Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Supernatural are not mine.
CHAPTER THREE: Fanmi A (The Family)
The next seven weeks were, without a doubt, the best Harry had ever experienced.
The day after they arrived in the US, Pastor Jim - as he insisted on Harry calling him - introduced the teen to a doctor friend of his. He was given his first complete physical ever and, despite the uncomfortable nature of parts of the exam, he was relieved to find that other than a little malnourishment he was in good health. The physician was confident Harry's growth and weight issues could easily be dealt with if he followed a strict diet and vitamin program for the next twelve months. He may never be as tall as his father, who stood a generous six feet one inch, but he would gain an average height for his age. Harry was happy with that.
His poor sight, Harry learned, had been exasperated by his years of inadequate nutrients growing up. A visit to the local Optometrist to discuss their options - glasses were an unnecessary inconvenience and hazard for the life they would be living - and while younger than they typically liked, Harry would be eligible for corrective laser surgery after his sixteenth birthday. They agreed that would be the route to go since they might not always be able to refill a prescription for contact lenses.
The obvious signs of abuse, current and older, were a cause of concern for everyone all around, but the Doctor was satisfied that Harry had been taken out of the environment and wasn't going back. He commended Caleb on doing what was necessary to protect his son. Especially considering that son was unknown to him until only a couple weeks prior.
The DNA test that was arranged took five weeks to come back to them and, once it was scientifically and undeniably confirmed, the guardianship papers were submitted through a Judge that was part of Pastor Jim's congregation. There was no way anyone could take Harry from his father now; at least not legally.
Caleb and Jim spent a great deal of time bringing his education back to what it should be. Maths and Sciences were especially lacking but without the pressure of Hogwarts, or life with the Dursleys, Harry was flourishing. He was no genius, and never would be, but he was smart and when he applied himself he was brilliant.
Working with a teacher at the local high school, they were able to accommodate Harry's educational needs and the fact that he would be travelling throughout the year with his father. Working through the summer months and at his own pace, everyone was convinced that Harry could graduate on time if not early.
Education was not the only thing they addressed during that time. For those seven weeks, every precaution was being taken as far as Harry's safety was concerned.
Jim and Caleb taught him what they did, hunting the evils of Supernatural America, and began his training in the weapons and tools they used. Harry was a fast study of Latin, already having a basis of the dead language from the spells he had learned in school. A lot of the lore he already knew and was able to advance rather quickly to the more obscure creatures.
He was introduce to Bill and Ellen Harvelle, as well as their daughter, Jo, who was only a few weeks younger than him, when the family had come to visit Jim two weeks after Harry and Caleb had arrived. They stayed for a week, Jo and Harry hitting it off to the amusement of their parents. Harry's second kiss - as well as his third and fourth - was enjoyed on a warm afternoon when the two teens had been lounging next to the small creek that ran behind the neighborhood. Harry had to admit, they were so much better than the very awkward, and very wet, first one he had shared with Cho Chang. Nothing serious every developed between him and Jo and, when the Harvelles left, they parted as good friends and nothing more.
Meeting Bobby Singer had been an experience. The gruff man had showed up without notice and took one look at Harry before determining that no one else was skilled enough to teach him about Demons. Harry found the colourful insults the grizzly man came up with, as he lamented the loss of a book after another hunter and the man's sons had tapped Bobby for information, amusing. He then went off on a tangent about how sticky fingered Hunters were the bane of his existence. Harry won the bet between him and Caleb over the number of times Bobby called Winchester an 'Idjit'; it had been seventeen times.
The three days the man had said he would stay went by quickly and extended into another six when he discovered Harry's culinary skills. Only when Harry placed a bill next to Bobby's breakfast plate one morning did Bobby deem it time to leave.
After paying his tab, of course.
Jim quickly became a Grandfather-like presence in Harry's life. Unlike the persona Dumbledore had cultivated, Jim truly seemed to care about everyone that visited his home. The Pastor would make sure to set time from his day aside, even if it was only a few minutes, to seek Harry out. He would ask him about his day, how he was adjusting to his new situation, and genuinely wanted to hear the answers. Some conversations carried long into the night and Jim brought a comfort to his life that Harry had never had before.
But it was the relationship with Caleb that drastically changed everything.
The man was a soldier and it showed. Every morning he woke Harry and the two worked through an exercise regime that was designed to strengthen Harry without bulking him up. It was tough work, and the first few weeks were agony for the teen, but Caleb never once insulted or belittled him for his lack of physical ability. His father was encouraging, supportive, and even though he pushed him he never demanded more of Harry than what he was capable of.
