A/N This takes place in 2007 during Season 2 of Supernatural. Harry is 27 and has been living in Lower Tadfield for a couple of years.
Enjoy!
A young man with short brown hair and serious blue eyes sits down on the couch with a sigh of relief.
"You alright?" A female voice asks from the kitchen.
"It's just been a long day" he calls out.
"Well, at least you're home." A blonde woman comes in and leans down to give him a kiss. "I guess you don't want to go out tonight, then?" The man grimaces. "Do you want me to go get a take out?"
"Kate, you're an angel," the man says fervently. Kate smiles and lifts one hand to run down his cheek affectionately. She steps back.
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes, 'k?"
"I love you, Kate." She smiles again.
"I love you too, Terry." He blows her a kiss. A moment later, Terry is alone in the house. He picks up a book from the coffee table in front of the couch. A moment later there is a muffled sound from outside. Terry looks up but when nothing else happens, returns to his book.
When the sound happens again, a thumping, scratching, dragging noise, he frowns and stands up. From his sleeve he produces a thin piece of dark wood which he holds out as if it is a weapon. He walks towards the windows and peers out into the darkness beyond the blinds. Seeing nothing, he shakes his head.
"I must be more tired than I thought," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. Just as he reaches the couch, there is a loud bang at the front door. Terry jumps, startled. He raises his wand again, the wood trembling in his hands. "Who…who's there?" he asks, his voice shaking.
There is another bang and then another, the door trembling in its frame. It sounds as if something is ramming it, something big. Terry backs away, cowering against the opposite wall. His knuckles are white around his wand and his teeth are chattering. The banging crescendos to an agonising height and then stops.
For several minutes, Terry barely breathes. His eyes dart around the room, constantly returning to the seemingly innocent door. Finally, he relaxes slightly, standing up properly and letting his terrified grip loosen. Just as he starts to move away from the wall, the window shatters, something big and pale crashing into the room.
Terry's face screws up in terror and he frantically mouths a spell. A beam of blue shoots out of his wand. There is a scream.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Thump. Dean looked up to see a small pile of notes dumped under his nose. He looked up to see Sam's intent expression. He raised an eyebrow.
"OK, so what are these?" he asked slightly disdainfully.
"You know those encoded notes we found in Dad's PO box?" Dean nodded. "Ash worked them out." Dean took a sheet off the top of the pile. He read it for a moment and then looked up.
"These are Dad's theories on what could kill the demon," he stated.
"Yeah, exactly. Some he's already investigated and discounted. Things like trapping the demon in a container and then submerging it in Holy water. Others, he hasn't had the time to pursue, I'd guess. There's one that's quite promising."
"Yeah? What is it?" Dean was interested.
"There's this guy that Dad has been recommended to several times. He says that in his notes. Apparently, the guy is good at finding things, monsters or weapons. Got a good contacts base, by all accounts."
"And Dad thought he might have something to get rid of the demon?"
"Exactly." Dean spread his hands.
"So why hasn't he checked him out already?" Sam hesitated. "You're going to say something, Sammy-boy, that I don't like, aren't you?"
"Well…."
"Sam." There was a warning note in Dean's voice. Sam sighed and looked away.
"He lives in Britain, OK."
"Britain." Dean's tone is flat.
"Look, Dean. I think this is the most promising lead. Come on, it's not as though we have the colt any longer!"
"Flying. For hours. On end."
"You could take a sleeping pill," Sam said snidely. He sighed. "OK, fine. If you don't want to do this, we won't." He grabbed the notes again and turned away.
"Sam." He turned back. "Do you honestly think this is our best lead?" Dean fixed his eyes on his brother's.
"Yeah. I do." Dean sighed.
"Bet the Brits don't know how to do a proper beer," he grumbled. "And I can't take my baby with me. This is going to suck," he predicted.
XXXXXXXXXXX
The journey by airplane was harrowing for both of them. Luckily Sam had also found some information in their dad's journal that indicated there might be a case to solve nearby their destination. If he hadn't, he wasn't sure either of them would have survived the trip.
"So what could be causing all these disappearances?" Dean questioned thoughtfully. "The victims don't seem to be connected apart from where they disappeared from. Male, female, black, white, rich, poor, married, single. Hell, sometimes it's been one person taken, sometimes more."
"Let's go over the case again, shall we?" Sam suggested.
"So, all these disappearances have happened on the coastline near Leysdown on Sea from local houses. All the signs of a break in and sometimes a struggle but never any evidence or leads. The person or people vanish, never to be heard or seen. This has been happening for the last thirty-one years." Dean sighed, slapping the notes and newspaper clippings down. "Are you sure this is our kind of work? I mean, thirty-one years is possibly just a human gang or something. It's not like it's been going for decades."
"Yeah, but over thirty years with no leads? And the disappearances have been increasing over the last decade."
