Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter or Supernatural. All rights to their respective owners.

A/N: It's been a long time since I've updated this story, so I'm not sure how many people are still following, but I'm going to try to start posting regularly. Sorry if I'm a little rusty, it's been a while. Thanks for reading!

FOUR

Witch Hunt

Harry eyed the gun in Dean's hand and raised his hands slowly in surrender. Though he didn't fear the muggle weapon, he thought it better to avoid inciting violence.

"I … don't have one," he said slowly, figuring them to be expecting him to be on the defence. Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise before a frown took over his face. Sam was frowning too, though his eyes seemed to be searching Harry's for something.

Taking advantage of their stunned silence, Harry continued, "I could explain everything, but I'm not sure you'd believe me." He didn't bother mentioning that doing so would break the cardinal rule of the wizarding world, but didn't think it was relevant to the situation.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, and Harry latched on to the eager tone in his voice. "Believe me, whatever it is, we've heard weirder."

"I'm … from a different world." Dean scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes as he tightened his grip on the gun in his hands but Harry ignored him and continued. "Or reality or something. I'm not sure. I'm don't even know how I got here."

"A different world," Sam repeated thoughtfully, but Dean clearly wasn't having any of his story.

"Oh, come on Sammy. He's obviously saying anything to distract us from that witch-mojo crap he just pulled." Dean waved his hands vaguely around the room.

"I'm trying to explain that," Harry retorted scornfully. "That witch-mojo is normal where I come from. At least for people like me, it is."

"Alright then," Dean conceded dubiously. "Say that that's all true. Still doesn't excuse you killing five people when you landed here from Oz." He finished triumphantly, clearly sure he had Harry over a barrel.

Whatever argument Harry had been about to make died in his throat at the accusation. He opened his mouth, searching his mind for a response that would placate the pair, but was rescued by Sam.

"We talked about this, Dean," he warned.

"Don't, Sammy," Dean interjected. "The deaths were caused by magic and we just so happened to find a demon's whipping boy wandering around town."

Harry was torn between confusion at the insult and indignation at the accusation, but was once again defended by Sam before he had a chance to speak.

"No, you don't, Dean. We both know that one of the victims was killed while Harry was in a coma in the hospital. Where we put him."

"So he's working with someone else. Even if there are two witches in the area, that can't be a coincidence."

"Even if you don't believe he's innocent, we have to consider the possibility that he didn't do this." Dean looked ready to rebut him, but Sam silenced him with a harsh look. "If we're wrong and it's someone else, people will just keep dying."

The two men stared each other down in a silent standoff before Dean looked down in defeat.

"Fine, we won't kill him until we're sure."

Harry, aggrieved at a conversation regarding his own execution taking place as if he weren't there, interjected, "Will somebody please tell me what the hell you're talking about."

The two men stared at him as if they had forgotten he was in the room.

Despite his obvious distaste at engaging in conversation with Harry, Dean replied, "We came into town about two weeks ago, to look into a murder we suspected one of your kind to have committed. Before we could get here, though, we, ah… bumped into you on the highway. After we took you to the hospital and saw how fast you were healing, I figured you were trying to get out of town before anyone noticed, but Sam was convinced that something else was going on, so we decided to stay."

As he began speaking, Harry had scowled at the reminder of the collision that had been driven from his memory in the chaos of the day. Dean still didn't seem particularly guilty about the incident. In fact, as he spoke, his mouth curled slightly with a ghost of a smirk which only served to increase Harry's irritation.

"Sorry about that, by the way," said Sam, likely in response to Harry's darkening mood. "Really, we were a little, uh, distracted." He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. Harry glanced at him and nodded stiffly, but looked back at Dean, whose face had broken into a full blown grin. Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

Suddenly, something Dean had said caught his attention and forced his attention back to the reason they were having this conversation.

"What did you mean 'my kind'?" he asked.

"A witch," Sam answered. "My brother and I are hunters."