The time spent together with his new Father was awkward, at first. Knowing that Caleb already knew everything that had happened in his life, Harry didn't know what they could talk about. It was Caleb who bridged that gap; talking to Harry about events in his life and how he felt and what he was thinking about at the time. It led Harry into recounting moments more about feelings and thoughts than the events themselves. Having someone listen to him, to accept what he said without comment or opinion, was not something Harry had ever had before. Caleb quickly became a support in his life that Harry had sorely missed. After nearly sixteen years, he felt he finally knew what it meant to have family.
His sixteenth birthday had also been memorable. It had started with his midnight ritual. He hadn't been expecting anything, but was pleasantly surprised to see Hedwig for the first time in weeks winging her way to Jim's back stoop. She carried a letter from Luna wishing him a Happy Birthday and explaining that Hedwig had shown up at her place the day after school let out. The owl had refused every letter not sent by Luna, and the girl had thought it best to keep contact to a minimum given the state of things back in the UK.
Harry's disappearing had not been received well by the ministry. The Prophet was reporting that his vanishing act was all but an admittance of his guilt in Hermione's death and Ron's injury. Minister Fudge was claiming that Harry was in collusion with the Mass Murderer Sirius Black (The Ministry had gone back on their statement of Voldemort's return and were now back to denying the Dark Lord had returned.) and together they had attacked the ministry. Arrest warrants had been issued for Harry Potter for the offense, for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive, as well as the assaults on several Heads of prominent Pure Blood families, and the murder of Hermione Granger.
Luna went on to tell Harry that Neville had left his grandmother's house and was now staying with the Lovegoods. Neville had been very angry with Dame Longbottom's comments in the press about the incident at the Ministry and the fact that she would not believe him when he told her he had gone of his own free will. She was pressing charges against Harry for using the Imperius Curse on her grandson. It was also looking like Molly Weasley was claiming the same for her two children and Ginny was going along with it.
Despite how much she and Neville were missing him, they both agreed that wherever Harry was it was far safer for him than anywhere in Europe. She did not want him to reply and told him to keep Hedwig with him. There had been several attempts to bespell his familiar to find and track him by Dumbledore and his people. The owl had nearly taken the Headmaster's ear off during the man's last attempt.
Harry was more than a little upset reading the letter, but in reality he wasn't that surprised. He had no plans to return at England, ever if he could help it. The Goblins of New York were working with their cousins in London to bring Harry's wealth over without alerting the British Ministry. They were confident it could be done before Halloween.
Even so, the reality of the situation was a blow to his already fragile emotional state.
Caleb had found him an hour later, his father having sensed something amiss, sitting in the middle of the backyard with Hedwig affectionately grooming through Harry's hair. The teen had been crying quietly and could only hand over the letter when asked what had been the matter. After reading it, Caleb remained next to Harry until the sun came up.
Breakfast brought a change to the mood of the day when Rufus Turner had arrived with several packages; all presents and all for Harry. Rufus had made the rounds, gathering the gifts from those who wanted to be there but couldn't be; The Harvelles, Bobby. Jo's had come with instructions not to open until he was alone. The racy, nearly nude photos of the girl and her friends in some very skimpy bikinis had left Harry wishing he had paid attention to the instructions. Jim, while disapproving, had laughed along with Caleb at the blush that colored Harry's face for the rest of the morning.
The day had only gotten better, progressing into an impromptu gathering of a few hunters who were in the area. None of them were aware of natural born magic, but all of them were very happy for Caleb to have found family. That was the day that Harry learned what had pulled his father into Hunting: the death of the man's wife and unborn child, by an angry spirit in the home they had been renting, ten years prior. Harry's heart had broken for the man, though Caleb reassured him that he had come to terms with their passing. It was nothing he had done, or could have prevented, and he had a skill set that could help stop the same fate from befalling another young family.
Daniel Elkins was probably the most memorable Hunter Harry met that day. The man was so paranoid he put Mad Eye Moody to shame. He had been the hunter who had rid Caleb's home of the angry spirit and had taken the young widower under his wing. Elkins had trained Caleb and the two had hunted for several years together until Caleb ventured out on his own. The two were good friends and Daniel had made Caleb promise to bring Harry by some time to tweak his son's training.
All things considered, it had been a good day. At the end of it, Harry had made friends as well as some interesting acquaintances.
So much happened in the little house in Blue Earth, Minnesota that it hurt to leave. When Caleb told him, a couple weeks after his birthday, that he'd heard from the Goblins in New York that some European wizards had been asking questions about him, Harry didn't want to go. He knew, however, that they'd already stayed too long.