"So they're good at what they do, and they're getting cocky. Big deal."
"OK, let's imagine they're human. What's the motive? Nothing's ever stolen except whatever was on the kidnapee at the time. Nothing's ever broken apart from what was probably broken in the struggle. No ransom is ever demanded. There's no political thread running through the victims, nor any physical characteristic. Some have lived in the place for their whole lives, others are newcomers." Dean looked thoughtful.
"So there's no motive. What if they're just sickos? Like that family you got taken by a while back. No motive there, either." Sam shook his head.
"I've just got a feeling about this. Plus, why would Dad have marked it as something to look at if he ever got the chance unless he thought it was worth investigating?" Dean shrugged non-committedly.
"If we get the time, fine. But let's not put this above finding this guy and whatever he's got to sell." Sam looked at him strangely.
"You feeling alright? Normally you're the one going for the hunt." Dean shrugged irritably.
"Just don't feel it," he grunted and turned over, signalling the end of the conversation.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Harry was eating breakfast when the owl came. He fed it a piece of bacon and untied the message as it crunched happily.
Dear Harry,
I hope you are well and are able to take on a case for me. A wizard by the name of Terry Walker was abducted from his house three days ago. One of my teams investigated but was unable to find any leads. The muggle police men are equally baffled, I checked. His girlfriend, Kate Jeffries, is innocent and ignorant in the matter, as far as our methods can divine. She was not in the house at the time of the attack, having stepped out to get some food.
When she came back, she found damage to the front door and the window broken inwards. Inside, the living room furniture was damaged and there was a little evidence of spellfire. There was obviously a struggle. The assailant, however, did not use magic, or at least the Unspeakables have been unable to discover any traces of his or her magic.
It may be that the attacker was muggle, hence the lack of traces, but I doubt it. I trained with Terry's father and I know that Michael taught his son some tricks of the trade. If Terry had got a chance to use his wand, which from the magic traces, he did, he would have been able to subdue most wizards, let alone muggles.
It is not only in my duty as the head of the DMLE that I implore you to investigate, but also as a friend to a grieving father who wants to know whether his son still lives or not.
If you will take on the case, I'll send you all the files we have on the circumstances by return owl.
Hope you're enjoying living in the new neighbourhood.
Kingsley.
Harry considered the case. He would probably take it on. Not only did he want to help a friend, but he didn't really have much to do as it was. A case would be a good diversion. Plus, of course, though he didn't really need it, Kingsley paid well.
Kingsley had been Minister for Magic for several terms; he had made a good one. Eventually though, he had got tired of the political dance and had decided to step down to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Since then, Harry had been casually employed when cases such as this came up. He had the time, the inclination and the lack of restrictions to properly investigate. While the DMLE did its best, the fact was that little cases such as this were often pushed to the side because they would take up valuable resources in time and man-power for little visual gain. Far better, the higher ups thought, to have the Aurors chasing down gangs and visible dark wizards.
As a result, they employed detectives like Harry on a case by case basis to sidestep the whole issue of resources. Harry should probably be grateful to the political machinations: it gave him a job which he enjoyed. Becoming an Auror would have probably been fulfilling, but all the kow-towing that had to go on would have driven him mad eventually. Ron was an Auror so Harry had a very good idea of what the daily life as one of the Magical world's peace-keepers was like from his constant moaning when they went to dinner together.
Summoning a quill, Harry quickly scribbled off a note to Kingsley, reassuring the man that he would take the case and would welcome any information available.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"This place is a dump," said Dean looking around at the grubby pub they had agreed to meet the guy in.
"It's…quaint," suggested Sam unconvincingly. Dean looked at him scathingly.
"It's a dump," he reiterated, taking a sip of the beer he had bought. He made a face. "I was right. The Brits can't do beer to save their lives."
A man slid into the seat opposite the two. He was wrapped in a long coat with the collar pulled tight around his neck. He darted glances around the room and then relaxed his grip a little, allowing his face to be seen. His face was lined and there was grey at his temples among the black. His skin was a honey colour but still managed to give the impression of ground in dirt.
"You this Weston guy?" Dean asked directly.
"Thass me. Are ye John Winchester's boys?"
"Yeah." The man nodded slowly.
"Heard 'bout his death. John was a good sort. Many'll miss him."
"Did you know him well?"
"Nah. Met him once when I went to the States. Got in a spot o' trouble an' he helped me out." Dean and Sam exchanged a look.
"He never mentioned you."
"O' course, we had a falling out. Didn't contact him once I got back here." Sam looked at Dean and rolled his eyes.
"Of course." Sam leaned forwards. "Mr Weston, do you know what we're here for?" The man raised an eyebrow.
"People only talk t' me when they want something. Guess you're not any different." The two brothers looked at each other again and then Sam continued.
"We're looking for a weapon against demons. Specifically for killing demons, not just sending them back to the Pit." The man sucked his teeth.
