Some preliminary notes, first about myself, then about the story, and then about you readers.
I doubt anyone here knows me since this is my first time writing for either of these fandoms, but I'll warn you now that I'm notorious for inconsistent updates. I try my hardest to update promptly, but hell if I can stick to a schedule. I'll do my best, but you guys might have to give me a nudge now and then to get my ass in gear.
Second, as this is just a summer story and something to have fun with, shoot me a review or PM if there's something you want to see. I can't promise it'll happen since I have a rough storyline already, but I love hearing ideas. And of course, even if you don't have an idea, review anyway to let me know what you think.
Lastly, I would like to thank musicalgryffindor, Wanderstar, and AnimeLove24-7 for their reviews, as well as everyone who has followed or favorite-d this story. I look forward to entertaining you guys.
And now, without further ado, on with the story.
Chapter 1
Greenfield, Illinois
Rain slammed against the grimy window, just barely drowning out the persistent rattle coming from somewhere in the vents. The damp weather also seemed to be having some effect on the potency of the sour smell coming from the carpet.
Sam Winchester scrubbed a frustrated hand through his floppy hair, trying for possibly the tenth time to concentrate on the words of the book in front of him. He could predict ahead of time that his attention was going to wander again sometime in the next five minutes. Truth was, Sam was so bored he expected his brains to start leaking out of his ears any second now, but the latest dingy, no-tell-motel didn't offer much in the way of entertainment. Well, besides Magic Fingers and about three channels on the TV, but those options were either hardly worth the effort or more Dean's thing, and therefore gross.
Speaking of Dean, the sound of the rain was at last championed in volume by the familiar rumble of a powerful engine that cut off a moment later. A shadow blew past the window a few seconds before the door banged open, bouncing off the doorjamb and swinging back around to smack the entering figure of Sam's big brother.
"OW, son of a bitch!" Dean growled, hustling inside and knocking the door shut with his hip. His arms were currently burdened with several bags of fast food. Setting their dinner down on the rickety table by the window, the eighteen-year-old proceeded to shake the water off of himself like a big, spiky-haired dog. Sam leaned away from where he sat on his bed, face scrunched up.
"Couldn'ta done that outside?" he asked, wiping droplets off of his face.
"Oh yeah, 'cause that woulda worked," Dean snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes enough to strain. As if to emphasize his point, a loud clap of thunder caused the windows to jitter in their frames and the lights to flicker. "And I thought you were the brains of this family."
"I never said that," Sam grumbled as he hopped of the bed. The boredom might not be going away, but he could sure kill the squirming hunger in his stomach.
"It's just the natural order," Dean said with a smirk, digging his burger out of the bag. "Dad's the brawn, you're the brains, and I'm the handsome, charismatic one." The smirk only widened when Sam scoffed, remaining fixed until he took a large bite out of his food. They munched in silence for a few minutes until Dean spoke again. "So, Dad's not back," he stated rather unnecessarily around a full mouth.
Sam scoffed again, but he sounded less amused this time. "'Course not. You know the old man; head out at dawn, stay out 'til way after midnight. He only seems to pop in long enough to assign us new jobs."
Dean shrugged. "Harder Dad works, the sooner we gank this thing. And the sooner we get out of this freakin' town too. It's July and it's been raining the whole time we've been here. I'm gonna sprout gills any day now."
Sam paused, forkful of salad halfway to his mouth. "Oh, uh, by the way, how much money we got left?"
Dean blinked as he began rifling in his pocket for his wallet. He grimaced. "Uh, how long did we book the room for?" he asked as he perused the contents.
"A week."
"And we've been here how long?"
"Six days."
"Aw, shit." Dean threw the wallet down in frustration. "Now I gotta go out again, hustle up some money somehow. You know Dad's not gonna have enough, what with how he's been working this case."
Yeah, Sam did know. Now that he and Dean were older, Dad had somehow found ways to make them even more self-reliant than they already were. They were expected to contribute in paying for their motel rooms and food, and they pulled a lot more weight in the research and fieldwork departments. Even when Dad worked a local job, they didn't see him for a majority of the time, up until it was time to take out whatever supernatural terror had decided to roost in the area.