"You have your phone," Jim assured him from inside the warm hug they shared while Caleb loaded up their things into the truck. "I am never more than a call away and I expect to hear from you every other day at least."
Harry was smiling, even as he sniffed back the tears, and held on to the older man. God, he was turning in to such a girl! But then he'd never had family like this before. His face was buried into Jim's shoulder and his voice muffled as he spoke. "You'll get sick of me after how much I call you."
"Never!" Jim laughed and gently pried the teen from his frame. "Now, you'll be back in two weeks to register for school and get the fall semester's assignments. In the meantime, you're not going far."
"First hunt," Harry said nervously. He glanced over at his father who stood waiting next to the truck, letting his son have all the time he needed for his good-byes. "I wish I could do more to help him with it."
"You found her, Harry." Jim reminded him as he steered him off the porch and toward the drive. "If you hadn't expanded on what we suspected about banshees, we never would have seen the pattern of death's in Neoga. And, now that you know they are a variation of an Angry Spirits, you and Caleb will be able to research what you need to find her and put her to rest before anyone else is hurt. When you're ready, and by that I mean when your father thinks you are ready, you'll be able to do more."
Having heard the end of the comment, Caleb laughed. "No grave desecrations until you're eighteen."
Wrinkling his nose, Harry maturely stuck his tongue out before giving Pastor Jim one last hug and racing around to the passenger side of the truck. "I'm raiding your CD stash!"
Caleb was still chuckling as he reached out and shook the old preacher's hand. "Thank for everything, Jim."
Pastor Jim gave his arm a tug and had him in a warm hug before he could object. "Call if you need anything, even if you just want to talk."
Clapping the man on the back, he just nodded and climbed into the truck beside his son. "You ready to head out?" He asked and started the engine.
Harry waved one last time to Pastor Jim and nodded enthusiastically. "You bet, Dad."
Effingham, Illinois, USA
August 20, 1996
Four days later, Harry was starting to regret leaving Jim's place.
While it was great helping his Dad research the deaths that had been occurring around Neoga, Illinois the last few decades, the reality of Hunting was not as glamorous as Bobby and Rufus had made their stories sound. There was no place to stay in Neoga - the township was barely two thousand people - and the closest motel in Effingham fifteen minutes to the south. In fact, so many buildings were vacant in Neoga that it was surprising only one of them was actually haunted.
Finding the lair of the Banshee had been easy; it was the house that everyone in town was afraid of. No one had lived in it in eighteen years but the ghost's wailing could be heard nightly. Most of the time it was a faint cry on the wind but, true to the lore, those who heard it the loudest claimed to have seen a woman with wild hair and white eyes outside their homes. She would point at them screeching and they, or someone close to them, died within days.
Finding who the Banshee was when she'd been alive had been much harder.
The house had resulted in absolutely nothing and most of the homes on the block were empty as well so there were not many people around to talk to. That left them looking in the public library but it was only a satellite branch of the larger Library in Effingham. With Caleb to take the truck up to Neoga to ask questions, posing quite legitimately as a Paranormal Investigator, Harry was left to walk over to the Library to look through back issues of the county papers. It was long and tedious and most of the time downright boring!
Still, Harry had been excited when he found the issue from 1934. A young woman had been living in the house with her husband. Despite the hardships of the Great Depression, Constance Michener had been making a name for herself as a fortune teller. People from all around Illinois would venture to her for tarot and tea readings and her predictions were always accurate. Some would find work at her advice, or love, while others were forewarned of danger or would perish as she had foretold
The article Harry had shared with his father just the previous night had gone on to say that her husband became sick and lost his job when he could no longer work. Unable to afford a doctor or medicines, Mr. Michener's condition worsened and he slipped into a coma. Constance had never left his bed side, weeping and wailing, refusing all visitors until they stopped coming. When he died, her grief consumed her and her shrieks could be heard throughout the township. The following morning, when a neighbor went to check on her, Constance was found dead beside her husband. There was no apparent cause of death and many claimed she had died of a broken heart.
It took another morning of research before Harry had been able to find where the woman was buried. So that left Harry alone, in a very boring motel room, while Caleb staked out the cemetery in Neoga until night fell and he was able to dig up Constance's remains and salt and burn them.
And god help him, Harry was so terribly bored!
Walking away from the inane sitcom that he had found on the Motel's basic cable, he grabbed a handful of change from a pile on the table, slipped his wand into his back pocket, and opened the door. He carefully stepped over the line of salt, using the toe of his boot to straighten it, and exited the room.