"You're witch-hunters?" Harry asked incredulously. He had heard of the Salem witch trials, but was sure that the days of muggles hunting witches were long over. The fact that they were brothers barely seemed to register, though Harry absently noted that it explained their constant bickering.

"Well, not exactly. We hunt … all kinds of supernatural beings." Sam appeared troubled at having to explain himself. "But only ones who have hurt innocent people," he added quickly. Harry shifted his gaze back to Dean, who seemed to have a difference of opinion on that point.

"What kind of magic do these witches do?" Harry asked.

"Don't you know?" Harry suppressed the urge to point out that he had already explained why exactly he didn't know, but waited for them to elaborate.

"Well … rituals, spells, usually in service of a demon. They sell their souls to their demon masters in exchange for some kind of reward. Youth, beauty, whatever their heart desires." Harry didn't fail to notice that he apparently wasn't included in the 'them' to which Sam referred. "What about you?"

Harry answered hesitantly, not used to the sort of instant trust that Sam seemed to have in him. "Spells, potions," he shrugged. "Although, witches and wizards in my world are naturally born with magic."

"I'm sorry, you said wizards? Like old, white-haired, long-bearded sons of bitches?" Dean asked crudely. Harry rolled his eyes, but was nonetheless thankful that the same stereotypes seemed to exist in this world.

"Not exactly," he began, "but some of that stuff is true, I guess. We use wands, fly broomsticks. There's a lot you don't - oh, hang on, I have something for this." The brothers were thrown by his immediate change in mood as he hurriedly pulled his mokeskin pouch from around his neck and plunged his arm into its depths, rummaging carefully. After a few moments of searching, Harry pulled a thick pamphlet from the pouch and showed the two men the title on the ornately designed cover.

YOUR BODY'S AMAZING NEW ABILITIES

Everything You Need to Know About the Magic Inside You

"A sex ed lesson?" Dean asked skeptically. "How's that going to help us?"

Harry huffed impatiently. "It's an introductory pamphlet. Standard issue Ministry guide for muggle parents of magical children. It should answer some of the more basic questions."

"What the hell's a muggle?"

"You have a ministry?"

Harry ignored their questions, tapping the pamphlet's glossy cover and ignoring the identical looks of skepticism at the child-friendly fonts and cartoon mascot. He settled the mokeskin pouch back against his chest under his shirt and when he looked up at them again, they were reading through the pamphlet, Sam's face avid with interest and Dean's reluctantly intrigued.

Harry waited patiently, using their distraction to ponder his next move. He didn't have the answers he wanted from them, let alone a way to get home. Though the rules of magic were clearly different in this world, he obviously had no chance of making the journey without some form of magic, and one strong enough to create an inter-dimensional portal of some kind was far beyond anything of which he had heard. Sam and Dean were clearly his best chance of discovering more about this strange new world, despite the fact that one half of the pair seemed intent on killing him.

He knew he had to be careful with how much information he shared with them, though. Their acceptance of his presence was tentative at best and he feared their reaction if they knew his full story. He was sure that they would have many more questions about his world than a Ministry pamphlet could provide. He just had to ensure that he had the right answers for them.

Dean looked up at Harry once he had finished reading, allowing Sam to continue his engrossed evaluation of the pages. He regarded Harry shrewdly, with less obvious and open hostility towards the wizard. He wanted to believe that his magic was no longer a problem for the hunter, but knew instinctively that that wasn't the case. Harry resisted the urge to squirm under his assessment, gazing back defiantly.

"This is incredible," Harry broke the connection to look at Sam, who held an awed exuberance in his brown eyes. "I never would have imagined a whole other world like this existed somewhere out there."

Harry smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, but inwardly felt that he understood Dean's initial reaction to his sudden appearance a little more. Dean clearly took the authoritative older brother role seriously and Harry now knew why; Sam was entirely too trusting.

"I don't know how much of this I believe," Dean began, gesturing to the pages in Sam's hand and Harry himself. "But we have bigger problems. We have a witch on the loose and our one good lead is a bust." He looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry shrugged in acceptance of Dean's words. As long as the man wasn't trying to kill him, he could care less what he believed. "Well, I'm not sure how much help I can be to you. I know even less than you do."

