Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. This story is also based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Supernatural'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.
A/N: I've never been inside the Denver Public Library, but I've driven past it before (actually, Dad was driving, Mom was asleep, and I was reading the map), so I hope my fanciful imaginings of its insides can be forgiven if they're too far from what it actually is.
Three Times is Enemy Action
2:12 pm, May 11, 2008
Denver Public Library
10 W 14th Avenue Parkway
Denver, Colorado
"Thanks, Leanne. We'll keep you posted, promise." Dean snapped his cell shut with a flick of his wrist and returned it to his pocket. Sam looked up from the archaic tome he was leafing through. Dean let out a huff of breath and started pacing a little. He and Sam had a table tucked back among stacks of the types of books that had probably last been looked at when Eisenhower was in office. "She's clueless on this one, other than what we already figured – 'T. N. Salazar' is an assumed name. Any luck on the history of that subdivision?"
Sam shook his head, "Nothing. It's so clean, it practically squeaks."
"She did say it was probably someone who's also from the UK –"
"I could have told you that."
Dean continued on as though Sam hadn't interrupted him, "because 'Salazar' was one of the dudes who built Hogwarts. Supposedly was the nasty one who got kicked out of his own school for being 'an insensitive, bigoted prick' – those were her exact words."
"Did you find anything on the weather before she called back?"
Dean shook his head, "Nothing to lead me to believe it's anything demonic."
Sam idly wondered just why it was that his brother always pronounced it de-monic, rather than the normal duh-mon-ic and sat the book he'd been reading aside. "So, unless this is a whole different ballgame, we can pretty much bank on the fact that it's likely one of those wizards who're not too happy with Harry."
Dean nodded, "But what the fuck would they want with us?"
"Who knows? You've said it yourself, Dean – people are just crazy." Sam stuffed his mostly-blank notebook back into the satchel and crammed the laptop in on top of it.
It only took a few minutes to navigate their way through the cavernous interior of the library and back into the sunshine. The Impala, parked on Broadway, gleamed dully. Dean silently promised to run her through a car wash when they finished up here. "Okay, so what do we know about the people after Harry?"
"Hmm…" Sam searched his memory. "He's mentioned how they're dependent on their wands."
Dean tried. Really he did. But he couldn't help the grin that surfaced, nor the quip, "That sounds vaguely dirty."
Sam rolled his eyes, and indicated that Dean needed to take the next right. "He also told us how they tend to underestimate what nonmagical people can do, so we should have the advantage if we can surprise them."
"Doesn't sound too hard – they probably don't know we're in the area."
2:30 pm, May 11, 2008
14329 Meadows Hill Road
Denver, Colorado
Harry was hungry. He got that way when focusing himself inwards to heal the mostly superficial wounds he got while Hunting. It wouldn't have been so bad this time had that fucking bastard not used the cruciatus; But that's what I get for getting caught by yet another unimaginative prick. Really need to not get myself into these situations.
Sitting on the floor, he could feel footsteps through the concrete, even if the spells on his cell kept him from hearing them. Reacting quickly, he hurled the bucket up at the unprotected fluorescent light; the two bulbs popped and rained glass down into the center of the room. He felt his way along the wall until he was standing to the side of the heavy metal door set in the middle of the red brick. Silently ordering his growling stomach to shut the fuck up, the door opened.
A wand appeared, "What the –"
Harry reached out and snatched the wand with one hand while the other grabbed the man's forearm and pulled him into the cell with a grunt. The man's skull collided with the doorframe mere seconds before meeting Harry's fist. "Stupefy," Harry hit the man with the stunner before he could recover.
He bound the man with conjured rope and went through his pockets, locating little of value, before mobilicorpusing the twat and heading for the stairs he saw through the open door.