The motel parking lot was quiet as Harry walked down the narrow sidewalk just outside their room. The streetlamps cast their light over the handful of vehicles in the parking lot. A beat up truck parked to the side of the office, most likely belonging to the evening desk clerk, a couple of nearly rusted out pieces of junk that probably hadn't moved since 1978, and a black beauty that Harry had to pass on his way to the vending machine.
The long, sleek body was gorgeous, even to one not educated in the ways of American Made Muscle Cars. He couldn't help but stop and admire the polish of the midnight paint and the light grey tint to the side and back windows. Harry was practically drawn to it and he didn't resist, stepping a little closer. He whistled at it appreciatively and ran a hand over the hood.
"Don't touch the car."
A deep voice snapped Harry out of his trance and he yanked his hand back as if burned, glancing to the side. A tall, muscular man stood in an opened doorway with his leather jacket clad arms folded over his chest. He wore a deep shadow of stubble along his jaw line and his brown eyes were nearly black in the dark of night.
Harry grinned sheepishly and took a step back. "Sorry. I've never seen a car like her before. She's a beauty."
"Thank you." The man's expression didn't change, but there seemed to be a softening around his eyes. "I don't suppose they make them like this in Jolly Ol' England." The man said, obviously commenting on Harry's undeniable accent. He pushed off the door frame and walked past the teen to the trunk of the car.
With a snort of amusement, Harry shook his head. "No, never saw anything like her where I came from."
"Who're you talking to, Dad?" a voice from inside the opened motel room had Harry glancing back to the row of rooms and allowed a small smile at the sight of a boy stepping out into the lot. The gangly teen was nearly as tall as Harry's short stature but he couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen.
"Your brother get in the shower okay, Sammy?" the man asked as he opened the trunk and reached inside.
"Yeah," the boy replied, keeping a wary eye on Harry. "He, uh, said you can take a look when he's cleaned up."
"I'll be right there," the father lifted a duffle out of the trunk and closed it after him. "Go back inside now, Sammy."
"Sorry," Harry apologised with a small wave to the man. "I didn't mean to keep you from your kids. Have a good night."
He started to walk away, resuming his short trek to the vending machine when the man called after him. "You on your own, kid?"
Harry shook his head as he walked backwards. "No, my father's up in Neoga on business. He's supposed to be back soon."
"Good to hear," the man nodded and motioned to the door to his motel room. "You need anything before then, come find me. The name's John."
"Harry; and I appreciate that, John," Harry stopped beside the pop machine just as the cell phone in his pocket started to ring. "That's probably my dad now telling me he's on his way back."
"All right then. Bye Harry."
"Bye. And again, it's a really nice car!"
Harry was rewarded with a small smile as the man closed the door and he smiled himself as he flipped open his Motorola. "Hey, Dad."
"Hey Harry," Caleb's voice was accompanied by the sound of a shovel moving through the dirt. "I wanted to let you know I got held up by a night time service at the graveyard."
"Seriously?" Harry chuckled as he wedged the phone between his chin and shoulder, reaching into his pocket for the correct change. "Who has a funeral at this time of night?"
"It was a wedding," the man laughed. "Some gothic thing - quite lovely, actually - but they only left about an hour ago so I'm just now getting to the casket."
"Miss Michener hasn't given you any trouble, has she?" He asked into the phone cradled no his shoulder with his chin while he slipped the change into the motel parking lot vending machine.
"Surprisingly quiet; I thought she would have kicked up a fuss when I started digging. Especially since someone else had been in her house some time this afternoon or early evening."
Harry frowned and took hold of the phone to relieve his neck. "Any idea who it was?"
"Other hunters, maybe, or some local kids playing around. Either way, they riled her enough to have the neighbors calling me with their concerns. When I went to check the place there was definite signs of a confrontation; something or someone went through a wall. Whoever it was probably got hurt. If I weren't taking care of her tonight I'd be worried."
"You've salted around the grave, right?" Harry asked worriedly, looking over the choices of sodas. "If whoever they were got her agitated, I really don't like you out there on your own.
Caleb chuckled through the phone. "Not my first Salt n' Burn, Harry."
"I know that." Harry pressed his selection and waited as the plastic bottle dropped into the bottom of the machine. "But I've heard a few of the stories of your hunts."
"That was one time!" Caleb protested. "I forgot to ring the grave one time!"
"And you were laid up with a broken hip for four months after that."
The man on the other end sighed. "Yes, Harry, I've salted around the grave."
"Thank you, I feel better now." Harry smiled to himself. "How long do you think you'll be?"
"Not long," his father answered with a grunt of exertion. "Another half hour here at most then twenty minutes back. So an hour, give or take. Your research was spot on, Harry. Constance Michener is buried right where you said she'd be. You don't sound like you're in the room."
