Love, Fate and Prophecy
Part Two: Chapter Five – Flying, Werewolves, and Dragons
July 12, 1995
At the end of the week of classes, all four Winchester men headed to Bobby's. Harry knew that they weren't related to Bobby, but since both boys called him, "Uncle," he figured that he was a close family friend.
The first week had passed fairly peacefully. Bobby had insisted on testing all of them, of course, but he was particularly wary about Harry being a wizard, but it seemed that Pastor Jim had convinced him enough that he didn't think that the boy was evil. It was at the end of the week after they had celebrated Harry's first 4th of July, that John announced that the boys had done enough lying about and it was time to get back to training.
He did so by blaring an air horn in the boy's room at about 7:30 in the morning. (Bobby's place wasn't particularly big, so John had bought a bunk bed to go where one of the twin beds used to be. Sam, of course, begged for the top bunk, which made Dean insist on sleeping on the bottom, the best position to protect his younger brother, while Harry took the remaining, unbunked bed.)
The airhorn was just for Sam and Dean's benefit. Harry was already awake, dressed, and waiting in the kitchen.
"Up and at 'em," John ordered. "I want both you of showered, dressed, and ready to go by 0800 hours. Beds made too!"
Dean had already gotten out of bed and started making it – military-style the way that his dad had taught (or drilled) into him. Sam groaned. "But dad, it's the summer!" He whined.
"No whining. I've let you boys have almost a full week off. That's more than enough time. There will be pushups for every second you're late. We're starting with a morning run, so you might want to try and get some stretches in too."
"Yes, sir." They both replied.
John left them to get ready. In the kitchen, Harry had made coffee. John didn't know how, but his middle son had managed to always wake before Bobby and himself and get the coffee going. When asked, he had simply shrugged it off and said he had been doing it since he was little. He hadn't said much about his Aunt and Uncle since coming here, but John had his suspicions, especially considering how skinny and malnourished he looked.
John sat down at the kitchen table with Harry. "Harry, today we're going back to our drills. With everything out there in the world, it's important to be ready at all times, and I expect you to do your best to keep up. Don't feel bad if Dean and Sam are better at some things than you, they've been training for a lot longer."
Harry nodded. He didn't know how he felt about drills, and he sure as hell was going to do his best to be sure Dean didn't beat him at anything.
Dean still didn't trust Harry. That made it so that Harry also didn't trust Dean. Harry didn't like how Dean ordered Sam around and tried to do the same with him. It was also just too easy to get under Dean's skin. The two of them could barely spend more than ten minutes together without getting into an argument or shouting match, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the house. Having two teenaged boys under one roof was proving more difficult, and head-ache producing than John and Bobby had ever imagined. John didn't know what he was going to do when they were all in their teens, which would be happening soon enough.
All three boys assembled on the porch outside of Bobby's at precisely 8 am.
"Alright boys, I want you to run ten laps around the junkyard. I've marked the path. You have twenty minutes – every minute you're late will be another lap. Go!"
Seeing Dean and Sam took off quickly, Harry did the same. The lack of Quidditch during the Tournament meant Harry was slightly more out-of-shape than normal, however, he had always been quick. (Thanks to wanting to avoid Dudley and his gang.) The first two laps saw his brothers both ahead of him – Dean being the fastest because his legs were the longest. But seeing the smug look on his face was enough to set Harry off. By the third lap, he had managed to be in step with his older brother. By the fifth, he was ahead. In the eighth lap, he lapped Sam. In the ninth, Dean. He finished the whole thing in fifteen minutes, and his blood was pumping enough that he felt like he could have kept going.
John was impressed. Maybe his middle son would fit in better than he expected. He was also disappointed that his years of training the other two had led to them being beat so thoroughly. He expressed this when Dean got back, four minutes later.
"Dean – you have not been working on your running as much as you should have this summer. I know I've been gone a lot, but that's no excuse to slack off. You haven't been pushing your brother enough either – look at him, he's barely going to make the twenty-minute mark. Maybe Harry could give you some pointers. Good job Harry, I don't think I could have run the course that fast."
Harry beamed at the praise while Dean glared. Sam was just happy to not be on the receiving end of their father's disappointment, this once.
"How do we know that he didn't use magic to be that fast?" Dean asked snidely, in a tone-of-voice that John did not appreciate.
"Magic can't make someone fast," Harry quipped back, "I just thought this was a morning run not a morning stroll in the park." He was pretty sure magic could make him faster, but he would never admit it.
"Listen here…"
"Harry, Dean that's enough. No time for idle chit-chat. Burpees – ten of them."
Sam groaned.
"What's a burpee?" Harry asked.
"What's a burpee?" Dean mocked, copying his brother's accent.
"Dean," John said sharply. "Why don't you demonstrate for Harry what a burpee is – five in a row. Then you can join your brothers for the next ten."
