Love, Fate and Prophecy: Bloodright
Part Four: Chapter Eight – Millie
Season Six: Episode 11 (Appointment in Samarra)
1949
A middle-aged wizard stuck his head out just out of his office door. "Auror Wilkinson, a word, please," was what Millie was met with as soon as she entered the Auror department in MACUSA to report for duty. It was her boss, Assistant Director Fischer. She had been expecting this, of course. She had spent an extra year in her first three-year placement. Not because she wasn't competent, exactly the opposite. She had performed so admirably while working with no-majes that they had begged her to stay in the position. Millie prided herself on being the best of the best, so the flattery had gotten her to stay for the extra time. But it was time to move on.
"Yes, sir," she replied. She quickly set her things down and strode confidently into his office.
"Have a seat, Auror Wilkinson," he said when she arrived. He was already sitting behind his desk. "As I know you are well aware, today is the day that you get your permanent assignment."
She nodded, eagerly.
He looked down at a file in front of him. "Part of this meeting is to review your record so far. Your entrance scores were some of the highest we've ever seen. You are fluent in French, Japanese, and Gobbledegook, correct?"
"Yes, sir, and I'm working on Ancient Egyptian and Mermish."
"Very good," he nodded with approval. "And I see, as part of the agreement for you staying an extra year in your initial placement that you did an internship in Great Britain last summer?"
"Yes, sir."
"The reports we received from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement also give you the highest marks. It is my understanding that you are interested in International Operations?"
"I am, yes, sir."
"Good, very good. Auror Wilkinson, am I also to understand that as part of your time in England, that you were introduced the British Men of Letters, a no-maj subsidiary of their department?"
"I was, sir, yes."
"What did you think?"
Millie was surprised. This wasn't where she was expecting this conversation to go. "They were fascinating – what they've managed without magic is truly incredible. Well, without our kind of magic. They were a great help in the war efforts, from what I understand."
"That is correct. Is it safe to assume that you are also aware of the American chapter of the Men of Letters?"
Millie was truly confused now. "Yes, sir, of course, but MACUSA ceased all communication with them in 1930."
Auror Fischer looked impressed. "You do know your history, don't you?"
"Of course, sir. May I ask, sir, what this has to do with my assignment?" She was beginning to get quite anxious.
"Ah, yes, I'm getting there. While the Men of Letters stopped being supervised by MACUSA, we have maintained some ties. But they are…reticent…to reestablish our partnership. We have tried to assure them that the anti-no-maj movement has largely died down, they are still quite skeptical. Our superior officers interested in restoring our relationship."
"That would be excellent, sir!" Embarrassingly, when she was young, Millie had had a soft spot for no-majes. She had admired them and had even convinced her parents to let her spend a year "on exchange" at a no-maj boarding school during her fourth year at Ilvermorny. All of that had changed after she spent time with the British Men of Letters. The organization itself was fine, but she had been introduced to hunters. She shuddered at the very thought of those savages. She had been originally hoping to have a career in diplomacy, but the war and her internship had changed that, and she had felt duty-bound to follow through with the family legacy of serving as an Auror for MACUSA.
"I'm glad you agree. Now, to your assignment. You are uniquely qualified for this position, however, it will require more of you than any other placement. I was instructed to tell you that while you are the only person, at the moment, suited for this job, you are well within your rights to turn it down. It will be a challenge, but, if you are successful, you can look forward to a career in the upper leadership of this division."
Millie was quite sure that was where she was headed, in any case, but a fast track and a placement suited uniquely to her? She couldn't resist. "I'll do it."
"Auror Wilkinson, I have not yet told you what it is," he said, exacerbated.
"Sorry, sir."
"It's fine. The Men of Letters is an extremely secret organization. As part of our separation in 1930, much of the documentation we have on them was destroyed. We cannot get a meeting with the elders, and we have spent years trying to. So, we are going with a different approach."
He pulled a piece of paper and slide it over the desk to the young witch. It was a photograph of a young man – not moving. He was quite handsome, Millie thought.
"This is your target," Auror Fischer said. "He is a no-maj. Or rather, a squib from a long line of squibs. He is also a legacy of the Men of Letters – they were founding members of the American Chapter and have long held leadership positions within the organization. His father, who recently passed, was an elder. We have a unique opportunity with him. Usually, immediately after attending university, he would have entered the organization and begun his training. However, the war interrupted his initiation. He volunteered for service as soon as he turned 18, and served in the European Theater of the war from 1943 to 1945."
"I don't see…" Millie started to say, her boss gave her a look, so she stopped talking.
"He recently graduated from Northwestern University. Literature and History double major, with an emphasis on the Ancient World. He has just moved to Normal, Illinois, which we believe currently houses the Headquarters for the Men of Letters. He will begin his training and will be fully initiated sometime in the next four years. This is a golden opportunity for us to get in on the ground floor with him. He will not yet be suspicious. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to befriend this young man."
"Befriend him?"
"Yes. And we mean just that. This is not an attack on your virtue. But it is a small town and…interesting conversation will be difficult for an educated and worldly man such as your target to find. You are intelligent, quick-witted, and have excellent people skills. More importantly, you have advanced knowledge of no-maj culture and will be able to blend in with the locals."
Millie's heart sank a little. This was an important task, of course, but she was aware that her gender and looks had to have played a large part in her being assigned this particular mission. She allowed herself a moment of disappointment before bucking up. If this is what they gave her, she would make the most of it, and do it ten times better than they could ever imagine.
"I'll do it."
"I was hoping you would say that."
xXxXxXxXxXx
Present Day
"I think you broke a rib," Harry complained to Gabriel.
"Oops," the archangel replied, not sounding terribly apologetic. "You're improving."
"Doesn't feel like it," Harry responded, sitting on the ground clutching his side. "Still can't seem to take you down."
Gabriel laughed. "Cute. That's never going to happen. I'm an archangel. And I have millenniums of more experience than you. Maybe – maybe with a couple thousand more years under my excellent tutelage you could hit me with something."