Dean was pulling on his jacket again, stuffing the last chunk of burger into his mouth. "C'mon Sammy, I'm not going to be the only miserable sucker trucking it through the rain."
"Just so long as I get out of this motel room." Sam hopped out of his chair and went for his own jacket.
"They got Magic Fingers," Dean said, pointing to the closet.
"Dude, just…no." Sam made sure to toss him the extra-squicked face just to make sure it got through his brother's thick head.
Dean gave him a punch to the shoulder before he passed Sam to pull open the door. "Prude. And don't be making that bitchface at me; you're giving off the vibes."
"Shuddup," Sam said as he pulled the door shut, already formulating a protest as Dean debated between using fake IDs to hustle some bar pool or using Sammy's baby face to wheedle 'charity' dollars out of cheek-pinching old ladies.
The duo of brothers swung back and forth across the tiny town, managing to hit the local bar and a couple of street corners, where Sam was forced to stand out in the rain and look as pathetic as possible, before the sky turned black.
With the Impala parked just off the road, Sam used his jacket to dry at least some of the moisture out of his hair while Dean rifled through their hard-won earnings for the night. Classic rock floated from the radio.
Having decided his hair was as good as it would get, Sam leaned against the window and watched the rain fall. Moments like these were the most relaxed he ever felt. Life was usually a toss-up between the constant need to appear normal at school, the tense-to-terrifying hunting process, and the feeling of being crushed under the weight of his overbearing father's expectations. It was only when he could kick back in the only home he'd ever known with his brother, with the music he'd long since gotten sick of but would admit these moments would be incomplete without playing in the background that Sam felt fairly alright with the world.
"Dude, we made a killing," Dean laughed, flipping through the stack of bills. "Sucks that we're just gonna tank it on a shitty motel room."
Sam felt a twinge of resentment behind his sternum as he glanced over to the driver's side. "Yeah, well, what are we gonna do? It's not like Dad needs to contribute anything." His teeth clicked as he shut his mouth abruptly. Shit, there he went again. He meant every word, but he didn't normally set out to be the person to march a good mood out into the woods and shoot it dead.
The sound of rustling paper vanished as Dean shot him a sharp look. Sam shifted, turning to look out the window again, just hoping the ill-timed comment would be dropped.
"Dad's out there saving people, Sam. He might not be here all the time, but he knows we can fend for ourselves, and he's there when we really need him."
Sam replied with a non-committal grunt, and thankfully Dean let it go. In his head though, Sam almost wanted to say that sure, Dad might always be there to keep them from getting shredded by some pissed off ghost or monster, but Sam wished he could also be there when they got sick, or when Sam brought home a test he'd aced, or on the few occasions where Dean was invited out to a party or the movies but had to decline because he had to watch out for Sam.
But, that was just the Winchester life, he supposed. Always on the move, watching your back, and never getting closer to the thing that had started it all by ending Mom. In what Sam would tentatively call a surreal flash forward, he could see his whole life playing out in this pattern, and it freaked the hell out of him.
No, one day he'd get out. No matter what Dad said, Sam didn't plan to stick with this life. He just needed to wait until he was older, and that constituted just staying alive for the next four years. He'd made it this far, and he should be able to hold out just fine. Of course, the universe seemed to like throwing huge curveballs at their family, and judging by those he'd seen so far, Sam wasn't looking forward to another one. He could only cross his fingers and hope it wasn't something too insane.
Little Whinging, Surrey
It was almost surreal to one Harry Potter how, no matter the earth-shifting events that could occur during the school year and his time spent in the magical world, life on Privet Drive remained almost completely unchanging. He had been back with the Dursleys for only a few weeks, and the reality of Lord Voldemort's return was truly beginning to sink in, but still the normal little neighborhood went about business as usual. The neighbors washed identical cars and tended their gardens, Dudley explored new forms of delinquency with his gang, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did their level best to ignore Harry's existence.
This summer that disregard was more appreciated than anything. It gave Harry time to think, and time to come to terms with what had happened during the rigged Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament by adjusting to the new set of nightmares and to the bone-chilling fact that Lord Voldemort had truly made his return.
