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: Okay, I finally got some sleep and was convinced that today was Sunday until I looked at my computer clock. I don't normally sleep all that well, and last night was some of the best sleep I've gotten in ages, so yeah... I feel a little out of it. Anyways, I'm sure no one wants to hear about my sleeping habits, so here's chapter three. Enjoy!

Once is Happenstance

1:15 pm, July 20, 2007
Knoxville Police Department
Knoxville, Iowa

After apparating back to the Sleep-Right, Harry had changed out of his jeans and t-shirt and into the plain, black suit that he only wore once in a blue moon and ruthlessly charmed his hair into submission. The small leather case in the inner pocket of the jacket was the main reason he hadn't just re-transfigured his prior outfit. I had to go back anyway – may as well do this properly.

The local police station was housed in a building across the street from the library, and so Harry hadn't needed his motorcycle; he had simply apparated into the library, back among some archaic-looking language texts that had him longing for the times before his world had fallen apart. He couldn't help but smile bitterly at the thought that Hermione would definitely not approve of apparating in a library.

Before the noise his sudden appearance could attract undue attention, Harry had straightened his shoulders and strode purposefully out the front door. It had taken a long time to learn that though sneaking around could be fun – not to mention informative – he was far less likely to be noticed if he looked like he knew what he was doing and where he was going, but once the lesson had sunk in, it stuck.

Flashing the contents of his little leather case to the desk sergeant produced a comically surprised expression before the man escorted him directly to the police chief's office. The name on the door read Nathaniel Brook.

Five minutes or so of pleasantries and two declined offers of coffee later, Chief Brook smiled benignly, laugh-lines deepening on his weather-worn face, and asked, "So, Agent Potter, what does the CIA want from a small-fry like me?"

"I'm merely letting you know I will be accessing your records today; possibly making copies of what I need. If you would be so kind as to show me to your filing room, I'll try to make my stay here as short and unobtrusive as possible." This wasn't the first – and Merlin knew, it wouldn't be the last – time Harry was grateful that the American magical government had not only granted him asylum, but did him one better in acknowledging both what he'd done to Voldemort as well as his high level of training. His ID wasn't fake; the Secretary of Magic had issued it to him personally, mere days after his run-in with that first bounty hunter in New York. She had told him that it was the least the US could do to help an international hero, and, among other reasons, it would put a halt to any legal repercussions of Harry having to protect himself, should it come down to a worst-case-scenario.

It was obvious that Chief Brook didn't much appreciate being told that Harry was going to be rummaging around in his filing room, but it was also apparent that the police chief knew that hindering a CIA agent was a good way to 'disappear'. Sometimes, urban legends actually managed to work for Harry, and when they did, Harry couldn't help but be amazed.

7:00 pm, July 20, 2007
Pamida parking lot
Knoxville, Iowa

Sam and Dean were sitting on the hood of the Impala, in a large parking lot on the edge of town that belonged to an old department store that looked to have recently shut down. There were six or eight other cars parked in the same general area, focused in a haphazard manner around a sno-cone stand. Most of the other people were kids, high-schoolers to be precise, and Sam was relatively certain that this parking lot was on what Mackenzie had said was the local 'Loop'.

"Well, that was a complete waste of time," Dean complained, working his way through a ginormous mound of cherry sno-cone.

"Not necessarily," Sam's sno-cone was just as ginormous, but a sickly neon green color. Dean couldn't remember what flavor Sam had ordered, but he wasn't about to eat anything that particular shade of piss-green. "We know that both the Strady girls and the Thomas boy disappeared on race nights, even if we don't really know if anyone saw anything."

Unnoticed by either of the Winchesters, Harry approached the car. He'd finished up at the police station after only an hour or so and had spent much of the afternoon walking around and thinking. He'd spotted the distinctive shape of the Impala and headed in the Winchester's direction. He carried a plastic grocery bag from the Hy-Vee just a couple of blocks away, and had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. "Sam, Dean," he greeted the Hunters, causing both to startle a little and turn in his direction. He smirked at Dean's knee-jerk reaction to drop his spoon and reach for a weapon, even though he didn't pull it out.