"Stepped out for a drink," the reached down to retrieve his Dr. Pepper. "I'm fifteen metres from the door and there's no one else out here but me. Well, there was this one guy with a seriously sweet car, but he just told me not to touch it and went back in his room with his kids."
Caleb chuckled with amusement. "So long as you've got that talisman the goblins gave you, and you don't muck up those salt lines."
"In my back pocket with my wand." Harry smiled, warmth spreading through his chest at the concern the man showed him.
"No magic, even if the thing does hide it."
"I know Dad." He turned and started walking back. "I'm heading back to the roo-" his words caught in his throat at the flickering apparition that appeared between him and the door to his room, hovering just outside John and his kids' room. "Uh, Dad, are ghosts known to move haunting locations?"
"Unless they've latched on to a person, typically no."
"Good to know." The dead woman's form coalesced and she shifted, her pale white eyes locking on to him when she sensed him standing behind her. She screamed and rushed him, causing him to scramble backward. "Dad, dig faster!"
He dropped the bottle and phone when he dove out of the way when the ghost suddenly lunged at him. Harry hit the pavement hard and she shrieked at him again, the sound grating on his eardrums. He rolled to avoid another swipe of her talon-like hands, his body stopping against the tires of the black muscle car, and he grabbed his wand from its place in his pocket.
He didn't know any spell that could banish a ghost but something Jim told him had stuck with him: Magic, like prayer, was intent based. Want something badly enough and chances are you'd make it happen. And as the screaming bitch came at him again it was easy to really want her gone!
Thrusting his arm out, his wand directed at the swooping ghost, he shouted the first thing that came to mind. "Retórque malum!"
With a blood curdling scream the Banshee went flying back, flickered a bit, but didn't vanish. The few seconds he gained allowed Harry to scramble to his feet and away from the car. He only needed to make it to the room and he'd be safe.
He was surprised when the door the John's motel room suddenly burst open and the man stood on its threshold with a sawed-off shotgun. "Get down!"
Recognizing the command from a soldier, Harry didn't hesitate and dropped belly to the ground. With a thunderous clap of gunfire he realized just how close the Banshee had been to him again. She was right behind him when whatever the gun had been loaded with pebbled her and she vanished, her scream still ringing in the night.
"Inside, now!" John had taken a step forward, coming out onto the sidewalk to help the young man to his feet, when the entity appeared only a few feet in front of them.
Harry just reacted, pointing his wand and shouting "Protego!"
The Banshee's talon's raked across a near visible shield of magic which gave John the opportunity to pump the shotgun again and take a second shot. The apparition dispersed in a swirl off ectoplasm and John wasted no time in hurrying Harry into the motel room. A blonde teenager, maybe a year or two older than Harry, was standing just inside the room waiting to slam the door behind the pair. Sammy was kneeling on the opposite side of the door with a canister of rock salt and quickly fixing the line across the threshold.
Panting to regain his breath, Harry took a few paces further in to the room before turning to thank the man who had likely just saved his life. The words on his tongue never passed his lips as the heavy fist struck him across the side of his face.
Black exploded across his vision and he felt his body hit the ground. He didn't completely lose consciousness, but he couldn't get his limbs to respond to his commands to fight back as the wand was plucked from his hand. His ears were ringing, the black already giving way to grey, and he felt the world shift around him as he was lifted off the floor.
"Dad-?" a young but deep voice inquired but was cut off by John's curt order.
"Get some rope."
That did not bode well for the dazed boy, yet he was barely capable of a token protest when he was deposited into an uncomfortably hard chair. He shook his head to clear the fog while his arms were bulled behind his back, around the straight back of the chair, and a length of course rope was quickly wound around his wrists.
"Shit!" Harry cursed and felt the warmth of blood running from a throbbing pain at the corner of his lips. He stretched out his jaw and looked up when he heard the pump of the shotgun sound again, unsurprised to find in aimed at him. "You're a hunter."
"And you're a witch." John snarled with an unforgiving glare focused solely on the teen. "His feet too, Dean."
The ropes binding his wrists were pulled tight and Harry hissed with pain as they were knotted with absolutely no give to them. Then the tawny haired teen, Dean, knelt in front of Harry and the chair and began winding a second piece of hemp around his ankles. The guy looked decidedly uneasy, dripping wet and only in a pair of boxers, and there was something apologetic in the pale green eyes when Dean looked up at him. But Harry knew he would get no help from him or the other teen. Sammy stood beside the door, the canister of salt clasped between his hands, as he watched wide eyed as his father held the weapon on Harry.
John stepped forward and a swinging backhand turned Harry's head with a solid thwack. "You don't look at them, Witch!"
