Title: Dancing with Angels
Author: Yeziel Moore
Fandom: HP-SPN
Characters: Harry, Dean.
Pairings: None.
Rating: K+
Warnings: Slight crack at the end. Some elements of Inuyasha but nothing big.
Summary: Harry always wanted a dog, did ya know?
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. This Plot, however, is mine.
Words: 3723.

AN: Still not what I sort-of promised but it's something at least. It was supposed to be serious-ish but it didn't come out quite like that. Oh, well...

10. Occlumency and puppies.

Harry had never been gladder for Severus Snape's occlumency tortur... lessons, that's it, lessons. He never, as in E.V.E.R., thought that he would feel grateful for the Potions Master's borderline illegal instruction all those years ago. But now he was, oh boy, he most definitely was. Why? You must be asking yourself. The reason was pretty simple once you stopped being incredulous and it was in the form of the evil thing that now resided inside his body, controlling his arms and legs as if they were its own, using his voice and moving his facial muscles to form a gruesome smile of triumph.

How come that Harry-bloody-Potter ended up being possessed by a demon of all things?

It started two weeks ago. Harry had been given an undercover mission, the most dangerous so far because he would be going alone, which meant that nobody would be there to bust his sorry ass out of the line of fire should he slip.

He was meant to infiltrate a group consisting of a bunch of rogue Death Eaters and new recruits that had been terrorizing some muggle towns in Ireland. In spite of the dangers that this kind of mission presented, Harry had done his homework well and had managed to join without undue problems. The problems came a week later when his cover exploded on his face.

It was to be expected, really, because, no matter how much of a Slytherin he was at his core, he never stopped being a Gryffindor. And Gryffindors sucked at being cautious, cunning and everything that was needed for an undercover mission.

So there he was, fighting for his life against fifty or so Death Eaters wannabes. However, instead of staying like a target for practice, he ran. It was an old tactic really. Run ahead of the idiots and pick them one by one. It would've worked wonderfully too, if they were just idiots, but apparently somebody had a functional brain in there. So they had formed groups of five. Defeating five skilled wizards teaming against him was taxing, even for someone with so much magic and expertise in combat like Harry. By the end of an entire week of running, hiding, fighting and bidding his time the best he could, Harry was exhausted magically, physically and mentally.

He was also victorious.

But it was this state of bone-deep exhaustion that would be his undoing. In such a state, in which his magic was at an all time low, he was at his most vulnerable. And his luck sucked badly enough that his one moment of weakness was witnessed by a passing demon, who lapped at the chance of acquiring such a powerful vessel.

Harry hadn't enough strength left to fight the possession, something most wizards could do successfully. But he wasn't one of the most stubborn son-of-a-bitches out there for nothing. As he felt the vile thing crawl its way down his throat Harry put everything left inside him not on fighting, but on defending. He fed the remnants of his magic and all of his undying will to the one place that would always and forever be his: his mind. His incredibly strong occlumency shields slammed shut, his magic roamed the confines of his mind and filled every crevice and flaw, making it impossible for the demon to topple them.

And it tried, oh yes, it tried to worm its way into his mind and soul only to find that it was impossible for it to gain entrance. The wizard's mind, that it had thought would be weak after such a long fight, was practically at its stronger. This fact enraged the demon to no end but there was nothing it could do, not without breaking those walls, something that wouldn't be happening any time soon. His anger became smouldering fury when it realized that, while it had access to the wizard's magic, it couldn't use it because it didn't know how. All that knowledge was in its victim's mind, which was banned to it.

The demon screeched with unholy fury when it realized that it had been cheated out of its price.

Deep inside his own mind, Harry Potter smirked to himself, vindictively happy with the knowledge that he had thrown a wrench into whatever plans the demon had had. With a sigh that was neither felt nor heard, Harry retreated further into the warmth of his mind. He was too tired and drained to do much of anything, except for rest and recover silently so that one day he could expulse this malignant being from his body. It would be a while, though, so he let his consciousness slip until he sank into a deep sleep.

.

.

Harry awoke at the sound of fighting, shouting and deranged laugher. Nothing uncommon then. What was uncommon was the not-feeling of his body, as if he didn't have one. Then he remembered and barely resisted the urge to groan, not that anybody but himself would've noticed the sound. He was so deeply submerged in his own subconscious that it was a miracle he had heard anything at all from the outside world.