"Jesus, Harry! Make some noise next time!" Dean grabbed his spoon and returned to eating his sno-cone.

"Sorry," Harry laughed. "Didn't mean to frighten anyone. Did you find out anything from the families?" he asked, setting his jacket down on the roof of the car and reaching into his grocery bag for one of the cans of Monster energy drink he'd purchased and setting the rest with his jacket. He popped the tab and drained half the contents in one long pull.

"Not much," Sam replied. "Just confirming that the kids disappeared while the racetrack was holding races. What about you? Anything interesting in the police reports?"

Harry dug out his cigarette case and lit one. "Not much. Just that the last person to have seen Mr. Thomas was his best mate, kid by the name of Johnny Pierson. Report said the kid was a mess, going on about dragons, and that he was thrown in the drunk-tank for the night. I know it bloody well couldn't be a dragon – North America has no native species, and not even a wizard can successfully transport one internationally, not to mention that space under the stands at the track isn't nearly big enough, and then there's the whole confundus-residue… Besides, if it had been a dragon, we would have more witnesses than we do – something that bloody big can't be hidden easily." Harry stopped talking when he noticed that the brothers were looking at him with identical expressions of incredulity. "What?"

"Dragons?" Sam said.

Harry shrugged, "Yeah. I don't know why you're so surprised." He snickered, took a drag off his smoke, and said, "Remind me to show you my photo album sometime."

Dean shook his head, dismissing the initial disbelief. Sure, he could be pulling our leg, but I don't see why – besides, he seems to know what he's talking about. "You said the kid's name is Johnny Pierson?"

Harry nodded, "Mm-hmm. Sixteen. Has a relatively short rap-sheet – breaking and entering, malicious mischief. Normal small-town boredom, if I'm any judge."

Suddenly, a new voice broke into the conversation, "You lookin' for Johnny?"

Three heads whipped around to stare at a girl standing a few feet from the black Impala. She was about an inch taller than Harry, though that was probably because of the thick soles on her army-surplus boots, and was wearing tight, olive-green jeans with an unzipped black hoodie that sported the logo for Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album and a t-shirt featuring a concert poster for Rush. Her hair was short, spiky, and violently pink. Harry had to remind himself that there was no way the girl could be Tonks – Tonks had died more than ten years earlier. "Yeah, we are," Dean said. "Know where we can find him?"

The girl shrugged a little, "Maybe. What's it worth to ya?"

Dean was reaching for his wallet when Harry stepped forward, "What's your name, miss?"

"D.J." she replied.

"D.J., I'm Harry. Johnny's not in any trouble, we just wanted to ask him about what happened to Mark."

D.J. rolled her eyes, "Mark ran away. He'd been talking about it for months. Johnny's just upset he didn't go with him."

"Even so, we would still like to talk to him," Harry pressed, stepping a little closer to the girl.

There was a tension in the air that began to tingle along the back of Sam's neck. Even Dean could tell something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. The girl wasn't paying any attention to anyone but Harry by this point – she wasn't even blinking.

As imperceptibly as the tension had built, it disappeared completely when the girl blinked, shook her head, and looked away from Harry. "Look, I don't know, okay? He's supposed to be camping out at the lake, but he wasn't there when I went to look for him." With that, she turned and all but ran from the parking lot.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he rolled his shoulders, releasing the lingering tension between his shoulder blades. Returning to his position beside the Impala he sighed, "I hate doing that."

"What did you do?" Sam asked.

Harry tossed his burned-down cigarette butt over his shoulder and rubbed lightly at his temples. "Always gives me a splitting headache."

"Yeah, we can see that," Dean pressed, "but what did you do?"

"A touch of legilimency… I took a look in her head. It's not easy to do, particularly on a muggle, not without causing damage."

"You can read minds." The not-question came from Sam.

"I can, but don't. Not unless it's important, and unlike the man who taught me how, I don't barge in just to see what I can. I only 'read' what I'm looking for." Harry hissed a little, "You have any aspirin handy?"

