Notes: A Crossover between Supernatural and Harry Potter. Not in any order,
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Harry/Hermione
The sound Harry gave out was not a scream per say, but something far worse and far more inhuman. Glass shattered, Hogwarts shook, and portraits scurried for cover even as the staff and students clutched at their ears.
Pain blinding him, he fired off a spell instinctively and managed to take down Malfoy by sheer luck as he staggered back. He began a blue streak even as the arena was dropped and people were rushing forward.
"Harry!" Hermione started, making sure not to touch him. He was half blinded and maddened by pain and quite dangerous because of that, "What did he hit?"
Harry blinked up at her, through tears and his naturally blurry vision, gasping, "My wing, he shattered my right wing!" Blood was flowing from the damaged appendage, pooling on the stonework floor.
She and Neville paled before Neville turned and shouted, "Madam Pomfrey! Malfoy shattered something!"
Even as the nurse approached, Hermione put a full body bind on her injured friend before conjuring towels and working to try to stem the blood loss.
Harry wanted to scream as she manipulated his wing but he could only force out a high-pitched squeal like sound.
Thankfully, his body finally surrendered to blissful darkness, his last thought being a weak call, 'Father, help me.'
He didn't know if his Father could appear inside Hogwarts but he prayed so.
When he next came to, he found himself on his stomach, in a hospital bed. His wing was still injured but the pain had decreased dramatically.
"Harry." A welcomed voice breathed in relief.
"Pops? You came."
"Damn straight we came," Dean retorted, "Nearly gave us all heart attacks. You okay? Gabriel could only heal you so much, blasted magic…"
"Destroyed the wards to get at you," another voice said, Sam.
"Dad? Is Father here too?"
"I am here Harry," A much more formal voice spoke, "please do not frighten us like this again. Many of our heavenly family descended upon this castle at your distressed call. Not to mention Crowley."
Harry groaned; he loved his family but they were all so high-strung. He tried to turn over but pain shot down his wing and spine, causing him to gasp.
"Better not, squirt," his uncle Gabriel sounded, "I could only fix most of the damage, not all; your wing's still busted, just not shattered."
Harry's eyes widened, asking desperately, "I'll still fly though right?"
"In a few days, might be a bit weak on that side for a few years."
"So, why were you in a duel in the first place?" his dad asked sternly
"The guy I was against called my friend…well, he called her a mudblood."
"What the hell's a mudblood?"
"It means she's not inbred, Pops. She doesn't have any magical relatives so assholes like him think she's worthless, she has mud for blood." Harry explained, "It's really derogatory, worse than that."
"You could have gone to the teachers, Harry," Sam, always the voice of reason, lectured.
"I was, Dad, I really was, but then the bastard mouthed off about my mom, called her a mudblood."
Silence reigned before, "Alright, you didn't do anything we wouldn't have done."
"Should've killed the little punk."
"Dean. While what the child said is unacceptable it is not Harry's prerogative to hand out justice as he sees fit."
Harry's stomach growled. Suddenly he had hands on him, helping him sit upright before another offered him a large slice of still hot apple pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.
"Thanks Uncle Gabe!" he chirped, digging in, even as his Dad and Pops braced his lower back with pillows. He paused to look at his wing; some of the pitch colored feathers were missing, giving the wing a half-plucked look and it was bound in bandages to restrict movement as it healed.
"Where's Uncle Crowley?" he asked around a mouthful seconds later; his Dad, his Pops, his Father, and Uncle Gabriel were all there with him.
"He and one of the fallen are…talking with the Malfoys." Gabriel grinned somewhat maliciously.
A shiver went up and down his spine so he didn't ask anymore.
It was a dark and stormy night; they were holed up in a very nice hotel for a change. Sam was reading, some sort of book about warding, and Dean was watching some sort of crime drama, He hadn't really caught the name of the show but the attractive female lead caught his attention as he was listlessly flipping through the available channels and the plot wasn't too bad. Cannibal serial killers were always twisted.
Besides, it wasn't as if he was fully focused on the TV anyways; the third part of their usual trio was MIA and had been for several hours. He was an angel, an actual literal Angel of the Lord, so he could take care of himself but still he was more often than not with them.
There was a roll of thunder and a clap of lightning and the lights flickered briefly but stayed on. Neither brother mentioned the vague feeling that this storm was anything but natural. After all, things had been extremely quiet since the last big dust-up and in their experiences that could never mean anything good. But what could they do? Nothing was popping up yet so it was a waiting game really.
Another boom and another clap before the sound of wings appeared.
Dean was immediately on his feet, seeing the angel, his angel, bent almost double; "Cas!"
"I am fine, Dean," Castiel spoke in that calm, gravelly voice of his, "however, I believe my passenger is injured." He stood up straight, revealing a chubby toddler. The kid was unconscious but had a severe cut on his forehead that was oozing a mixture of black ichor and red human blood.
"Shit." Sam grabbed the kid, laying it out on a bed before fetching the first aid kit.
"Where'd they come from?!" Dean demanded.
"His name is Harry Potter and he is my new charge," Castiel explained before reciting, "He comes from England. His parents were murdered by a Dark Lord and he was left upon the doorstep of his aunt. I have been chosen to raise him as he is very important to this world. He is a natural magic user, a wizard."
"Guys," Sam interrupted, clearly distressed, "I think, I think he's possessed."
Castiel nodded, "I was afraid so. We must work quickly; we will need to summon a high level demon."
They did a double-take, "What?!"
"His soul has been damaged, too damaged for us to heal him without killing him. We must mix Winchester blood, demon ichor, and angelic grace to allow him to survive."
Giving the angel a questioning look, Dean set to setting a devil trap and Sam began cleaning the boy, stripping him, looking for any other injuries.
Dean summoned Crowley who, after an explanation, a debate, and some bribery, consented to donating. The deal was that if the boy gained any powers Crowley got visitation rights. As long as they didn't kill anyone together.
Castiel conjured a silver bowl, a calligraphy brush made from unicorn mane and a fragment of the cross, and a couple of silver knives; together, the Winchesters slit their wrists, letting their blood flow freely into the bowl. Human blood had to be the base or Harry would be damaged even more. The blood was scarlet.
Crowley added his next, cutting both wrists; demon ichor would overpower the possessing spirit. The mix became a dark maroon and bubbled dangerously
Castiel went last, sacrificing a sliver of Grace; angelic grace would patch the soul where it was tattered. Harry was still so very young and that was the only thing that saved him.
Working quickly, Sam set to creating the runes and symbols needed; the most powerful one was drawn directly over the forehead wound. As he did so Castiel chanted in the Angelic tongue and Crowley in something far more demonic. Dean began a mumbled, hasty prayer in Latin.
The boy, still unconscious, gasped and shook and his eyes flew open, glowing an eerie green as the transformation took. Eventually, the mixture was used up and Harry Potter stilled.
A screeching, screaming inhuman sound began as a spirit exited the boy. It was hardly human looking, even compared to the other weird shit seen on the job. It lunged at Sam, but was promptly shot through with rock salt and then completely exorcised.
Of course, after that they had to leave the hotel in a hurry. They headed to Bobby's
Minerva McGonagall was unnerved; an American was on the Hogwarts register, one Harold Joshua Winchester, and she had been sent to inform the family.