"Thass a hard un. Demons, they're mighty powerful things on their own territory."
"But surely we'd be hitting them on Earth where most of their power is kept from them?" The man shook his head.
"Nah, to kill a demon, you gotta hit the demon's being, not just the bit of the demon possessing a person. Tha' means you gotta hit the thing in Hell." Dean frowned.
"What about the Colt, then? The gun that can kill anything?" The man nodded.
"I know wha' you mean, son. I was lucky enough as a young man to see tha' gun in action. I don' know whether it's the bullet or the gun itself, but tha' death sent reverberations down the whole being of the demon it was used on. I could feel the echoes of death travelling into another dimension, Hell. Tha' gun was a masterpiece an' there ain't no more like it now it's disappeared." The boys both sank a bit.
"So you don't know anything that could kill a demon?"
"Now did I say tha'?" They perked up.
"You know something?"
"I know someone," he corrected. "He's the local expert on this kinda thing. I'll get in touch."
"Thank you," Sam said.
"How long d'you think it'll take?" Dean followed quickly after.
"Well now, probably a week for him to get my message and respond. Meet me back here on Monday at 12." With that he stood, pulled his coat tight once more and disappeared into the shadows. Dean looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows.
"Weirdo," was his pronouncement. Sam found he couldn't really debate that despite the apparent hypocrisy. "So what're we going to do for the next week?" Sam shrugged.
"Check out Dad's case?" Dean sighed.
"Fine."
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I freakin' hate public transport," was Dean's complaint. Sam had no argument. They were finally in Leysdown on Sea having had a hellish journey with misbehaving trains, late buses and unreadable signs. Plus the whole oyster and ticket thing was just confusing.
"Let's find a motel," Sam suggested.
"Hey Sammy, we're in the land of 'biscuits' and 'roads' and 'hotels'. No motels round here." Sam glared at him.
"You know what I mean." Dean grinned and whacked him on the back of his head.
"Lighten up. Look, there's a 'hotel'," he said in as British an accent as he could manage.
At the counter, Dean started flirting with the receptionist. Sam rolled his eyes. Typical. Then, hearing a question about anything odd happening around 'these parts', he tuned in. The girl shook her head.
"Not really. Just that man down Manor Way who disappeared almost a week ago. Otherwise, Leysdown's pretty boring. Particularly in these autumn months. Weather's pretty awful too." She wrinkled her nose. "If I were you, I'd spend my time in London, not this dump." Dean flashed her a salacious smile.
"Dump? When it has such beautiful girls in it?" She blushed.
"Here, room 22. Second floor." Her face still crimson, she shoved the keys into his hands and retreated behind her computer screen. Dean looked at Sam with a 'I'm too good for words' expression. Sam looked back at Dean with a 'I can't believe you did that...wait, yes I can'. They went to the room.
"So, that's where we're going to start."
"We need an address first," pointed out Dean.
"No probs." Sam got out his laptop and quickly googled the newspaper which had reported the man's disappearance. "OK, so the guy's name's Terry Walker. Has a girlfriend called Kate Jeffries. They recently moved here. Last Tuesday Kate stepped out to get some food and came back to find her living room in ruins, the window broken inwards, signs of a struggle and no boyfriend. She reported it to the police and is still living there."
"No crime scene cordon?" Sam shook his head slowly.
"Not so far as I can see. I think the police swept the place clean that first night and then let her back in the next day." Dean frowned.
"That's odd. Normally they'd dedicate more time to sweeping the crime scene than just an evening." Sam shrugged.
"Well it's not as though someone was murdered." Dean shrugged but didn't appear entirely convinced.
"Got an address?"
"Yeah, 32 Manor Way." Dean nodded decisively.
"Let's go."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Harry approached the house that Kingsley had directed him to. To his surprise, the door was already open, a woman – Kate, presumably – talking to two young men in suits. He slowly and quietly walked down the garden path, trying to feel out the situation.
"…don't see what business it is of yours. I've already told you we don't have insurance!"
"Ma'am, please. Are you sure your husband didn't take out insurance without your knowledge? It seems a little odd for our records to be wrong."
"Look, can you just go away!" Harry stepped forwards and was noticed by all the woman, then one of the men. The other man was quickly informed of his presence by a quick nudge in the side.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked authoritatively. The woman sighed.
"Who are you now?" she asked plaintively.
"Harry Potter. I sent you an…a message earlier." The woman's eyes lit up.
"Oh Mr Potter! Please, come in. Thank you so much for taking on this case. I know your success rate is really high." Harry smiled at her,
"I do my best." His expression turned more serious. "However, there is no guarantee that even if I find out who took Mr Walker, I will find him alive." When she beckoned him in, he stepped through the other two men and into the house. On the threshold he paused and turned. "I think you must have made an error here, gentlemen. If Miss Jeffries says there is no insurance, I see no need for insurance men to harass her." He smiled pleasantly. "Good day, gentlemen." Shutting the door, he went in.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"So what can you remember of the night Mr Walker disappeared?" Harry asked Kate gently, watching her reactions with sharp eyes.