"You seem to be forgetting that I'm human, we wizards live longer than muggles, but I hardly have thousands of years. I need to be able to help now. I'm still getting security briefings, the supernatural creatures that have been crawling out of the cracks are unlike anything we've ever seen before. That Shurale took down a dozen Men of Letters and two Aurors last week."
"You are the Master of Death," Gabriel pointed out.
"Yeah? So what?"
"That means that you get to live as long as you would like to. And, if you ascend, likely much longer than that."
"I'm not going to ascend," Harry protested. "I have no desire to be the 'Angel of Death.'"
"You once refused the title Master of Death as well, things change, Harry."
"This won't."
Gabriel rolled his eyes.
"Are you going to fix my rib?" Harry asked, seeing as he was having trouble breathing at this point.
"No, I don't think so. This seems like an excellent time to teach you how to heal yourself."
Harry groaned. "I've already died twice this week, Gabriel! Healing of this magnitude just doesn't…" Harry's phone interrupted his train of thought. Harry knew it was Dean calling because he was one of only three people who had this number and because he had set the phone (alright, Hermione was the one who had actually done it) to play 'Eye of the Tiger,' whenever his older brother called.
"You gonna answer that?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I'm too busy dying. Again." He was pretty sure that the rib had punctured his lung.
"You're such a baby!" Gabriel came over and put his hand on Harry's stomach, healing his ribs. "This is what I get for falling for a younger man."
Harry took a deep breath. He was used to Gabriel's flirting by now. He was 92 percent sure that nothing was meant by it. "Thank you."
Gabriel offered him a hand, which Harry took to lift himself off the ground.
"Whelp, I think that's enough for today," Gabriel said. "How are those conversations going, by the way?"
Harry scowled. "They're not. I'd thank you kindly for bringing me back quicker. It's getting harder and harder to avoid him."
"You should just be thankful that I'm willing to revive you at all. Especially since you are more than capable of bringing yourself back."
The wizard huffed.
"What does the old bag want anyway?" This was said too casually. Gabriel felt he had control over the angelic sides of the civil war. With Castiel's collaboration with Crowley, he knew what Hell was up to as well. What he didn't know, despite the time they had spent together, was what Harry was thinking. Or which side Death was on.
"I don't want to know and I don't want to have any part in any of it." This wasn't completely truthful. He had some idea of what Death wanted. However, even though a fragile trust was beginning to build between himself and Gabriel, he didn't trust the archangel with his secrets. Especially not those of this magnitude.
"Whelp, I guess the advantage of being Master of Death is that you can hide from him pretty much forever, no?"
Harry ignored the question. He did not want to talk about Death. "Would you look at the time? I need to be headed back home. See you here, Monday morning, 8 a.m.?"
Gabriel knew when not to press. "Yeah. And bring that invisibility cloak of yours. Should up the ante a bit."
Harry nodded and flew off.
As soon as he did, Castiel appeared.
"It's risky, you showing up here before he leaves," Gabriel said, without turning to his younger brother.
"He can't see me if I don't allow him to," Cas scoffed. "And this is the safest place to approach you. You've spent enough time here with Harry that Raphael and his spies are no longer interested in watching."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Raphe knows better than to try and spy on me. Don't think you were sneaky – I knew that you were here. What do you want, Castiel?"
"Has he said anything about the portal? It has been months since I spoke with him and he has not called on me, not once."
"You didn't exactly endear yourself to him in the limited interactions that you've had. Quite frankly, you should count yourself lucky that he hasn't blabbed anything about your conversation to Dean."
Cas's eyes got wide. "He said he wouldn't."
"I'm sure he did. And he's a man of his word. Until you make it clear that you can't be trusted. I heard you that you burned the wrong bones? How long before your apes figure out that you've been double-timing them with a demon that they hate? And how long after that will Harry reveal what you asked him to look for. They're dumb, but even they could put two and two together to figure out that both you and the demon are looking for purgatory."
"Dean and Sam trust me," Cas insisted. "They're my friends."
Gabriel snorted. "For now."
"You will keep training Henry? Keeping him away from the United States and focused on his task of finding the portal?" There was desperation in the angel's voice.
"I will. But I won't guarantee that it will continue to work. He's already learned everything he needs. It's only a matter of time before he trusts himself enough to go and help. And, as I told you when I agreed to this whole 'distraction' game of yours, I'm not going to interfere between him and his brothers. I recommend that you do the same."
Gabriel didn't give Castiel a chance to respond, he just left. Castiel thought through what his older brother had said. Gabriel didn't understand the bond that he shared with the Winchesters – Dean in particular. His plan would work. He would gain the power he needed to control heaven either through the monsters that Crowley was torturing or from Harry, he would be able to protect Sam and Dean, and, in the end, the middle Winchester would ascend and bring some much-needed peace to the world. He was sure of it.
xXxXxXxXxXx
1949
Just a couple of weeks after her discussion with Auror Fischer, she arrived in Normal, Illinois. They had set her up with a small, but comfortable apartment that was over the bookstore where she would be "employed," as a shop-girl. Her target was quite the bookworm, so this was decided as one of the easiest places for her to meet and befriend him. Other than the fact that she had spent years training to be an Auror, so this work was below her skill level, she was quite pleased. At first, she thought that she was going to have to work for some boring no-maj lawyer as a secretary. Instead, she got to spend her time in a bookstore – something she enjoyed anyway.
It didn't take long for him to show up. It was the only bookstore in this deplorable little town. She was careful and was sure to just appear in the background for the first couple of visits. He would know, generally from sight, that she worked there, but not much else. They had had several small interactions. She had sold him a book and commented on it one Saturday he came in. The next, she had pointed him in the direction of the folklore section of the store. Finally, this third week, she was going to make her move.
Millie stood on her tiptoes, wearing heels that were far too high, trying to put a book on a high shelf from a pile of books that she was standing on. (A task that would have very easily been accomplished with magic, but that wasn't the point.) She made sure that he was just a couple of feet away, but not paying her much mind. "Oh no!" She exclaimed as the books beneath her began to wobble under her weight.