"Yes, sir."
From there, the training continued. John was hoping the physical exercise would calm some of the teenaged dick-measuring contest his two eldest sons seemed to be in at all times. Certainly, towards the end, the bickering had slowed, but not stopped. A lesson in communication was going to be in order. He'd start looking for an easy hunting trip – maybe a salt n' burn, that might teach these two boys to get along. Otherwise, he'd just have to beat it into them through drills.
xXxXxXxXxXx
"GET THE HELL DOWN HERE, RIGHT NOW!" Dean bellowed at the top of his lungs. Dad and Uncle Bobby had gone out on a "grocery run" (aka, to a bar together) and left Dean in charge of his two younger brothers. Dean had left them alone for ten minutes tops. Ten minutes! They had been in the living room watching TV, nothing safer than that.
But no, he had returned to Bobby's living room to find that Sammy was nowhere to be found. Harry either. He had done a frantic search of the house – he had told his dad that he didn't trust this "brother" of his. That he was dangerous and skeevy, like all other witches, natural or not. But no, his dad had laughed it off and told him to learn to get along. And he treated Harry like more of an adult than Dean – already trusting him on a hunt two weeks after he had started training. Dean had only gone on his first hunt last summer. Sure, that's when he was about the same age as Harry was now, but still, he had been training since he was FIVE. Ten years, that's what it had taken for his father, who had known him for his whole life, to trust him enough to help with a hunt.
And now, after a frantic search and calling out for his brothers he found them. A hundred feet in the air. On a freakin' broom, weaving in and out of the car stacks. If Sammy fell – Dean would never hear the end of it. Hell, if Harry fell, he would never hear the end of it. His dad was always going on about how he had to protect both his little brothers. As if one hadn't been enough.
At the moment, they both seemed to be having a grand ole time, he could hear Sam's laugh from here. Suddenly, the broom dipped sharply, plummeting towards the ground. Dean tried to run over, to be able to catch them, or at least Sam, but they were falling too quickly. Then, about five feet from hitting the ground, the broom swooped up.
Sam whopped with joy. "Again, again!" He yelled. That's when Harry caught sight of Dean's face.
"Er, maybe that's enough for today," he said, landing the broom.
Dean strode over to them and attempted to punch Harry in the face. He ducked. His reflexes were annoyingly good.
"What's your problem?" Harry asked as Dean continued to advance on him.
"WHAT'S MY PROBLEM? WHAT'S YOURS?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
Dean continued to try and attack, and Harry kept retreating, dodging, and misdirecting. Which only fueled the older boy's temper on further.
"Dean, we were just playin'," Sam said. Dean stopped trying to hit Harry and turned to Sam – in his effort to take down the person hurting his little brother, he had forgotten to check to make sure Sam was alright.
"Are you ok?" He asked anxiously, "Are you hurt? What happened?" All of this while trying to find any bruises or abrasions.
"Dean, I'm fine! We were having fun. There was a scene in the movie when they were on a roller coaster, and Harry said he had never been on a roller coaster before, and I was trying to tell him how awesome they are, and then he said that he thought riding a broom was probably similar, and then I asked if he had his broom with him, and he said yes, and so we decided to test it out. It is better than a roller coaster, by the way," Sam said, peering around Dean to address Harry.
Dean calmed down. A little. "That was very dangerous Sammy. Don't ever do that again. And you –" he said going back to Harry. "Don't you dare ever do a dive like that with my brother again. Actually, don't ever take him flying again. Do you understand."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Look mate, he's my brother too. I was in complete control the whole time. When are you going to believe that I have no desire to hurt anyone in this family?"
Dean glared. "Maybe when you stop pulling stupid shit like that, mate." He put his arm around Sam's shoulders and steered him back into the house. Sam mouthed, "sorry," to Harry as they left.
Harry sighed. He was trying with Dean, he really was, but they both had a way of getting under the other's skin. This was hardly the first fist fight they'd had in the last couple of weeks. And probably not the last of the summer, either. He decided to take his broom and do some cooling off. Flying always helped him clear his mind. His wand permit had come in a couple of days ago, so he figured it was safe to take out his broom. As long as he stayed below the height of the cars stacked all over the property, no muggle should see him.
While he was getting on better with most of his family, and he liked Bobby (he reminded Harry quite a bit of Mad-Eye – or rather, Crouch pretending to be Mad-Eye). He was a bit gruff, extremely paranoid, battle-worn, and clearly fond of Sam and Dean. And he seemed to be warming up to Harry.
On the home front, things weren't so good. Harry had tried to reach out to Sirius several times, but each time his godfather had blown him off. He had also tried finding more news about what was going on in England – trying to catch wind of what Voldemort was up to, but even with his magic suppressor, he had managed to blow up a computer. Thankfully, it had been a library computer, but that was enough for John to ban him from using the computer Bobby owned. (The muggles in the library had been confused, but had apologized for their faulty equipment.)