"Terry was tired. He'd just come home from work. He worked at a lawyer's firm. He was training to be a l-lawyer." She sniffed and Harry sent her a sympathetic smile. "We were planning to go out that night for dinner, but he was so tired, so I suggested a take out. I went out to the local Indian place and got some curry. I swear it was no more than fifteen minutes before I got back and…and Terry was…gone." She was crying in earnest now and Harry conjured her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and regained control of herself.
"What did the room look like?"
"Like something big had been banging about in it. The coffee table was smashed and so was one of the chairs. There were rips in the couch and s-some b-bl-blood on the cushioned chair. The window was broken and the door was damaged."
"What did the door look like?"
"Like…like something had been bashing it. The worst damage was about shoulder height. There it was splintered and there was a dent. The hinges were buckled and the lock almost busted out of shape; I could hardly get it open!" Harry nodded. That narrowed it down slightly.
"Excuse me for asking this, Miss Jeffries, but how much blood was there in the room?" She bit her lip and sniffed a bit.
"Not much. A bit on the cushioned chair and a bit on the wall. I didn't see any more."
"I see. Did you see anything odd outside? Any tracks? Marks on trees, bushes etc?" She shook her head.
"I haven't really been outside since. I've mostly been at my parents' house. I was just here to pick up some bits."
"And no other room in the house was affected?"
"No. Just the living room. And the door."
"I haven't come across any reports of what neighbours have said. Were they aware of what happened?" Kate shook her head.
"We had soundproofing on the house and notice-me-not wards on the property. None of my neighbours are magical so they would have been deterred by the wards."
"What other wards do you have up?"
"Just the normal anti-pest ward and a couple of defence ones. I don't really know. They've collapsed now, anyway, since Terry was the one who put them up. He hadn't got the time to anchor them or something before he…." She broke off with another sob. Harry hadn't really expected anything different: such wards were standard practice for a wizard home in a non-magical area.
"Did Mr Walker report seeing anything before his disappearance? Hearing anything? Having nightmares?" Kate considered it.
"No. Not that I know of."
"Right. Thank you very much for your cooperation, Miss Jeffries. Rest assured that finding your boyfriend, preferably alive, is my highest priority." She looked stricken at his 'preferably alive' statement, but Harry had found that in general, false hope was worse than no hope at all. He stood up and she got up too, clutching the handkerchief, face pale. "I will inform you if I find anything conclusive. If you remember anything, anything at all, please owl me." She nodded. "Will you be here after today?"
"No." She shook her head for more emphasis. "I'm selling this house as soon as I can. My parents live in Manchester, 14 Holocombe Close. We have floo." Harry smiled.
"Thank you, Miss Jeffries. I wish you the best, painful though it might be at the moment." She nodded but said nothing more as he left the house.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Can't hear a damn thing."
"They must have soundproofing."
"Pretty good soundproofing." Dean and Sam were trying to listen into the conversation between this 'Harry Potter' and Kate Jeffries while keeping out of sight, but weren't having much luck. Dean started wandering off while Sam tried to read their lips.
"Hey Sam, check this out." Sam turned away from the window just in time to miss Harry conjuring the handkerchief and crouched down near his brother. There were long marks in the dirt and the bushes showed bruising.
"Something's been dragged," he said thoughtfully.
"Something heavy." Their eyes met.
"So whatever it is, is strong enough to drag a decent sized man, but not lift one." Sam's eyes narrowed.
"Unless it wasn't thinking about leaving tracks?"
"Maybe." They looked around a little more. Then Sam let out a little 'huh'.
"What is it?" Sam gestured to the marks. The human footprints. Dean's eyes narrowed.
"Maybe it was humans after all."
"Who goes around in bare feet, Dean?" Dean got out his EMF detector and pointed at the tracks. It went wild, the needle swinging to the far right. Their eyes met.
"It might be human, but it's not just human." They scoured the ground a bit more. Dean thought he caught something on the wind, something bad. He sniffed around a bit.
"Hey, Sam. Over here." He pulled back a few leaves and revealed a small pile of decomposing flesh the size of his hand.
"That's seriously gross, man," Sam told him, covering his nose.
"Tell me about it," Dean muttered. Frowning, he reached down and touched some pale, grainy substance which was around the flesh and on it. He rubbed it and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the dead meat smell.
"Sulphur?" Sam suggested. Dean shook his head.
"No, sand." Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Dean gestured for Sam to follow him down. The man, Harry Potter, was leaving. Looking at each other, the brothers silently agreed to follow.
Of course, on a miserable October day where few people were out on the streets, that was easier said than done.
