Current Summary -

Training a young reaper is hard; they make way too many mistakes. Firstly, they aren't supposed to send vampires to Heaven. Secondly, they're not supposed to be visible, especially in front of the Winchesters. Harry's excuse? He was bored.

Rating - T for Language

Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and Supernatural except the plot of this fanfiction

Warnings - Profanity

Notes -

This story does not need to be read in chronological order. Two for Mirth is the second installment of my 'Counting Crows' series where birthdays reach the peak of two thousand and a master who didn't want his reign finds solace in the young reapers of a Supernatural world.

Fonts -

"Normal Speaking."

Normal Thinking.

"Sam!"

Fighting to throw off the hungry vampire on him, Sam caught the glimpse of light in the corner of his eye as his brother came into view with a obscure blade in his hand. Summoning his last ounce of strength and will to fight into his feet, he kicked at the vampire's stomach, sending it sprawling across the wooden floor. As second nature and without a thought, he caught the gleaming machete into his bloody hands and sucked in a breath. As quick as he could, Sam climbed onto his feet to regain his place to fight.

Sprawling at first but recovering as fast as it fell, the vampire leaped to its feet with fangs bared crimson, hunger and determination driving its will to fight and tear apart the flesh of breathing beings. However, its drive crumbled to utter pieces as it watched in horror as Sam lurched forward with a blade of murder swinging six ways to Sunday.

With the whistle of metal and the gurgle of blood, a decapitated head hit the floor with a thump. The body quickly followed it down.

Sam heaved for his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead as the machete dropped from his slippery hands. "Thanks for the save," he coarsely gasped, the extent of his fatigue slapping him right in the face.

"That bloodsucker was a real bitch," Dean cursed as he grasped for breath with his chin held high. His face was grimy.

"No kidding," Sam chuckled softly, wiping his hands on his pants to run his fingers through his clammy timber locks. "Remind me to never again, let you go fight a vampire when you are extremely cheerful."

Trying to reason with his brother, Dean began, "I wasn't that—"

"You literally invited him to dance before trying to punch him in the face."

"I do that all the time."

"And you usually succeed."

"Hey, it's not my fault that the burger was really good."

While they talked, crimson stained the rug bloody with the headless body spread across it. Soon, the stench of metal drowned the air as Sam cleaned off the blade of the machete on his shirt, a disgusted and disturbed expression resting on his face. His nose wrinkled.

Dean made an uneasy face and tried to fan away the stench. "Ugh, dude, let's hurry up and get out of here already. This guy's smelling worse by the second," he protested, exaggeratedly feigning vomiting.

Sam nodded in agreement and plugged his nose. "I agree," he mumbled under his breath. "I do not want to be here any longer."

The two brothers exchanged a glance and nod before snatching their belongings which were sprawled randomly across the floor, moving briskly as they didn't want to be in the hotel room any longer with a rotting beheaded vampire spread across the once pure white rug.

"Don't you make another move!"

Who was that?

Panic and alarm racing through them at the abrupt voice of an empty room, they spun around quickly for the source and bearer of the voice, only to spot a little boy crouching by the forgotten vampire, a small pale hand on its rose stained chest. Confusion and dread drowned Sam's voice in his throat, but no Dean's.

"Hey kid!" Dean barked dangerously, an ominous pulse coursing through him. His hand snapped toward his gun's holster. Sam did the same. This probably wasn't a kid. It 99% wasn't, and they both hoped that 1% wasn't an option here.

The kid was dressed in a neat and tidy suit, monochrome, black and white, formal like he was supposed to be at a political meeting instead of a room that had just went through hell twice over. With pale brown locks lining his chin and a baby face, the boy slowly glanced at them wearing an inquisitive face and not an expression full of fear at the dead rotting body. "Why?" he asked politely, but the brothers didn't think he was talking to them.

The latter followed the kid's gaze to the corner of the hotel room where another being stood where one wasn't before. Dean's height but with unkempt locks of dark chocolate and eyes of emeralds and leaves, a cloak of night draped over his shoulders, and a burgundy and honey scarf wrapped around his neck, the strange man leaned against the living room wall, lips pursed. With a clearing of the man's throat and a glint of disappointment hiding in the corner of his eye, he corrected, "Vampires are supposed to go to Purgatory, not Heaven, Clive. I expected more from you."

"Oh," the boy named Clive apologized, steadily balancing his gaze, "Sorry, I was slightly distracted by the vampire's death."

The man curled in his lips, hands in his pockets and back against the wall. "Clive, I know you're a new reaper but that is one of the worst mistakes you could have ever—" He never finished his sentence. Ever so slowly, he found the eye contact of the two hunters, whose mouths were opened apprehensively with guns slightly out of their holsters. Closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, the man murmured with dread, "Oh, how lovely."

Clive seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation before murmuring once again, "...Sorry."