"I'm not a witch!" Harry spat, turning a glare of his own on the intimidating man. "I'm a Wizard!" A second strike across his face had Harry silently pleading for Caleb to hurry up.
"It doesn't matter what you call yourself," John reengaged the safety of the gun and set it on the table, next to where he had placed Harry's wand. "You still dealt with some evil hell-spawn. What was it called?"
And this is why Caleb and Pastor Jim warned him not to let other hunters know of his magic. "Goddamn it, there was no deal! I'm natural born!"
"No such thing." John shook his head and walked into the bathroom.
"Just like there's no such thing as ghosts?" Harry yelled back.
Sammy snorted where he stood and Harry looked at him, giving the younger boy a wry smirk. His attention was pulled to the older teen that was sliding on a pair of well-worn jeans. Dean's back was to Harry and the bound wizard could see the mass of bruises coloring the other teenager's shoulders and spine.
"You were the one who went through the wall," Harry put it together.
Dean looked over his shoulder at their captive, a grimace of pain on his face vanishing quickly in a mask of indifference. The blonde tugged a t-shirt over his head and turned to face Harry. "What do you know about it?"
Harry didn't get the chance to answer as John came back into the room. A second later Harry was snarling against the knotted hand towel the hunter had tied across his mouth to gag him. The fabric pulled against the split in his lip, but he was helpless in his restraints as he listened to the man ordering his sons.
"Sammy, get that book we snagged from Bobby's-" Harry groaned as he realized just who had him tied up. He wanted to tell them that they knew his Dad, and the others that Harry knew, but his muffled attempts were being ignored. "-and see if it says anything about Witches controlling ghosts. Dean, start checking him for the Demon's mark."
"But Dad," Sammy glanced over at Harry with a doubtful frown, "I've read-"
"Now, Sammy." There was no arguing with that tone of voice, and it was apparent the younger boy knew it. He walked over to a pile of duffle bags and started riffling through them.
Dean spared the bound teed another apologetic look before he started moving Harry's clothes around. He pushed up the legs of his jeans, pulling off his boots and socks. The sleeves of his t-shirt were slid up his arms and the limbs inspected. He grunted his discomfort at some of the ways Dean tried to contort him without untying him, and with a whispered "Sorry" Dean kept going.
"Better than that, son," John corrected from his spot next to the window. The older man was pushing the curtains aside a bit as he looked out into the parking lot. Harry didn't think he'd even turned his head to look at his oldest son's progress.
"Yes sir," Dean complied instantly. A pocket knife was retrieved from the young hunter's jeans and Harry's eyes went wide when the blade was flicked out. He jerked in his restrains, cursing all of them around the gag, but could do little more than rock the chair.
A steady hand on his knees brought the chair back to balance and Dean's eyes gleamed with sympathy despite the emotionless expression. "Hold still, I don't want to cut you accidentally."
The tip of the knife sliced into the collar of Harry's shirt and in less than a minute the fabric had been cut away from his torso. He was shivering in the ropes as Dean's hands and eyes roamed his upper body, looking for any anomalous marks or means of hiding said mark. Harry looked past the older teen crouched beside him and glared at John who was now watching the proceedings with a matching glare.
A minute later, Dean turned to look at his father. "There's nothing there, only a couple of wicked looking scars."
"The pants." The command brought the already quiet room to a complete stand still. The man's own sons were looking at John like he'd gone crazy while Harry was staring at him because he knew John was crazy!
Dean's resolve to obey seemed to waver as he stood in front of Harry, his stance protective yet uncertain. "Dad, you always told us the marks are closest to the heart; Chest, back, neck or face; sometimes on a pulse point. It's not anywhere!"
"And the pulse point on the thigh?" John's face hardened, the glare he had aimed at Harry now turned to his own son. "The pants, Dean."
"Dad, stop!" Sammy joined his older brother, a rebellious stare marring his youthful face. "Bobby has books about Natural born Witches! I've read some of them! People like that are rare, but they do happen!"
"Not everything you read is the truth, boy." John snarled in a tone reminiscent of Uncle Vernon and Harry wondered how anyone could speak to their own kid like that.
"The Banshee went after him, Dad." Dean said quietly. "You saw it and wanted to help him."
"That was before I knew he was a goddamn, demon dealing, witch!" John snapped. "You were watching; you saw him use magic trying to control it."
Harry frantically shook his head while Sammy seemed to speak for him. "No, Dad, I heard him use his magic trying to protect himself! Retórque malum is Latin for 'Turn Evil'! You taught us that when you were trying to get us to memorize the different exorcism rights! And the last one, Protego, is pretty self explanatory, don't you think?"