She went through all the checkpoints and was escorted out to a comfortable ranch in the middle of nowhere, ('Montana' she reminded herself). Her escort stopped her outside the perimeter, pressed the button on a call box attached to the main gate and announced, loudly and clearly, "Officer Blaine Price, Wizard, here escorting one Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Natural Born Witch, from the United Kingdom, here to talk to one Harold Joshua Winchester about attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."
He finished and stepped back. Quickly, a man appeared from the visible front door. He was youngish, maybe too young to have an eleven year old son, and wearing an old jacket, denim trousers, and boots. He wielded a contraption ('a gun', Minerva's half-forgotten Muggle Studies classes supplied), and had it well aimed.
He came to the gate but didn't invite them in; instead, he nodded, "Price, I trust she's verified."
Officer Price nodded, "Clean."
The man turned to her, finally, held out his hand palm up, "Gimme your wand lady."
"Pardon me?" she snarled.
"I don't know ya, you're not comin' anywhere near my family with a wand. We've gone through enough shit from your kind." He replied angrily, "Hand it over or you can leave. Try force and you get a taste of rock salt, blessed silver, and the wrath of God himself." His eyes hardened, "You've got five seconds to decide."
She looked to the Officer escorting her to find herself at wand-point. Reluctantly, she passed over her wand.
The man took it before giving it to the Officer and then letting them in. Minerva was stunned to sense that she had just passed through a ward system more powerful than even Hogwarts'.
The man, a relation of some sort of young Harold's, finally introduced himself, "Dean Winchester, Harry's Pops. He's off at his Grandpa's but his Father, Dad, and two uncles are here. You speak to us first, then we might let ya speak to him."
She huffed, "Mister Winchester."
Dean frowned, "Don't call me that, that's my husband. Just Dean will do."
She frowned more severely, "Your…husband?"
Dean's face hardened even more, "Yeah, my husband. Look, we don't need that sort of bullshit. You have a problem with us, fine; but we and my brother take damn good care of Harry and I won't have anyone coming into our home and treating us like shit. You can turn yourself right around and leave."
Minerva held up her hands, "Mister Winchester, I shall not disrespect you or your family. I was merely unaware of the situation and confused."
His nostrils flared warningly but he nodded shortly, "Head on in, I'll be right behind you. Anything funny and ya won't get another warning."
Officer Price nodded, "Of course Dean, I assume your brother will be at the door?"
"Yeah, Sammy's waiting."
They turned on their heels and marched towards the door, to meet with a giant of a man. He had similar enough facial features to Dean that he must have been Sammy. He was also armed, although with a gun much smaller than Dean's.
"Officer, Headmistress, welcome to our home. I am Sam Winchester, Dean's brother and Harry's Dad. If you follow me, the rest are waiting in the living room. Please don't make any fast or sudden movements or we may in fact kill you."
They were led into a large, comfortable lounge where three more men waited.
"Gentlemen," Sam spoke, "This is Deputy Headmistress McGonagall; she's here about Harry going to her school in Scotland. Headmistress, this is Castiel Winchester, my brother-in-law and Harry's Father," he motioned to the strange acting man in a tan trench-coat.
"Greetings, Headmistress," Castiel spoke formally, his voice a low, rather soothing, rumble.
"That's Castiel's older brother, Gabriel Kirk," Sam waved at a fair-haired, short man sprawled over a couch, sucking a lollipop. Gabriel waved.
"And that is Crowley Gaiman, Harry's other Uncle," was a short, dark haired man in a well-tailored suit. He was relaxing in a comfy armchair, sipping from a glass of an amber liquid. He raised an eyebrow and toasted her.
"Please, take a seat."
Sam took a seat beside Gabriel and waited until the guests had sat down and Dean joined them.
"I shall assume that you are knowledgeable about the Magical World," Minerva began in clipped tones, "I am here upon the request of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before I continue, I have but one question. How is it that Harold Joshua Winchester, an American, is registered for our noble, Scottish institution?"
Dean, Castiel, and Sam looked at each other before Sam carefully replied, "Harry's adopted; he's English, so that must be why he showed up on your radar."
Minerva knew there was more to that story but felt it best to leave the subject be, "I see. Would you be adverse to enrolling him?"
"What exactly would he be learning?" Dean asked; his gun rested against his leg as he was sitting with Castiel.
"Charms, transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions," the witch rattled off.
"What about Runes? Warding? Healing?" Crowley demanded, disgusted.
"Ancient Runes is offered as an elective starting in Third Year, Warding is taught in that class. However, Healing is post-graduate vocational training."
"Could Harry enroll in Ancient Runes before Third Year?" Gabriel questioned.
Minerva paused, considering, "While it would indeed be an unusual request, such has been done before. Headmaster Dumbledore would have the final approval."
"Harry should not be housed with the other children at night," Castiel spoke up mildly, "he suffers from night terrors and insomnia and he may disrupt their sleeping patterns."
Minerva nodded, "I see, I shall make arrangements for private quarters then. I trust he is not disruptive or otherwise behaviorally challenged at all other times?"
"Oh, most times our boy's a real angel," Dean smirked.
"But when his temper's going then he can be a little demon." Sam finished.
Castiel smiled slightly, Gabriel and Officer Price snorted, and Crowley let out a deep, menacing chuckle. She was sure she was missing the joke completely but paid it no mind. She put her hand into the coat she wore and withdrew a heavy parchment envelope, "This is Mister Winchester's acceptance letter, supply list, and train ticket. He must be on the train by eleven am, English Time, on the first of September."
Sam took the package, "We understand, he'll be there. If that is all, Officer Price will escort you off our property. Don't try returning."
They said their partings and she left; though she had a feeling that that inauspicious meeting was only beginning.
Dean's eyes bulged slightly as he took in the infant section of the local Big Box Store.
Gabriel, who was in fact still alive, had come as a messenger from the big man upstairs, who had finally decided to get back to work and be, you know, God; apparently, Harry was so important to the whole divine plan, well, the new one after the Winchesters, and Castiel, had kicked the old one to shit, set it on fire, pissed on it, and then knifed a few of the more pushy beings just to be sure, that God was gifting them a nice cushy ranch in the ass end of nowhere, otherwise known as Montana USA, with the most powerful protective wards on Earth surrounding it, and a nice pension, actually the royalties from those god-awful books of his.
Unfortunately, the Ranch was in fact not furnished with things like beds or couches or tables and chairs, so the boys (and Castiel and Gabriel, who had demanded to tagalong) had rented a U-Haul and had gone shopping. Harry was with Bobby, who was now Grandpa and very annoyed by the whole deal really.
Being the ones with the most experience with children, although he had barely managed to raise his brother right all things considered, Dean and Gabriel, with the whole messenger to the Virgin shtick, were assigned to baby-supply shopping. Sam, and a confused but willing Castiel as his Angelic buddy, was getting everything else.
The problem was, it had been a good few decades since Dean had done anything like this so there were more choices now, he hadn't really been paying attention the first time around, seeing as his Mother had been alive and his dad had been an actual Dad, anything baby-related stuff they had had had gone up in the House Fire, so there was no hand-me-downs to use, and then the family had been living in the Impala and motels so they had had to travel light.
They were doomed.
"So, Dean-o," Gabriel drawled, "What's first on the list?"
"Crib, the crib should be first."
"No can do, kiddo," Gabriel retorted.
"Harry needs a crib."
"He has wings, Genius, they won't fit."