Sam nodded and jumped off the hood of the Impala. Reaching through the open passenger-side window, he rummaged around in the glove box. "What did you find out?" he asked, handing a bottle of painkiller to Harry.

Harry fumbled with the cap for a moment before popping it open and shaking out four white tablets. He handed the bottle back to Sam and chewed the aspirin, washing his mouth out with the last of his energy drink before answering. "Mr. Pierson's staying at his older sister's apartment. 430 South Main Street, apartment C."

Dean grinned a little, "Dude, that must come in handy."

When Harry looked up from his hands and met Dean's gaze, Dean was a little taken aback by Harry's expression. Shadows and pain lingered in the shorter man's eyes, making their clear, emerald color look darker. Dean thought he understood how a person's eyes could be described as 'haunted' now. "I believe I just said I don't use it unless necessary," Harry sounded far, far older than he should have. Old, tired, and worn down.

Dean had known, from the story Harry had told him, that the short man had not had an easy life, but he hadn't really realized what that meant until just then. In that one, tired sentence, Dean understood. He would have recalled his flippant words, but that just wasn't something he did. Dean understood that though the guy standing in front of him was only twenty-six, he had seen far more of the bad side of life than Dean had, and considering Dean's twisted upbringing, wasn't that a sobering thought? Dean didn't know the details, didn't need to know the details. He understood.

Ignoring the glare from Sam, Dean tossed Harry's jacket and bag of energy drinks into the back seat of the Impala. "Why don't we give you a lift back to the motel? Me and Sammy can go talk to the kid."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No, I'll go with you. The headache's starting to fade already." Harry got into the Impala before anyone could say any more.

Dean tossed his mostly-eaten sno-cone remains into a barrel not far from the sno-cone stand and got into the car. Sam followed suit, wondering just what had passed between Harry and his brother. He knew something went unsaid, yet understood, but he couldn't figure out what.

7:50 pm, July 20, 2007
430 South Main Street, Apt. C
Knoxville, Iowa

When the Winchesters and Harry had arrived at the house which housed the apartment of Johnny Pierson's older sister, a stoned-looking kid in a pair of ragged jeans and a filthy t-shirt opened the door, said, "April's at work, morons," and slammed the door in their faces, the lock clicking back into place with an audible snap.

Sam knocked on the door again, "Johnny? Man, we're not here to talk to your sister. We wanted to talk to you."

Johnny's voice, a little muffled by the door, called out, "Did D.J. send you? 'Cause if she did, she was lyin'. I ain't got more than a quarter, guys, an' I ain't sellin' it. Get your green from someone else."

This time Harry knocked, "Mr. Pierson? We're not here for drugs. We just want to talk to you."

"Fuck off," came the reply.

"Oh, for the love of – get out of the way," Dean, exasperated, shoved Sam to one side and Harry to the other. "Johnny, open the damn door or I swear I'll kick the fucking thing off its hinges."

After a pause of several seconds, the lock snicked again, and the door opened. "What?"

"We wanted to talk to you about Mark."

"Why? You wanna tell me I'm nuts, too? Suggest rehab? Sorry, but I got enough of that from the cops. I don't need no more from you."

Harry rubbed tiredly at his face, "Look, Mr. Pierson, we don't think you're barmy. We're trying to find out what it is that took your mate, and if you can tell us what you saw it will help."

Maybe it was recognizing the accent that made the kid step aside with a subtle widening of his eyes, or maybe it was something else, but in a matter of moments, the three Hunters were led to a cluttered kitchen area and seated at a table. "Sorry about that, but did you guys want something to drink? I think we've got some soda in the fridge. April doesn't drink, so I can't offer ya a beer." The brothers were looking at each other, wondering just what had caused the kid's complete personality U-turn.

"No, thanks though," Sam answered for all of them.

Johnny sat at the remaining open chair and stared at Harry. "My dad used to play quodpot," he blurted.

"What the fuck?" Dean said, exchanging a confused expression with Sam. Sam shrugged.