Although John didn't know the full extent of what was going on in Britain, he had treated Harry like more of a fellow soldier than any other adult ever had. Harry knew that he had fought in a war himself – Vietnam, a muggle American one. He had been helping to train Harry. Oliver Wood would have been pleased with how in shape Harry had gotten this summer. Proper nutrition plus exercise had helped him fill out a bit – even if it had only been a couple of weeks.
Thinking about proper nutrition, got Harry thinking about the food he had been eating with the Winchesters. While it had been plentiful, it hadn't been what he would call – healthy. Or homemade. The family seemed to survive on take-out alone. Harry landed on the ground once again and snuck back into the house to put his broom away and grab his wallet. The town was only a couple of miles away. Since Dean seemed royally pissed off at him, and he didn't particularly feel like dealing with it, Harry decided to walk to the nearby supermarket and buy some groceries.
It was around 7:30 in the evening, but Harry had learned that American stores stayed open far later than their British counterparts. It should take him half an hour – 45 minutes tops to get there. He'd be back far before John and Bobby got back from the bar. A part of him, a deep part that he wasn't conscious of, believed that if he showed Dean how useful he could be – in helping with hunts and taking care of Sam, maybe his brother would like him a little bit better. Maybe even accept him into the small family. It had never worked on the Dursley's, of course, but they weren't his real family, and the Winchesters were.
He doubted that either of his brothers would think anything about him disappearing for a couple of hours. In the past, he had often gone off for a little bit in their room to do homework or to attempt to use the mirror to call Sirius. For a while, he had used his cell phone to call Hermione as well. But she was now with Ron at Sirius' house, much to his annoyance, which eliminated his opportunities to try and talk her into giving him information that others (Sirius and Dumbledore) didn't want him to have.
Harry arrived at the grocery store without incident. While his brothers had been introducing him to some interesting American foods (like pop-tarts and cereals that would rot one's teeth), Harry wanted to make something a little bit more traditionally British. Aunt Petunia had had him making meals since before he could even properly remember. Maybe a nice cottage pie with apple pie for dessert? (He knew the phrase that things were "as American as apple pie," but he knew, down to his core, that apple pie was British, not American.) He wasn't confident that he could find the ingredients for his favorite dessert, treacle tart.
He checked out with his items and smiled when what felt like the billionth American complimented him on his accent. Like it was something to be proud of.
He was deep in thought on his way back (it was dark out, but the road was fairly well lit) when he was suddenly knocked down from behind and felt a surge of pain as claws ripped down his back.
Heart racing, he managed to push the creature off of him with a great heave of strength. He pulled out his wand.
"Lumos," he muttered. Nothing happened. Oh right, the bracelet. The bracelet wasn't as effective as it had been earlier in the summer – he could now feel his magic pushing a bit each time he tried to use his wand without remembering to remove it first.
Before he had a chance to take it off, the creature attacked again – mouth open.
It was a werewolf. But the kind his father dealt with, not like Professor Lupin. It looked far more like a feral human than an actual wolf.
Harry successfully rolled out of the way – grateful for the practice that Dean had given him earlier that day. He stood up, took off his bracelet, and threw it at the werewolf. It was made out of silver and hit the wolf straight in the face.
It was a pretty weak attack, but it distracted the creature long enough for Harry to shout, "Stupefy!" The werewolf flew into the woods behind where it had attacked and seemed to be out cold. Harry was relieved – that proved that it was a muggle werewolf, not a wizarding one. That spell would not have worked on Lupin when was fully transformed.
Harry quickly picked up his groceries (which looked fine) and moved to get out of there as quickly as possible. There was no way to know how long the spell would last.
Harry got about ten minutes down the road when a car pulled up next to him. He was still shaken up a bit from the attack and wasn't ready to face anyone, so he tried to ignore it.
It was a police car. And it started flashing its lights. Harry had snuck enough views of Dudley's TV shows to know what that meant.
He stopped. The police car pulled over. Out of the front door came a young woman, her short brown hair styled in a pixie cut. She looked barely old enough to be out of school, but she was wearing a full police uniform. Harry turned to face her. He was unaware of what he looked like at the moment – he had deep scratch marks down his back where he had been attacked, his glasses were askew on his face and there was mud everywhere from when he had been pushed to the ground.
"Son, are you alright?" The woman asked, sounding very concerned.
"Uh yeah, just fine," he said, once again trying to do an American accent. He hoped it was better than the last time – especially after he had spent all this time around his American family.
"Your back is bleeding pretty heavily and I got a report of an animal attacking in this area. I think we should get you to a hospital. Were you attacked by an animal?"
Harry nodded.
"What kind of animal?"