The man led them down a few streets and then smaller streets. The houses got sparser and sparser until there was no one in sight except way back along the road.
"I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, Dean," Sam murmured in his brother's ear."
"Join the club," was his short reply. The man went around the bend where he was blocked from their view by a steep bank and when they rounded the corner, he had vanished.
"Awesome. We've lost Mr Spooky now." Sam was too busy trying to cover every angle to pay attention. Suddenly, there was a flash of red light. Dean went down without a sound.
"Dean!" Sam whirled around, his gun out and ready to shoot. Unfortunately, he turned his back to the wrong part of the road and he was hit by the stunner too.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Harry stepped out from the invisibility cloak and shook his head. Amateurs. He searched the two men and came up with a surprising amount of weaponry, more than was legal in the country, but no wands. Muggles, then. Not surprising considering the excuse they had been using to try to get in Jeffries' house.
Well, muggle law wasn't really Harry's area. They weren't wizards so didn't fall under his purview. He didn't want them mucking with his case, though. Considering the matter, he decided to obliviate them. The good thing about the memory charm was that it allowed the caster to plant a few suggestions about how the brain should fill the blanks if the caster did it properly. In his career, Harry had become very good at the memory charm.
"Obliviate. You will forget all about Harry Potter, Kate Jeffries and Terry Walker. You have been visiting here as tourists and will be going home tomorrow morning." He quickly cast the enervate charm and then, before they could properly wake up, cast a deliberately underpowered sleeping charm. Then, with a crack, he apparated away before they could wake up again.
Woken by a sharp sound, rather like a car backfiring, Dean opened his eyes groggily.
"Where am I?" he muttered. "Oo, my head!" he said painfully as he tried to sit up. "What did I drink last night?" Slowly his memories filtered in. He had gone to a bar with Sam, chatted up a few girls, all to celebrate going back home. For some reason, he had had enough of England. Though, he didn't really remember what had brought him here. Them here. Sam!
He looked wildly around. The heart which had been hovering in his mouth dropped back to its rightful place when he saw his brother's prone form lying next to him.
"Hey Sammy," he shouted in Sam's ear. "Quit lying around! We're going home." Sam shot up with a jerk, almost bashing his head into Dean's. "Oi, Sleeping Beauty, watch that wooden head of yours."
"Home? Why're we going home? We haven't finished the job yet," Sam said, twisting onto his knees, expression confused. Dean frowned, equally confused.
"What job?" Sam stared at him.
"You know, the one with the break in, disappearance and creepy man?" Dean's frown deepened.
"I think you had a bit too much to drink last night. Sure, I can't remember much, but at least I'm not delusional." Sam staggered to his feet and Dean followed him up. He shook his head.
"No, this doesn't make any sense! Wait." He stopped stock still. "That man! He must have done something to you. He knocked us out!"
"Whoa, whoa, Sammy boy. What're you talking about?" Dean demanded, putting up his hands to calm his brother down. Sam quickly gave him a run through of what they had been doing since they came to England. By the end of it, Dean was frowning.
"It does make sense," he admitted. "But flying bolts of red light? Sure you haven't been watching too many Starwars films when you're hammered?" Sam glared and him and marched over to exhale over his face.
"Dude! What the hell was that for?" Dean squawked, waving the air away. "Your breath stinks! Chew on a breath mint." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Do you smell any alcohol?"
"Don't think I could smell any alcohol over the stench," Dean muttered. When Sam glared at him again he conceded. "Fine. No, I don't. What's that meant to mean."
"If I was sufficiently intoxicated to start imagining things, you'd still smell the alcohol on my breath. You can't smell it, ergo I can't have had enough to be delusional. It's weird, but then what do we deal with that isn't weird?"
"Who the hell says 'ergo'?" Dean muttered mutinously. He sighed. "So if we take your magic mojo thing to be true, we need to go research it. Sounds like this case's not as cut and dried as we hoped." Sam agreed and they returned to the hotel.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Four hours later it was dark and they were a bit further on. Dean had been researching the case while Sam had been trying to find anything that would match what the man was. On a mutually agreed coffee break, they shared information.
"OK, hit me," Dean told Sam, relaxing with a coffee and Danish pastry. "These are really good you know. Sure you don't want to go out and get one?" Sam rolled his eyes.
"No, thank you. My brain doesn't require my stomach to be constantly full in order to work."
"Ooh, burn!"
"Shut up. Right, I haven't actually got much. Some crack-pot sightings which are only believable because so many have seen them and said pretty much the same thing. A person or several people in long, medieval style robes carrying short sticks which shoot out bolts of colour. Some people say the bolts kill, others say they destroy. We know they can cause unconsciousness and were able to wipe your memory and implant new ones. That's a common theme, too. Sometimes, the person who posted the sighting was with someone and the next time they saw that person, the other had forgotten all about it."
"No way of countering them? No folklore? Do you even know what they are?" Sam sighed.