Harry seemed to understand the reference, because he sprung to his feet, somewhat agitated. "Mr. Pierson, I don't care. What I want to know is what you saw the night your friend disappeared."

Johnny didn't seem to hear him. "Dad said you were the best flyer he'd ever read about. You could've played for England, but you disappeared. There were articles about you in the paper for years, about how you'd get spotted every now and again."

Harry lost his temper – if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was simpering fans. He kicked the chair he so recently vacated. It clattered to the floor. "Mr. Pierson! Listen to me," he growled, "I. Don't. Care. About. Your. Father." Startled, Johnny stopped rambling. Harry sighed and picked up the chair from where it had tipped onto its side. "I'm going to go outside and have a cigarette before I strangle him," he muttered to Sam.

When the door to the apartment closed behind Harry, Johnny looked at the Winchester brothers, "How do you know Harry Potter?" His voice was awestruck and breathy.

"He's a coworker," Sam replied. "Can you tell us what you saw when Mark disappeared? It's important."

Dean allowed Sam to take over talking with the kid, and followed Harry outside. Harry was sitting on the porch railing, smoking. Dean leaned against the side of the house. "What was that about?" he asked.

"Fucking fame for something I don't even remember," Harry's reply was bitter. "I told you – I survived a curse no one ever has before. The attention I got for that was… astronomical. It isn't nearly so bad on this side of the pond, but every now and again I stumble across someone who knows the story. Kind of like how there are those people who just can't seem to get enough of the gossip about the Royal Family."

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but… I think I have an idea how you feel."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"No, really. It started out as a regular hunt – Sam and me were down in St. Louis. The whole thing got out of hand, and a shapeshifter took my form and used it to work himself onto the FBI's wanted-for-murder list. It didn't help matters when another shapeshifter decided to try its hand at a bank robbery in Milwaukee. Another job out-of-control and I got my face on national television. Ever since then, we've had to be careful."

"It's not exactly the same thing, you know," Harry replied.

Dean nodded, "Yeah. I know. Still, it's something."

Harry's expression relaxed a little, "That it is." He flicked his cigarette butt out into the street and headed back into the apartment, Dean right behind him.

Back in the apartment, Sam was finally getting somewhere with the kid. "…so I dared him to sneak into the track, the pits. See if he could steal Skip Jackson's lug-wrench or something. Skip Jackson's so totally the bomb, even if he is Australian. He'd just gone over the chain-link surrounding the parking lot when I saw something between the cars. I thought it was just my imagination, y'know? It was long and black and scaly… God, it was fuckin' huge. Then I realized it had to be one of those dragons Dad said he saw in the preserve in China, though how it got to Iowa, I can't guess. The fuckin' thing moved fast, and had Mark before I could do anything, and how I wish I could use a wand like Dad, but I can't…" On hearing Johnny's description of what he'd seen, Dean watched as Harry's face paled drastically. The kid was hyperventilating and Sam was trying to pat his arm in a consoling manner. It wasn't helping, though.

Harry crossed the room quickly. "What color was it, Johnny? You said black, right? Are you sure?"

Johnny focused on Harry and let out a shuddery breath. "Yeah… I'm pretty sure it was black. It was kinda dark in the lot, though, so it could've been dark blue or green."

"Shite," Harry whispered.

"You know what it is?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," Harry said, though his expression was distinctly worried. "Get him calmed down and meet me back at the motel. I've got to check something." With that, Harry spun in place and disappeared with a small crack of displaced air.

"Now, that is something that could come in handy," Dean whispered to Sam.

8:35 pm, July 20, 2007
Room 13, Sleep-Right Motel
Knoxville, Iowa

Harry let out a shaky breath. So it's not a basilisk. That's good. There were no reports of unexplained sudden deaths in any of the areas in which people had gone missing lately, no reports of unexplained catatonia, either. Without meaning to, however, his brain brought up the memory of how the basilisk in his second year had been able to track him though scent alone after its eyes had been gouged out by a phoenix. The same basilisk had traveled through the pipes of Hogwarts – a water connection – and had fried Colin's camera – just like the camera at the track. Harry's headache from earlier was back in force, and it felt like two halves of his mind wanted to wage war. "It can't be a basilisk, Potter. There are no petrifactions, no instant-deaths."