"Er – I didn't get a good look? Maybe a wolf of some kind?"
The woman could tell this young man was quite shaken. She would have been too in this situation! She took off her jacket and wrapped it around him. He was quite small and skinny.
"Where are your parents?" She asked.
"Not sure? My dad went out with my Uncle, Bobby, and I decided to go pick up some groceries. I'm staying at my uncle's house with my dad and brothers this summer. The house is less than a mile up the road from here."
"By yourself? You can't be more than 12!"
"I'll be 15 at the end of the month," Harry shot back, irritated, that, even with a better diet, people misunderstood his age and thought him much younger. His accent also came through a bit.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Henry Winchester," he replied.
"Well Henry, it's nice to meet you. I'm Officer Mills. Since you're a minor, I think it's probably best for you to get back to your father and uncle – unless you would prefer for me to take you straight to the emergency room to get those wounds looked after. You may need a rabies shot."
Harry's eyes got wide. "No, no please, I'd really rather go back to the house. It doesn't hurt much, I swear."
"Alright. Well, hop on in the car, I can give you a lift."
Harry hesitated.
"I'm sorry, let me reframe that. I will be escorting you back to your family. Do you know the address of where you are staying?"
Harry shook his head. "No. It's Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard."
Jody looked surprised. "I didn't know Bobby Singer had any family."
"He doesn't. Well, maybe he does, I don't know, but he's good friends with my father." The word father still sounded a bit foreign in Harry's mouth.
"Alright, hop on in, I know where that is, you're right it isn't far."
Not feeling like he had much of a choice, Harry did as he was told.
xXxXxXxXxXx
The Impala was parked in front of the house. 'Crap,' Harry thought. John and Bobby must be back. Before he could get out of the car, Officer Mills stopped him.
"Listen, Henry, you seem scared to go back home. Is there anything you want to tell me? I can protect you if you need it." She had noticed the scar on the boy's forehead – a lightning bolt. It looked old but nasty. Before she had put her jacket around him, she had also noticed some bruises on his arms that looked older than an animal attack. Bobby Singer was the town drunk – any father that brought his son to his house was probably not a great guardian. She wouldn't stand for child abuse.
"Protect me from what?" Harry asked, honestly confused.
"Your father? Mr. Singer? Anyone who may be hurting you. I promise you'll be safe with me."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't mirthful, but now that he had someone who was actually taking care of him, someone took notice. Almost his entire life at the Dursley's and no one had ever said a thing.
His laugh surprised Jody, but she didn't say anything. "No, my dad, he's great, and so is Uncle Bobby. Maybe er… a little rough around the edges. But they'd never hurt me."
She almost believed him. "Alright then, let's get you inside."
Now Harry was nervous. He had a feeling that John wasn't going to be too impressed with his evening walk.
Both of them got out of the car and she led him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and rang the doorbell. It was Sam that answered. His eyes got wide when he saw his older brother with a police officer.
"Dad, Uncle Bobby, Harry's back!" He yelled. The men had just gotten home about five minutes ago. His dad was currently grilling Dean about the last time he had seen Harry while Bobby was making frantic phone calls to try and find him.
John came rushing down the hallway.
"Harry! Where the hell have you been?"
To Officer Mills, that sounded threatening and she stepped a little between Harry and his father.
"I found him on the side of the road – he'd been attacked by an animal, possibly a wolf."
That made John's attention snap to the woman in front of him briefly, before turning to Harry. "Were you bitten?"
"I didn't see any bite marks," the police officer answered for Harry. John looked to Harry for confirmation. He shook his head no.
"Well, thank you, officer, for bringing him home," John said tightly. Yeah, he wasn't happy.
"My pleasure. In the future, I recommend that you drive your son to the store if he needs food. And he obviously doesn't get enough to eat. Also, he has some injuries. Please be sure they are tended to."
"Of course, Officer," John replied. He motioned Harry inside and moved to close the door. Jody put a hand out to prevent it.
"Mr. Winchester, I will be coming to check on him in the next couple of days. Have a nice night." She left. John knew a threat when he heard one. The last thing he needed was a problem with child protective services. Again.
He turned to his middle child. "Well, let's see to those wounds. After, we'll be having a talk about evening strolls during a full moon."
The two walked into the kitchen, where Bobby kept his medical supplies. "Did you kill it, boy?" Bobby asked as they entered.
"No – but I stunned it. Not sure how long it will last."
"You idjit, you left an unconscious werewolf on the side of the road?"
Harry shrugged. "I hardly had anything I could kill it with. I threw my suppressor bracelet in his face to surprise him and then hit him with the strongest stunner I could muster."
"And what about the gun and knife I gave you? The ones that I told you to keep on you at all times." John asked angrily.
"Oh. I forgot."
"You forgot." John was furious. "Bobby, do you think you can handle the werewolf on your own?"