John's incensed eyes bore past his sons straight to Harry's frightened face. Practically roaring he stalked toward the three boys, pushing between his children while pulling a pistol from the small of his back. The barrel pressed into Harry's forehead and it was all the helpless wizard could do not to piss himself. He couldn't stop the tears that stung his eyes, however.
"You will stop whatever you are doing to my sons or I will put a bullet through your brain to make you." John's voice was chilling and Harry believed every word.
"Dad, look at him." A hand appeared on John's unwavering arm, Dean standing right next to his father as he tried to calm the homicidal man. "He's scared shitless. If he was a Demon deal Witch he would be fighting more than he has been."
Without a word, the hunter flicked the safety off the pistol.
Harry closed his eyes, the tears escaping and trailing down his cheeks, and bit into the knot of fabric filling his mouth. He choked back the terrified sobs, praying that John would listen to his sons; praying that the insane man would listen to reason; praying that Caleb would arrive to save the day.
And for the second time in his life, his prayers were answered. With a crack that had all three Winchesters spinning around, the door to the motel room burst open.
Caleb Reaves was, generally, a pleasant man. But having heard the Banshee attacking his son over the phone had him performing the fastest salt n' burn of his life. The gunshots and shouts that echoed through the connection had confirmed for him the presence of other Hunters in the area; hunters that would not know about Harry and his natural born gift. He had left the open grave burning while he raced back to Effingham with the gas pedal flush to the floor. He had gotten back to the motel in less than ten minutes only to find his son's cell phone not far from an all too familiar black Impala.
He had found the Winchester's room easily enough and the curtains had not been closed all the way, allowing the irate father a glance into the room. The scene inside had his blood boiling and he wasted no more time. He had kicked open the door to the Winchester's room with his own weapon drawn and aimed at the man who had held the gun to his son's head.
"Caleb!" Sammy exclaimed, recognizing the newcomer.
Not moving he eyes from the threat, Caleb stared John down. "I'm only going to say this one time, Winchester. Get away from my son!"
There was surprise on all three Winchester's faces, though Sammy's held an air of excitement as well. The two teens moved aside but John remained unmoving and his gun still readied.
"Your son?" The older man snarled disbelievingly. "You don't have a son, Reaves; especially not one this old. He's put you under a spell like he did my boys!"
The pistol in John's hand turned to aim back to Harry but Caleb was trying to save his son and reacted faster. The gunshot echoed loudly in the small room and John went down to his knees with a cry of pain, his offhand clutching at his now bleeding hand that had dared hold the gun on Caleb's son.
Caleb stormed the distance between them quickly, kicking John's gun back out the door and keeping his smoking revolver aimed at the injured man. "It's only because of your own children I didn't put that bullet through your thick skull!"
Said children were now staring with a mixture of disbelief and anger at Caleb but neither moved any closer to their father. Never looking away from the glaring John Winchester, Caleb pulled a large knife from its sheath hidden beneath his pant leg with his free hand and moved beside his son. "You okay, Harry?" He asked while deftly slicing through the ropes around the young man's wrists.
Shaking the severed cords from his arms, Harry nodded as he reached behind his head to untie the gag. "Yeah," he answered breathlessly when he could speak again. He tossed the offending towel aside and hastily wiped the tears from his cheeks and eyes. His father offered the knife to him and he took it, cutting the cords around his ankles before giving it back.
Silence carried through the room as Harry donned his shoes and sock again and made to stand. Caleb held on to his elbow as Harry regained his balance on shaky legs. His thumb brushed over the blood oozing from the split lip and the bruising rapidly showing up on the side of his boy's face. His light brown eyes were awash with barely constrained fury and he nudged Harry toward the door. "Grab your wand and head back to the room. Start packing our things, I'll be along in a minute."
Retrieving the phoenix and holly wand, Harry turned and pointed it the pile of fabric that had been his shirt. With a quick, almost defiant, "Reparo" he picked up the newly repaired shirt and slipped it over his head. He smirked at the Winchester's looks - one amazed, another uncertain, and the last downright murderous - and his father's own amused grin.
"Show off," Caleb muttered affectionately.
Once Harry had left the room, the amusement left Caleb's features and he turned a rage filled glare at the still kneeling hunter. "If you ever come near my son again I will not hesitate to put another bullet in you." When John opened his mouth to protest, Caleb halted anything he said by raising the barrel to the spot between the man's eyes.
"He's really natural born?" Sammy spoke up quickly, ignoring the glare directed his way by his father.