"What luck!" The man threw his hands up and cupped the side of his neck as if trying to disappear from the matter at hand. "Out of all the humans you could've revealed yourself to, it had to be the bloody Winchesters." A sigh escaped his lips. "Clive, I thought I raised you better than this."

Clive took his hand off the vampire's chest and lowered his gaze to his lap. Mumbling, he ashamedly justified softly, "It's only my first day as a reaper."

The man cupped his ear and leaned toward Clive's direction. "Huh? What'd you say? Speak up? 'Cause I thought you said that it's not your fault that you sent a vampire to Heaven, and not Purgatory."

Silence was the only thing that escaped Clive's mouth that moment.

"You're reapers?" Sam wheezed in disbelief, barely able to comprehend what was going on.

The man's gaze sharpened, and he chided snappily, "The answer to that question is something you shouldn't concern yourself with."

Glancing at his brother, the older one decided to take charge, because letting all these supernatural beings walk all over them was not a nice feeling. "To hell with that," Dean mouthed off, with a smooth motion of his hand, tore out his gun and loaded it. The click of the barrel echoed through the eerie silence.

Sam's eyes widened at Dean's impulsive action and scarcely stole a glance from the two supposed reapers. Attempting to reason with his brother, he reprimanded as calmly as currently possible, "Dean, this is not a good idea—it's a terrible one, even! Think about this. We already have demons and angels at our door! And I'd really appreciate it if we don't add reapers to this equation."

"If I were you, I'd listen to your brother's advice, Dean Winchester," the man smiled mischievously, lush emerald orbs sparking with something more than irritation and disappointment. The two hunters might have mistaken it for amusement, but they didn't get a chance to reinforce that analysis. Treading closer to the cadaver, the man stood alongside the reaper as the two brothers pulled away, taking a step closer toward the door. "Pulling that trigger will guarantee your death today. You're on a tightrope with angels and demons waiting on either side, therefore I wouldn't suggest angering the reapers since we're the ones holding the saw and capable of causing your fall."

"I'm really sorry," the reaper muttered again, gaze low and sorrowful. "I promise not to do it ever again."

With a calm expression, devoid of any disappointment like before, the man placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's alright; these things happen sometimes," he reassuringly said, a sweet smile plastering itself onto his face. Turning away from Clive, the man met their gaze once again. "Anyway, Winchesters," he began politely as he helped Clive up with their hands entwined. "I must apologize for all this confusion. Sincerely, we unfortunately met in one of the most unfavorable moments. You understand, don't you? Wrong place, wrong time." He glanced at Clive who frowned. "Wrong decision."

The hunters pushed. "Who are you?"

"Harry Potter, and for the record, not a reaper," informed the emerald-eyed man with a polite nod of acknowledgement. He clicked his tongue, and even though the reaper made a terrible mistake today, pride glimmered in his orbs of green. "However, Clive here is. It's his first day and believe it or not, it was going splendidly before you both got involved."

"I didn't know reapers had first day," Dean mentioned, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, his gun slowly lowering.

Harry snickered, mirth lining his voice, "Of course you didn't; you're two of the most ignorant hunters on this planet."

"Hey!" Sam took offense to that.

"Let's see." Harry's gaze wandered up to the ceiling as Clive tried to hide a smirk. Starting, Harry reminded, "Dean traded his life for his brother's when already, his father sacrificed himself for his, and accepted the Mark of Cain, which is overall, crazy. And look at Sam! The nicer smarter brother who still trusted a low ranked demon of all beings, broke the last seal of 66, and released the devil himself, Lucifer—who is by the way a dick but a pretty cool guy over all—along with the four horsemen!"

"Is that all?" the reaper asked, looking up at his superior.

Harry chuckled and met Clive's gaze softly. "Are you kidding? Not even close. I mean, the list goes on forever; it increases by the hour. I wouldn't mind reciting the whole thing, but then we'd be here all day and you'd never reach the extent of a reaper's first day at the job."

Clive glanced at the two Winchesters. Tilting his head, he questioned sincerely, but with a hidden motive, "Mister Potter, is holding a reaper at gunpoint considered a stupid thing?"

"Yes, dear!" A cup of tea flickered into existence and Harry raised it to his lips, amusement tattooed into the curve of his mouth.

"Okay, enough!" Dean growled impulsively, motioning with his gun and taking a step forward to portray his dominance in the situation. "I want a clear answer. Bullets can't kill you, but they hurt like a bitch, so I ask again, what the hell are you?"

Harry's eyes went dead and bland with annoyance as he puffed his cheeks. Somehow, he appeared more intimidating than the hunter with the actual gun. "Hush, hush, little Squirrel, the below average shouldn't speak when the smart people are talking."

"Squirrel?" Sam echoed in panic. That was a nickname only Crowley—

"Ah, yes," Harry confirmed when he spotted the realization in both of their eyes. "Squirrel and Moose: the funny nicknames that Crow came up with. When I first heard of them, I laughed for hours. Crow's nicknames of annoyances always stick."