The house was rather normal – if the home of a suspected Death Eater could be called that. No, even for a follower of the Supreme Wanker, this place is… So not what I expected. It was new, probably built only a few years earlier, and big in the way only modern mansions could be. It was also oddly cheerful and bright, nothing at all like any of the other pureblood homes he'd ever been inside. Well, mostly not like those other places. It was still pretentiously large, a veritable monument to wealth, but there weren't any Dark artifacts on display – no mounted house-elf heads, no bits of Dark creatures posing as decoration. In fact, had Harry not known who lived there, he would have assumed this was the home of an affluent muggle with surprisingly good taste.
He located the kitchen in short order, and figuring that he was owed at least a sandwich for his 'inconvenience,' helped himself to some turkey, cheese, bread and a bottle of imported beer. The beer wasn't as good as the hype, and Harry resolved to sticking to domestic brands in the future. Once the rumbling in his innards quieted somewhat, he set out after locating his things. After checking nearly all the rooms on the first floor, he finally located his host's study, much to his dismay.
"No, no, no, no! Damn it, Nott, you stupid son of a bitch!" His motorcycle was sitting on a blue plastic tarp, leaking oil and other assorted fluids. "If you weren't already unconscious…" He aimed his comments over his shoulder at his still-hovering companion while skidding to his knees in front of the bike. "You can't just shrink it and carry it around like some toy! Fuck!"
None too gently, especially since he was more than a little angry, Harry cancelled the hovering charm on Theodore – who made an interesting thud when he hit the floor – and accioed his own wand. He tossed Nott's wand over his shoulder, not bothering to notice where it landed and immediately set to cleaning his bike. He even had to banish the contents of the gas tank when he found that oil had somehow managed to get inside. "You fucking wanker – not only do you fucking kidnap me and expect me to be able to get you out of your fucking messes, but now this! You goddamn, mother-fucking, cock-sucking piece of shit!"
3:04 pm, May 11, 2008
14329 Meadows Hill Road
Denver, Colorado
"You sure you don't want to wait until night?" Dean asked for what was probably the fifth or sixth time since pulling into the newly developed area wherein the address they had was located.
Sam shook his head and gallantly refrained from rolling his eyes. "Make a left up ahead," he said in lieu of answering Dean's question.
Dean knew his brother had a point in coming up here during the daytime; they were just driving by, getting a feel for the area, but damn if the techno-mansions of the area didn't just set Dean on edge. It wasn't quite the same unease he had in middle-class suburbs. In that instance, it was the uniform consistency of the neighborhoods he had issues with. In this part of Denver, however, it was more the fact that he had absolutely nothing in common with any of these people. If it was an older moneyed area, he might find an old-timer who'd made his millions doing something resembling work or someone who had a hobby he could relate to – Like that dude in Hollywood who restored classic cars in his spare time, the one who'd ended up with that haunted Spider. That was probably the easiest job I ever did. Three hours of research, one night in a cemetery, and three days hanging out with an even dozen of the coolest cars ever made. What was that guy's name again? – not here, though. These folks got their cash by sitting in front of a computer screen or by other means which Dean didn't feel were honest work.
Dean was startled out of his musings by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He flipped it open and saw that the caller-id said it was Harry's phone. "Hello?" he kept his tone neutral.
"Dean? How far out are you and Sam?"
"Dude, you okay?"
Harry huffed out a little puff of air; Dean could practically see him rolling his eyes. "Yeah. I'm not some damsel-in-distress."
"What about the guy who had you?" Dean was purposefully ignoring Sam's efforts to catch his attention.
"No longer an issue, he's out cold at the moment. But you didn't answer me. How far out are you and Sam?"
"Just a couple of blocks, why?"
"Could you stop somewhere and get me four quarts of motorcycle oil, six galleons of premium, two packs of cigarettes, some caffeine, and some lunch for all three of us? Oh, and you've got a tool kit in your car, right?"
Of all the things Harry could have said, that was the last thing Dean expected. "Huh?"
"The fucker dicked with my bike," Harry explained, "so, I need to fix it."
"You'll explain all this when we get there, right?"