About to snidely reply, the human stopped short. Were baby angels that different than baby humans?
"A nest," Gabriel explained, "we just get a playpen, one of those canvas sided ones, and some indecently soft blankets, pile them in, and, ta-da! Fledging's nest."
"Couldn't he, you know, smother himself?" Dean pointed out.
"Nah, fledglings can't die as easily as you weaklings."
"Weaklings that kicked your ass," Dean shot back in a low voice, glaring hatefully at the annoying midget of a man.
Gabriel conjured a flatbed trolley and pushed it along, scanning the available playpens.
Dean, muttering blasphemes under his breath, followed along. After some debate and an Internet search for safety rankings and reviews they agreed on the Foundation Elite Play Yard. It was expensive, a hundred and fifty bucks a pop, but it wasn't like money was a problem anymore and Harry deserved the best, safest playpen possible.
They pulled four of them, piling the boxes on the flatbed, before moving on. They grabbed a dozen or so bottles, knowing that Harry was still in the transition from formula to solids, more liners than they could count, and then a dozen or so sippy cups. Trying to forestall the inevitable messes, they decided on segmented trays over plates for infants. Three dozen bibs and then they moved onto highchairs and car seats.
It would be tricky, with Harry's wings, but they needed a car seat and so finally settled on the "Evenflo SecureKid DLX Booster Car Seat'. At a hundred and fifty dollars. Good thing they only needed one.
Kids were expensive nowadays.
The stroller was even more costly, at four hundred, and they would have to modify it for Harry's wings, but it was foldable, lightweight, sturdy, and, once Gabriel got his hands on it, all terrain. A changing table, enough diapers and pull-ups to fill a landfill completely, a potty training chair, and then they were onto clothes.
A manly man Dean was, he softened a bit at the thought. Pajamas, two-piece and footy, shirts and pants, only two plaid shirts amongst the lot, dozens of little socks and gloves, and then jackets.
In the end, baby-stuff ended up costing near two grand and that was only because they signed up for the customer loyalty program and several items were on sale or had bulk discounts.
"Whoa!" he helped the boy up after he had crashed into him, "Where're ya going Champ?"
Harry giggled mischievously, his overlarge wings dragging slightly against the ground.
"Father and Uncle Gabe are taking me flying!" Harry explained.
"So, where's your helmet, shortstop?"
"Dad!" Harry whined, "Nobody else has to wear helmets!"
Sam frowned, "Everyone else is also fully grown and an experienced flyer. Now, go find your helmet, put it on, and then you can go."
Harry glared up, miniature bitchface on, but his Dad did not waiver so he turned, grumbling, and went to search the tornado that was his bedroom.
Sam sighed; he was the disciplinarian of Harry's three guardians.
Dean was a devil-may-care kind of man and it translated into his parenting style. As long as Harry wasn't seriously injured, a feat unlikely for a child with both Angelic Grace and Demonic Ichor flowing through him, he could do whatever he wanted.
Castiel tried to be stern, the unwavering meter of righteous justice from on high. Tried being the key word here as he was in fact a big marshmallow with Harry. A quivering lip or big puppy dog eyes and he absolutely melted.
Harry's uncles didn't help either.
Gabriel stuffed the boy full of sweets and sugar, destroying any hope of a healthy diet, and encouraged his more mischievous side.
Crowley, befitting a demon, the King of Hell, taught Harry how to tempt people from the straight and narrow. How to rip souls from those whose deals had come due. Manipulation, cunning. But Crowley was also soft with Harry. If Harry did not want to help collect souls or torment someone Crowley would not force him to, as other demons might, but instead they practiced demon magic or went to sports games or some such.
Harry stayed between his Father and his Pops as they entered the alley. He had always known he was a Wizard, always known that he would have to go to a magical school but he had assumed that it would be in America and a day school like the muggles had. Not British, a whole other continent and a half plus a whole ocean, and a boarding school.
His guardians had offered to contact Officer Price about American magic schools but some part of Harry had already decided he needed to know where he had come from, what he was supposed to be, would have been if his biological parents hadn't been murdered.
Still, he was anxious. Even though his Pops, Father, and Dad were all with him and he could feel a Hellhound and it's keeper trailing them, on his Uncle's orders. He was safe, probably safe as he could ever be. His heavenly family, thousand strong and led by the Archangel Michael himself, could swoop down at the first sign of problems, a demonic army would soon follow, and the Winchesters were all together, except Adam who was dealing with some work downstairs that he couldn't ignore anymore.
They had decided against parchment and quills ( "What century are they in?"), instead stocking up on notebooks, notepads, binders with loose-leaf lined paper, pens and pencils, bought the telescope and scales from a muggle source, and Harry adopted a cat from a shelter as a familiar. (She was an older cat, at thirteen years, but very affectionate).
His wand was also custom made, the wood being of the one true cross with a hair from the Anti-Christ as a core. Any other combination would combust upon contact with his more…paranormal magic. The weapons-master of the Angels had crafted it personally, binding it to Harry with Winchester blood to insure none but he would have any use of it. It was potentially a weapon of mass destruction, especially in the wrong hands.
However, everything else was only found, as far as anyone knew and the Angels weren't disabusing them of this notion, in Diagon Alley.
He was not holding his Father's hand, nor his Pops' or Dad's, no self-respecting eleven year old boy would hold their parents' hands willingly after all, but he did have a handful of his Father's customary trench-coat, so as not to get lost you see.
"So, where do we go first?" Dean asked, scanning the crowd of magic users.
"We should get a trunk first," Sam replied, looking at the supply list he carried.
"Do we even have any of their money?" was the replying question.
"Yes, I have been given a stipend for our expedition today," Castiel rumbled, producing a small satchel that was so full of coins it sounded like someone was trying to play 'Jingle Bells' and failing, miserably.
"We are to spend what we need to and then open an account at the Wizards' bank, Gringotts. As soon as we open said account, until Harry is seventeen, a comfortable amount will be automatically deposited each month."
"Huh, that's convenient."
"I rather thought so."
"So, trunks…trunks…" they were searching for the luggage store, after a good half-hour they found it and entered to be met by a middle-aged woman.
"Hogwarts?" she sighed, not even waiting for a response, "We have two versions of trunks allowed at Hogwarts. The Standard Student's System, holds everything on the list each year, but fills up quickly so you do have to empty it out each Summer. Or, you can buy the Deluxe Student's System, never full no matter how much you put in it. It also has separate compartments for specific storage needs such as potions or books or clothes. Both models come with a feather-light charm already applied. You can also buy an impenetrable lock for your trunk and have a shrinking spell applied."
"Deluxe then," Harry answered automatically, "with both lock and shrinking spell."
"Initials?" the woman asked in a bored tone, already summoning a blank trunk and laying the charms and affixing the lock.
"HJW."
Another wave of a wand, inscribing the letters at the end of the trunk and then she said, "Just tap your wand against the lid to shrink it and tap the lock to unlock it."
Harry looked to his guardians, who gave permission, and pulled his wand from the wrist holster he wore. It was a rather average looking wand, eleven and a half inches long and seemingly ethereal, as though it wasn't fully on the physical plane.
Feeling the reoccurring tingling as his magic connected and grew, Harry tapped his trunk three times on the lid. It shrunk down to the size of a matchbox and he scooped it up, stowing it in his pocket.
"That'll be seven galleons," the bored woman held out her hand, palm up, "the gold ones." She had seen the confusion on their faces.