"Yeah, one shouldn't be a problem, I'll go take care of it."
"Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby left and now he could focus solely on the son in front of him. Harry just stared at him, defiant, which, didn't help the older man's temper.
"I'm only going to ask you this one time. What were you thinking?" He said in a dangerous voice.
"I was thinking that maybe we could eat something other than take-out for the first time in weeks."
"And I suppose, this sudden desire to go to the grocery store had nothing to do with you fighting with Dean. Again."
"I dunno."
"Harry. I think you do know. Trust me, he's already gotten his earful. Actually, DEAN! Get in here."
Dean entered the room a little too quickly – as if he had just been standing right out of sight.
"I have tried talking to both of you separately, but obviously that isn't working. This little feud you have going, ends, now."
Dean started to speak, "But…"
"No. No buts, not from either of you. I have had enough. Your little spat tonight could have cost your brother's life, Dean. I put you in charge – I expect you to watch after both your little brothers."
"I'm not little! I have been taking care of myself just fine for the last 14 years. I doubt that there is anything that Dean can do to protect me anyway, even if he wanted to." Harry shouted.
"You see what I'm dealing with Dad? He's not like Sam, he doesn't listen. Plus, I don't trust him." Dean shot back.
"Maybe if you weren't such a jackass, I would listen."
"Maybe if you weren't such a freak, I'd trust you."
"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" Harry stood up (slightly painfully). "WHY DON'T YOU COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE?"
"Yeah, what are YOU going do to about it," Dean said, closing the gap between himself and Harry. He got into Harry's face and pushed him lightly into the kitchen counter. Harry drew his wand as he grunted from the pain of his fresh cuts hitting the counter. Dean pulled out a knife.
"THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Both boys looked up at their father, who was red in the face. "Harry put down your wand, Dean you put that knife away this instant."
"Yes sir," mumbled Dean. Harry just did as he was asked, a little embarrassed. He could get in big trouble for threatening a muggle with magic – even if that muggle was his brother, and he deserved it.
"Dad, Harry's hurt," Sam said in a quiet voice from the doorway, the shouting match had summoned him to the room.
"I'm fine," Harry muttered. John frowned. In his anger and relief when Harry had been back, somehow, he had forgotten that his middle son had been attacked.
"Turn around Harry," he said. Harry sighed but listened, a lot of his energy and adrenaline from the attack now draining after arguing with Dean.
There were huge claw prints and lots of blood running down Harry's back. John remembered the Officer mentioning the emergency room, and now he could see why.
"Could you remove your shirt please?" John asked, in a calm voice. Everyone but Harry gasped a little when they saw the true extent of the damage. It looked like he was going to need stitches.
"Sam, grab the medical kit for me."
Sam rushed over to where he knew it was – a cupboard above the sink. Dean was now feeling guilty about pushing the kid into the counter, it certainly looked like that hurt.
"Dean – wet some rags and fill up a bucket with water." Dean did as he was told.
"Harry, I want you to sit in this chair – sideways, not with your back against it." As if by a miracle, Harry also listened to John. Three for three for the first time.
Dean brought over the rags and water. John gently brought one up to Harry's back. "This might sting a bit, but I have to get these wounds cleaned before I can stitch them up." He explained, before acting. Harry flinched slightly but otherwise did not react as if in pain. John would be impressed if it didn't frighten him what that meant.
"Alright good. Harry, on a scale from one to ten what would you say your pain level is now?" John didn't want to take him to the emergency room – leaving a paper trail was against his better judgment, but he also didn't want to risk Harry getting even more hurt.
"Um – a 5 maybe? 4?"
"Really?" Dean asked, "I've had papercuts less deep that were more painful than that."
Harry was unphased. "After being hit with the Cruciatus curse, nothing hurts much."
"What is…" Sam started. Both Dean and his dad shook their heads "no," to him. He stopped. John certainly made note of it. He thought he had read about it in one of the books that they had purchased, but he was hoping his memory was off.
"Dean, I'm almost done cleaning this. Prepare the lidocaine. Sam – get the needles ready."
Sam and Dean had helped stitch up their father several times – they knew the drill. Dean hesitated for one moment. "Dad, does he know any …" and this word came out with difficulty, "…magic to fix those up?"
"Harry?"
"Er – no. I don't know any healing spells. I think we learn those in sixth year?"
Dean nodded and continued with the assigned task.
John got the skin numbed and stitched Harry up. Sometime during the process, Bobby returned and gave John a quick signal that the werewolf had been taken care of. He also brought back Harry's bracelet.
"Alright, all done," John said, finishing his strokes. Harry hadn't so much as winced the entire time he had been sewing up his back. If it had been Dean, there would have been bitching, if it had been Sam, there would have been crying. Not for the first time, John wondered just what exactly his son had been through. He gave Harry some pain pills and sent him to bed. Sam followed shortly after.
