Raven (black_raven) wrote in spn_fic, @ 2009-07-22 22:21:00 |
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Current mood: | artistic |
Current music: | Turn The Page~ Metallica |
Guarding Death (Supernatural/Harry Potter) R
Title: Guarding Death
Author: Black_Raven
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Dean, Harry, Sam
Word Count: 4800 (whole story so far: 7200)
Rating: R
Summary: What if Castiel had one more charge, other than Dean. All those times Dean needed the angel, but he wasn't there, what if Cas were aiding someone else in their great times of need. SPN AU. Work in Progress.
Spoilers: Supernatural Season 4, All Harry Potter Books
Warnings: Slash, Foul Language, Child Abuse in Chapter 1, Violence, Dark Themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own anything having to do with the tv show Supernatural, or the books Harry Potter. I make no profit from this story.
There will be future slash in this! I haven't decided yet on pairings or level of detail I will give it though. Once I get to that, I will change the warnings and Pairings to reflect it.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
~^Chapter 2~^
Harry ducked and swore under his breath as a jet of green light rushed over his shoulder and struck the wall at his side. The Death Eaters were not messing around this time. His lips pulled back in a nasty grin as he whipped around and whispered two damning words. A surge of power ran down his arm and out the wand tip. The ebony wand clutched in his right hand vibrated as the green light returned back at his pursuers.
There were shouts of surprise as the Killing Curse found its mark. One of the seven wizards crumbled to the ground without a sound, dead. Harry took off like a shot down the corridor. He could run faster than any, despite his short stature. At least his cousin had done something good for him. The Entrance Hall of the castle loomed in front of him and he did not hesitate as he jumped and dodged his way through the carnage towards the great doors and out onto the grounds.
Hogwarts was a blood bath once again. After the defeat of Voldemort four years ago, no one had ever imagined the remaining Death Eaters would rally and lay siege to the castle. Harry had urged Headmistress McGonagall to destroy the vanishing cabinet, but she had refused, citing that moving it to a new, secure location within the castle would be good enough in deterring anyone from using it further. Once more, that blasted cabinet was instrumental in the destruction of the school.
Order members and Aurors were doing the best they could against the sudden surprise attack, but they were not using the one curse that could end everything. The Death Eaters were using the killing curse with abandon, taking advantage of the Light's reluctance to kill. Harry was fed up with it. Roaring a battle cry, he threw himself head-long into the onslaught, striking down a white-masked figure as it tried sneaking up on Ron.
The black haired man was a sight to see on the battlefield. Even those on his side shied away at the fierce look in his eyes and the blank look on his face. He showed no remorse as he used every lethal curse he knew to protect his one and only home. Long black hair streaming down his back acted like a banner for those intent on coming to his aid, or those intent on killing him. At that moment it was all right by him. Any Death Eaters who attempted to capture the glory of killing the Great Harry Potter were sadly mislead, as they fell with screams of pain or surprise.
There was a reason the Elder Wand now accepted him as it's sole Master. None yet could defeat him in combat. Lightning fast instincts honed from years of surviving against all odds were far greater than a few citations for formal dueling. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, many had taken to calling him the Angel of Death, for his prowess during raids on known Death Eaters.
Harry was no Auror, but his experience ensured the Magical Law Enforcement called upon him to take care of their dirty work. A snort left him as he rolled under a cutting hex and returned it to its caster. Angel of Death indeed. He had come to both love and loath that moniker. People feared and respected him for it, with good reason, but it was the reason he was haunting Hogwarts as opposed to moving on with his life.
Through the chaos, Harry caught sight of the obvious leader of this resistance. Of course. Rodolphus Lestrange. There were few original Death Eaters who had evaded the Aurors, but the two Lestrange men had been impossible to track down after the battle four years ago. Without hesitation, Harry barreled through the warring magicians. 'Cut off the head and the body will die'.
Harry's assault took the veteran Death Eater by surprise. None of the pureblooded wizards ever expected a physical attack. It was their downfall. Tackling the convict to the mud-soaked ground, the Defeater-of-Voldemort gave him no opportunity to fight back. With a swift stab of his left hand, the man was dead. Black light emitted from Harry's closed fist, originating from a gold ring on his index finger. The power of the Resurrection Stone flared for one instance, and then dissipated back into the ring.