Castiel opened the satchel and counted out the coins needed, letting Sam pass them over.
Harry looked around the room, "Last chance, anyone wanna back out?"
Forty some odd students were gathered, looking more grim than they should for their ages. Nobody took the out.
"Alright, so, we need to exorcise whatever's in Quirrell. Whatever it is is big and that means it's gonna be nasty." He looked around, "This will probably kill the guy, especially if it's what I think it is."
"What do you think it is, Harry?" Hermione asked.
He sighed, "Voldemort." There was a sharp intake.
"But, you destroyed him!" Dean Thomas argued.
Harry nodded, "Everyone thought so, but he never showed up in Hell or Purgatory and he sure as hell didn't get upstairs. I think, somehow, he's hung around for all these years and is now riding some schmuck stupid enough to grant him access." He looked into the eyes of everyone, one by one, "Voldemort wasn't exactly human towards the end, more demonic than anything else really. So we have to cover all our bases by treating this as both a salt and burn and an exorcism. And it will be very, very dangerous. I can promise some of us are going to get hurt in this, hopefully not badly and I can heal the worst. So, last chance. You can leave and not be involved, now."
Nobody left.
"Okay, Teams one, two, and three will be tasked with getting into his quarters and burning everything; nothing can remain." He looked to the students that would make up those teams, "You'll be given a boatload of rock salt-spread it everywhere and on everything, a nice thick layer- some gasoline-petrol- splash it everywhere, try not to get it on yourself- and some matches. Everything has to be ashes, understand? With any luck we'll destroy whatever's holding him here. Once you got the fire going, shut the door and apply that sealing charm Hermione found and then that shield charm. I've gotten Hogwarts to disable the fire suppression and protection wards in his quarters.
Teams four, five and six are tasked with salting and burning his offices, the wards are down there too, in case his artifact is there and not his quarters. Same deal.
Teams seven and eight are going to be running interference, Pomfrey and Dumbledore both have to be busy. I have found and bought potions that make you quite ill, not deadly so, but enough to cause a small panic. Hopefully, they'll call in the other teachers too.
Teams nine and ten are with me, we'll be dealing with the crafty bastard himself. Nine, you're tasked with laying down the shields and wards, and the devil traps. Ten, with me, chanting the exorcism chant. Once we start, nobody can stop. No matter what happens we cannot stop. We'll be using every spell in our arsenal, including the holy water charm Seamus created. Give every bit of magic you have in you and then give more! This will be the greatest test you'll ever face for most of you. And you. Can. Not. Fail."
The lights flickered ominously as Harry brought himself back under control. The shadows of his wings had flashed upon the wall behind him, though luckily they had not manifested fully.
He continued, "Once we start, if we don't finish it, whatever, whoever's riding his ass will be free in the castle. I really don't want to call in my family because we let some dumbass wannabe demon thingy loose in a castle full of magic. If that happens, everyone in the country is at risk of getting smote because my family, from upstairs, is a bit high-strung when it comes to vanquishing evil."
Harry was a polite, calm, open child and so had never made any sort of bad waves at Saint Michael's Elementary School, a private Catholic school for both genders.
His enrollment had been a bit troublesome; being the son of, as far as everyone else knew, gay men some of the other parents had made a fuss. Despite the fact that Castiel was very religious, being as he was an Angel of the Lord though of course not many people would know this, and was instructing Harry on the ways of the Lord. He also attended church every Sunday, often with Harry in tow.
Father Thomas, the Principal of the school, had wanted to welcome them with open arms; after all, had not God commanded that the people should love their neighbors as they loved themselves, had He not welcomed the whores and the slaves and the other outcasts of society with love and compassion? Were they not all made in His divine image, male, female, intersexed, transgendered, sane, insane, kind, cruel, able, disabled, genius, idiot, straight, gay and bisexual? Was He not perfect, flawless and thus could He not have created people of various races, creeds, religions, and orientations?
However, the various families and donors and even some of the staff of the school did not share his progressive, some called it heretical, views and he was about to be forced to turn Harry away from his school when they had all had revelations.
It seemed like every dissenting person, every single one who had stood against Harry's enrollment, had been visited by the Archangel Michael himself and had been informed that to turn away anyone, any child, based on anything would be a sin, the type that would lead to being glazed and then gently roasted over an open fire for the rest of eternity.
Most withdrew their objections; however, a few did not and thus earned a visit from the Morningstar himself.
The few that withstood that visit and stubbornly clung to their hateful beliefs, only one or two of the very conservative people, had an audience with Crowley and Juliet the Hellhound.
For some reason, even those two people quietly withdrew their objections.
During these visits, Father Thomas himself was visited by the Archangel Gabriel who reassured him that he was in the right, that he was doing God's will by being so progressive.
So Harry was enrolled, bought his supplies, dressed in his uniform, with a specially forged ring to lock his wings off of the physical plane and suppress his more magical powers, and off he went, into the milling four hundred fifty strong school environment.
Every morning, the classic black muscle car would pull into the student drop off zone and he would exit, zooming in on his friends, a little, rather excitable redhead named Emma and a rather tall for his age boy named David.
The teacher he had, a Missus Cashew, adored him and regularly called home to rave about his great performances in class, his kindness and openness to other students, and such things.
He was active in the school choir, he was neither very good nor was he very bad, and the debate club.
So, it was quite worrying when the Winchesters were summoned to the school in the middle of the day.
Dean was able to close down his shop, it had been a slow, slow day anyway, Sam was a self-employed author so he could determine his own schedule, and Castiel was not required to be upstairs, so all three were able to be there.
They moved with a hurried gait, not quite running but definitely not just walking, down the halls to Father Thomas' office, each having already checked in and donned the nametags given.
They found Emma and David buzzing in front of the door.
"Mr. Dean, Mr. Sam, Mr. Castiel," the girl squeaked, rushing up to them, "He didn't do it! He's been framed! Honest!"
"Emma, Emma," Dean started, "calm down, tell us what's going on…you know we hate not having a plan."
"Billy Zone says Harry hit him!" she explained in a rush, "I know he didn't! I wasn't there but Harry's innocent! Tell them David!"
"She's telling the truth Sir," David replied quickly, "Harry was with me the entire time, didn't even go to the bathroom. I tried telling Miss Maker but she didn't believe me, call me a liar and dragged Harry to the office. She wants him expelled!"
Miss May Maker, another teacher at the school, hated Harry with a burning, irrational passion.
The men's eyes narrowed, light reflecting almost dangerously.
"We'll take care of it, kids." Sam reassured them, "Now, get back to wherever you should be."
The kids looked between the three and then nodded, leaving quickly. The Winchesters were scary when mad and they did not want to see what they were like in a true rage.
Dean opened the door, ushering the other two in, to find Harry and another boy, Zone, sitting in chairs in front of Father Thomas' desk.
The rotten old bat named May Maker was behind Father Thomas himself. She was peculiarly gleeful for the situation, smirking at Harry like a cat that was successful in a hunt. The small, evil smile, a mere quirk of the corner of her mouth, was horribly at home on her severe, bony face.
"Dean, Samuel, Castiel," Father Thomas rumbled, his deep voice light, "thank you for coming so quickly."
"No prob," Dean forced himself to be nonchalant as he grabbed an empty chair, set it between the boys, backwards of course, and slung himself across it, resting his arms across the back, "So, you needed us for something right? Are these two squirts playing too much of that stupid card game again?"