But the camera!

"It could have shorted on its own. Besides, it's the power of a basilisk's gaze that does the work – not a bloody confundus charm."

Still, the kid saw a giant snake. Just how many breeds of giant snake are there, hmm?

"Still doesn't mean it's a basilisk."

A knock on his door interrupted the argument he was holding with himself. Sam and Dean stood there, waiting expectantly, until Dean said, "So…?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"What is it we're dealing with?"

Harry shook his head and stepped aside, letting the brothers into his room. He dug around in his saddlebag for his potions kit. "I don't know anything for sure, but I suspect it may be a basilisk."

Sam finished closing the door behind him before saying, "A basilisk? As in a great big lizard that kills things just by looking at them and lays waste to anything living it comes across?"

Harry located the shrunken wooden box and pulled it out of the saddlebag. Resizing it with his wand, he shook his head and rummaged through the orderly rows of bottles, jars, and vials. "No, I mean a basilisk, as in the king of serpents. A great honking snake that kills with a direct look and petrifies with an indirect one. A snake whose venom is so powerful it kills within a minute and can dissolve iron. A stupidly bred snake that can live hundreds of years that spiders flee from and that can be killed by the crowing of a rooster." Seizing a headache draught, he downed the contents and put the box away.

"Nice," Dean muttered. "Just fan-fucking-tastic. How do you know it's one of those?"

Harry closed his eyes in relief as the potion took effect, "I don't, that's the problem. I mean... it fits some of the evidence we have, but not all. I know a basilisk can destroy a camera, but it wouldn't leave traces of a confundus charm in doing so. There aren't any reports of unexplainable deaths or people suddenly turning into fleshy statues in any of the areas where folk have turned up missing. I suppose, if it is a basilisk, it could be blind, but this is farmland. I don't think a basilisk would be able to survive long here, since a simple rooster-crow can kill the bloody things."

"I'm sensing some hostility here," Dean said, referring to Harry's clipped tone.

Harry shrugged, "I've dealt with a basilisk before."

"So I gathered. But you said it yourself; one of these things couldn't survive long in this region. So what else could it be?"

Harry shrugged again, "I have no idea."

Sam rolled his eyes, Research. Why am I always the one who has to research? "Hey, Dean? I'm going to go grab the laptop."

Dean nodded to show he'd heard Sam and asked, "Could it be like that boa constrictor that got loose in Florida a few years ago?"

Harry chuckled; he'd nearly forgotten the incident that had dominated the national news three years earlier. "No, Dean, I don't think so."

"Well, we know it seems to want to stick reasonably close to the water, so our next step would be to check out that lake near here. Maybe someone's seen something."

Sam returned, the sticker-bedecked Dell in hand. Setting it down on the room's table, Sam turned it on. "I'm going to see if I can find out anything useful. Why don't you see if you can find us some supper?"

Dean nodded and left Sam in the company of Harry while he tracked down some cheap take-out. Really, his brother was better at the whole research side of things than he was. I just don't think in geek, he smirked a little, recalling several incidents over the two years when Sammy'd been in college where their dad had lost his temper at Dean's inability to run an effective Google search.

4:00 pm, July 21, 2007
Lake Red Rock Marina
Lake Red Rock, Iowa

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face and yawned, leaning on the hood of the Impala. He and Harry had been up late the night before, working on their respective laptops. They had a list of nearly a dozen possible creatures – and after talking to far too many people, they hadn't managed to narrow that list down at all. Dean was currently flirting his way through a conversation with a girl in a bright blue bikini. Harry had disappeared into the forest that surrounded three-quarters of the lake moments after they'd arrived. Sam didn't know what Harry was after, but he hoped he had better luck than the Winchesters did in locating it.

"Headache?" Harry asked, sliding out from behind a couple of walnut trees, something small and drab, but still shiny, wrapped around his neck.