"We don't need your help," Dean scoffed. "But you're still not leaving our sight until we figure this out."

Harry resisted the urge to argue with the man about being told what to do, reminding himself that this was the likely the best position he could be in at that moment.

"Fine. But when this is over and I can figure out how to get back to my own world, you have to promise me you'll let me leave."

Dean looked ready to argue but, after a beseeching look from Sam, reluctantly agreed.

The three men spent the remaining few hours until sundown talking about the case. Having moved their small party to the brothers' motel room, they caught Harry up on the details and Harry soon realised that they weren't exaggerating their lack of leads or suspects. Nonetheless, he listened closely to the little information they had, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Dean cleaning his collection of guns as Sam talked.

Each of the five deaths had occurred just after midnight, with no obvious connection between the victims. Though it wasn't much to go on, Harry had experience in his role at the Department of Mysteries investigating cases as slight as theirs.

"Any connection between locations?" he asked during their briefing.

"One outside a grocery, two in their homes, the others on two different streets, a mile apart. No pattern in the cause of death either. The only discernible connection is the time and the hex bags the witch left behind."

"Hex bag?" Harry ignored Dean's soft scoff at the question.

"A charm that witches use to cast spells remotely. Usually to, uh, well…" he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the police records he had laid out on the small table in front of him.

Harry contemplated Sam's words, an idea forming in his head.

"Do you have one of these hex bags?" Dean was alarmed by the request, but Sam readily handed over a small brown bag.

"Found it in one of the houses. Once the spell is cast, the bag loses whatever magic it holds."

Harry inspected the nondescript fabric, closing his eyes and casting a discreet magic detection spell.

"You'll have to open it to find out what's inside," said Dean, a hint of agitation creeping into his voice at Harry's silence.

"I don't need to know what's inside. I'm trying to find out what the magic feels like."

"What it feels like? What - but Sam said-"

"All magic leaves traces. Even though it's no longer cursed, I might be able to detect a hint of the magic the witch used. That is, if my magic and theirs are even compatible."

"While that's very fascinating, I still don't see how that helps us."

Harry cracked one of his eyes open and looked at Dean. "If I can familiarise myself with the magic, then I might be able to track it. Now, shh." Harry spared both brothers another glance before closing his eyes again, Sam barely restraining himself from asking more questions while Dean was grudgingly mollified.

The spell worked like another sense, as if his own magic was reaching out and feeling that of the object in question. It was useful in his work, particularly when investigating unknown phenomena that needed to be tracked down and catalogued in the Ministry's database of mysterious artefacts. The hex bag's magical trace was not entirely dissimilar to his own (a fact he chose not to share with the hunters) but held a significant undercurrent familiar to Harry from the numerous Dark objects with which he had come into contact over the years. He felt his own magic shiver in response to it, a chill that prickled just under his skin.

Harry opened his eyes again, finding Sam and Dean staring at him expectantly.

"Well?" asked Dean after a beat of silence.

"Do you have a stick?"

Dean's face turned sly but before he had a chance to utter whatever innuendo had entered his mind, Harry quickly added, "A pencil? Something you could point with."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean before digging through a small book bag and producing a pen.

Harry lay the pen flat in his hand and focused on the uncomfortable sensation he had experienced moments before. "Point me."

The pen began to spin slowly in his hand, turning left, then right a number of times before finally settling still on his palm.

"That was a spell?" His tone was flippant, but Harry suspected Dean was unsettled by the display of magic.

The low rumble of the classic car was the only sound that broke through the silence as the three men traveled down the dark highway. Harry's eyes were closed, his mind clear and focused on detecting any trace of the dark magic in the air and the pen laying in his palm. The task turned out to be easier than he had expected. Without the bustling community of wizards that surrounded him at home, the atmosphere was clear of distraction, so the trail was easier to follow, like a beacon in the dark.