This left John, Dean, and Bobby in the kitchen. Tonight had been too emotionally exhausting for John to continue to be angry. Usually this would be the time that John would drink himself out of the emotion, but he felt like he needed to remain clear-headed, just this once.
"Did you have a difficult time with the werewolf Bobby?" John asked.
Bobby shook his head, "Nope – that thing was still out cold, just took one shot to the head with a silver bullet. Easiest kill I've ever had. I've gotta tell you John – that son of yours is pretty powerful. I think more powerful than he knows if Jim is to be believed."
John sighed.
Bobby continued, "I also think he's been through a whole hell of a lot more than he's letting on. Did you see how stoic he was while you sewed him up? I've never seen anyone stay that silent. You included. What has he said about his past?"
At that moment, Dean was being as silent as possible, in hopes of gaining more information if his dad and Uncle Bobby forgot he was there. John didn't miss this but decided that maybe if Dean knew more, he would back off from his brother a bit.
"Not a whole hell of a lot. Doesn't sound like he gets along with his Aunt or Uncle."
"He did mention sleeping in a cupboard for ten years…" Dean muttered, mostly to himself, but audibly enough for others to hear him.
"What?" John asked.
Dean shrugged. "When I first met him – I asked him why he was so short, he's practically the same height as Sammy. He told me to try sleeping in a cupboard for ten years, see what it would do to me."
John swallowed his emotion. And blew out some air. Bobby looked pissed.
"That's not all. Dean – this is need-to-know information, you're not to share with Sam. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"His adoptive parents, Lily and James, they were murdered. He's famous in the Wizarding World – that's why Jim recognized him. He survived this curse – a killing curse, that no one else has ever survived before. Should've killed him instantly. We bought these books – and the things he's gone through. And this, this mad-man is back and hunting him. That's why he was sent here."
"What kind of things?" Dean asked.
With a sigh, John reached into his jacket and pulled out the magazine he had stolen from the wand permit office and placed it on the table.
"Are those pictures moving?" Bobby asked.
"Yep."
"And is that Harry?"
"It sure is. This is how I found out he was famous, but flip to page ten."
Dean followed his instruction. "Woah – is that?"
"Yeah, that's a dragon."
In the centerspread, there was another picture. It was moving, of course. It showed Harry, tiny on a broom, diving under a flame shot by a dragon in midflight.
"That is badass!" Dean exclaimed.
"Shh," John said, "we don't want to wake your brothers. Bobby, this was at that school of his. And this article says that this was the first of three tasks, each getting progressively more difficult. This was the easiest task."
"That's nuts." Bobby hadn't known what to make of this third Winchester brother. He saw a lot of himself in the boy. His abusive childhood helped him spot it others, and Harry had the look of someone like him. Maybe not as physical – he hadn't seen any scars, other than the obvious one on his forehead when he had taken off his shirt, but this wasn't a child who knew love. It made him feel fiercely protective.
"No wonder he's so agile – it's been driving me insane these last couple of weeks. How he was so good at dodging blows and moving smoothly. I just thought he was a natural, and, well, I had to work so hard at it, it was so unfair…" Dean admitted, more to himself than to John or Bobby. "Dad, he thinks he's going back at the end of summer. We're not going to let him are we?"
John's face hardened. "Over my dead body."
Bobby nodded his approval.
"I don't think it's going to be easy. He's quite enmeshed in this war. I think I'm going to have to go on a research trip – starting with Jim. Bobby, can you watch the boys?"
"You know I will."
"Dean, son, I know that you and Harry have had your disagreements. I think you may be ready to set some of that aside?" He didn't wait for confirmation before continuing, he knew Dean would do as he asked. "I want you to get to know Harry better, try to find out more about his past. Use Sammy if you have to – something about his eyes just makes people pour out their guts. We need to build a case – a legal one, if need be, to keep him here."
"Understood."
John smiled and ruffled Dean's hair – a rare physical sign of affection. "Bobby, I'm going to leave you the books, see if you can learn something from them I missed. I'm going to head out first thing in the morning. Dean – get some sleep."
"Yes sir."
John watched Dean head up the stairs.
"You sure you're ready for this John? Harry's not going to be like Dean or Sam, he might be far more difficult."
"I don't have any other choice do I?"
"No, you don't. Get some sleep."
"Night Bobby, and thanks."
"You're welcome. And you owe me one – maybe more."
John nodded and went to bed.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Harry was the first awake, per usual. Although this morning it was a bit more from the itching on his back from the stitches than his regular summer schedule. Whatever pain medication had knocked him out the night before. It was actually kind of nice – there had been no nightmares.