There was a loud cry of alarm as Rabastan noticed his brother's defeat. Almost instantly the black cloaked invaders retreated. Sharp cracks and pops filled the air as they disapparated. The wards surrounding the castle had fallen with the first assault. Harry lay where he fell, panting heavily as he recovered from the surge of energy that had gripped him at the use of the stone. It's full powers never had been realized by Dumbledore. Truthfully, Harry did not know if even he knew the stone's full potential.
After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had gone back into the Forbidden Forest to search for the lost relic that he had dropped after using it the one time. The thought that it could be permanently gotten rid of through such means had been foolish. The only true way to be sure it did not fall into the wrong hands had been to keep the stone for himself. That point had been driven home for him after his best friend, Ron Weasley, had attempted to steal the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb after he recovered from the Last Battle. All in all, the Hallows were his by Blood Right anyhow. All the Hallows had been possessed originally by his ancestors.
The defenders of Hogwarts were recovering quickly, and Harry heard Hermione before she nearly crushed him to death in a bear hug. He laughed and patted her back, wincing all the while as she pulled on several new wounds. Nudging her away gently, he rolled to his feet in a shaky crouch and slowly straightened to his full, diminutive height. Even standing on tip-toes, he could never hope to match her five foot nine frame.
She chatterd at him worriedly as they picked their way through the bodies, back towards the school. There was no telling if all the Death Eaters had heard the call to fall back. All the wings needed to be scoured for traps and stragglers, and he had a magical cupboard to destroy before he could make his way to the Hospital Wing to be healed. There was a slight problem barring his goals however. Ron Weasley. Now days Harry could tell why Draco called him 'the weasel'.
The red-head looked largely unharmed, save a single wound bellowing purple smoke from his arm. His robes were torn and singed around the hem, and he wore an ugly expression as he glared at Harry and Hermione. Where had his best friend of four years ago gone? Harry thought sadly as he gazed at his former comrade. Where was the man who had once helped Harry, even despite becoming a wanted fugitive on the run?
“Where do you think you're going, Potter? I saw what you did to Rodolphus! You went against Ministry orders not to use that blasted Stone of yours! It'll be Dementors for you!”
Ever since Ron had become Head Auror of his division, he had changed drastically. Honestly, Harry was shocked that he had not seen it coming, from the way Ron coveted fame and recognition during their school years. The tone of voice he was using now though, was like a slap to the face. Despite Ron's personality flaws and fear of the Hallows Harry wielded, never had he seemed so happy at the thought of Harry facing the Dementor's Kiss.
The woman beside him gasped and stepped in front of Harry, as if shielding him. She seemed deeply offended as she glared down her own husband. Studying Ron's expression in that moment, a feeling of calm washed over the war veteran. While this was not the way he expected it to happen, he had known that eventually their friendship would be strained beyond repair. Or rather, it was already strained. The use of the Resurrection Stone on the battlefield had simply been the straw that broke the camels back. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as to Ron's sincerity about the Kiss.
Shaking his head sadly, Harry tapped Hermione softly between her shoulder blades before pivoting on his heel and aparating with a muted crack. They would never see each other again. Deep sadness coursed through him as he appeared in his flat in London. He had no wish to come between those two. Despite everything, he knew Hermione still loved Ron unconditionally. He could never forgive himself if he let his powers come between those two, like it had for himself and Ginny and his child, James Sirius Potter.
Waving his wand, Harry ordered all of his possessions to pack themselves into his old school trunk. Where would he go from here? Everything he knew and loved was right here on this island. He was more than skilled at evading the Aurors at this point in his life, after seventh year, but never had he gone outside the country, even back then. He felt overwhelmed.
Times like this made him yearn for that comforting presence from his childhood. What ever it had been had disappeared after his second year. After being saved by Fawks from the basilisk, his life had been one devastating blow after another, with nothing but despair guiding him. He figured it was simply a childish coping mechanism. To imagine that there was some 'being' in his life that lent comfort to him when nothing else could. The feeling had been real back then though.
Harry felt like crying as he realized just how alone he was now. Plenty of people were still loyal to him, but most of them were also fearful of the Hallows, and therefore fearful of him. Ginny and he were on good terms for the sake of James, and their as of yet unborn child. He did not want to get them in trouble with the law though. Their homes would be the first place the Aurors looked, after his flat. The thought spurred him to motion.
