up with ale in your hair.”
James nudged him. “Best damn night we had in a while, we ought to go there again sometimes”
“James,” Remus whispered “We're banned.”
James groaned. “Damn it, forgot about that part, best bar in town too.”
“Mm,” Remus hummed.
They reached the guards, who eyed them with suspicion. James clapped one on the shoulder. “Evening, lads. Cold night, isn’t it?”
The guard grunted. “What business do you have?”
“Entertainment,” Remus said smoothly. “We’re the midnight jesters. Here to tickle the castle’s funny bone.”
The other guard raised an eyebrow. “Funny bone, eh?”
James winked. “We’ve got jokes that’ll make the suits split their seams.”
The guards exchanged glances. Remus leaned in, his voice a velvet threat. “But we need a shortcut. A secret passage, maybe?”
The first guard hesitated. “Why should we—”
“Because,” James interrupted, “we know about the Three Broomsticks. The night the innkeeper’s nose met my fist.”
The guards paled. Remus grinned. “And we’re not here to brawl. Just a quiet stroll through your castle.”
The guards exchanged a silent conversation—one of fear, greed, and the thrill of betrayal. Then, grudgingly, they stepped aside, revealing the hidden door.
“Enjoy your dance,” the second guard muttered.
James winked. “We always do.”
And so, they slipped into the castle—the reluctant royals, the jesters with knives.
With Mary, Marlene, and Lily:
The three women glided through the crowd, their gowns trailing like midnight waves. Mary, with her smoky eyes and crimson lips, leaned in close to a chubby nobleman. Her laughter tinkled like stolen silver.
“Lord Abernathy,” she purred, “have you ever danced so close that your heart raced faster than your feet?”
His eyes widened, and he stammered, “I—uh—”
Marlene, the blond-haired enchantress, sidled up to a young count. She traced a finger along his jawline, her voice a velvet whisper. “Tell me, darling, do you prefer duelling or more… intimate combat?”
The count’s cheeks flushed. “wha-”
Lily, the green-eyed siren, leaned against a marble pillar. Her gown clung to every curve, and her wit was sharper than the sword at her side. She beckoned a guard, his armour polished to a blinding gleam.
“Captain Mulciber,” she said, “I’ve heard your swordplay is unmatched. Care to demonstrate?”
His eyes flickered between her lips and the blade. “I'm sorry?”
But beneath the flirtatious banter, boredom simmered. Mary stifled a yawn. “Honestly, Marlene, how many times can we discuss swordplay and duelling techniques?”
Marlene smirked. “At least it’s more interesting than their politics. I’d rather get stabbed with words than listen to their bland debates.”
With Barty and Evan:
In the shadows, wearing all black, Barty Evan worked their magic. Barty, tinkering with his tools and adjusting the bomb’s timer looks up to stare at his partner in crime. “You know,” he said, “This is not all my hands are capable of.”
The blond snorted and answered without lifting his eyes from the wires he was connecting. “I'm sure they can do more than just build a simple bomb.”
Barty shifted his foot so he could nudge Evans's thighs. “Some would say my hand can work magic.”
The other just nodded and hummed an answer “Yes Barty I'm sure you are quite the wizard in the hand jobs department”
“But don't you want to see if the rumours are true” Barty nudged him again.
Evan simply looked up and locked eyes with the other, “Go back to work Romeo.”
As they planted the bomb beneath the chandelier, Barty quipped, “Evan, what’s the difference between a wizard and a thief?”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“A wizard steals secrets,” Barty said, “but a thief steals kingdoms.”
With Peter:
Peter, ever the nervous lookout, fidgeted near the alley entrance. His eyes darted between the moonlit cobblestones and the grand castle doors. He clutched the getaway carriage reins, sweat dampening his palms.
“Come on, lads,” he muttered. “Tick-tock, tick-tock.”
He wondered if he’d ever be more than the getaway driver—the one who waited while others danced with danger.