Seeing as it was so early, he was kind of bored. It was too early to start on homework and leaving the house to go on a walk seemed like a bad idea after the night before. He still felt the need to keep busy though – another byproduct of living with the Dursleys, so he thought he'd go ahead and make breakfast. Looking through Bobby's fridge, he found eggs and streaky bacon. In the pantry, there was flour and sugar. So, he set to work making scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. (And a cup of tea for himself shake off any remaining sleepiness.)
Despite the nastiness of the Dursley's, Harry did enjoy cooking. It required enough of his brain to take his mind off anything bothering him but not so much that it wasn't relaxing. Plus, since he was allowed to do simple spell work here, he was able to use some of the charms he had seen Mrs. Weasley use while cooking, which he had always wanted to try. He could even keep the food warm with a warming spell that was much better than placing food in the oven to be dried out.
John wandered into the kitchen just as Harry was tipping the last pancake out of the pan. His alarm had gone off, but also, not being a heavy sleeper, had heard the commotion in the kitchen. As he had been lying there, he silently wished that it wasn't one of Sam's attempts to bring him breakfast in bed. He was pleasantly surprised when there was a full (edible) looking breakfast set out on the table.
His middle son greeted him. "Morning – I was just about to put on a pot a coffee, would you like some?"
"Uh – sure. What is all this?"
Harry looked confused – "Breakfast?"
"Yes, I can see that, but is there a special occasion of some sort?"
"No, I was just up early, and restless, and during the summer at home, I cook breakfast every day so I thought…"
'Ah,' thought John. 'Another sin to add to that of his Aunt and Uncle's, slave labor.'
"Well, thanks," he said, sitting down at the table. "What other chores do you usually have in the summer?" he asked casually.
"Er – just the usual. Gardening, doing dishes, tidying up around the house, laundry sometimes, although Aunt Petunia is very specific on… why do you ask?" Harry was suddenly self-conscious.
"Just trying to learn more about you. You haven't said much about your aunt and uncle since being here."
Harry scowled. "No much to say. The Dursley's aren't worth talking about."
'Oh good,' John thought, 'now I have a last name.' "Still, I like to know. I was an only child growing up, so I imagine that it must be quite the adjustment for you."
"I wasn't an only child."
"No?"
"I have a cousin – Dudley. Biggest prat you'll ever meet. And I mean literally the biggest – he weighs close to 30 stone."
'Alright,' John thought, even though he didn't know the exact conversion rate of pounds to stones, 'add starvation to the list – because one child was getting enough food growing up.'
Harry put a cup of coffee in front of his father, who took it gratefully.
"Anything else you'd like?" Harry asked. There was no sarcasm in his voice, but it did make John feel guilty.
"No, no this is more than enough. Have a seat – you should be careful with those stitches that you aren't doing anything too strenuous."
Harry sat and served himself some breakfast, he was hungry. John dug in himself. The food was great – some of the best eggs that John had ever had. He was suddenly struck with the memory of sitting at the breakfast table with Mary. She would be happy to see the two of them together at breakfast – even happier that she had a son that could cook, as neither she nor John had ever been any good at it. The two of them ate in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.
Bobby came stumbling into the kitchen next. "Do I smell coffee?" he asked.
"Yes, you do Mr. Singer, would you like me to get you a cup?"
Bobby waved him off, "Naw, I can get it. And none of this Mr. Singer crap, you can call me Bobby or Uncle Bobby like your brothers do."
"Alright, thanks Bobby," Harry wasn't too fond of the title, "uncle."
John finished his meal and so did Harry just as Bobby was starting. "How about you let me look at your stitches, Harry? I want to be sure they're not infected."
Harry thought that was nice of him. "Sure," he said, sitting on the chair the same way he had last night, taking his shirt off.
John removed the bandages and was extremely surprised. "I thought you didn't know any healing magic!" He exclaimed.
"I don't."
"This looks like they've been healing for weeks, not just overnight. I'm going to be able to take these stitches out today."
Harry shrugged. "I'm a fast healer."
Bobby had gotten up to take a peek as well. "This is more than fast healing," he remarked. "Do wizards heal faster than…" he hesitated, remembering not to say humans, "non-magic folk?"
"I don't really know," Harry said. "Whenever I got into scraps as a child, I tended to recover quickly. Wizarding healing isn't very pleasant, this one time, when I had all the bones removed from my arm…"
"What?" John asked.
Harry didn't seem overly concerned. "It was an accident," he said in a reassuring voice that neither of the two adults in the room found to be reassuring in the least, "I broke my arm playing Quidditch, and my professor, who was a total duffer, removed the bones in my arm instead of fixing them."
John and Bobby looked at him with horror.
"It was alright though! Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, was able to fix it. I just had to regrow my bones overnight, which was a bit painful, but not as bad as how the potion tasted – eek."
"So, to summarize, to be sure I understand," John said slowly, "a teacher at your school removed your bones and you had to re-grow them overnight."