That got his attention. Knowing that he was just seconds away, she steeled herself and fell backward.
Of course, he caught her.
"Oh my!"
He chuckled. "Careful there, miss," he said as he went from carefully cradling her, to set her on the ground gently.
"You saved me!"
He blushed. It was pretty adorable.
"How can I ever repay you?" She asked in what she hoped was an earnest, girly, voice.
"No need, miss, it was my pleasure. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to have a seat after such a scare?"
It took everything in Millie not to roll her eyes. "Th...that would be nice," she stuttered.
"Here, let me help you," he guided her to a chair that wasn't far away.
"Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you!"
He laughed a little again. "You would have had some bruises, but I think you would have lived. Does anything hurt?"
"Just my ego," she took a deep breath, it was the moment of truth. "Please, let me repay you in some way. I make a great apple pie. I just made one last night – I haven't touched it. I live just above the shop, I could just fetch it…"
"You don't owe me a thing…wait, did you say pie?"
She smiled internally, 'got you,' she thought. "I did. Please, it's the least I could do." She flashed him a smile.
"Well…I suppose if it's not an imposition."
"Not in the least. My name is Millie…Millie Wilkinson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Millie, I'm Henry."
xXxXxXxXxXx
Present Time
"I'm busy, Dean. Talk fast," Death said. His chilly tone sent shivers down Dean's back. He knew that he should've asked Harry to talk to the entity. Coming here at all was an act of desperation. Sam needed his soul back – yesterday. Harry wasn't answering his phone so Dean was going to have to solve this the same way he solved everything, by himself.
"I have something of yours," Dean replied.
"Do you mean your brother? He hardly belongs to you. Or, rather, do you mean my ring? I recall loaning you that, temporarily."
"Well, if you want it back – "
"I'm sorry, you assume that I don't know where you've hidden it. Now we've established you have hubris but no leverage, what is it that you want?"
"Lucifer's cage. I figure you're one of the few people that can actually jailbreak it."
"Do you?"
"Sam's soul is stuck in that box."
"I've heard."
"I want you to get it out."
"Of course, everything comes at a price," Death said to Dean. Dean stiffened; he had been expecting to have to make some sort of deal. He was prepared to pay any price to get Sam, the real Sam, back. "Unfortunately, as we've established, you have no bargaining chips and nothing that I want. Your brother on the other hand…"
This time Dean felt no confusion about which brother Death was talking about. "I can't make Harry do anything that he doesn't want to do," he said, defensively.
"Very few people can," Death replied. "However, I believe in your powers of persuasion. He has proven to be even more stubborn than I gave him credit for." This was said with a fondness. "He has taken to extreme lengths to avoid me. Including sleeping as little as possible."
"He doesn't need as much sleep as he did before," Dean said, surprised.
Death chuckled. "I believe that he's convinced himself of that fact, yes, and you as well, it seems, but it is not the case. He is still human and eight hours of sleep is ideal. He manages to function with just an hour or two, his magic sustaining him the rest of the time. But it has its consequences. And, of course, he has died several times recently, but that archangel keeps bringing him back faster and faster, robbing me of my time."
That was a lot for Dean to process. He had no idea that his brother had died and was quite alarmed to hear that he was spending time with an archangel.
"Which archangel?" he demanded to know, forgetting his mission here for a moment. Was Harry working with Raphael against Cas? That would be...
"Don't ask stupid questions," Death snapped. "There is only one archangel with any kind of interest in him."
It clicked. "Gabriel."
"Yes, of course. This is all entirely beside the point. Harry has refused to talk to me since Chicago. Can't get more than two minutes with him. I need to speak with him. Properly."
"What're you gonna to say to him?"
Death chuckled. "Oh, this and that. He is a highly private man; I doubt that he would appreciate me revealing it to you. As a rule, I don't bring people back. I might make an exception just this once. Agree, or Sam's soul stays where it is."
Dean hesitated for a moment. He trusted Harry, but there was more, there was what Cas had said. "Sam. His soul has been there for a year, and I understand that it could be…damaged."
"It would have been flayed to a raw nerve, but Harry's mind tricks helped some. But it is certainly not in the same condition it was in when it entered the cage."
"Well, is there any way that you could, uh, I don't know, hack the hell part off?"
"Dean, Dean, Dean. What do you think the soul is? Some pie you can slice? The soul can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken. Not even by me."
"Well, there's got to be something."
"Maybe. Can't erase Sam's hell, but I can…put it behind a wall, if you will."
"A 'wall.'"
"In his mind – a dam to hold back the tide. Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him. Believe me."
"Ok, uh, a wall. Sounds good."
"But it's not permanent," Tessa spoke up for the first time.
"She's right. Nothing lasts forever. Well, I do, and Harry will, but…"
"Ok, so that's the choice – Sam with no soul, or Sam with some drywall that if or when it collapses, he's…done?"
"Yes," Death confirmed.
"Do it," Dean said, sure of himself.
"I never said I'd do it."
"Well, then, what the hell have we been talking about?"
"What you're paying for by doing me the favor of convincing Harry to speak with me. For as long as I need."
"Understood," Dean said.
"Don't roll your eyes, Dean. It's impolite. Now, fetch my ring, give it to Harry and tell him to put it on."
"What?"
"I'm quite fond of Harry, and I don't enjoy him dying. Putting on the ring will allow us to have the conversation I want without any of the unpleasantness."
"Are you serious?"
"No, I'm being incredibly sarcastic."
"Ok. Yes. But…"
Dean woke up, never having the chance to ask his final question.
xXxXxXxXxXx
1950
Millie was very nervous. She had just spoken to her parents. They did not like this plan, not in the least. This was not what they wanted for their only daughter, but she was determined. She knocked on Auror Fischer's door.
"Come in!" he called.
Millie stepped in, tightly gripping a piece of parchment.
"Ah, Auror Wilkinson, here to check-in?"