Sam asked, his voice lined with shock and confusion, "You know Crowley? King of the Crossroad Demons?"

"So you're a demon!" Dean arraigned, the top of his gun aligning with the frown on Harry's bland face.

That earned Dean a deadpanned glare. "Just because I'm friends with a demon, doesn't necessarily mean I am one," Harry pointed out, indignantly. "Throwing such petty accusations are not a nice way to get an answer. Maybe a punch in the gut instead or a slit on the throat.."

"You—"

"Lower the gun, Squirrel," Harry's voice thundered abruptly, emphasizing the nickname with a hiss. The brothers gulped at the sudden volume of the seemingly carefree being. "'Cause I might reconsider the thought of letting destiny play itself out and letting you live another day."

Comprehending the distance of how downhill this conversation was going, Sam intervened and demanded, "Dean, lower it! We're up against a reaper and a being probably higher than a reaper. And I swear, I am done with finding all these high and powerful enemies because of stupid avoidable things we always tend to do!"

"Finally, something smart from the Moose's lips. Have a chocolate," Harry smoothly congratulated as he bit into a treacle tart that, like his tea cup, flickered into existence. In Sam's hand, a chocolate materialized. He scrutinized at it suspiciously. After a few seconds of contemplating on eating it, someone's patience ran out. "It's not poisoned," Harry chided, popping the rest of his treacle tart into his mouth and sipping the rest of his tea. His cup flared into a butterfly that took refuge on Clive's hair. "But if you're so worried, why don't you just die right now? Clive, do you mind sending them off for me; it's good experience."

"Okay! Eating! I'm eating it." Sam threw the chocolate into his mouth, chewing exasperatingly to show that he was indeed eating it.

Dean shot a glance of disbelief at Sam for eating the chocolate. The latter shrugged, his eyes saying, What was I supposed to do? Satisfied when Sam didn't immediately die on the spot after eating the chocolate, Dean let his gun fall against his side, but his posture refused to let his guard down.

Harry opened his mouth to continue the conversation but Clive spoke up, tired of being forgotten. "He's a being lower than an angel but a rank higher than Death."

Wait, what?

"Higher than Death?" Dean and Sam echoed simultaneously with a soft voice of disbelief. The former was actually glad to not have pulled the trigger.

Sighing, Harry peered down to the young reaper with narrowed eyes. "Clive, I wouldn't have considered training you if I knew you'd spout out my personal information like that. You do know what privacy is, right?"

"You'd have train me, regardless," Clive stated confidently, meeting Harry's gaze evenly.

They stared at each other for a few unbreakable moments before Harry finally gaze in with a sigh of defeat.

"Yes, I would've."

"Okay, exactly, what are you?" Dean asked, again.

Sam warned nervously, "Dean!"

Harry smirked lightheartedly, an amused glint taking a place in his eyes. "I'll let the demons under your beds and the angels without wings tell you that."

Somehow finding a threat hidden between the lines, Dean raised his gun once more, only to find a squirming bunny in the place where a dangerous weapon should've been. "What the hell?" He almost dropped the damn animal with the amount of surprise coursing through his body. "Where the hell is my gun?" he demanded angrily, but he appeared funny with the face of fury and the furry bundle in his hands.

Clive smiled at Dean's confusion and disorientation, clutching Harry's hand a little tighter.

"Let's go fix your error, Clive, or you might get smited," Harry coaxed sweetly as the reaper pressed into his side. "And honestly, I'd like to avoid that, even if you did send a bloody vampire to Heaven of all places. I like you alive; let's keep it that way."

"You're going?" Sam breathed, out of relief or disappointment. He hoped its the former.

To Sam's question, Harry shot an ominous and scary smile full of white teeth probably capable of tearing through metal. "Yes, and even though it has been entirely and fantastically pleasant to have met the most paranoid and shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of hunters, Clive and I actually have more important things to attend to than feed attention to a pair of attention-craving hunters. So yes," Harry emphasized with a pair of narrowed eyes and a clear dominant voice. "We are leaving. Not everyone needs the Winchesters to save them."

Sam sputtered in embarrassment as he registered the term of attention-craving hunters because they weren't those kind of people. "What! We are not—"

"Shh," Harry hushed, pressing a finger to his lips to shut the Moose up. "If you didn't notice, you two are a bunch of drama queens. Grow up already and I might actually like you. Let's go Clive."

"Okay, Mister Potter," Clive responded, grinning.

They were about to take their leave when Harry remembered something probably insignificant. That insignificant thing put a confident and mirthful smirk on his face; Clive side-eyed his mentor. "Oh," Harry began, gaiety sparking into the curving of his lips as he saluted the two hunters. "Nice work with the vampire, by the way, and when your Angel of Thursday drops by later, tell him the Master of Death said hello."

Then, a deafening crack split the sky in half as the two immortals vanished from where they once stood.