"No, no and a big, fat, nada. The common theory is that they're like warlocks, witches, wizards, sorcerers etc."
"Great."
"What did you find out."
"Well, I looked into the various cases that have happened over the years here. Same MO all over: single person disappears. Their house is broken into. Most of the time it's a short time frame. About fifteen minutes. Often signs of a struggle. Pretty much always put down to robbers. But check this out." He pulled out a map of the area on which he'd put crosses. Sam narrowed his eyes and then looked up at Dean in shock.
"They're all in a semi-circle." Dean smirked.
"Exactly. And judging by the sand we found…"
"…it's something to do with the beach." Dean stood up and started packing bits into a bag. "Dean, where're we going?"
"To the beach, Sammy. Where else?"
"Come on Dean, it's almost ten o'clock. We don't know what we're dealing with. This isn't the time to go beach-combing. Let's wait until the morning." Dean wavered and then set the bag down.
"Fine. But we'll be up with the dawn, OK?" Sam smirked.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Ten thirty the next morning, Sam was trying to wake up a somnolent Dean.
"G'way," he muttered, batting at Sam's hand.
"Come on Dean. Get up. We've got a case," Sam told him, rolling his eyes.
"Don' wanna." Sam sighed and then smirked as he got an idea. "What?!" Dean exclaimed, sitting up in bed to Sam's snickering, icy water pouring down his neck. He glared at his brother. "I'm so gonna to get you for this," he promised darkly.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, we've got a case to solve." Still grumbling Dean went into the bathroom to get a towel and was ready in in under fifteen minutes.
Soon, they were trudging along the beach which was the centre of the semicircle, EMF out and scanning the walls.
"So what do you think it is? Got any lore? Local legends? I suppose we should ask around."
"Well, while you were getting your 'beauty sleep', which you really need, by the way, I was asking around." Dean glared at him.
"Funny. So, what d'you find?" Sam shook his head.
"Nothing. No local monsters, no suspicious deaths at sea for ages, no ships wrecked nearby. On the supernatural scale, this town's pretty dead."
"Apart from the recent break ins."
"Apart from those," Sam agreed. "I think the flesh we found was a clue, though. No way is that a spirit. Plus it's not really a spirit's MO." Dean frowned.
"So you don't think it's from our disappearing man?" Sam shook his head.
"It's only been a few days since the incident and temperatures have been pretty low. If it was from our victim, it wouldn't be that decomposed. No, I think it's from the creature who took him."
"A zombie, you think?" Sam shrugged.
"Could be. There are a fair number of flesh-eaters out there, most of them corporal."
"Awesome." They walked in silence until the end of the beach. "Nothing here." Sam sat down on an outcropping of rock and Dean recognised the thoughtful pose. "I'm going to try and catch a couple of crabs." Sam just nodded absentmindedly. Dean shrugged and started poking about. He found a few rock-pools and played a bit with some very fast shrimps.
When he next looked up, he realised he had climbed over the rock outcropping and was on a completely different beach, one that he thought would probably be inaccessible at high tide. Looking around, he frowned. This was a desolate place. Black cliffs, dark sand, lots of rocks. He wandered around a bit and found a small cave in the side of one cliff. It looked shallow, but just as he was about to abandon it, he noticed a smear of red, well, red-brown on the back wall.
Taking out his EMF detector, his eyebrows went up as it went wild.
"Bingo," he murmured.
Five minutes later, Sam was there with him, inspecting the wall. Sam shook his head.
"There's nothing. Sure, it's definitely got something going on, but there's no sort of opening, no carvings, no debris around the entrance, which is suspicious anyway – something like this should be a magnet for driftwood, and no clue as to what it is." Dean who had been watching the rest of the beach over Sam's shoulder suddenly gripped it.
"Is that who I think it is?" Sam looked up and stiffened.
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After obliviating the two men, Harry went back to his hotel. Well, first things first, he needed to research the area. A few hours later, his eyes narrowed as he came to the same conclusions Sam had.
"Oh no," he breathed, horrified. "Don't tell me…." Groaning, he put his head in his hands. "This is my fault. I should have come back here sooner!" Grabbing his wand, he paused as he realised darkness had crept up on him. Not the time to go hunting these particular creatures.
Sitting back in the chair, a sudden tapping at the window made him jump. He looked up and saw an owl waiting impatiently to be let in. He opened the window and the owl fluttered in, dropped the letter and then fluttered back out. Harry raised his eyebrows at its unfriendly departure.
The letter was from an Underground contact. One thing about this business was that it got him into touch with the most shady, unsavoury characters he could ever hope to avoid. And the worst thing was when they were fighting on his side. This particular contact wasn't so bad. He was an information man, the person who, if they didn't know the answer, would probably know who to put you in touch with to get it. Part of the agreement when getting information was to thereafter be a contact he could put people into touch with. With Harry's career of hunting the unusual suspects in otherwise unexplainable cases, he was a popular person to ask when odd things were happening.