She took a deep breath. "Yes. I know that I normally write my reports, but I have an idea. It's…controversial. But I think that it will be the best way to accomplish the mission."
He raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue.
"Sir, Henry proposed to me yesterday."
"Henry Winchester?"
"Yes, sir."
"Auror Wilkinson, you were under strict orders to befriend only. This is highly irregular."
"I'm aware. Henry is a good man, sir. I am fond of him. He loves me. More importantly though, once he has been fully initiated, as his wife, I am entitled to more information than as a friend. He hasn't slipped one piece of information about the Men of Letters the entire year that I've known him."
"Wilkinson, you have already made incredible strides. Everyone in the department is pleased with your progress. It is very important to me that you know that you know that no one is asking you to marry a no-maj. There is no pressure. Because there is going to be a scandal if you go ahead with this."
"I know sir. I've already told my parents. My hope that once he rises enough in the ranks to know about our kind, I will reveal myself to him. He was chosen as my target because, with his family background, he should rise in a leadership position quickly. We will re-establish our connection so he and my children can be members of the wizarding community."
She wasn't going to say it, but she was thinking of the political power that their children would wield. Her family was political royalty in the United States. Her a couple of times great-grandmother had been the first female president of MACUSA and the third one ever. Her brother's political careers had already begun to take shape as well. Between that and the connection with the newly well-respected Men of Letters, her children would be unstoppable.
"I will have to consult my superiors, of course. There will be red tape. Lots of it. Not to mention the paperwork. But you are doing your country a great service in this act."
Millie smiled. She knew that she had it. "Very good, sir, thank you. I will accept his proposal then. I can always break it off if it isn't approved."
She stood up and left. This is wasn't what she had planned for her life, but it would do. This path could very lead to the highest position in the land. Not for her older brother, as her parents wanted, but for her. President Millie Winchester just had a nice ring to it.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Present Day
On the surface, everything was perfect. But a little digging and Slytherin cunning revealed inconsistencies. Henry Winchester had a birth certificate on file, but no death certificate. However, there was an obituary for the baby in the local newspaper. (All this research had required Draco to learn a lot about American muggle systems, it had been a steep learning curve. And he had had to use quite a bit of magic to get through red tape. He was lucky that he had diplomatic immunity from the British Men of Letters.) Additionally, there was a passport that had been obtained for a Henry Winchester – born the same day, in the same location. That passport had been renewed twice.
The picture on the renewed passport looked an awful lot like Potter. Not identical though. The man in the picture wasn't wearing the signature round frames. He did, however, look like the Winchester brothers. It was this evidence that convinced Draco that he hadn't imagined the word "brother" in that conversation and that there really might be something here.
None of this was solid enough proof to bring to the Men of Letters. If that's what Draco chose to do with the information at all. He might take it straight to Potter himself. If the former Head Auror had been willing to resign his post to protect Sam and Dean, as Draco suspected, knowing the stupidly noble nature of his childhood rival, he may be willing to help the Malfoy family once more.
It was in the Winchester family tree that he finally found what he needed. A primary source of information that didn't already know who he was, as the Winchester brothers seemed to. The best sources were, of course, dead. All of the grandparents of Sam and Dean were also died before they were born, except for one. Millie Winchester – who went by Millie Fontaine now.
The best part of all of this was that she was a witch. No more having to try and blend in, which Draco found extraordinarily annoying.
The town she lived in was quite lovely. It was something that Draco took note of, thinking of how much Astoria would enjoy it. It was a small wizarding-only community called Melle, just across from Nova Scotia. The town only had a population of about 3,000, but it was a wildly popular American wizarding vacation spot, which often tripled the number of occupants there.
Grandma Winchester owned an inn overlooking the bay. It looked much like the seaside resorts found on the coasts of England. Draco strode up into the lobby of the inn. At the front desk, there was a young witch with dark brown hair that looked to be in her early twenties. Her nametag read, "Sonia."
"Excuse me, miss," Draco said.
She looked up and smiled in the warm and welcoming way that most Americans seemed to adopt, especially if they worked in hospitality.
"Checking in?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, actually, I was wondering if I could speak with the owner – Millie Fontaine?"
"Mémé? I'm sure you can. She's running an errand right now, but she should be back within the half-hour. You're welcome to have a seat in the lobby and wait for her, or go explore the town while you wait."
Draco supposed that waiting wouldn't hurt. "I can wait," he said, before flashing the young witch a charming smile. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about this place before she gets back?"
She smiled back. "I love this inn. It's a bed and breakfast. Mémé owns this place – nursed it back to life when she moved here in the late seventies. A lot of the town gives her the credit for transforming the town into a tourist destination. It's always been an inn – used to just be for sailors and fishermen, but she turned the place into something else entirely." She proceeded to go on and on about the history of the town and the inn itself and the people that had stayed there.
Draco could see how much this young woman loved the inn. "Do you think that your grandmother will leave you the place when she wants to retire?" He said casually, trying not to give away his interest in what exactly this woman's familial relationship was with Grandmother Winchester.
"My…oh, no, Mémé isn't my grandmother. Everyone calls her that here in town, she insists. She's my great Aunt on my father's side. She doesn't have any grandchildren of her own, she and her husband, Vincent, never had any kids. He passed a couple of years back. But she shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon. We celebrated her 90th birthday last September."
Draco kept his face casual. Did this woman not know about her grandchildren or did she hide them from the rest of her family?
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"Mémé was sad, but she's tough, and she just doubled her efforts…oh, look, here she comes now."
Draco looked through the glass front doors of the inn. The woman coming up the road wasn't quite what he expected. Her hair was grey and white a cut in a way to frame her face. She was dressed formally for an American witch. She wore a rose-pink robe that, except for the length, was made like a muggle suit jacket, and it was perfectly tailored. Underneath she had on dress pants and a floral blouse and she had a string of pearls around her neck. Draco thought his mother would approve of this witch's style.