"Yeah."
"See you soon," Dean flipped his phone shut and whipped the Impala in a U in the same motion.
"What's going on?" Sam asked, bracing himself against the dash with his knees.
"Situation's changed. Don't know the details yet, but Harry promised he'd explain when we got there."
"The address is behind us," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, I know, I'm not a freakin' idiot. Harry needs a few things."
It took about an hour and a half for the Winchesters to obtain the items Harry'd asked for and return to the wealthy subdivision. Sam carried the sacks containing the requested oil, smokes, and some take-out from a fast-food joint while Dean balanced a five-gallon can of gas, a small duffel, and his battered tool box. Harry met them at the door with an exasperated, "Finally."
A few moments later, the three of them were ensconced in Nott's study, gnawing their way through burgers and fries. Harry talking between mouthfuls while simultaneously correcting the damage done to his Harley. "So, yeah, maybe I wasn't as vigilant as I should've been, but I fucking got rid of the damn Dork Lard, so I sorta forgot for a bit that there were other wankers out there gunnin' for me. Anyway," he crumpled the burger-wrapper and set to cracking open the bottles of oil, "to cut to the chase, as it were, Nott here," he jerked his head in the direction of the still-out-cold man lying in a haphazard heap on the hardwood floor, "has a double problem. The first bit isn't anything I'm willing to help with, but the second's why he called you."
"And that would be…?" Dean asked, snaking a couple of fries from Sam and earning a glare for his efforts.
"Contrary to all bets from when we were in school, Teddy managed to land himself a wife. Pretty one, too, if the pictures are anything to go by," Harry nodded towards the portrait that hung over the small marble fireplace. "But, starting about a year ago, she began acting weird. Nott did some digging and found out she's possessed. Now, our boy Teddy there, he flunked his seventh year at Hogwarts and had to repeat – so, no, he's not the brightest lumos in the wand-shop. Something like a boggart is a bit out of his league, so a full-on possession really isn't something he should be fucking around with. Combine that with his apparent defection from the Death Eaters and we have a clueless wizard who has no idea how to fucking ask for help."
Anger and resentment practically dripped from Harry's words. "What's his other problem?" Sam asked.
"Aside from being a festering boil on the ass-crack of humanity?" Harry sniped, finishing with the oil and moving on to inspecting the chain.
Dean snorted Coca-cola out his nose at the description. "Yeah," he sneezed to clear his sinuses, "aside from that."
"Oh, just that since we sent His Royal Prickiness to Hell in a handbasket, he's been using his connection to drain his followers of first their magic, then their life. Don't know why – he's in Hell and he's gonna stay there. But it wouldn't be the first time the giant question-mark did something illogical in hopes that it'd get him what he wants." Harry made a few adjustments with a wrench before glancing over at his would-be captor. "I'm not ticked at the intel, just in how it was acquired."
Sam nodded, "Yeah, I can see how the whole getting snatched would put a damper on wanting to help the dude."
A groan from the man on the floor interrupted any further discussion. Dean, his sinuses still tingling from their run-in with carbonation, sat the waxed cardboard glass containing the aforementioned beverage down and slid off the corner of the desk. Sam quickly unzipped the duffel and tossed a coil of rope to Dean.
Before Theodore had a chance to figure out just what had gone so monumentally wrong in his plan, he was tied to his own office chair, facing two of the most intimidating muggles he'd ever laid eyes on. The fact that Potter was ignoring them in favor of his motorbike was just salt in the wound, so to speak. There were only a few people still among the living who could have told Teddy that he was treading on thin ice when he abducted Harry; but Nott didn't know any of those people, and probably wouldn't have listened to the warnings if he did. As it was, it was probably a good thing that he was facing the Winchesters and not Leanne or Remus. Not that he knew that, either. No, he wasn't facing an irate werewolf, nor the American Secretary of Magic, but a lowly pair of muggles, which triggered some inbuilt irony-appreciating segment native to all Slytherins' brains.