At the beginning, Harry had been almost positive that within the week something terrible would happen, heralding the dark wizard's second bid for power. It took Uncle Vernon reaching a whole new shade of purple and level of neck vein bulging to drive the teenager away from the television, where he had watched the news with unshakable attention.
But there had been nothing. The biggest news to date had been the progress of the heat wave sweeping over southern England. The lack of anything when he had expected chaos had Harry off balance in a way he hadn't expected, being left stuck at Privet Drive as though everything was business as usual. He had tried writing to his friends and Sirius, but he had only received vague replies and non-answers. He was holding out hope that maybe he would receive more information on his birthday, which was only two days away, but Harry had to admit it was a slim chance with the kind of responses he'd received so far. It was frustrating to no end, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it.
So Harry let the long summer days drag by, moving agonizingly slowly, just waiting for night to fall so he could tick off another day on his calendar, getting that much closer to his return to Hogwarts. Even a wizarding world with the threat of Voldemort hanging over it was better than being stuck here and ostracized by his relatives.
Currently, Harry was perched on the edge of his bed, leafing through some of his magical books just for something to do. It wasn't doing much for him, but internally he was just grateful that he was allowed to keep his things in his room, rather than having them locked in the cupboard like they used to be. Still, he thought it might be better to get outside and get some air before the sun went down. Despite the heat, wandering the neighborhood and spending time in the nearby play park had become Harry's most frequent pastimes. Movement helped clear his head, and he could stay out of the Dursleys way most of the time. The book slapped shut and the door slid closed as Harry slipped out of his room.
Uncle Vernon sat on the couch, focused intently on the television, Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen preparing a rigidly healthy dinner, and Dudley was no doubt out in the neighborhood somewhere shaking pocket change out of some poor young sod out for an evening stroll. Both his aunt and uncle studiously ignored Harry as he passed them by in the hallway on his way out the door.
The hot air hit Harry like a solid slap in the face. He cringed for a moment, before trudging his way down Privet Drive, ratty shoes scuffing the heated pavement.
"When I get back, I should send Hedwig out with more letters. A little extra persuasion couldn't hurt." It wasn't typically in Harry's nature to be a bother, but by now he was well-known for his stubborn persistence in the face of adversity. He wasn't about to let his exclusion continue in peace. He felt slightly guilty for what would essentially be guilt-tripping his friends by using his birthday as an excuse, but as of now he wasn't much inclined to leave it be.
"Harry!" cried an unexpected, cheery voice.
The boy's head snapped up and around, his gaze alighting on a bony figure that was obscured from the waist up by grocery bags coming up behind him. Even unable to see a face, Harry could tell by the pale green house slippers and the faint smell of cat litter that Mrs. Figg was approaching. Despite a certain appreciation he had for the woman, as she was probably the only kindness he had ever known on Privet Drive, he couldn't repress a sense of dread that he would be invited to tea once more. He was running out of polite excuses.
A distressed squawk emitted from behind the barricade of groceries, and Harry could see the small tower beginning to wobble precariously. Putting the tea out of his mind, Harry rushed back just in time to catch the bag containing the eggs and dairy products. The rest tumbled to the ground, leaving a fluttering Mrs. Figg attempting to bend over and restore order.
"I'll get that," Harry offered.
"Oh goodness, thank you, Harry. Such a kind boy. I must have been daft choosing to walk for my groceries." Despite his offer of help, the elderly woman knelt down creakily.
Harry was just reaching out for a rogue onion when he felt a gnarly hand clench hard on his shoulder just as Mrs. Figg rasped in a voice that held a shocking note of fear. "Harry, you must go home. You are in grave danger."
"What?" His head jerked up, wide green eyes staring at the old woman with confusion. What was she on about?
"Shh, someone might be watching!" she hissed, eyes darting about the deserted street. "There's no time to explain properly, but Dumbledore sent me."
"Dumbledore?!" Harry was semi-aware that he was gaping in a fish-like way, but he couldn't help it. How was it his batty old neighbor that he'd known for as long as he could remember know about Dumbledore?
"Like I said, no time. He's just sent a warning. You-Know-Who has done something, something terrible, and Dumbledore believes that you are currently in great danger. He doesn't know from what, but he wants you to get home where you'll be safe. Stay there until you hear word from our folk, do you understand?"