When she entered the inn, she smiled at the two of them. "Sonia, is this a new guest? Welcome to the Belle Ame Inn," she said warmly.
"He's not a guest Mémé," Sonia replied. "He wanted to speak to you. Not sure about what."
"How rude of me," Draco said. "Madam Fontaine, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Justin Finch- Fletchley. I have come to speak with you on a matter of some urgency and great sensitivity. Might I have a moment of your time?" He offered her a hand, which she shook.
"This certainly sounds exciting. Sonia, do you think you could man the front desk for a bit longer while I speak with this young man? I know that it is almost time for your lunch break."
"Not a problem, Mémé."
"Very good. Come with me, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. We can speak in my office, which is both comfortable and quiet."
Draco followed her down a hallway behind the front desk of the inn. The "office" as she called it looked more like a sitting room, with a fireplace and comfortable chairs. With a quick flick of her wand, Millie lit the fire and erected some privacy wards.
"How can I be of service?" She asked, turning quite serious. She no longer seemed the doddering old grandmother, she reminded him quite sharply of McGonagall.
"As I said before, the matter I come to you is quite delicate," Draco started. He had planned what he wanted to say for this conversation, but after talking with Sonia, he was not sure how the elderly witch would receive what he was about to say. "I come as a representative and friend of a highly ranked member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the United Kingdom."
"Well, you certainly have my attention. I was an Auror, three lifetimes ago, and I once did an internship at the DMLE, but I can't imagine how I could help someone high ranking. Everyone I worked with would have died or retired many years ago."
"I wasn't aware of that. I'm afraid this is a difficult subject. You see, my friend, recently discovered that he was adopted. And he believes that you may know something about why that came to be."
Millie arched her eyebrows. "I don't recall knowing of any overseas adoptions, why does he think I know anything about it?"
"There is no easy way to say this. He believes that he is your grandson."
Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. "My grandson? I don't have any grandsons. My Vincent and I never had any children."
"Ah – he would be a product of your first marriage, not your second."
The woman's face turned stormy. The look was eerily similar to Potter when he was angry. "I think you should leave," she said firmly.
"Ma'am…please, he just wants to confirm…"
"Did John send you?" She asked angrily. She stood and pointed her wand at him. "As some sort of guilt trip? This is just the sort of nonsense I came to expect to come from him. He's not bothered to try and call me in decades, what does he want now? Money? Well, he can't have it. How did he find me? Did that wife of his uncover my true heritage? Now, I believe that I asked you to leave."
"John Winchester did not send me. I know nothing of him – except that he passed several years ago before my friend had the chance to be in contact with him. He just wants to know about his family." Draco hadn't come this far just to be tossed out by an elderly woman.
"John is dead?" She sat back down, heavily.
"I am sorry to be the one to bring you this news."
She sighed. "Do you know how he died?"
"I'm sorry, I don't." While he didn't feel good taking advantage in this way, Draco knew now was his chance to get any information, which may be nothing, out of this woman. "Mr. Potter doesn't either."
That made her look at him sharply. "Did you say, Potter?"
"Yes."
"As in Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? The Chosen One? The Man Who Conquered."
It took all of Draco's self-control not to flinch at all of Potter's titles. "The very same."
"You think that Harry Potter, the most famous wizard in the world, is my son's son? Just what are you think you're trying to pull?"
"I'm not trying to pull anything. You can see why I said this was an extremely delicate situation. Harry Potter, having muggle relatives, having any relatives at this point would be a bit of a shock. We would both appreciate your discretion."
She laughed. "My discretion? I wasn't born yesterday, young man. I don't know what kind of scam you're trying to pull, but it's not going to work on me. I'm not some naïve old lady. My son is a squib and his wife was from the worst sort of no-maj family. There is no way that Harry Potter came from that."
"But…"
"No. I have had quite enough. Now, unless you would like me to call the Aurors, I would kindly ask you again to leave."
Draco could see that he had no choice. "Alright. But if you change your mind…"
"I won't. Leave, now."
He got up and left, swearing to himself. Another dead end. And he could hardly disguise himself and watch for a reaction like he did with the Winchester brothers. Back to square one, he apparated away from the small town. He had a pang of regret, knowing that he could certainly never bring Astoria here now.
xXxXxXxXxXx
1954
"What do you mean?" Millie asked, looking at the healer with wonderment. "How is that possible?"
The healer shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Winchester. Your child is not a wizard."
Millie looked down at the baby in her arms. He appeared to be perfect. Ten fingers and ten toes. Henry was off celebrating the birth of his son, at her urging. For a man, he was particularly attentive. He had stayed in the delivery room with her for as long as he could before he had been kicked out by the nurses. He had insisted on holding the baby. It wasn't proper for a man to stay in the hospital while his wife…recovered, so she had sent him on his way.
This was mostly to allow her to have a real conversation with her healer, who was, of course, a wizard. She had committed to a no-maj life, but she certainly wasn't going to allow her child to be born without magical assistance. She was a Wilkinson, after all.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" She demanded.
"I'm not suggesting it," he said firmly. "This baby has no magic. He is perfectly healthy in every way. Except he does not have a drop of magic. Honestly, I've never seen a squib born with so little. Some children's magical cores will grow with time, but there is nothing for it to grow from. Your son will never perform magic."
Millie felt sick. All her hopes. All her dreams. She had left everything she knew and married a no-maj. The scandal had been rough, there was no going back. Her parents wouldn't take her back, even if she left this child behind with his father. MACUSA would see her leaving her husband as a violation of her assignment, and no more money would come in from them. She was stuck. She handed the baby to a nurse, not even being able to handle looking at him.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Present Time
Harry was still not answering his goddamned cell phone. Which left Dean, after returning to Bobby's house to get the ring, with only one option. An option that he didn't love.
"Watch him," Dean instructed Bobby as he took gripped tight to the emergency portkey that Harry had given him. "Portus."