"Who –" Theodore started a question, but was interrupted.
"I don't think we've introduced ourselves, have we?" the shorter of the two muggles stated, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"No. No, I don't think we have," the taller one replied, standing a bit too close to Theodore for the man's peace of mind. In fact, the shaggy-haired man was practically looming over him.
"I'm Dean," the one wearing the Mesopotamian protective amulet said.
"And I'm Sam." The taller one so didn't look like a 'Sam' to Theodore. Samson, maybe, but not plain 'Sam'.
"And we really don't take kindly to wormy little asswipes like yourself causing problems with our friends," Dean continued the 'conversation'. "Now, we heard about your petty little problems from Harry, but you wanna fill in some of the blanks, Ted?"
"Stick to the demon trouble for now," Sam cut him off before he could do more than open his mouth.
Sure, Theodore knew that there were better ways he could have gone about enlisting some help, but he wasn't thinking all that clearly lately. It had started off small, just feeling more tired than usual, but by the time he'd spotted Potter, the lack of quality sleep had severely impaired his judgment and he'd fallen back on the training from his childhood – if he couldn't buy what he wanted, simply taking it was acceptable. It must have been insanity on his part; he momentarily forgot just who he was taking when he did the deed.
The rope binding him to his chair was cutting cruelly into his chest. "Could you untie me?"
"Not on your life, Ruxpin. Now start talkin'," Dean's voice was some weird combination of oddly cheerful and deadly serious. Nott had no clue as to the origins of the name Dean had called him, nor why it made Sam wrinkle his forehead and pinch the bridge of his nose; he could only assume it had been an insult.
Knowing that he probably wasn't going to get out of this wholly intact, he did as he was asked and launched into his story. "It all started just about a year ago…"
When he finished, his throat was cracking and dry, but no one offered him anything to drink. He watched as Sam and Dean appeared to hold an entire conversation consisting of facial expressions and posture, with the odd huff of air thrown in for seasoning. Eventually, they seemed to come to a consensus and both nodded.
Dean untied the rope, "You try anything, and I mean anything, you worthless sack of shit, and you'll be joining up with your lord and master a helluva lot sooner than you expected. Got me?"
There wasn't a doubt in Theodore's mind that the muggle could follow up on his threat, and so he nodded, but couldn't stop himself from saying, "But he's not my master. Never really was. The Mark was… An unfortunate side-effect of being my father's son." He watched as the taller muggle dug through a battered duffle before locating what he was searching for and tossing it to Dean.
"You said she gets home every evening about six, right?" Sam asked, snatching up another cylindrical object which was longer and thinner than the one Dean held. He shook it a couple of times, and it made an odd rattling noise as something bounced around within its metal casing.
Theodore nodded again and wondered briefly just what happened to his wand. "What's that?"
Dean smirked as he headed out of the office, "Insurance, Questor."
Sam followed his brother, and before the door could close behind him, Theodore heard the taller man ask, "Since when do you read Terry Brooks?"
"Shuddup, Sammy."
Nott slowly stood, pausing as the room spun around him. He ignored the dull aching throb coming from his left arm, much as he'd been doing for going on six months now, ever since it had dawned on him just why it was acting up. "Potter?"
"Go fuck yourself on a rubber duck, Nott," Harry spat, not turning his attention from the motorcycle.
Theodore winced a little, "I deserved that."
"You don't deserve jack shit in my opinion," Harry reattached something he'd removed and wiped his hands on his jeans before standing. He grabbed the clutch lever and attempted to start the bike. It made an odd whirring noise before a bright spark arched out from halfway up the handlebars, but the engine didn't turn over. "Son of a cunt-faced whoring bitch," Harry mumbled before starting to tinker with the wiring.
"Where's my wand?" Nott asked, looking around the chaos in which Harry knelt.