Doc (Weston's nickname for Harry. The detective still didn't know exactly how he had achieved it.)
Got two young American blokes needing to ask you something about your job. They're after a certain lower friend. Don't suppose you'd know how to get in touch with them. Recent family deaths have made them want to really speed up the contact. Life thing, you see.
Name of Dean and Sam Winchester. Told them to be back Monday at noon. Hope you can make it.
Weston
Harry frowned. Weston was always paranoid even when he didn't need to be and any letter from him read like a riddle. 'Lower friend'. Harry would guess that was a demon. From the rest of it, Harry would guess these two wanted to either summon a demon or kill it. Judging from the fact Weston knew Harry would never give information on how to summon a demon to make a deal with it, he would guess the men wanted to kill it. Sure. He'd get this job wrapped up and then go and meet the two.
The next morning, he waited until the tide was going out to go to the beach. If it was high tide, he would have to swim and he'd had enough of that the first time he visited this place.
After clambering over the rocks which blocked the entrance onto the beach, he started striding to the cave. Much to his surprise, he wasn't the first one there. The two men he had obliviated the day before were poking around the entrance to the cave. Wandering up to them, he smiled pleasantly.
"Nice day for a walk, isn't it?" The taller man had stood and was half-shielding the shorter one. They had both got guns out. Harry raised an eyebrow and discretely took a hold of his wand handle.
"Cut the crap, Potter," the taller one said, pulling back the safety on his gun. "Who are you?"
"You already know my name which is more than I know about you." The shorter one started moving out of the cave, his gun fixed on Harry. Soon, Harry was being targeted from the front and the side.
"Why should we tell you anything when you knocked us out and wiped our memories?"
"Well I obviously didn't do a good enough job considering you have them back," Harry pointed out. "Look, if you're going to kill me, you might as well tell me your names." They glanced at each other.
"I'm Dean, he's Sam," the shorter one said, nodding to the taller one. Harry's eyes narrowed as he remembered the letter. Two young American blokes. Looking for demons. Sam and Dean.
"Winchester, by any chance?" Harry asked shrewdly. Their eyes went wide and their fingers tightened on the trigger.
"How do you know that?" asked Dean hoarsely. Harry nodded in satisfaction.
"Well, I got a letter this morning saying a Sam and Dean Winchester were looking for information on demons. Weston mean anything to you?" They looked at each other.
"You're Weston's contact?" Harry half-smiled.
"If you blow my brains out, you'll never know." When they hesitated, he sighed. "Look, if what I suspect is true, we're on the same side, working towards the same thing." Slowly, they lowered their guns, but didn't put them away.
"So what do you think's true?" Relaxing a bit now the guns were not quite as dangerous as they were, Harry plonked himself onto a rock.
"I'm a detective of the criminal supernatural. That's my job. That's what I'm paid to do. I've come across others before, people with no magic who, for some reason or other, know about the things which hide in the dark and under beds, kill and destroy people and places. I reckon you're looking for a demon to kill it, hence Weston sending me a note. If you're here, you're probably looking at the same case I am. Am I right?"
"The case of the disappearing people?" Harry nodded. "Yeah, we're here for that." Harry nodded again.
"Thought so." He stood up and dusted the sand off his trousers. "Well, you can go away knowing the case is solved, then." The brothers frowned.
"Wait, what?" Sam asked.
"No way are we leaving before getting the monsters," Dean agreed.
"Do you even know what we're dealing with?" Harry asked incredulously.
"We know it's something corporal that's strong." Harry scoffed.
"Great start, boys. You're just going to try to get in there and face them without even knowing how to kill them?" Dean shrugged.
"It's worked before." Harry shook his head.
"I wouldn't believe you except I was exactly the same as a teenager. You're way out of your depth here."
"So tell us," Sam said in frustration. "If you know more than we do about this, why don't we share information." Harry sighed.
"Why don't you just go back to London and I'll meet you on Monday and talk about demons?"
"Because people are getting hurt," Dean said, a final note in his voice. "Because our job is to protect people from the things they don't even know exist." Harry bit his lip. He really wanted to just knock them out and keep them safe, but he knew he couldn't do that. And, like it or not, there were a lot of the things in there and he could probably do with some help, even from muggles.
"Fine," he said finally. "Come on, sit down. I'll give you a quick overview." Once seated, he looked at them seriously. "What do you know about witches and wizards?" Dean frowned.
"Witches? People, usually women, who conduct black rituals, summon demons, kill people or give themselves boosts through using magic." Harry nodded his head.
"OK, so you don't know. Those kind of witches don't really deserve the name. The real witches and wizards can directly use magic with a focus. They're, we're, born, not made. No non-magical person can become a witch or wizard with enough study, and magical people will use magic without even realising what it is. We use wands to focus the magic and control it." He showed them a flash of his wand.