Dean cursed loudly as the portkey landed him, on his ass, in the middle of Harry's front hall. He gingerly stood up and took a look around him. Directly in front of him was a grand, but somewhat narrow staircase. There was a fireplace to his left was a large white marble fireplace and what looked to be a long, narrow hallway. The whole entrance was filled with light – the walls were painted a bright white. Natural sunlight shone through the entire space, but craning his neck up, Dean couldn't find a source for it.
A familiar voice called out from down the hall. "I'm in the study, working on a story, come see me." Dean headed down the hallway where the voice, that was without-a-doubt, Ginny. He was cautious, but he remembered Harry talking about how his house in London was one of the most warded in all of England.
He peeked his head into what he presumed was the study. Sitting on the floor, cross-legged, was Ginny. She was surrounded by pieces of parchment while she scribbled furiously with a quill on one right in front of her.
"I've got two hours before my deadline for this interview with Jones…" she looked up. "Dean!" She stood up and gave the hunter a quick hug.
"Hey," he said.
"I didn't know you were coming. Where's Sam?"
"He couldn't make it," Dean said, looking around distracted. "Look, not to be rude, but is Harry here? I need his help with something."
She shook her head. "He's not. Normally, he's doesn't come home during the week at all but…"
"What'd you mean that he doesn't come home during the week? Is he sleeping at the office?"
"The office? Of course not. He's…" she realized that Harry must not have told Dean about Gabriel.
"He's what?" Dean demanded.
Ginny gave him a look. "I'll let him tell you."
"Why won't you? Is he alright?"
The redhead snorted. "Better than he's been in ages. But it's not my story to tell. I'll just get him on the mirror, shall I?"
Dean nodded, feeling anxious and impatient.
She pulled the mirror out. "Harry Potter," she said.
There were a couple of moments of silence. "Ginny," came the response. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Look – Dean's here."
"Dean's where?"
"Here, in London. He must've used his emergency portkey to get here," she looked up at Dean for confirmation. He nodded curtly.
"Is he ok?" Harry asked, worry evident in his voice.
"Appears to be, but he says he needs your help."
"What do you need my help with Dean?" Harry asked, the voice coming from behind Dean, making the elder brother jump.
Dean turned around and promptly threw a punch – hoping to break Harry's nose again. The wizard dodged.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"Not answering your god-damned phone."
Harry was silent. Dean glared at him.
"Er – I'm just going to pick up some dinner then," Ginny said, sensing the tension in the room and choosing to leave as quickly as possible.
"Sorry about that mate…I've been a bit busy is all. But if you're here, it's got to be important."
"Are you working with Gabriel?" Harry's eyes went wide. Dean made a sound of disgust. "You have been! I can tell from the look on your face. What have you been doing with him? Have you been working with Raphael too?"
"Woah, calm down Dean. Here, have a drink," Harry summoned some fire whiskey and a glass, magically pouring some of the liquid into the glass and handing it to his older brother.
Dean took the glass but didn't drink. Which made Harry know that he was really upset. "I'm not working with anyone. I called Gabriel to see if he could help us get Sam's soul back. He said no, but offered to train me to control my magic a bit better. I thought if I spent time with him, I could eventually wear him down. Or learn some way that I could get it myself."
That seemed to deflate Dean. He took a deep breath, a drink, and sunk into a sofa. "I'm sorry, man. It's been…it's been a long couple of months."
Although Harry was hurt by the accusation, he could see how exhausted his older brother looked. "Is Sam still…"
"A raging psychopath?" Dean finished for him. "Yeah. And he's decided that he doesn't want his soul back and I just…"
"He doesn't want it back?"
"No. I've got Bobby watching him because otherwise, I think he'd runoff. But whatever that thing is, it ain't our brother. If we don't get his soul back soon, I think I'm going to have to gank him."
"We'll get it back. Do you need my help keeping him at Bobby's? What do you need?"
His brother's earnestness made Dean feel like the scum of the Earth for what he was about to ask. "I…I uh, I spoke to Death."
The color left Harry's face. "You what?"
"I spoke with Death."
"How?"
"I had a doctor put me out for a couple of minutes and then revive…"
"You KILLED yourself? What the fuck were you thinking?" It was Harry's turn to get angry.
"I was thinking that I needed to fix Sam and my friendly neighborhood Master of Death wasn't answering his phone," Dean shot back. "And you're one to talk – he said that you've been dying and Gabriel's been reviving you before he has a chance to speak to you. Also, that you've damn near killed yourself from lack of sleep to avoid him in your dreams too. You told me that you didn't need as much sleep as you did before."
Harry took a deep breath. Ron and Hermione would have murdered him at this point for the amount of information that he was holding back, so he couldn't exactly blame Dean for being angry. "It's not just that I don't want to speak with him…" Dean shot him bitch face. Harry squirmed. "I really can survive on less sleep."
"Uh huh, yeah. I'll deal with this later – I can only handle one headcase brother at a time. After we get Sam fixed, you're next."
"Do you have a way to fix Sam?" Harry asked, distracting him from Dean acting like a mother hen. Like he needed another one of those in his life.
"Yeah, why do you think I'm here?"
"How?"
"Well…I cut a deal with Death."
Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "You made a deal with Death," he deadpanned.
"Yeah, that's what I said isn't it?"
The wizard got a knot in his stomach. He had an idea of what Dean was going to say next. Dean didn't seem eager to get to it though. "And?"
"He wants a meeting. With you."
"No shit. He's been terrorizing for the last year and a half. I'd prefer he fuck off."
"If you meet with him – he said that he would go to the cage and get Sam's soul out. He also said that he would put a wall that would block Sam's memories of Hell so that he won't go crazy from all the torture."
"And a mental wall will protect him?"
"Yeah."
"And there is absolutely no other way?" Harry practically begged.
"Don't think so, dude. I haven't found one, and if you haven't either…"
Harry nodded tersely. "Fine."
"You'll do it?"
"Yeah, I just said I would, didn't I?"
"Just after everything…I was expecting this to be more of a fight," Dean did seem genuinely surprised. Nothing ever came this easy, not for him.