This reminder of home, of course, brought forth the churning fear in his stomach that only rose the longer Harry remained in this strange world. Though he had always managed to handle himself well in stressful situations, they usually involved a direct threat on his life, whether in his position as 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' or his more nebulous role as an Unspeakable. Being stranded in this place was a more passive threat, his lack of control over his circumstance feeding a growing sense of hopelessness within him. Focusing on working with the brothers managed to lessen the sting of his emotions somewhat, if only for the assurance that he was at least doing something productive.

Feeling a sudden pull in his chest, Harry opened his eyes and scanned the line of trees blurring past the backseat window. The magical trace was close, though nothing in his view appeared out of the ordinary. When the pull became stronger as they passed a small opening in the dense forest, Harry shouted for Dean to stop the car.

He had perhaps spoken a little too suddenly, as his yell caused Dean to jerk and slam his foot down on the brake, launching the three of them forward against the choking hold of their seatbelts.

"What the hell?!" Dean barked at Harry as he righted himself in his seat. He turned to look back at the wizard, who had the grace to look sheepish.

"Sorry… I think we're here."

"Here?" asked Sam, glancing out the window at the nondescript treeline as he rubbed his chest where the seatbelt had cut into him. "Are you sure?"

"Well, it's where the pull is the strongest."

"There's nothing here," said Dean. "No path, no signs. Nothing."

"Trust me, there's something out there."

Dean's face betrayed his doubt, but he shut off the car's engine nonetheless and turned in his seat to address his brother.

"Okay, here's the plan: I'll go in first while you circle them. I distract them so you can get the jump on them."

"What do I do?" Harry interjected.

"You stay back and try not to get us killed," said Dean, smirking.

"You don't want me to do anything?" Harry asked, disbelieving. Not that he was aching to get involved in a fight, but he was still dubious about the abilities of two muggles against an apparently powerful witch. They may have called themselves 'witch hunters', but Harry had yet to witness a display of their prowess.

The expression on Dean's face brooked no argument so Harry decided to keep his own version of the plan to himself. He was sure that Dean wouldn't be able to object to his involvement if he entered the fray while the hunter dealt with the witch. Sam sighed contemptuously but didn't voice his disapproval either.

The journey through the woods from the narrow opening in the trees was quiet, the thick blanket of leaves allowing no sound but the trio's short, shallow breaths and the rustle of the forest floor underfoot as they crept forward. Harry hadn't realised how late it had gotten, the darkness broken only by the streams of moonlight peering through the branches above.

Harry felt tempted to light the way with a 'lumos', but figured it wouldn't be appreciated given the circumstance. Instead, the three men moved ahead through the dark forest, stumbling and tripping occasionally through the few miles of underbrush.

Just as Harry was beginning to doubt his own magical tracking abilities, a small point of light caught his eye up ahead along with the faint murmur of a chanting voice. Harry flashed a glance at his companions to see if they had noticed. Dean held a hand out to slow them down and put the index finger of his other hand to his lips. Harry rolled his eyes at him but kept his focus on the light ahead.

As they approached, Harry was able make out the source of light, a small fire atop an altar. It was set in the centre of a small clearing in the trees, too small and perfectly circular to be natural. A figure crouched low to the fire, their identity obscured by the play of light and shadow across their face. They continued to chant without break in a low monotone, Harry only being able to make out a few whispered words in Latin.

The droning voice suddenly cut off, causing the three men to freeze at the edge of the clearing. Harry looked at Dean and Sam in turn for insight on their next move.

"You can come out of hiding now, boys," a soft, lilting voice called out to them, denying them any hope of surprising the witch.

Dean shrugged his shoulders tensely, guiding them forward slowly with his gun cocked ahead of him. Harry and Sam followed him into the circle, finally getting a clear view of the witch.

She was wild and composed in equal measure, her presence a dichotomous image. Matted blonde hair adorned her delicate face, twisting away from her scalp in wild curls specked with dirt and leaves. Tattered clothes hung from her slight frame, but she held herself with a steely resolve, her eyes blazing with cold humor in the light of the flame.