He knew of one place, short of Siberia, that would lend him asylum. America had always been supportive of his efforts to rid England of dark wizards, in spite of his methods. He had never been to the United States Office of Wizarding Security, but he knew the floo address. Shrinking his trunk, he stuffed it in his pocket before striding over to the magically enlarged fireplace. Here's to hoping they haven't blocked my network yet. Harry smirked grimly as he gathered a handful of powder and stepped into the hearth.
Five days later and Harry Potter was free. Well and truly free. The United States Department of Magical Interference had been supportive of his escape to their country and had offered him political asylum until the mess in England could be sorted out. It took three days for him to convince them not to deport him, and another two for his new citizenship to be approved. They had forced him to stay in the holding cells on the first night, but once the warrant for his arrest came in, he was released.
The man had to shake his head in silent wonder at the Americans. Never before had he met such a back-ward lot! Never the less, he was in their debt. No Auror or bounty hunter could touch him now without risking an international incident, so long as he remained within the country. He did not even have to change his name or appearance.
Before taking his leave of the DMI at Plymouth Rock, he had gotten a crash course on witchcraft in the United States. It seemed that there really weren't many restrictions on what American witches and wizards could do. There was a Statute of Secrecy, just like in England, but the laws were far more relaxed. So long as registered witches and wizards did not use magic with abandon in muggle populated areas, and so long as they did not kill or harm anyone, they were free to rule themselves. The thought horrified and amused the war veteran.
Despite the lack of real government in the US, the magical population upheld the more important rules on their own. Mostly they stuck together in rural areas and remained hidden, and the few individuals that took it upon themselves to break away from the masses never revealed their gifts in public. There were muggles called 'hunters' who were aware of the supernatural world who hunted any creatures or practitioners who brought harm to civilians. The DMI was content to let these muggles do their in-country law enforcement for them.
The system had flaws, which Harry immediately spotted, however he was smart enough to realize that if a situation didn't need fixing, then don't expend energy trying to. Mostly it was selfishness that made him pause at trying to get involved in the foreign politics. Why place restrictions on himself and others, when restrictions were the reason he had fled England to begin with. If America ever implemented any of the laws that Harry thought of as necessary, he would be locked away in a tiny cell for the rest of his life.
The first thing that Harry did upon leaving the DMI was floo to the Salem branch of Gringotts to check his accounts. While the goblins were still up-in-arms over his thieving of Gryffindor's Sword, they grudgingly refused to lose Harry's business as a wealthy wizard. Unpleasantly, he was informed that the Potter and Black vault assets were inaccessible, though his personal Trust vault and the Trust vault for his children were still active. The old school vault only held a couple hundred galleons now, Harry having burned through the bulk of it during his schooling.
The three hundred and ninety-nine galleons got him nearly two thousand pounds. In US currency it was enough to buy him a cheap '89 Chevy Comaro from a bloke on the Boston outskirts, with change to spare. Hermione had insisted he learn to drive muggle automobiles. Now he felt like kissing her for her insight. Driving on the right side of the road was difficult at first, but he acclimated to it rather easily. Life as a nomad was no stranger to Harry, but nothing had prepared him for the life of a muggle gypsy in the modern era.
After his meager funds ran out, he was forced to take up petty thievery and con jobs to get by. He had no wish to re-join with the wizarding world, but life was exhausting and the road was never ending. Nothing in this world or the next would ever make him give it up! The life he was living now was all he could ever hope to dream of.
The one thing missing was family and companionship. 'Companionship' was never hard to find any time he stopped for a pick-me-up at a bar. There was nothing that could replace the hole in his heart though, as he thought of his sons back in England. His sons who would never know him as their father. To assuage his guilt, when he could spare the cash, he deposited money in Ginny's personal vault to spend on his children, and any others she may eventually have.
The thing he was missing in his life other than family, was a purpose. After the first year on the road, he began to notice certain strange activities in the national papers. Unusual disappearances and unexplained deaths. A flashback to the war, and similar headlines in the Daily Prophet caused Harry to sit up and take things seriously. A short trip back to Plymouth Rock and the DMI and Harry had a name. The DMI was disgustingly lax in their monitoring of the Hunters, but they knew the real name and sure location of at least one.
Singer Salvage Yard in South Dakota was a day and a half drive from Massachusetts. Harry made it in twenty hours. When he pulled up the drive it was well after midnight, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care. Any soldier had to expect to be awakened at any hour for any reason. The same held true for Hunters, Harry expected. Constant vigilance and all that rot.