"And what were you going to do if I didn't agree?" Harry asked.
"I…had a plan…"
Harry snorted. "Sure, you did."
Dean did have a plan. It was a terrible one and it would have permanently ruined his relationship with the wizard, but it was all the better that he didn't have to what he was prepared to do to help Sam.
"Alright then. He said that you just have to put on this ring. This will call him to you without you having to, you know…"
"Die?" Harry finished.
"Yeah," Dean replied. He pulled out the ring and handed it to Harry. Harry took it and rolled it around in his hands a bit. "What are you waiting for?"
"Nothing. Would you mind – actually, I don't care if you would mind. Could you please leave the room? I'd prefer to speak with Death without your hovering."
Dean nodded. He was, for a briefest of moments, perturbed, but Harry had already proven himself to be trustworthy. He stood up.
"Thanks. The kitchen's just down the hall, first door on the right. Feel free to explore the house, but, uh, be a little careful. It's not muggle proofed."
Dean didn't say anything, he just left the room.
Harry took a deep breath. He didn't want to talk to Death. He had been avoiding it forever, but he wasn't surprised that it couldn't last forever. And Dean needed Sam. He took the ring and slipped it on his finger.
It didn't take long. "Ah, Harry, how lovely to see you."
xXxXxXxXxXx
1959
Millie stood outside of her family compound in North Oxford, Maine. Standing next to her was her five-year-old son, his hand grasped tightly in her. His father had disappeared a year ago. So had the Men of Letters. She had spent the last year doing everything she could think of to try and find him. Every resource she had, used. Every cent in their joint bank account spent. And after all of that effort, Millie still had no husband. She also had no job and no money.
Her assignment, the one that she was sure was going to launch her high into a position of power and privilege, was moot. The Men of Letters' safe houses were boarded up. Their resources, lost, hidden behind wards that not even wizards could find. MACUSA was a very conservative place. They wouldn't continue to employ a single witch with a squib son. They said that she had voluntarily taken this position and there was nothing they could do.
She hadn't been home since she married Henry nine years ago. Her brothers had visited a couple of times, so had her father. All before John was born, of course. Her mother always managed to have some sort of excuse. But Millie knew it was because she couldn't stand to see her daughter, the one that she had raised so carefully, living as a no-maj in the middle-of-nowhere USA.
The butler opened the door. Millie was grateful that the use of house-elves was deemed unfashionable a century ago. Families with real wealth could afford to pay a living wage to witches and wizards to serve them – it was considered gauche to have to rely on unpaid labor. She had no idea how she would explain a house-elf to her son who had never been exposed to the magical world.
"Ms. Millie!" the butler greeted. He was an elderly no-maj-born wizard that had worked for Millie's family since before she was born.
"Grant, it's been too long," she said smiling.
"It has been. Are your parents expecting you?" He asked. If she hadn't known him so well, she would have thought this to a light, easy, question. But she knew a gate-keeping question when she heard one.
"It's Thanksgiving," she said, defensively. "The whole family gathers for Thanksgiving, I'm sure that they're expecting me, even though it's been a while since I was able to come."
Grant frowned slightly.
John tugged on her sleeve. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, sweetie. It's just been a long time."
"Ms. Millie," he said, hesitation in his voice. "Why don't you go around back and meet me in the kitchens?"
"Around back?"
"Yes, I know you know where the door is," he shut the door in her face. The butler shut the door in her face. She was Millie Wilkinson! This was her house. She had grown up here. She had only ever used the servant's entrance in the back to sneak past the anti-apparition wards on the house when she was home from Ilvermorny during the summers.
She stood, in stunned silence, staring at the door. John started to cry, sensing how upset his mother was. He was a sensitive child. She gripped his hand.
"It's alright John, we don't need them, we have each other." She knelt and wiped his tears.
There was no way she was going in that house now. She'd show them. She'd move back to that no-nothing town and survive on her own. Millie put her back to the family estate and vowed to herself never to return.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Present Time
Millie Fontaine couldn't stop thinking about the visit from that blonde-haired British wizard. She hadn't allowed herself to think about John in years. She had left that life behind completely when she had moved up here to Maine in the seventies. It was simply too painful. It was bad enough that the disappearance of the Men of Letters had put an end to her rise to power. But then, to be so disrespected by her son that she had given everything up for. It had been too big of a blow.
That British man had stirred up memories. She couldn't leave it alone, so she did some research. Mary had been dead for decades – leaving her son widowed. Just as she had been.
Two children. Dean and Sam. Both named for her parents, much to Millie's disgust. Both squibs, seeing as there were no records of them having attended Ilvermorny.
Millie had almost been ready to put this all to bed – to silently mourn her son, who had indeed died years before, but she couldn't imagine why someone would try and claim that she was related to Harry Potter.
She knew of Harry Potter, of course, the whole wizarding world did. Her nieces had had crushes on him when they were younger. They talked about him non-stop.
There was, of course, a sure-fire way to know. It was a simple spell that required a drop of blood, but very little magical power. She pulled out a parchment, took a deep breath, and cast it.
Scrawling on the top was her name. Next to it her two husbands, Henry and Vincent. John's name came next, as well as the year of his death. Beneath him – Dean Winchester, eldest son. Next, Samuel Winchester. Well, that put the matter to rest. Samuel was born years after Harry Potter. She was about to crumple the parchment and put this whole matter to bed when the parchment glowed. A purple thread appeared, steaming from John and Mary. Next to her son's name, two more names appeared. James and Lily Potter. The thread from them was also purple (indicating a magical child), but it was dotted.
Henry (Harry) Winchester (Potter). July 1980.
Millie stared at the parchment. That man had been telling the truth. With John, her personal goals had gone down the drain. But to be both Wilkinson and Potter – that could change everything for her whole family and make up for the scandal she had brought down on them all those years ago. She had a letter to write.
xXxXxXxXxXx
1975
John was nervous. Mary grabbed his hand to give him courage. "It'll be fine, your mother loves you, she'll accept this."