Sam didn't bother being surprised. He'd learned by now that Harry could be quiet as a ghost when the shorter man felt like it. Sam shook his head, "Not yet. Just tired. We haven't found a single thing. What about you?"

"I found us an eyewitness as to what's been hunting around here lately," Harry said, gently unwrapping the drab-shiny thing from around his neck.

Sam blinked, "Dude, you know that's a snake, right?"

Harry gave him an at-least-you're-not-blind-but-this-isn't-as-nuts-as-you-think look. "Yeah… Your point?"

"Even if the snake saw what we're looking for, how are we going to find out? Or are you going to do that mind-reading thing on it?"

Harry laughed, "First of all, legilimency doesn't work on animals. Their brains and how they remember things is too different from ours for it to make sense, so it would be an exercise in futility. Secondly, I already know she saw what we're Hunting; I just brought her back here in case there was anything you or Dean wanted to ask."

At that moment, Dean sauntered over, "I so got that chick's number." Then he spotted the small brown-and-greenish rat snake coiling around Harry's hand. "What's up with the snake?"

"Harry here seems to believe the snake knows what we're dealing with," Sam said.

"Okay," Dean shrugged. "So, stick-boy, what are we dealing with?"

Sam clenched his jaw. His brother's ability to just accept the weirdest shit and take stuff at face value was, at times, maddening. So was Harry's easy confidence and competence. It's bad enough I have to deal with one Dean, but two? Somebody just shoot me now.

Dragging his attention back to Harry and Dean and the snake, he realized that Harry was talking to the snake. Talking to it, like he expected it to answer. Sam didn't recognize the language, but still! The idea was preposterous.

Harry fell silent and the snake bobbed its head. Sam groaned mentally,Tell me that snake did not just nod. Harry spoke again and when he stopped, the snake uncurled from his hand and slithered onto the hood of the car. It reared up, like it was about to strike, but just jerked its head in the direction of the part of the forest Harry had recently emerged from. Harry said something else, and the snake curled up in the sun. Harry laughed and looked up at Dean. Dean had managed to wipe the astonished look off his face – he had assumed Harry would go all mind-meldy on the snake. "So, Dr. Doolittle. What's the verdict?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I can only talk to snakes, you know, so don't call me that. In any case, she's adamant we're dealing with a shadow-stalker."

"And what's a shadow-stalker?"

Harry shook his head, "I have no idea. Parseltongue doesn't translate into English all that well. Snakes had a habit of calling me 'hatchling' until I started shaving and 'day' translates directly into 'basking time'. I do know it isn't a basilisk, blind or otherwise."

Sam wanted to scream, really he did. "And just how can you talk to snakes? Snakes are biologically deaf."

Harry smirked at the tallest Winchester, "And that's why parseltongue is a magical ability."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, you seem to be having some difficulty with this whole wand-waiving-wizard thing. I'd've thought you'd be more inclined to believe it – after all, aren't you the one who also believes in God and angels and all that?"

"And you're not having problems with it?"

Dean shrugged, "I think I told you before – I believe in what I can see. I've seen the things our man Harry here can do, therefore it's real. How come you have a problem with it?"

Sam sighed, Maybe Dean has a point. "It's just… This is weird, even for us. It's all a bit much to take in, you know? The idea that there's this whole sub-culture that we didn't know about…"

"And how it that any different from the other things we know are out there that normal people don't believe in, huh? C'm on, Sammy, believing in the impossible is what we do. After all, it's a little hard to kill something you don't believe in."

That managed to get a smile out of Sam. "Basically, you're saying I'm thinking too much and should stop it, right?"

Dean dropped his grasp on Sam's shoulder and grinned, "You said it, geek-boy, not me."

"Jerk," Sam retorted.

"Bitch."

A/N2: I'm not too happy with the scene with Johnny - I wanted to include how no matter where Harry goes, he's still the Boy-Who-Lived, but I don't think I wrote it all that well... Sigh.

Reviews are definitely appreciated, but flames are used to roast marshmallows.