With a grunt Harry lifted himself from the warm pond of clear water he had been floating for who knows how long. The pond was in the middle of a perfectly circular clearing. The clearing itself was full of life and filled with energy, the grass was a stunning shade of green and countless flowers littered the place in colourful patches. The barrier of trees, on the other hand, didn't look quite so friendly. Hundred upon hundred of huge trunks, dark gray in colour, formed an impenetrable wall; countless of black vines hung like limp snakes from the branches that spawned from the trunks, swaying lightly in an unseen breeze, ready to come to life at the first sign on an intrusion. And that wasn't everything Harry had in store in case somebody tried to invade his mind. Deadly creatures, some real some not so much, lurked in the darkness projected by the humongous trees; plants of all kinds hid themselves in the most innocuous places; illusions and much, much more laid dormant while everything was peaceful but would turn the Dark Forest into a deadly trap at the first sign of something going wrong.

Harry stood next of the pond for a while, pondering which course of action would be the most beneficial in the long run. On one hand, he could leave the clearing and approach a place closer to his conscious mind. The idea had merit, it would yield information on his current situation and would help him plan ahead. However, it had the downside of alerting the demon of his active presence, which would put it on guard and that was a risk he didn't know if he could take. On the other hand, he could just go all out. The suddenness of the attack may be enough to throw the demon off. He could take advantage of that and it would make the following exorcise much less painful for him. This course of action had the obvious downside of him going blind into an unknown situation.

Harry paced a bit, somehow never stepping on the fragile flowers. His magic levels were high, he noted. The demon hadn't made much use of what little it had at its disposal. It was understandable, even if the demon were to just fire magic indiscriminately it would only graze the surface of Harry's reserves as only extensive training and deep knowledge of oneself would allow a wizard or witch to use their magic to its full extent. The demon had neither of them.

Well, that made the decision easier. After all, what was life without some excitement? Jumping into an unknown and potentially lethal situation was just what Harry needed to warm up his sore muscles after a long nap.

Harry's lips curled into a wide and bloodthirsty grin that bared all his teeth in a fairly animalistic way.

And people still wonder if the boy-who-lived is insane.

.

.

Dean felt his back collide painfully against the wall with a grunt, all around him frames and other knick-knacks fell to the floor with loud, broken sounds. He shot a venomous glare to the demon and cursed his luck long and nice in the not-privacy of his mind seeing as his mouth was sealed shut by the smug bastard in front of him. Dean had no idea how this had come to be this time. He was just having a rest from all the madness that came with the opening of the Demon Gate when this happened.

And he had been looking forwards to this mini-vacation too.

Lately it seemed like the only thing they did was hunt down demonic omens and send the bastards back to Hell or killing them when the chance arouse.

There was, of course, those funny times when the Hell-spawns hunted them, the infamous Winchester brothers, down. This was one such time and Dean couldn't believe that this piss-poor excuse for a demon had somehow found a crack in the many security measures they always put in whatever place they were staying for the time being, had managed to separate him from his brother and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, it had him pinned to a wall. In the not-funny way. Dean really wanted to hit himself over this one.

What was it with the supernatural and walls anyway? It seemed like every time he found a demon or a ghost or any other nasty out there, he ended up getting intimate with the walls. It really was getting old.

"Well, well, if it isn't Dean Winchester! How lucky of me!"

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry dude, but I don't swing that way," Dean replied cheekily, unable to contain himself. He even had the time to enjoy the fury displayed in the demon's features. Right before he was thrown through the air and into the opposing wall and onto the unforgiving floor. The pain was intense and for several seconds he couldn't get air into his lungs. He coughed and cleaned his bloody lips with the back of his hand, the sting told him that he had bit the inner side of his cheeks.

"Now, that wasn't nice of you," reprimanded the demon.

Dean response was to spit the bastard in the face.

Using one hand the bastard cleaned his face while he re-pinned the hunter to the wall with a gesture of his free hand. "Ok, I was planning on just killing you and maybe parade your sorry ass in front of dear ol' Sammy, but now I think I'm gonna..."