"Nah," Sam broke in, "can't be that; Harry left his decks at home." He grinned, resting his giant frame against a wall causally, "Maybe they got the bits in that play Harry's been talking about, what was the part he wanted?"
"I do believe he wished to portray the Archangel Gabriel," Castiel joined in, coming to stand behind Dean and resting a hand on his shoulder, "my brother is particularly keen that he receives it."
"Harry," Dean started out, wide eyed and worried, "Did you put a handprint on someone?"
Sam and Castiel both chuckled while Harry let out a small, semi-hysterical giggle.
"This is no time for laughter!" Maker shrieked, "That boy beat up poor Mister Zone. I demand he be punished!"
"Wait a minute," Winchester eyes narrowed, "Now, I've heard that Harry here has an alibi; he was with his friend, David."
"Filthy lies concocted to avoid punishment."
"Miss Maker!" Father Thomas spoke up, harshly, "It is innocent until proven guilty and Harry has no record so please refrain from making such accusations without proof!"
"Thank you Sir," Castiel said calmly before turning to the other boy, "Mister Zone, might you allow me to examine your injuries?"
The boy trembled, licking his lips before squeaking, "Yes sir, on my chest sir." He undid his uniform to reveal a large, nasty looking bruise forming.
The angel knelt, gently touching and looking closely, "Harry could not have done this." He declared after a moment.
"How can you tell?" Father Thomas asked with interest.
"We have taught Harry how to fight properly with his bare hands," Castiel replied still calmly, "This was done by someone holding their hand improperly. I would not be surprised if they bruised or broke their own hand in their attack. Furthermore, Harry always wears his ring and I can see no indentation of the pattern of his ring."
He looked up at the boy, asking still calmly, "Mister Zone, did Harry truly hurt you? Before you answer, do remember that bearing false witness is a sin."
"No Sir, Harry didn't hit me." Billy revealed, "I did lie sir, I'm sorry sir."
"And why did you do such a thing?"
Billy stole a glance at Maker before replying, in a tiny voice, "Miss Maker asked me to, sir, she said we have to get rid of Harry because his parents spurn God with their unnatural relations."
The temperature in the room dropped considerably but Castiel nodded, "I understand; know that you are forgiven for it is Miss Maker at fault for this sin, go now. Return to your class. Harry, follow him, then return to yours. Samuel, please return to the car. You will be endangered…"
Harry and Sam moved automatically, Harry pulling Billy Zone with him.
The door closed behind them, Dean automatically moved to press his back against it.
"May Maker," the ground trembled, the room began to shake, "Prepare to be judged for you have sinned!"
Great black wings unfurled from Castiel's back, beating the air angrily.
"Holy Mother of God!" Father Thomas had stood up but now fell upon his knees, head bowed and praying for all he was worth.
"Rise Adrian Thomas for you do God's work and so are blessed."
The Father stayed down, but looked up, exclaiming, "Castiel, Angel of Thursday. We welcome you freely."
Castiel smiled, "You may welcome me and mine, Father Thomas, but Miss Maker does not. She believes I, an Angel of the Lord, disobeys God, our Father, by lying with a mortal man. She does not wish to understand that we have the Lord's blessing upon our union. The Lord cares not for gender or politics, merely love for it is His greatest gift. I know my Brothers, Michael and the Morningstar, have visited all that may refuse us here and yet she believes that she knows our Father's plan."
Blue eyes turned on Maker, as he bit out, "Worse, you have led another into sin, an innocent child no less. You have fought to repel a Nephilim from this place of learning, earning the ire of both our Father, the Lord, and the King of Hell. What say you to these charges May Maker?"
"I didn't know!" the woman cried out in terror.
"Do not lie to me, human; though you may have not known my son's true nature, my Brothers deigned to visit you while you slept in order to secure your cooperation. The King of Hell came to you with his pet hellhound to secure your silence. You were commanded to treat Harold Joshua Winchester as you would any other child. Do you deny it?"
"I didn't know!" she answered again.
"Another lie and so you seal your fate, know this May Maker, the day you die, and it will be soon, you will not be welcomed into the Lord's grace, you shall be remanded into Hell's custody. For your arrogance is truly astounding and truly dangerous. You may also consider your employment at this place of learning and any other to be terminated. You may not seek employment with the Churches of our Lord at any point in the future."
Sirius Orion Black was in Hell on Earth, otherwise known as Azkaban Prison, for a crime he didn't commit, and yet there was no escape. His only respite was his transformation abilities, his Animagus form of a great black dog.
The cold crept in, the rattling of the Dementors echoing in the stone corridors and the screams started. Screams of the damned, of those who truly belonged under their tender watch.
He could escape, becoming Padfoot and hiding beneath the ratty blanket and torn robes. He was innocent. He was innocent.
It was not a happy thought, not really, and so it couldn't be stolen from him.
Then there was a man standing in his cell; short, stocky, blonde, with eyes like butterbeer. He was not affected by the Dementors and he looked directly at the dog in the room, saying, "Sirius Black, your salvation is at hand."
The cell was warming, the harsh sea winds being held off by immense power. Not magic, or else it would trip the wards.
Sirius was forced back into human form and the man recoiled slightly, "Good Dad, man, when they said you were a dirty fleabag I thought they were joking."
"The hell?"
"Not even close," the man smirked, conjuring a lollipop for himself and some hot chocolate for the prisoner. Sirius drank it greedily, letting the weight fill his underfed stomach.
"I am Gabriel," the man introduced himself, conjuring comfortable chairs and sinking into one.
"Gabriel…?" Sirius was urged to ask.
"Archangel actually." Gabriel laughed at the other man's expression, "I am Archangel Gabriel, Angel of the Lord, Messenger to the Virgin Mary. I also moonlight as Loki." He became serious, "My brother, Castiel, was given charge of your Godson, Harry, to raise with his mate, Dean Winchester, and Dean's brother, and my sometime boytoy, Sam Winchester—Oh for fuck's sake, what's with the tears?"
"Harry's dead?! That's what's with the tears," Sirius howled, his mug having bounced off the floor.
"No, ya moron! Harry's alive and well, thank you very much!"
"Then how is he being raised by angels?!"
"Just two angels mind, and he's part angel himself! And part demon! Look, I don't have time to tell the whole story, just listen now. It's come to Dad's attention that you got screwed over in this whole thing so I came to offer you a deal, I get you out of here, you get Asylum in the US, you can be involved in Harry's life but you have to swear you won't try to take custody or hunt down Pettigrew yourself."
"The rat—"
"Has something coming to him, trust me. He'll get exactly what he deserves."
"Harry's safe, he's happy?"
"Extremely."
"Then it's a deal."
Gabriel smirked, reaching for the wizard's hand, grasping it and letting his powers get to work, "Pleasure doing business with you."
Azkaban was, unfortunately, destroyed and everything in it, living, dead, and undead went with it. Such was an Archangel's power.
Remus Lupin let himself into his small motel room, juggling his groceries in his arms, only to find it had been invaded. By a man with the most piercing blue eyes staring back at him.
"Remus John Lupin I presume?" the man rumbled, "Werewolf wizard?"
Lupin's hands shook slightly but he moved around the stranger, putting his supplies, such as they were, away as he asked, "Yes, what can I do for you, Mister…?"