"You boys took your time," she continued, as though they were latecomers to a party she was throwing. The sweetness of her voice didn't completely mask the underlying aura of danger that radiated from her form.

Dean was unperturbed by the witch's greeting, or at least made a good show of pretending. Harry himself still hadn't quite ascertained the danger she and her magic presented.

"Best to be fashionably late," Dean drawled, causing the witch to smile wickedly.

"Ah, well," she sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter when we start."

"Start?" Sam asked. "Start what?"

"The ritual," she responded dismissively, moving around the circle to the front of the altar to stare at each of them in turn. "You are all vital to its successful completion. Sam. Dean. Harry."

Harry's head jerked back in surprise at the stranger's mention of his name and, judging from their expressions, the other men were equally disturbed.

"How do you know who I am?" Harry asked roughly.

"Maybe I'm that good," she smirked. "Or perhaps I've heard some interesting things about the three newcomers in town. People are prone to gossip, especially with the tragic events as of late." She affected a mask of exaggerated sadness, her head shaking regretfully but her eyes glinting mischievously.

"Yeah," Dean began, "word is some locals got on the bad side of some demon's bitch—"

With a cry of fury, the witch waved her hand in the air, her sudden shout of "vitae" echoing through the stillness of the small clearing. Harry's body was wrenched backwards in the air, as though seized by an invisible hook. His back slammed against one of the surrounding tree trunks, the air leaving his lungs as a sharp pain rushed through his body from the point of impact.

Through pain-watered eyes, Harry could see that Dean and Sam were in similar positions on either side of him. The witch stalked forward until she was standing directly in front of Dean, her eyes piercing him with a hateful glare.

"My name is Rebecca and you will address me as such. Call me that again and this will be much more painful for you than it needs to be."

Dean, scrambling against the rough bark against his back, was clearly thrilled at getting under her skin.

"Aw, what's the matter? Hate to be reminded of what you really are?"

"I know what I am and what I will be. Believe me, Dean Winchester, I have plans far greater than serving at the feet of a demon master."

"Oh, so you're crazy crazy."

She trod a short path round the altar at the centre of the circle, her shrewd eyes shifting between the three of them.

"Don't worry," she cooed, "Soon enough you'll be eating your words, Dean."

With that, she turned on her heel and positioned herself behind the altar again, resuming her muttered chants in the same low monotone as when they had found her.

Harry's eyes fixated upon the witch's movements as an idea began to formulate in his mind. He looked to his left and to his right, seeing that both Sam and Dean were continuing to struggle against their invisible bonds.

Harry began to fight hard against his own restraints, struggling to raise his hands against Rebecca's tainted magic.

Willing his hand to make the movement necessary to cast a spell, Harry elected the strongest of the wandless charms he had learned, a 'levicorpus' aimed squarely at the centre of the witch's chest. The effect was instantaneous - her bare, mud-soaked feet lifted off the ground as she was propelled backwards, away from the three men in front of her. Landing heavily on the stone altar, the bright flame engulfed her slight frame as her shocked scream rang out in the night air. The effect of her spell was broken along with her focus and Harry wasted no time after dropping to the damp forest floor, using a spell to hold Rebecca in place as the fire ravage her body.

Her screams grew wilder and more desperate the longer she remained in the fire and Harry ignored the revulsion at himself and the dark waves of magic that emanated from her burning form. Just as one last burst of magic brushed against his side, Rebecca's scream faded to nothing and the blackened corpse in the flame finally stilled.

Harry lowered his arm and bent over double, his breathing short and shallow as he reckoned with what he had done. He had, over the years, been forced into situations that had necessitated him to defend himself or others. But no matter how evil an opponent he was facing or how justified he felt in committing the act, killing would never be something that was natural to him.

As the crackle of the fire was the only sound in the otherwise silent night, Harry raised his gaze to observe the reaction of the two hunters. Both seemed equally perturbed by what they had just witnessed, avoiding Harry's eye in an obvious attempt to hide their unsettled reactions.

Dean was the one to break the silence. "Well… so much for those great plans of hers."