As he shut off the car and stepped out, booming howls and barks greeted him. The junk yard dog held true to its nasty reputation. Harry couldn't take a step within range of its chain without getting snapped at. The wizard approved. Animals were often better guards than humans ever could hope to be. Not even two minutes into his arrival, an older man stepped out of the house, shotgun in hand.
“You're trespassing. I suggest you leave.”
His voice was deep with suspicion and gruff with sleep, yet he was fully clothed and seemed alert. The old War General in Harry was impressed. Not even he could pull that off. He raised his open palms and tilted his head curiously to the side.
“You Bobby Singer? I was referred to you as a person who knows a little about a lot, and not just 'bout cars.”
The comment only served to make the man more suspicious, much to Harry's alarm. He was waved onto the porch though, so he figured he would count his blessings. Upon seeing that its owner had things in hand, the dog curled back up and went to sleep, leaving them in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Finally the man spoke up.
“What's your business and who referred you? Come inside, boy, I ain't having this conversation without a cold one.”
Harry chafed at being called 'boy' but said nothing as he was herded into the kitchen of the house. Bobby never lowered the shotgun, not even while grabbing two bottles of beer from the cold box. The wizard pretended not to notice when the hunter spiked his drink with what turned out to be water. It seemed to put the man at ease when Harry drank it and nothing happened. He relaxed his grip on the trigger at least.
“My name is Harry Potter, Mr. Singer. I heard from a friend that you are a hunter.”
Bobby scoffed, “Call me Bobby, kid. Who told you that? Not many would drop my name lightly, 'specially not to some kid barely outta highschool.”
“My name, Mr. Singer, is Harry. Please use it. And my age is of no consequence. Simply know that I'm old enough to have seen many of my friends die or betray me.” A growl escaped Harry, causing Bobby to wince and finally set the shotgun down on the table. Now was not the time to be making enemies, on either of their parts.
Harry gritted his teeth and reined in his temper. Even though it infuriated him when people judged his age on his appearance, he should have been use to it by now. Certainly it caused no end of trouble when he hustled pool in bars and clubs. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.
“My apologies. That was highly rude of me. I am afraid I can't tell you of my sources, simply that they mean you no harm and are content to leave you to your business. They heard I was becoming interested in hunting and directed me to the only person they knew of who could possibly help me.”
“Harry, I'm not a complete idiot. And I don't trust you. Hell, never even heard of ya before. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass to the curb right now.”
Frowning, Harry looked the man dead in the eyes. He answered as truthfully as he could, though it pained him. He had never really even admitted it to himself before that night.
“I have no family, no friends, and no home. My children will probably grow up thinking I'm a murderer. My home country thinks I'm too dangerous to be left free because of my combat training. Training they forced upon me. I have nothing to live for. The only thing I want to do is help as many people as I can before I die.”
Something in his expression must have gotten to Bobby, because after that admission the older hunter chose not to comment. They spent the rest of the night discussing various creatures and hunting methods.
From then on, Harry hunted. Singer Salvage Yard remained his primary base of operation, but he refused to give up his nomadic lifestyle to call the place 'home'. Bobby became a good friend to him, and somewhat of a father figure. Anything Harry ever needed could be supplied by the older hunter if only he asked for it. Eventually he made a name for himself among the network of informed hunters.
Somehow along the way he had made friends with Ellen Harvelle. The woman was really something. If Harry had been a few years older he would have been highly attracted to the scary woman. The same in reverse could be said for her daughter, Jo. The computer genius who slept on the pool table in the Road House was also been an invaluable source of information.
Between Bobby and Ellen, the next five years were full of hunts and chance encounters with creatures of varying threat levels. It was through the Road House that Harry tackled his first gig with demonic possession. Knowing Latin from spellwork had certainly come in handy for that particular job. Life was good, and he was living the Gryffindor dream lifestyle. Eventually the pain of betrayal faded, and his life in England was largely forgotten, save his monthly deposits to Ginny's vault.
Usually Harry refused to use his magic during hunts. After years of only using magic in combat, the feeling of taking on an enemy through physical means was exhilarating. There were cases which turned out to be too difficult for muggle means of extermination, but during those times he simply harnessed the Resurrection Stone's power and snuffed out the soul or life essence of what ever creature he was hunting. In doing so he had discovered the Stone's true secrets.