"Castiel Winchester," the other man replied, "apologies, I am still learning the intricacies of human interactions. I come here for the sake of my son—"
"You want me to tutor him? Even though I'm a werewolf?"
"Why would that matter?" Castiel's eyebrows furrowed, "The Potters were content enough to allow you around Harry while they lived; why would I question their trust in you?"
Lupin dropped his pop, the plastic bouncing off the cheap linoleum as he spun, "Harry? Harry Potter? You know where he is? Is he alive? Is he safe? Is—"
"Mister Lupin," Castiel stopped the flow with a hand in the air, "I assure you Harry is quite well and well loved. I have been raising him with my mate and his brother these past seven years—"
"How? Why? Dumbledore said—"
"Dumbledore has told many lies and he will be punished for that," Castiel growled, air quaking with power, "I take my orders from only the highest power, on the night of the Potters' slaying I was charged with raising and caring for Harry as my own." He sighed, "I daresay this will be easiest once I do this—"
The lights flickered and shattered as great, black, magnificent wings manifested as Castiel intoned, "I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord."
"My god." Lupin's voice was hoarse and his eyes wide.
Then the wings disappeared and Castiel was unassuming once again, continuing, "Harry has been asking about his birth parents recently and you are his best link to them." Castiel peered at him, "We wish to welcome you into our family, for Harry misses his 'Unca Mooey'."
Lupin's knees nearly gave out as he spoke in a strangled voice, "He remembers me?"
Castiel did not smile, but the corner of his mouth upturned briefly, "Yes indeed, though in fragments."
"I'm a werewolf."
"We know. My mate and his brother are Hunters, their paternal half-brother is a demon, Harry's Uncle Crowley is the King of Hell, and my brother and I are angels, he being the Archangel Gabriel. We know how to safely contain you and failing that we know how to and will end your existence. We have a small cottage on our property that we wish for you to reside in until such a time you wish to leave; it has been warded to keep transformed werewolves in. We have taken every precaution we can. It is now your decision, Mister Lupin."
"I'll go, of course I'll go! Harry's there and he needs me!"
"Then gather your belongings and take my hand."
Lupin flung out his wand, quickly packing and shrinking his luggage. The angel reached out his hand and Lupin basically lunged at it, gripping it with almost inhuman strength.
"Black!" Lupin growled, lunging at the traitor.
A gun went off, and everyone looked to the source, finding that Dean had shot into the ceiling above his head.
"Everyone back up, now." The two adult wizards were separated, "Now, Wolf, Black's innocent. Go after him again and we'll put you down."
"Whatever cock-and-bull stor—" Lupin snarled.
"Dude, angels." The man sucking a lolly said calmly, "living lie detectors. He's innocent."
Lupin froze, there was a roaring in his ears and he was cold. Padfoot was innocent…
He woke up due to ice water being dumped on his face, to find himself flat on the floor.
"You okay Lupin?" Sam Winchester was kneeling over him, holding an empty cup.
He sat up, eyes frantically searching for his best friend, his brother in all but blood.
Sirius was dozing on a sofa, still very weak after his incarceration. Someone had given him clean clothes and covered him in a throw blanket.
Lupin let out an agonized moan, despair and horror pressing down on him.
"Hey, man, it's gonna be okay," Sam consoled, "He's not mad, he understands what happened. We'll get him back on his feet and he'll be good as new, better even."
"No, no," Lupin moaned, "I can't—Never—I thought—I didn't help him, I let him rot and—There wasn't even a trial, I didn't even press for a trial."
"He understands, Remus," Castiel appeared, "he holds you no ill will. He wishes to apologize for not trusting you with the information of the switch. There were rumors of a spell that could force Dark Creatures to work against their own wills. They were afraid that you could have been compromised or would be compromised in the very near future."
"No, no, my fault, it's all my fault; I didn't trust him enough, I thought he was like every other Black, I thought he had turned and betrayed us all, betrayed Harry."
Emma and David had learnt fairly early not to question Harry's more…eccentric habits, such as spreading a perimeter of salt or carrying a small perfume bottle of Holy Water. His crucifix, that he wore at all times, was silver and hid a small iron blade inside. The top post hid a silver blade of the same size. He would ask to draw some sort of symbol above their collar bones, which he redid daily.
So, when they were on the school's yearly camping trip, they did not bother him as he applied lines of salt to the windows and doors of their cabin, nor when he blessed the cabin with a chant in Hebrew. Or the sprinkler system and then the water tank that led to every sprinkler in the camp, or drew a very large string of symbols around their bunks.
He was Harry, he was weird and he was paranoid but he was their friend and if he needed do things to feel some comfort and security then so be it.
Still, it was a bit weird, even by Harry standards, when he started grilling the camp counselor about the scary campfire story.
It was a standard story really; Years and years ago, there was a man and a woman who were married and they owned the property that was now the camp. The man was a drunkard, good-for-nothing who would slap around his wife after his nights of drinking and then force himself on her. Accordingly, she would become pregnant then she would kill each child she birthed, burying them in the woods. After she got pregnant for the seventh time, the wife lost her mind, found an old Indian spell, and summoned a demon of some sort. The wife made a deal with said demon, magical powers for the soul of her seventh child. When she gave birth that time, to a little girl with scarlet hair and the greenest eyes ever, she waited for the full moon, set up an altar in the deepest parts of the forest, drew weird symbols on the baby and then plunged a silver dagger that had been forged by a blind smith using the pee of a pitch black horse into the heart of the child before slitting the throat. She gathered the blood in a cursed, silver goblet and drank it.
The demon reappeared and held up it's end of the deal, giving the woman power to control people. The wife went home and when her husband returned, blind drunk and in a horrid rage, he tried to slap her and rape her. She made him pay, she made him suffer. She killed him and she was happy.
But the power she gained, she was never meant to hold it, and she was quickly burned out, aging horribly within the lunar cycle, dying on the very next full moon.
They said the woods were haunted now, by the husband, by the wife, and by all seven babies. They said that on full moons if you went to a specific spot and said a specific rhyme, you could summon the very same demon from all those years ago and make a deal, a deal for the very same power. People had gone missing in the woods; some would be found with a knife wound through the heart, some were never found at all.
Harry, listening to this tale, had gone very, very still and very, very quiet, waiting until the very end to begin interrogating the storyteller for every detail possible, every hint.
After they returned to their cabin, Harry called his guardians, relaying the story with an intenseness that was a little frightening.
When he hung up, he turned to them and asked with a seriousness, "You guys still have those designs on you right?"
"Mine's starting to wear off," David admitted questioningly.
Harry nodded shortly, turning to rummage around in his luggage, as he said, "Okay, shirt off then. I'll reapply it."
David sighed but did as told, pulling off his shirt and laid down, "Say, what is that drawing then? Why is it so important?"
Harry froze before turning around, holding a hard plastic stencil and a permanent marker, and answered, truthfully, "It's an anti-possession symbol. Makes it to where demons and ghosts can't get in you."
David sat up, eyes wide, "Whoa, wait, what?! Are you nuts!? Demons and ghosts aren't real!"
Harry closed his eyes, "Yes they are David, everything is real. My family…we…take care of those things, destroy them if they start hurting people."
Harry let his wings manifest; black like his father's. They burst from his back, stretching their full length.
