"Are you sure you don't wanna come to the Quidditch game?" Bell signed to me, her hands moving with enthusiastic emphasis.
"Sorry Bell but you already know how much I hate brooms, plus the game is so stupid, seriously the snitch-" I began, ready to launch into my usual tirade about the illogical scoring system and how it made the rest of the game pointless.
Before I could continue my well-worn rant, she raised her hand with an exasperated but fond expression.
"I know, I know, the snitch is stupid you told me that already," she signed, rolling her eyes. "You've explained it at least twenty times."
Honestly, I understood why she wanted me to go since she had fallen in love with the game for whatever reason and had even planned to apply for the Gryffindor team. Though she hadn't made it this year, her enthusiasm hadn't diminished. But even if she loved it, I wasn't about to spend hours crammed into those sweaty stands watching people chase balls around on glorified cleaning implements.
"Your loss," she signed with a shrug. "It's the semifinals after all."
I felt someone's hand on my shoulder and turned to find myself face-to-face with Drake, who had apparently been watching our exchange with amusement.
"Dude you should really come to one," he said, "it's more fun than you think. The atmosphere alone is worth it. Plus Slytherin might actually win this year."
"My mama didn't raise no one who's gonna fall to peer pressure," I replied, affecting an exaggerated accent that made him snort. "Besides, I have other plans."
"Oh I know that - if anyone knows that, it's me," Drake laughed. "Still, it would be cool to have you there once. Even Adrian is coming, and you know how he feels about heights."
"You're going to be late," I pointed out, glancing at my watch. "The game is starting in 20 minutes. Wouldn't want to miss the opening ceremonies, would you?"
"I know, I know," Drake sighed, finally giving up his attempts at conversion. As he walked away, the rest of our friend group trailed after him, all chattering excitedly about the upcoming match. I could hear them debating odds and team strategies as they disappeared down the corridor.
Everyone seemed to love Quidditch for some inconceivable reason. Even the typically studious Ravenclaws abandoned their books on game days. I watched them go, shaking my head at the peculiar mass hysteria that seemed to grip the school whenever brooms were involved. The whole sport was just glorified tag with extra steps and arbitrary rules.
Once they were out of sight, I sprinted back to my club room, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Most students would already be heading to the pitch, making this the perfect time to put my plan into action. I found Jarvey waiting inside, his black fur bristling with impatience and his red eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Did he leave yet?" I asked, slightly out of breath from my run.
"No, not fucking yet," Jarvey replied, ears twitching as he monitored the enchanted radio. "The old coot's still talking to his bird."
Thank Merlin, Dumbledore hadn't seemed to probe the radio I had given him. He appeared to use it solely for listening to the broadcasts and music, in fact the man was able to learn almost every song I sang on the first listen which was impressive as hell for a 109 year old man, you'd suspect he'd be caught in the old times.
Dumbledore's voice sounded across my club room through the radio.
"It's almost that time, huh, Fawkes."
I had learned quite a bit from listening to Dumbledore, but the coolest thing was definitly the conversations he had with his phoenix, Fawkes.
A PHOENIX!
I mean, I'd seen him before in his office, but I hadn't managed to pluck a feather or two to study its rebirth magic. The thought of all that magical potential just sitting there, waiting to be studied, made my fingers itch.
I'd put Jarvey on listening duty 24/7 (well, whenever I couldn't do it myself because of classes or other commitments). We already knew today's password - Liquorice Wand, the sixth candy I'd seen him eat in abundance.
But the password changed daily, and after two weeks of monitoring, I'd discovered there was no pattern whatsoever to his selections. I'd initially theorized he was using the golden ratio numbers corresponding to the Honeydukes catalogue, but that theory fell apart by day four. The man simply chose at random, which was... frustrating to say the least.
"Time to leave then," Dumbledore's voice came through the radio. "I can't be late to my own students' game now, can I. Though could you teleport me Fawkes?"
"Caw," came the phoenix's reply, sounding distinctly unimpressed.
"So a no then, you are much too spoiled."
I heard some rustling - probably him petting the phoenix - followed by footsteps and the sound of his office door closing. The monitoring charm picked up his humming as he walked away, some tune I didn't recognize.
I waited a few extra minutes, just in case he returned for any reason. Finally satisfied he was gone, I began my mental checklist, reviewing every detail of the plan.
Ok, the game starts in four minutes and can last at most an hour, unless someone catches the snitch early. The polyjuice potion can last anywhere from 10 minutes to twelve hours. From my measurements, my own brews last either 2 to 4 or 7 to 8 hours each. Thankfully, I used another unfinished vial to make a potion with my own DNA - which came out gold-colored like my eyes and hair, and should last 9 to 10 hours - as a backup to quickly reverse the Dumbledore transformation if needed.
I examined the three working polyjuice potions before selecting a silver vial. The liquid inside swirled hypnotically, catching the light. Without further hesitation, I drank it down. Immediately, my insides started writhing as though I'd swallowed live snakes.
I doubled over, wondering if I was going to be sick. A burning sensation spread rapidly from my stomach to the very ends of my fingers and toes. Next came a horrible melting feeling, bringing me gasping to all fours as the skin all over my body bubbled like hot wax.
Before my eyes, my hands began to grow, fingers thickening, knuckles bulging like bolts. My shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on my forehead told me that hair was creeping down toward my eyebrows and face. My robes ripped as my chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops. My feet were agony in shoes now eight sizes too small.
"That looked like it hurt," Jarvey commented with poorly concealed glee.
"You - ha," I gasped out between breaths. "You be quiet."
"My voice," I said aloud, still gasping for breath but noting the perfect match to Dumbledore's tone. "Jarvey, how long did the transformation take?"
"Twenty seconds."
"Good, that's how long it'll take to transform back with the reversal potion."
I flipped through my mental image of Dumbledore, making sure I had every detail right.
I unholstered my wand and muttered, "Transmutare sericum."
My tattered robes and shoes grew and transformed until I was wearing Dumbledore's signature style. A quick tap of my wand on the table produced a pair of silver crescent moon glasses.
"How do I look?" I asked, already feeling much better from the transformation, though my back did hurt for some reason.
"Old. You look old. You even smell musky."
"Do I?" I sniffed at my armpits but couldn't detect anything unusual.
Shaking my head, I pulled out my wallet, carefully storing the gold-colored reversal potion and retrieving my map.
"I am One with Words," I intoned, unfurling the parchment. Blue lines immediately spread across it, revealing all of Hogwarts in intricate detail.
After confirming the corridor was empty, I stepped out with map in hand and whispered.
"Let the Heist begin."