Dean had no idea what exactly happened next, just that one second he was pinned to a wall, barely able to breathe thanks to the telekinetic force of the attack and the next he was sprawled on the floor and the fugly son-of-a-bitch in front of him was left staring into space. He didn't have time to recover before the guy's head snapped around and focused on him once more. But something was monumentally different in the possessed human.

For starters, his eyes no longer contained the inky blackness of a demon's eyes, not entirely: one eye remained like that, a black expanse of evilness, but the other was completely human in everything except the dangerous intensity of the gaze. The emerald-green eye regarded him for an agonizingly long moment. It was one of the strangest sensations, seeing so much positive emotion in just one eye, while the other glared daggers of pure loathing at him. But the weird didn't end there. The curly and intense red hair straightened, shortened and bled black, all at once. The bulk and height of the man was reduced too so instead of a mountain of a guy he was facing a tallish guy who was packed with tight and coiled muscle, visible but not obvious.

"So, Dean Winchester, huh?" Said the stranger. How he could differentiate between the demon and the guy was a mystery to Dean, but he could and it was the other that was talking to him right now. The green-eyed male looked around the dingy motel room with a strange kind of curiosity, as if it had never seen something so fascinating. Then he focused on Dean once more. "I'm sorry that this happened, I knew it would be trouble to go so deep into my mind but well..." the man shrugged and Dean was honestly speechless as well as struck by the British accent that until five minutes ago hadn't been present.

"Now," Harry continued, completely ignoring the myriad of emotion in the hunter eyes, "I have some business with this fella," he pointed to his black eye for clarification. Although, if one were to look at the eldest Winchester it was obvious that he had no idea what was going on. He only knew that he had what could possibly be the fist bipolar demon in history standing in front of him and talking as if nothing was wrong with the world.

What happened next was so incredible and mind-blowing that it would haunt his thoughts for days on end, at least until his impending death via hellhound took his attention away.

The stranger raised his right hand. The skin was pale and it looked almost delicate but it was the ominous ring that caught the hunter's attention. He didn't know what it was that alerted him, but he knew that the little innocuous black rock on the ring was powerful, more so in the stranger's hand. With a wordless command of his hand the black stone glowed and the man started retching a black sludge that look as appetizing as the three months old sandwich that was sitting in the motel's mini-fridge. Dean didn't need Sam here to know what the black thing was, even if normally it would be in the form of a... well, formless black mist.

Only when everything had stilled did Dean realize that he had stayed rooted to his place like a moron instead of reaching for his gun. He did just that and, surprisingly, the man who apparently could exorcise demons from himself didn't even try to stop him. Dean didn't know if that was because of overconfidence or if the man simply knew that he couldn't be harmed, but it made the hunter uneasy. Still, he reached his gun and turned around. The centre of attention was nowhere near him so he settled for waiting, watching and trying to assess this new twist in the situation, for now at least.

As stated before, Harry wasn't paying attention to the Winchester boy, even if he was acutely aware of every movement the hunter made. His instincts as a soldier were not easily ignored after all. Instead his attention was riveted on the formless demon. Who knew that something so insignificant in appearance could house so much power and cause so much trouble? He hadn't and he still didn't know what his ignorance had cost him. But now, what to do with it? Send it back to Hell? Well, he would if he could or if he was keen on letting the rest of that accursed place know of the Master of Death existence, something he most definitely was not. Kill it then? Yes, it was possible and easily done with the aid of Death. But Death was such a final choice; it would be a pity to waste this chance to know more about this kind of demons. What was left then? Containment? Harry pondered that last option. Did he have something which could contain evilness incarnate? He looked to his right hand, which was fisted and keeping the demon temporally trapped.

Maybe he had.

Harry sprayed his left hand and called for the Elder Wand. Almost as soon as he thought about it the wand was there, eager to be used like it always was. He heard the intake of breath from the hunter and the cocking of a gun but did nothing else as he warned.

"I wouldn't shoot if I were you, Dean."

"Yeah, why not?" Challenged the hunter.

"Because it would allow it to be free," Harry pointed to the formless demon. Dean frowned something fierce but didn't say more. He didn't lower his gun though. He still has his flask of holy water and hopefully that along with the firearm would be enough to open him a way out.

Oh! Who was he kiddin'? He was going to die, Dean just knew it.