"If it was up your arse you'd know, wouldn't you?" Harry glared up at Theodore. "If you can't find it on your own, you don't deserve to call yourself a wizard."
Theodore ignored the glaring and looked closer at the various and sundry tools which surrounded Harry. He spotted Harry's wand, but not his own. He sighed and started looking elsewhere, checking the top of his desk first. He felt more than a little naked without it. "What's the matter, Nott? Can't do a simple wandless accio?"
"Not all of us are the fucking Boy-Who-Lived, Potter," Nott snarked back, his quest to locate his wand was starting to grow a little frantic.
"Thank Merlin for that," Harry shuddered melodramatically while reaching for his own wand. "Just imagine, a world filled with billions of copies of me. Would get a little boring, don't you think?" He removed a wire from the bike and hit it with a reparo charm, fixing the spot in its insulation where the copper innards shone through.
Nott paused in the ransacking of his own desk and had to laugh at what Harry'd said. "Were you always this funny, Potter, or is the sense of humor a recent acquisition?"
Harry glanced up from reattaching the wire, "Recent, of course. Bought it off of a guy who said it belonged to his grandmother who only ever used it on Sundays."
The muggle joke flew right over Theodore's head. He blinked twice before resuming his search for his wand.
After determining that it definitely wasn't in his desk, he sat back down in the chair. His pulse was hammering in his ears and the drain from the Mark was making the room spin more than usual. He wiped a hand across his face and closed his eyes. "Hey, Nott. Just out of curiosity, why'd you take me?" There were some metal-against-metal noises punctuating the question.
"You were there," Theodore replied. "You'd always managed to solve things when we were in school, so I thought you'd be able to fix this, too."
"And you didn't bother asking first." It wasn't a question but an accusation.
Nott slowly nodded, "It's not in my nature to ask, Potter. Besides, I'm not thinking clearly. I know I'm not thinking clearly. My life is draining away through my arm and I saw what I thought would be a lifeline. I grabbed it while I still could. If I was thinking clearly, I'd be able to find my damn wand."
Harry made a final adjustment and attempted to start the bike once more. It roared to life. Harry smiled grimly at his handiwork, pride at having fixed the damage warring with anger at how it had been damaged in the first place. Cutting the engine, he started collecting Dean's tools and putting them back in the kit. Once he'd finished, he turned around and took a long look at his former classmate. Nott had always been pale; not quite as pale as Malfoy, but pale nonetheless. Now, he could give parchment lessons in being white. Dark circles ringed both his eyes. Harry sighed a little, "Accio Nott's wand."
The wand flew to Harry, who caught it and held it with his own. Nott slowly opened his eyes. Harry sat the tool kit on the desk and held Nott's wand out to him. "Use it against me even one more time, Nott, and I'll make sure you wish you were never born. Got it?"
Theodore knew that Potter could make good on the threat. After all, it had been pure luck which had allowed the Slytherin to capture Harry in the first place. Nott nodded again, "I swear on Slytherin's grave, Potter, I won't use it against you."
"Good," Harry replied, handing it over. "I'd hate to do to you what we did to Malfoy."
"Lucius? I thought he was in London?"
Harry shook his head, "Not Lucius. Draco."
"Who?" Nott was a little confused. He didn't recall ever having heard of a 'Draco Malfoy' before.
Harry didn't elaborate, simply grinned a feral little smirk and said, "Exactly."
A/N2: As you might imagine, this tale is only just beginning, so stay tuned! The next chapter will be out when it comes out, which will be whenever the muse dictates, but it'll contain just what Sam'n'Dean are up to.
I've also had a few folk ask about other HP/SPN crossovers. Unfortunately, the vast majority that I've been able to locate exist solely as a way to hook either Dean or Sam (or both) up with Hermione; though I did locate one wherein Dean and Harry are in the preslash part of their relationship (but I don't recall the name of either the fic or author – sorry!). I haven't found any like what I've done here – where there's a conspicuous lack of romance.
Review and let me know what you think.