Harry hesitated for only a moment, but it was apparently too long for Mrs. Figg. She gave him an insistent push back in the direction of Privet Drive. "Go now!" she snapped.
The barely restrained fear in her voice finally broke Harry from his culture-shocked daze. Staggering up, he turned around and hurried back the way he'd come. His world had sent him for another flip, but he didn't have time to process it now. If Harry Potter was an expert at anything, it was taking action in a crisis, and his instincts were telling him Mrs. Figg was dead-serious, so he had best listen to her advice.
The sun was disappearing over the horizon, throwing long shadows over the ground that seemed to chase Harry as he tried to resist sprinting back to number four. Mrs. Figg's tone, her words, and the urgency in her voice jolted on his nerves and sent shivers down his spine. His waiting was finally over; Voldemort had made some kind of move. The thing was, he had no idea what to expect or how to prepare himself. As he rushed up the Dursleys' drive, Harry internally kicked himself, knowing he should have been careful of what he wished for.
"What the bloody hell are you doing, boy?!" Vernon bellowed as Harry slammed through the door much more loudly than he had expected.
"Nothing, just out for a run," Harry called, making sure he locked the door behind him. Against dark wizards, he highly doubted a simple lock would do much good, but why make it that much easier for them? Truthfully, he doubted the Dursley home would withstand any kind of attack for more than a few minutes, but Dumbledore said he would be safe here. Even with no word from him so far, Harry trusted the headmaster.
Harry remained frozen in the front hallway, staring at the door. The last hour had turned on a dime, going from bored and rearing for information to waiting for the shoe to drop, all before Aunt Petunia had finished dinner. What made it even worse was that Harry didn't know what to expect. With Voldemort, it could be anything from an invasion of blood-thirsty Death Eaters to a basilisk bursting up through the plumbing.
"How do they expect me to just sit and wait for word, as if I was just waiting for a package?"
That sense of foreboding hanging over him like a massive thunderhead just waiting to spit rain and lightning, Harry shuffled back into the living area. His aunt and uncle were staring daggers at him, but Harry just settled quietly in a corner chair, remaining silent and still. Vernon and Petunia soon returned to their own activities, only occasionally throwing him a warning glare. Harry ignored them, instead staring at the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall as it ticked away the minutes. The light outside steadily faded as the dusk grew deeper.
At a quarter past nine, Harry's keen ears picked up a faint rustling upstairs, sounding too loud to be just Hedwig fidgeting in her cage. Getting up slowly, he departed the room and headed upstairs under cover of Aunt Petunia fretting about Dudley and how he had yet to return from the Polkiss' house.
Perched on his dresser was a large barn owl, feathers gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room. Harry's eyes went immediately to the letter attached to its leg. The owl gave an indignant screech at his less-than-careful removal of the piece of parchment, but the teen paid it no mind. The letter was from Sirius.
Harry,
I'm sorry this letter must be kept brief, but it's still too dangerous to say much. If Dumbledore's contact has not yet reached you, you must know that you're in danger.
Harry had to take a brief moment to shove a spark of frustration aside. He was tired of vagueness and skirting the issue. "Just tell me straight what the bloody hell is going on, Sirius."
Obviously it has something to do with the Dark Lord. Even Dumbledore's not entirely sure what's happened, all he knows is that there has been a sudden and massive upsurge in the presence of dark magic all throughout Britain. He also believes something is coming for you. You should know that your home is warded, so you should be safe as long as you remain indoors. Don't worry, we'll be coming for you as soon as we can. Just sit tight and STAY INDOORS, Harry. I don't doubt your ability, but no one is sure of what's happening. So please, just stay safe.
Snuffles
"Damn it!" The letter was thrown to the ground. He wasn't sure if Sirius was still withholding information or honestly had no idea of what was going on, but either way Harry was still blind to the sudden situation.
A great thud and a panicked babble of voices had Harry rocketing from his seat on his bed. Hedwig and Sirius's owl both shrieked, Harry desperately trying to shush them. The rush of adrenaline was stymied slightly when he recognized Dudley's voice, but it sounded breathless…and terrified.