As Dean settled Harry returned his attention to the matter at hand. He tapped the opposite wrist with the wand and a bracelet made from an unknown material and full of little charms appeared. He tucked the wand away in his ear for easy reach and pulled one of the charms out of the chain: it was a suitcase, a mini suitcase that was subsequently enlarged with a strand of his unique magic.

The suitcase itself was enchanted to be bigger on the inside but still was full to the brim with magical artefacts form different magical communities along the world. Harry rummaged a bit, he ignored the herbs, little bones from some animal or another and a couple voodoo dolls a practitioner had gifted him with some time ago, and went directly to a bunch of paper strips with exotic writings on them. He put one sutra out and grabbed a small velvet bag that make clinking sounds as it swayed from side to side.

Harry straightened himself and closed the suitcase with a careless wave of his free hand, then returned it to its charm form and to its place in his bracelet. He untied the bag with the help of his teeth and let its contents fall. Little balls made of a slightly pink glass rolled on the hard ground, none broken despite the fall. Channelling his magic through the sutra to help directing his energy in a way that was entirely foreign, Harry spoke the words that strange and violent miko had forced him to memorize in case he ever needed to use her blessed beads. The effect was instantaneous. The beads started to glow in the same pink colour that made them, intermixed with the blue colour of his own magic, before they rose from the ground and formed a circle around the wreathing form of the demon. Harry kept the chanting but split his concentration between the containment and the power needed to keep the thing in one place.

When the last word flew from his lips the beads exploded in a show of intense light before shooting towards the demon. That was when the screams started. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and it was obvious that the origin was the struggling mass of blackness on the floor, a mass that it was getting smaller as it gained a physical form.

"Fuck! What the hell is going on? What are those things? Say something goddamnit"

Harry didn't turn around but he answered all the same. "Those are 'beads of subjugation' (1). They were used a long time ago to, well, subjugate yokai. It's not the only thing they can do, obviously, but only a few know about them in this time and age."

"Then how do you know about them?" asked scathingly the hunter "And what are they doing?" Added Dean when he saw that the mass of black sludge was now only the size of a soccer ball and it was still changing forms.

"A temperamental miko gift them to me," Harry said, ignoring the 'a what?' from Dean; "and I always wanted a dog."

Dean chocked and spluttered. "W-what?"

Suddenly, waiting for the wacko to finish his business didn't seem like a good idea anymore. But when the black haired man pointed to the demon Dean could only gape like an idiot at the sight.

Instead of smoke or that disgusting goo from before, there was a freaking puppy, of all the damned things in Creation, in its place. The only sign that the dog was the same demon from before were those weird as hell beads that now were coloured a deep dark violet with golden streaks intermixed instead of a pale pink.

"What. In. The. Hell?"

Harry shrugged, untouched by the hunter confusion.

"I always wanted a dog," he repeated nonchalantly, as if turning demons into cute puppies was an everyday occurrence. And who knew, it may just be. With the same careless attitude Harry bent and picked the black dog with deep red eyes that was glaring bloody murder at him, but because it was Harry's magic that bound him it could do nothing, not even bite the human much less extract revenge.

Dean, for his part, was speechless and he must've looked like a damn fool standing there, with his gun and jaw hanging limp, but too much was too much. Still, Dean Winchester was a hunter and a hunter didn't let his prey walk away. He shook himself out of his stupor, reeled his jaw back to its place and pointed the gun to the man, or better yet, to the thing, that instead of having a demon inside of him, now had a demon in his arms.

On a normal situation Dean may've been able to do something, anything, to prevent that man's departure (read: kill). But this was so far removed from a normal situation that it wasn't even funny. He pointed his charged gun to the back of the man's head, he blinked away a drop of sweat that landed on one eye and when he looked again, he was gone. Nobody was there and he had only the marks of feet on the dust as witness to the encounter. That and the bruises that were blooming beautifully all along his back.

Dean cursed and swore to never drink again before going to bed.

That promise was, of course, broken less than ten minutes later in a nearby and rundown bar where Dean proceeded to get plastered with the intent of forgetting that the attack and subsequent meeting ever happened. Ever.

(1) In case you haven't guessed, these are the same beads that Kaede put on Inuyasha so Kagome could control him with a command.