"The stories…" Sam breathed. Harry raised an eyebrow at him but went on.
"Now, there is a world completely separate from the non-magical one. It's a world that's hidden pretty well and protected by spells which wipe memories, such as I used on you. I don't know why it worked on you, but I've never been particularly good at obliviating."
"So what relevance does this have to the case?" Dean asked.
"There was a wizard, a powerful wizard. In the magical world there are those who want to kill the muggles, that is, the non-magical humans, and those who want to protect them. This wizard wanted to kill them. He raised an army and created civil war in our world between the two sides. He had certain items he wanted to protect. One of them was hidden here."
"So it's the item that's causing the deaths?" Sam asked, frowning.
"No, I'll get to that in a moment. Basically, this wizard put a lot of protections in place. When I came here fifteen years ago to destroy the artefact, I barely escaped with my life. My companion was not so lucky. And we both could use magic." He leaned forwards to impress the seriousness of the situation on the two. "The main difficulty, and the one that has been causing the disappearances, is a horde of inferius." Sam frowned.
"Isn't inferius just another name for zombies?" Harry shrugged.
"Fundamentally the same, but different in all the ways that matter." Dean chuckled.
"Oh, zombies. Is that all? I thought you were going to bring out the big guns from what you were saying. Look, Mr Porter, or whatever your name is, we've faced zombies before. They're not that hard to kill. Just pin them in their gravesite and Bob's your uncle." Harry didn't smile.
"Pin them in their gravesites. Yeah, great idea except for one problem. They don't have gravesites." Sam frowned.
"But then what about the ritual to bring them back to life? What about the carvings in the roof of the coffin?" Harry shook his head.
"Not needed. Inferius are raised through a dark magic ritual performed by a wizard. They are unlike other zombies in that they are only slightly more intelligent than a dog. This means that they can't be reasoned with. They have no morals, no real concept of language and no emotions. They are, however, extremely fast, extremely strong and pretty much immune to anything you can throw at them. The only way to kill them for good is to chop them into piece and then burn the chunks. Note, even if you cut off a hand, it will still try to pull itself to you until it's been burned. Salt does not affect them at all, nor does silver, iron or any other tried and tested method against the supernatural."
"So we have to throw fire on them? Use a whole load of gas and set light to the bastards?" Dean was serious for once.
"Normally, yes, but this lot? Let me explain the layout of the cave. You enter in by spilling blood on the rock. You walk through a narrow passageway which then opens out into a huge cavern. Most of the cavern is a lake except for an island in the centre where the artefact used to be. The inferius live in the lake. See the problem?" Dean screwed up his face.
"Damn it!" he exclaimed. "Spraying them with gasoline won't work…"
"…because it'll be repelled by the water," finished Sam. Harry nodded.
"Exactly."
"So why don't we just collapse the rocks over the entrance? Trap them in there?" Sam asked. Harry shrugged.
"Possible, but if what I suspect is true, it won't do a thing to help."
"What're you talking about?" Harry stood up and walked over to the entrance, casting a couple of charms on the brown smear.
"As I thought." He turned to the other two. "The last person to bleed on this door was my companion, fifteen years ago. Besides, being the undead, the fluids inside inferi probably wouldn't count as blood anyway."
"So if the zombies aren't getting out this way…"
"There must be another entrance." Harry nodded.
"And it's probably underwater somewhere. I reckon the cave was naturally formed by underground water running to the sea." Dean groaned.
"Awesome. So what? We have to lure them out?"
"Something like that," Harry agreed vaguely, "but you won't be doing it."
"No way!" protested Sam. "This is our case as much as yours!" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Well, if you look at it logically, this is my country and I'm actually getting paid for it. You're just here for information." Dean glared at Harry.
"People are getting hurt. That makes it our job."
"Come on," Harry said in exasperation. "You're muggles. I'm a wizard. I can do magic. If the going gets rocky, I can apparate out." Seeing their looks of confusion, he quickly clarified with 'teleporting'. "What if you got caught in the fire? Or covered in inferi? You'd be dead meat! Just another inferius to swell their ranks."
"Doesn't matter," replied Dean, his tone final. Short of knocking us out and tying us up, we're coming in there and if you don't let us in on the planning, we'll probably mess it up, too." Harry eyed them in a way that told the Winchesters he was considering the 'knocking out and tying up' option. He sighed.
"Fine. I'd be a bit hypocritical if I argued against someone else having a hero-complex. But I would suggest we go back to my hotel room. It's a bit warmer than this beach." Dean and Sam shared a glance, then the eldest Winchester gave a short nod.
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A/N This is where I need your help. I know what needs to happen after the destruction of the inferius, but I really can't imagine how the Winchesters and Harry will conduct the burning of the zombies. Any ideas will be welcome!