He opened his eyes, "I'm part human, part angel, and part demon, My Father and my uncle are angels of the Lord, my Pops and Dad are humans, Hunters. My Uncle Crowley's King of Hell. My paternal half uncle, Adam, is a demon. Now, normally, all those legends have a kernel of truth and most demons obey Uncle Crowley, but there are those demons that hate him, that want him gone, that will go out of their ways to disobey him. If the story is true then we have to be careful, especially you two. As my friends you're prime hostage material. And unrestful spirits are just nasty to deal with, especially kid ones."
His wings flapped once or twice.
"Can…can I touch them?" Emma asked.
"Sure, just the tips though; mess with my oil glands and I'm down for a while."
She nodded, shuffling closer and running her fingertips along the bigger feathers at the ends of the wings, her face lighting up, "They're so soft." She murmured wonderingly.
"Just fledgling down," Harry admitted with a blush, "The real ones'll come in around puberty. My Father's are razor sharp most of the time and my Uncle Gabriel's are like molten gold and he has six of them. Once I hit adulthood a second set will come in."
"Who are you?" David demanded accusingly, "Do we even know you? Is your name even really Harry?"
Harry flinched before looking down at his feet, "I'm really named Harry and I really am your friend…Look, let me get this redone on you and then we'll lay down some salt lines and I'll tell you my life-story, all of it, no more lies. I swear it on my Grace."
"Grace?"
"Angel equivalent of a soul, much more useful."
David stared at Harry for a moment or two before growling out, "One more lie and I'll never, ever forgive you or your family. Understood?"
"Yeah, got it."
David nodded curtly and lied down, feeling Emma apply pressure to keep him steady under the wet, cold ink of the marker. The design had to be perfect, Harry had always demanded that; now they knew why.
Next came, "Why salt?" David asked as they laid down the lines.
Harry barely paused, though he did cock his head to the side, "Actually, I dunno, just keeps out the evil things out of an area?"
"Maybe because it's used to preserve things, like fish?" Emma offered.
Harry shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine; I'll ask Dad when he calls back…"
"You think the story's real then?"
"I've seen enough weird stuff already to know I rather be overly cautious than not prepared. And the full moon's in two days. Even if it's just a legend, if enough people believe it then something will change to fit it or even be created to fit it. And Tulpas are darn hard to gank,"
Once the salt lines were down, Harry explained his life, revealing everything. Even that he was a wizard. And even though it was amazingly fantastical and very unbelievable, his friends believed him. They talked all night, finally finishing around two in the morning.
Good thing too, because Harry's cell phone rang at two fifteen.
"Hello?" he greeted cautiously.
"Harry," it was his Dad and he could hear the motor of the Impala running, "The story's true, we're coming to sort things out up there. Don't do anything stupid. Adam should be on the scene before us. Stay safe, understood?" This was his Dad's Hunter voice. The voice that meant he was scared shitless and about to kick some serious ass.
"Yes sir, already have the salt lines down and a devil trap. Have my angel-blade too."
"Good boy, try not to let anyone go into the woods."
"Yes sir."
"Alright, we'll be there soon; be careful."
"You be careful too Dad." Harry hung up and immediately dived for his bag. He ripped it open and began pulling out his weapons. His custom forged angel blade, he called it 'Justitia'. Next came a blessed, cold iron dagger, 'Misericordia' or 'Cordy' for short. Then a small caliber gun, 'Salus' and loaded the chamber with specially smelted blessed silver bullets that had tiny devil traps engraved on them.
"My family is on the way," Harry explained as he worked, "the story is true. Uncle Adam should be here any minute." He pulled out a gun holster and put it on, slipping Salus into it and hiding it beneath his shirt. Cordy was attached to his ankle, under his jeans, and Justitia went up his sleeve. He turned to his friends and said firmly, "I'm gonna go warn Father Thomas, stay inside this cabin and don't let anyone in. No one." He pulled out a large sack of salt mixed with iron shavings, swinging it over his shoulder.
He took off, out the door. He ran, flat-out ran, senses on high alert, searching for anything not human or animal. He's the only thing pinging on his radar but he knew not to get sloppy.
He got to Father Thomas' cabin and banged on the door, loud and insistent and he didn't stop until someone answered. Father Thomas was in his bathrobe, rubbing sleep from his eyes, "Harry? What on Earth are you up this late for?"
"Father, this entire camp is in danger," Harry spoke hurriedly, "that story we were told at the campfire last night, it's true."
"Good lord." Father Thomas had paled so severely he looked like a corpse drained of blood, "come in, come in."
Harry did as told, automatically laying down salt lines as he explained, "These should keep you safe; I'm gonna line the perimeter of the camp. My folks are of their way up; my Uncle Adam, he's a demon, will get here first. Nobody goes into the forest, really. And if possible we should cut the trip short, get out before the full moon."
"I'll call the buses in the morning," Father Thomas agreed, "we'll say a natural gas leak endangered everyone. Old camp, you know."
"Perfect," Harry nodded, "call them as soon as possible, get us out! Gotta go!"
Harry raced out, starting to line the camp perimeters with salt and iron, muttering in Enochian blessings and warding spells as he did so. He made it to where the only demons allowed in the camp were himself, Uncle Adam, and Uncle Crowley. There was no way Uncle Mooney would arrive, not so close to the full moon.
He sensed his Uncle arriving, he was nearly done laying the lines, and said aloud, "Uncle Adam, you've been apprised right?"
"Of course." Adam grinned, he may not be a full Winchester, not a child of John and Mary, but he was still a Winchester and thus he was naturally warped enough in the head to be able to fall into hunting easily. Plus his time in the Cage and then Hell itself…
"Great, I need you to man the perimeter," Harry began, not noticing he had developed his own Hunter voice and had slipped in to it, "We got potentially nine ghosts, including seven kids, a demon, and who else knows what hiding in those trees. Father Thomas is going to call the buses and hopefully get us out before the full moon."
Adam nodded absently, already trying to sense some sort of demonic residue. He found something, but it was so old that he couldn't pin it down. But even if it was old, to leave such a mark so near a church camp required power. Power he'd rather keep away from children, especially his nephew.
Adam, though a demon himself, felt that the demonic and the angelic should leave children alone in the constant struggle for control of the Earth. There was, after all, plenty of time to corrupt or save them as adults.
It was a nervous night, waiting for daylight to dawn. The counselors had been told the cover story and they helped the kids pack their things; the buses arrived by eleven that morning, the Impala rumbling straight behind. And behind that, a van that said, "Stanford and Sons' Electrical and Gas Company" along the side.
Harry hoped that it was merely for show; that hope was dashed as Grandpa Bobby and Uncle Crowley exited the van as his Dad, Pops, Father, and Uncle Gabriel exited the muscle car. Oh, Chuck. This was bad. They all were in costume too. Off white one piece cleaning suits.
This was very, very bad indeed.
"Father," Grandpa Bobby rumbled at the priest, "we came as soon as we could get time."
Thankfully Father Thomas was quick on the uptake, "Thank you, I'm sorry I called you when I did, but the leak is pretty bad and with the children…"
"We understand," Bobby nodded, "we'll just wait until all the kids are gone before we try anything, if you wouldn't mind staying behind to show us around."
Harry lost his temper and it broke his suppression ward. His wings unfurled and stretched to their true length before beating the air angrily.
His angel blade manifested in his hands and without realizing he sent out a wave of holy heat, striking the snake, Riddle, and the diary. It didn't kill them but it was damaging nonetheless.