"It was an accident, really," Harry said realizing that this might sound bad to his father, "And at least Lockhart didn't try to kill me! I mean, he did try to wipe my memory, but the spell backfired…"
John rubbed his temples trying to think of how to ask the next question, but Bobby beat him to it.
"How many of your teachers have tried to kill you?"
"Just the two," Harry said quickly, "but Quirrell was possessed and Moody wasn't really Moody. And I suppose Professor Lupin tried too, but that's just because he forgot to take his potion before the full moon, otherwise, he'd never…"
Harry stopped, realizing that he may have just overshared a bit.
"You had a teacher that was possessed by a demon?" Bobby asked, in complete disbelief. Who ran this school?
"Oh no, not a demon. Wizards can't be possessed by demons, everyone knows that. No, he had Voldemort on the back of his head…"
Again, he stopped, due to the look on both men's faces.
"I'll just…er, I'll just clean up breakfast then?" He tried, getting up. John gently put a hand on his shoulder to make him sit back down.
"Alright. Again, to summarize," John started in a dangerous voice. "You've had two teachers try and kill you, one with the man possessed by the guy who murdered your adopted parents, a teacher that removed your bones and tried to memory wipe you, and a werewolf teacher who was near enough to you on a full moon to try and kill you? Not to mention the dragon I saw you fighting with in that magazine."
"Saw that, did you?" John glared. "When you put it like that, it sounds really bad but…"
"I thought Jim said that you went to one of the best wizarding schools in the world." John interrupted.
Harry brightened. "Oh, I do! Hogwarts is the best in the whole world."
The expressions on both men's faces clearly said they disagreed.
"Are all wizards nuts, or is it just you?" Bobby asked bluntly.
Harry blinked, unsure of how to answer. "I'm…not crazy?"
Bobby snorted. John was torn between wanting to know every single bad thing that had happened to Harry at school and not being able to stand the fact that he hadn't been there to help all along. He changed the subject.
"I'm going to go ahead and remove these stitches, but I still want you to be careful," he said. "I'm going out of town for a week or so, maybe longer, so I'm going to trust you with this. No more fights with werewolves, even though it sounds like you have some experience in that area."
"Where are you going?" Harry asked with curiosity, a little disappointed that his father would be leaving so soon.
"A hunting trip with Pastor Jim, that's all. Nothing you need to worry about."
"Oh."
John kept working on the stitches. "I expect that you'll help Dean keep Sammy in line and that you'll listen to Bobby. No more going out alone at night, either, if you go out, be sure that Bobby or your brothers are with you. Oh, and no more fighting with Dean."
"I won't fight with him if he doesn't fight with me," Harry grumbled.
"I expect that neither of you will start anything, and I've told him as much. Ok… all finished," he said after removing all the thread, still amazed at how quickly it had healed, "I'm going to put anti-bacterial cream on this, but you should be set."
John put the cream on and handed Harry his shirt.
"I've got to get going, Jim's expecting me. I don't think Sam or Dean are awake yet, but since you made breakfast, be sure to let them know that I said they're on dish duty."
Harry nodded, surprised, but pleasantly so.
With that John left – determined, more so than ever, to find a way to make sure Harry would never go back to England.
AN- Here is Chapter 5! There are two more chapters in Part 2. Please note that any and all abuse talked about with Harry here is meant to be canon-compliant.
Also, when Harry is talking about apple pie being British, this is a reference to an argument I get into with a good British friend of mine all the time. She insists that apple pie is British, not American and well… we still haven't settled over who is right (and it's been over six years).
Zirconium – The first scene is dedicated to you! I had written it but then taken it out in an edit, but you asked me how many pushups it would take Harry to run to Voldemort. I had taken a slightly different approach, but the comment made me laugh and decided that I would add the scene back in to show that Harry is going to give Dean a run for his money – just to annoy him. (5th book HP is a real shithead.)
I had to get Jody in here. I looked it up, Kim Rhodes is only three years older than Jensen Ackles. They have chosen to make her older, but I'm trying to work in between here – so she's around 22 here.
Also, a lot more Michael fans than I was anticipating. I'm not attuned with the fandom for Supernatural as much, so you all will have to tell me – do people actually like him? I feel like he's a pretty solid big bad myself. Also, I did not mean for the end of the last chapter to be a cliffhanger, just a foreshadowing. I will confirm that we will be seeing a lot more of angels in Part Three.
The reviews and comments have been getting very fun, please keep them coming. I don't want to spoil too much, but I do love when some of you pick up on the hints I am dropping and/or guessing things that will come up in Part Three. I like to think I'm being subtle and clever, but I'm probably not, ha. Only two more chapters until we're there! We'll see how all of you feel about it – I'm getting nervous about it now.
The next chapter is called Fate, Tempted. It is probably my favorite chapter of Part 2, so I look forward to sharing it with you next week.