Harry drifted out to the top of the stairs, listening and watching as a badly stuttering Dudley tried to explain to his hysterical parents why he had practically ran straight through the front door in a panic. The blond boy's face was tomato red and shiny with sweat, indicating that Dudley had run home. That in itself was a bad sign. The wide eyes with constricted pupils and the tremble in his cousin's voice that showed he was close to tears were just the icing on the cake.
"Duddykins, what happened?!" Petunia pleaded, cradling her giant son as he struggled to breathe. Harry craned over the banister, desperate to hear every word.
"Th-th-there's s-something out there," Dudley whimpered. "I-I was walking back, and I j-just felt it. It was watching me! I don't know what it was, but it was there!"
"Did you see it?" Harry couldn't help but ask, taking a few steps down the stairs.
Vernon whirled on Harry, teeth bared. "None of your business, boy!" Petunia chimed in, screeching at Harry about how he dared ask such a question when her son was in such a state. But Harry could feel a cold knot growing bigger in his stomach. Whatever the danger was, he had no doubt that it had arrived.
"Dudley, did you see anything?" he pressed again. He needed to know.
His cousin shook his head, but his gaze was still petrified. "N-no. But I heard it. It…it growled at me."
Harry blinked. That was not something he would expect from an attacking Death Eater. Would Voldemort dare to send a creature where it could so easily be spotted by a muggle? Sure, Voldemort despised muggles, but even he seemed to conform to some level of secrecy.
Without warning, the house went dark. Petunia barely had time to shriek before the lights came back on. And then flickered off again.
"Vernon, what's going on?" Petunia cried in fear, the family beginning to back down the hallway toward the living room as the lights practically became strobes.
"It's attacking," Harry thought as he pelted down the stairs after his relatives. "But the house is warded. It can't get in. Can it?" Harry couldn't help a stab of icy doubt as a giant creaking noise echoed through the house, loud enough that he expected the structure to split in two.
Harry barreled down the hallway, joining the Dursleys as all four residents huddled together in the living room. The lights flashed non-stop, and another massive groan shook the house, as if the whole frame was about to topple over.
Then the worst noise began. A vicious pounding, slamming, and a screech of sharp points against metal and wood began at every door, like something was trying to claw its way into the house. Dudley howled, covering his ears and adding to the horrifying cacophony with his sobs.
Harry's throat had gone dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Unconsciously, his wand had been drawn from his pocket and had been brandished, but no spells of protection came to mind. This…this wasn't what he had expected. Somehow, this didn't seem like Voldemort. It was like the magic within him could sense something filthy, ancient, and terrifying surrounding the house, and it was a far worse presence than the Dark Lord had ever exuded, even at his strongest. Even with all his experience and courage, against this darkness, Harry suddenly felt small and very, very weak.
Petunia wailed again, both she and Dudley now cowering to the floor with Vernon's bulk covering them. The house shook again, a sudden wind shrieking like a banshee outside, and Harry wheeled all around. How could he fight what didn't even seem to be there?
Then, suddenly, all grew still and silent. Nothing could be heard or seen, aside from the Dursleys' whimpers. Harry held his breath. There was no way he could be that lucky, so he waited.
It took several agonizingly slow seconds before he heard it: the deep, earth-shaking snarl of something that was definitely not human. Harry spun, facing the window that opened on the backyard. The growl seemed to be coming from just outside in the blackness, but he could see nothing.
"It can't get in, it can't get in," Harry chanted over and over in his head. Another wave of revulsion coursed through him. He may not be able to see it, but it no doubt could see him, and Harry just knew the creature was staring directly at him.
Harry didn't believe his mentally chanted words for even a second.
"W-what have you brought down on us?" he heard Uncle Vernon wheeze from the floor. There was no rage or even accusation; just plain, undiluted terror.
Harry gulped. He could still see nothing. "I don't know," he whispered.
It was all he could say or do before the glass imploded inward, the rabid snarl cresting the explosion like foam on a wave, the sound shredding the air like ragged claws. Just as Harry felt actual, dagger-like talons rip his shirt and dig into his chest, a hot and crushing weight carrying him to the ground, all he could think was that he still couldn't see anything.
His wand skittered across the floor, useless without its master, as a ghostly howl tore unheard through the air of Privet Drive.