Caleb nodded and arched an eyebrow in challenge at the other father. "You can call and ask Pastor Jim; Harry and I just spent the last two months with him. Or Bill and Ellen. Or Rufus. Hell, even Bobby. But so help me, Johnny, if you tell anyone else about my son you will not live to regret it; children or not."
With an exhausted sigh, Caleb thumbed the safety on and lowered his gun. He looked over at the teens one last time before leaving the room and hurrying to help Harry pack up their gear. When he entered their room, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.
Caleb was beside him instantly, wrapping his arms tight around his son and holding him to reassure them both that Harry was still alive. "Good god, I do not like that feeling." Caleb muttered into the boy's hair.
"Me neither." Harry's voice hitched and he tightened his own hold around his father. "You and Pastor Jim warned me about other hunters, but... He really was going to shoot me, wasn't he?"
"I know," Caleb's breath shuddered in his chest as the image of the gun to Harry's head flashed before him again. "But you don't have to worry about him, or any of the other hunters for that matter. I'm not leaving you alone again."
"Good." Harry sniffed as the terror of the evening faded in the wake of his father's embrace. His heart was calming, his tears drying, and he was feeling a hell of a lot safer.
A soft knock on the door frame alerted the pair to the fact that Caleb hadn't shut the door when he came back. Looking up they saw an embarrassed looking Sammy Winchester standing there." Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to apologize to Harry."
"You don't have to." Harry sniffed and quickly wiped away his tears. "You tried, Sammy-"
"It's Sam, actually." The gangly teen shifted awkwardly on his feet.
"Sam, sorry." Harry shrugged, grateful that his Dad hadn't moved from beside him. "Anyway, you tried. You told your Dad about what you'd read and he didn't believe you. In fact you and your brother both tried to reason with your father. It's not your fault he's-"
Harry bit off the insult but Sammy - Sam - had a smirk tugging at his lips. "A stubborn bastard who wouldn't listen to God if He was screaming in his ear?"
Caleb snorted and grinned, and Harry smiled. "Just remember, you said it."
The younger boy nodded and took a step into the room, holding his hand out before him. "Hi, I'm Sam Winchester. Sorry my brother tied you up and that my Dad was going to shoot you."
Harry was still smiling and stood from the bed, taking the offered hand and the peace offering it represented. "Hi, Sam, I'm Harry Potter-Reaves. It wasn't the first time and I'm not sorry my Dad shot yours."
Sam's curiosity at that statement was plain, but he didn't press it. He just made an exaggerated wince and chuckled. "While cleaning a bullet wound sucks, I'm glad Caleb stopped him."
"Sammy!" Dean's voice carried through the parking lot and into the room.
The lightness of the moment fell away and Sam sighed. "I better get back. I told him I was coming over to snag a roll of gauze for Dad's hand." He pulled a full roll from his own pocket and smirked again. "Thanks for that."
"Anytime," Caleb returned the smile, once again amazed at the gentle spirit that was the youngest Winchester.
Sam nodded and turned to leave but faltered. He looked back at Harry with a hopeful expression. "Can I call sometime? Just to talk, you know? There are not many kids around my age that I can talk to about this stuff and it'd be nice to have someone other than Dean, ya know? Also, Natural Born Witch-"
"Wizard," Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes.
"-Wizard. I'd love to talk to you about your Magic and World."
The longing on the kid's face was damn near irresistible. Harry hesitated briefly, just until he looked to his father who nodded his approval, then walked over to the bed stand. He opened it, taking the pad of cheap paper and pen, and quickly jotted down his cell number. He held it out for Sam to take, which he did.
"SAMMY!"
The youngest Winchester rolled his eyes and shared a light laugh with Harry. "Thanks, Harry."
"Talk to you later, Sam."
The door closed with a click and Caleb stood behind his son with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think I know anyone else who could end a night like tonight by making a new friend."
"It's a gift." Harry smirked.
"Smartass," Caleb poked him in the ribs. He cupped Harry's chin in his hand and tilted the teen's head to gain a better look at the hurt done to Harry's face. "The bruises aren't too deep, and the lips looks like it'll heal up in a couple days. If you want I can get the first aid kit from the truck-"
Harry just shook his head. "It'll be fine. Let's pack and get out of here."
"All right," Caleb nodded. "We'll head up to Chicago for a couple days, maybe catch a Cubs game or two?"
Harry started gathering their things from around the room, tossing them to Caleb who put them into the appropriate duffle bags. "That's the game that's like Cricket, right?"
"You're kidding, right?" Seeing the honest confusion on his son's face, Caleb frowned. "You're not kidding. Now that's just not right!"
As his father went off about uneducated offspring, Harry had to turn his head away to hide his smile.