Through painful experience, Harry realized that while he had the stone on his finger, he could not die. Or rather, he died for an instance, before the Stone's powers flared and shocked him back to life. It seemed that for every being killed using the stone, the stone would grant him his own life in turn. Or so he hypothesized one drunken night. He figured this had been what Dumbledore was talking about when he spoke to Harry of 'Mastering Death' through the Hallows.
For this reason he had taken to carrying the Elder Wand and Cloak of Invisibility with him on most hunts despite not truly needing them. Together, all three Hallows worked as one to keep the possessor from physical (and on occasion metaphysical) harm. Harry did not know yet if it was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps both, as was the nature of most things.
The Hallows turned out to be a huge asset in his hunts after the Road House was destroyed, and news came from Bobby and Ellen that a Devil's Gate in Iowa had been opened briefly. The jobs grew considerably more difficult for the single man to handle through muggle means alone. With the brunt of his grief and anger over Ash's and other hunters' deaths backing him, he tended to throw himself into hunt after hunt without pause for rest or thought.
Survivors Guilt was no stranger to Harry. Had he followed through with his plans that fateful day instead of picking up the gig in San Francisco, he would have been caught in the trap and killed along with all the others at the Road House. He was also not a little angry with Bobby and Ellen for not contacting him immediately to come to their aid. Though he had been half way across the country at the time, he could have apparated to them at a moments notice. They did not know that, but it only made the guilt eat away at him more for not telling them about apparating in the first place.
With his life, he knew when he started hunting that it would be just like the War. They say history repeats itself. Harry had only hoped that it would not manifest in the manner that it had. His not-so-peaceful life was shattered one day as he began receiving visions.
The first occurrence had nearly scared the life out of him, having only Voldemort induced visions to compare the new ones to. For nearly a month he had been in a panic trying to figure out if old Snake Face had returned once more. Until Bobby showed up in his motel room one day and literally beat sense into him. That had been a memorable day in his life. He discovered that Bobby knew the subjects of his visions.
“What has gotten into you Harry? This ain't like you, sitting in your room for weeks on end, not answerin' my calls, not talking to Ellen. Now tell me what's going on!”
Harry loosed a slightly hysterical laugh as he got his feet under him, wiping at the trickle of blood from his nose where Bobby had 'greeted' him upon entering his motel room. His insides tied up in knots as he wondered if the older hunter would ever trust him if he told the truth. From the look on his face though, Harry figured he didn't have much of a choice. His options were rather limited and at the moment Bobby thought there was something supernaturally wrong with him. How right he was.
“... I... Bobby, you know me by now.... Please promise you won't try killing me until after I tell you the facts?”
He hated himself for sounding so vulnerable. But he had spent years forgetting his past, trying to fit in with the hunters he now called friends. To have them hunt him... it would be worse than the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of his last group of friends. Bobby shot him a look before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Harry followed his example and took a spot in one of the chairs surrounding the small table by the window of the room.
“Harry, you know you can trust me. I seen a lot of weird stuff in my day. Tell me what's wrong.”
“I've been having visions. Again. I use to have them when I was younger, connected to the man who murdered my parents. But I killed him several years ago and the visions stopped. Only they started about a month ago, and they have nothing to do with the man.”
“Okay... what else. What are they about?” Bobby looked and sounded his usual collect self. The ball of nerves in the pit of the wizard's stomach eased slightly now that the worse of it was out. His friend did not seem to act any different to the news than normal. Simply motioned impatiently, waiting until he had all of the facts before he acted.
“Er. They're of two men.... Hunters. I think they're hunters. And from the way they act, brothers. I don't know names, but it seems like I've been seeing some of their hunts. They seem to focus only on one of them though.... Guy around my age, slightly shorter than you, short brown hair, hazel eyes. And the other guy, tall, shaggy brown hair, brown eyes.”
Bobby looked deep in thought for a moment. “In any of these.. visions.. would they have happened to have mentioned anyone by the name of John, or anything about the Devil's Gate?”
“Yeah. They're dad died.. and they were there when the Devil's Gate opened. You know them?”
The older hunter had a strange look on his face as he stared at Harry. For a moment panic gripped the man once more as he wondered if Bobby would attack him. His fears were unfounded however, as the man simply shook his head and sighed.
“What 'm I gonna do with you boys? Worse than cats with the trouble you're always getting into, and double the lives too.”