It was hard for John not to scoff at that. His mother had hardly been the most loving. His father leaving had been a big blow to her. She didn't speak of it much, but it was his understanding that her family had shunned her after her marriage to his father. Everyone once in a while, when angry, would talk about everything that she had given up for him. How he should be grateful. And he was.
John loved his mother and everything he did, he did to try and make her proud. When they had been struggling financially, he had started training as a mechanic and started bringing in income at age 14 because he had lied about his age. She had accepted the money but was brutal on him when his grades were less-than-stellar. She said that she didn't understand how the son of a scholar could be so dumb.
That had stung but had made him even more determined. He had doubled his efforts at school and the mechanic's shop. When he had graduated, he had taken his mother's lectures about service to the country seriously and joined the Marines. He had served with distinction and earned an honorable discharge. His mother had been happy to see him when he came home and he thought, maybe, she was finally proud of him. But it hadn't been but a couple of days before she wondered, passive-aggressively, why some of the men that served with him at earned Medals of Honor and he had not. Being in the military had given him a thick skin, so he pretended not to be hurt by her words.
Then, he had met Mary. Mary was a breath of fresh air. She was kind, generous, and accepting. She never failed to point out what she loved most about John. Mary rarely criticized him. She said she loved him for everything he was. Good and bad.
So, for the first time, he had done something for him. Mary's parents had died a couple of years back, and she hadn't wanted a big, white, wedding. Which was all for the better because everything that John had saved would go towards a house. They had eloped. And it had felt so right. So right, until he was standing outside his mother's house.
She answered. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the couple holding hands. John released his grip on Mary's hand, out of habit, but Mary refused and continued to hold his.
"Well, are you going to come in?" Millie asked.
John gulped and the two of them stepped in the door. They removed their jackets and settled in on the couch. Millie went to the kitchen to get everyone coffee and when she returned, John finally got his courage up. "Mom, I have some news for you. We have some news for you."
Millie sat in the armchair across from the couple and said nothing.
"Mom – Mary and I, well, we've eloped. We're married."
Mary grinned. She happily put her hand out in front of Millie to show off her ring. Millie looked at it woodenly.
"Mom, say something," John urged, after a couple of moments of unbearable silence.
"What would you like me to say?"
"Um, I don't know. Congratulations? That you're happy for us?"
Millie frowned. "John, I would like to speak with you for a moment, privately."
Mary squeezed his hand in support. "Mom, anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Mary." He said, bravely. "We're all family now."
"I should think not, I am not related to one of her kind."
Mary froze. What did Millie know?
"What do you mean, mom?" John asked.
Millie looked her dead in the eyes. "She knows what I mean. I've told you several times already John, her family leaves much to be desired. You are a Wilkinson, have some damned pride."
"I'm not a Wilkinson, I'm a Winchester. And so is she. Where our families come from doesn't matter, we have each other."
Millie shook her head, disappointed. "I don't give you my blessing. I believe that Ms. Campbell should leave here and you and I should have a private, family discussion. You eloped, no? That can easily be undone. No harm, no foul."
Mary looked close to tears. "NO!" John shouted. "I love her. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Don't speak to me that way, I'm your mother," Millie rebuked.
"Not anymore," John shot back. He stood up, still holding Mary's hand. "Come on Mary, we don't need this."
"But John…"
The look in his eyes told her that his mind was made up. The two of them headed to the door.
"If you leave this house, John Winchester, you better never come back."
"Don't worry, mom. I won't."
He slammed the door on the way out. When they got to the car he put his head in his hands and fought the urge to yell and honk the horn. He knew that his mom hadn't been Mary's biggest fan but…
"John, it's alright," Mary said gently. "I'm sure she'll come around. She was just surprised, that's all," she had planned to talk to Millie and explain that she wanted nothing to do with her family's legacy. That she had left that all behind. There was nothing to fear.
"She won't. You don't know her."
"Oh, John. We'll patch things up, I promise. I won't let you lose your family."
John looked up. "No. She's not my family anymore. You're my family now, Mary. You and I. And I promise I will never treat our children like that."
"I know that John. I love you."
"I love you too. I will never leave you, not like my father. We'll be a family, always, through everything, I promise."
Mary smiled. She believed him. "Let's go home."
AN – There you have it! I mentioned Millie in the very first chapter of this fanfic, and eluded to her again in Part 2 when John didn't want to talk about his family. I struggled with her for a little bit. I wasn't quite sure where to place her, but in Season 6, where we see Samuel felt like an appropriate time. At first, the woman I created was far kinder and just broken by her husband disappearing. I don't know if any of you have read The Princess Diaries, but at first conception, Millie was like the Julie Andrews grandmother from the movie when I realized she needed to be the bitch grandmother from the books. If you don't get that reference, I've also imagined her a bit like Emily Gilmore. And if you don't get THAT reference, hopefully my writing is enough for you to get an idea of what kind of person she is, lol.
Casting! Young Millie is played by Melissa Fumero. Old Millie is played by Louise Fletcher. Sonia looks like a younger version of me. 😊 (I promise that this is the only self-insert. And she is has a very, very, small part. But it is very Supernatural to write oneself into the story, even if it's just a little bit.)
Millie shares a birthday with my grandmother who passed away many years ago – but that is all she shares in common with her. Sonia, her great-niece is named after my great-aunt who passed away from COVID in this last year. Loveliest woman ever, I thought I'd make her young again.
This is a very long chapter. I thought about splitting it in two, but I didn't know how much y'all would appreciate a whole chapter of Millie and nothing on our main characters.
Next week is my birthday! (The 10th) I mention it not only because I love to celebrate my birthday, but because I am so old that my birthday this year actually marks my 20th year of being a fanfic writer (although I skipped quite a few between undergrad and now). Yikes, I'm old.
Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews and comments. Also, I see you bookmarkers, followers, and favoritors. I appreciate you too. I'm glad to see that everyone is hate loving Malfoy. The next chapter is called When Soul Meets Body. Feel free to sing along. 😊