His grace flared, warring with his demonic ichor for prominence; "Thomas Marvolo Riddle," Harry thundered, power lashing out, electricity arcing off him in little bolts, "prepare to be judged for you have sinned."
The stolen wand Riddle wielded jumped from his hand, returning to Harry.
Justitia took the form of a sword of fire, blue flames licking the air hungrily, the smell of burning wafting out.
At that moment Harry did not appear the least bit human; his eyes had gone completely black, no pupils, irises or whites, bolts of his grace flashing through the darkness, his wings were out, flared open, his magic had elongated his canines, giving him fangs that hung over his bottom lip, and made his fingers mutate into talons. What was left of his scar, usually hidden under his bangs, glowed bluish white as grace leaked out a weak point in his fleshy form. The runes he had been painted with, the ones that saved his life oh so long ago, reappeared, glowing white and scarlet.
For the first time in a long time, Tom Riddle felt fear as he took in the creature before him. Harry Potter was Justice given physical form, was Magic's champion and a champion of prophesy.
"Dost thou repent of thy crimes, Thomas Marvolo Riddle?" Harry fell into archaic language instinctively.
Without waiting for either a lie or a non-answer, Harry brought his sword swinging down, cleanly slicing through Riddle.
He didn't even get to make a sound before he faded from existence. Another swing down destroyed the cursed diary, saving the girl's life.
He reached down and healed the girl, sinking her into blissful unconsciousness for easier clean up.
He looked back up at the snake, not even quivering under the once deadly golden gaze; "Twice I have defeated thy Master," he hissed, his tongue splitting like a snake's as he did so, "by right of Conquest I claim the birthrights of the Heir of Slytherin through the Gaunt line. Dost thou reject my claims?"
The serpent writhed, tasting the air, before sagging, "I greet thee, Lord Slytherin, command me as thou wilt for I shall follow every order."
Harry nodded, pleased, "Thou shall slumber here, beneath this school, until such a time myself or my heirs call for thy aid. Know this, if thou disobey this order of mine I shall destroy thee and all thy relations."
"As you wish, my Lord." Without another word, the beast turned and slithered back into it's den, the mouth of which closing behind it.
He sheathed his sword and focused on regaining control. His tongue knitted back together, his talons melted back into fingers and nails. His fangs disappeared, receding, as his eyes returned to emeralds and the runes dotting his body vanished. In fact, the only inhuman bit about him that remained were his wings, and only because he needed them.
He pocketed the destroyed diary and then scooped up the damsel he had headed down here for in the first place.
Very rarely did he curse the wards of the school but then he did as he was unable to 'zip' from the chamber to the grounds above. However, he was able to physically fly and so he did.
There common room was eerily quiet despite being full to the brim, the Dementors surrounding the school sapping the life from the students.
Harry had enough, "THAT'S IT!" he leapt up, pulling off his suppression ring.
He began snapping furiously, summoning up instruments that would play themselves, and dotting them around the room, clearing the furniture away, turning the carpet to wood floors, and lighting every candle and fireplace.
"We are going to have fun." He ordered, "Damn the Dementors and their powers. We're celebrating tonight."
"What's there to celebrate?" a First Year asked wonderingly.
"Magic, love, life," Harry grinned, snapping up pitchers of butterbeer and sodas, glasses and goblets, and plates of sweets and pastries, "We're all alive here. That's worth celebrating."
Without warning, music started, the instruments beginning a very upbeat, fast-paced tune; Harry grabbed Hermione and swept her into a wild dance that would not be out of place at a traditional Irish pub.
She started laughing as soon as she realized what was going on even as she let him do as he wanted with her.
Her peals of enjoyment encouraged everyone else and quickly people were pairing out, following Harry's lead and then switching partners and clapping hands, stomping feet in time as gaiety filled Gryffindor Tower for the first time in a while.
Passing Hermione off to Neville, Harry took up one of the fiddles and led the phantom orchestra in a merry musical chase, happy and always moving, never slowing down or deepening but remaining as light as air and as cheerful as possible.
The windows rattled with joy and life, as the butterbeer flowed and some of the older students broke out contraband Firewhisky.
Hermione, face shining with life and laughter, eventually made her way over to her friend again; "You're amazing, Harry Winchester." She told him breathlessly.
He grinned, letting the fiddle play by itself, "No, I'm really not."
Before she could respond, the portrait opened and there stood Professor McGonagall, "What's going on here?" she demanded, nostrils flaring and hair flyaway under her pointed hat.
Harry immediately was at her side, pressing a flute of champagne into her hand and explaining, "Well, Professor, I got sick of everyone being all mopey all the time. So, I started a dance, Nobody underage is drinking anything harder than that butterbeer stuff you guys like so much, nothing's getting spiked, and I've layered a charm over the entire student body for the next few months, I overpowered it, sorry, to prevent any…accidents. This is how Loki celebrates after all." He grinned, waving at the celebration still going on, uninterrupted by even the teacher's arrival, "Minus the pranks."
"Harry!" Angelina Johnson, fellow player on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and a Fifth Year, called, "Come dance with me!"
Harry grinned, replying, "Cradle-robber!" he turned back to McGonagall, "There's always room for one more, Professor. 'Cuse me, mustn't keep a lady waiting."
After a few steps he turned back, adding, "You want anything harder than Firewhisky, or something more traditional, just find me!" he joined his friend, letting her lead them into a Foxtrot.
Flummoxed, McGonagall drained her flute and went to confiscate some hard liquor from her older students. She tried not to think about the fact that Harry so casually mentioned a Trickster God like they were good friends.
Harry danced back into her space, saying without her prompting, "Loki? He's my Uncle, dating my Dad…" and he danced away gracefully, taking the hand of a pretty blonde boy.
The poor woman chugged.
Hermione was enjoying lunch, trying and failing not to worry about the fact that Harry was missing, when the doors to the Great Hall swung open and trumpeters marched in, trumpets blaring.
"Oh, what now?"
Then he appeared, dressed in an outfit straight from ancient times. A fitted, sculpted, polished bronze metal chest-plate, held in place by leather straps. Protecting his arms were reinforced leather bracers. A reinforced leather strip skirt, hanging to his knees, and hardened leather greaves. Leather sandals, lacing up under the greaves to the knees.
Attached to his belt was a sheath full of a broadsword, a satchel of stones, and a slingshot.
His wings were out on full display, held back carefully to avoid any trouble with movement but still fully visible and clearly just groomed.
His usually untamable hair had been controlled, pressed into curls and ringlets that framed his face and, along with the little baby fat he still wore in his face, gave him a slightly cherubic appearance.
He carried his helm, a Hellenistic looking design, in his left arm; it had a golden plume.
While the trumpeters played, he took slow, measured steps, confident in his every movement towards his target.
He knelt before her, head bowed, "Hermione Jean Granger, you have been a faithful and true friend to me. Now, I find myself in need of your aid once again. As you know I have been forced into a tournament in which I must fight for my life. There is a hidden task, this Yule Ball, and I find myself required to have a partner. I am humbly requesting that you be the one that accompanies me, the one who dances with me."
Silence fell, he did not look up.
She knew her answer.
"Of course."
Their audience burst into cheers.
He finally looked up, meeting her eyes. He lifted his free hand, palm up, and she watched as something was created before her very eyes. It was a small, ornate but still usable dagger.
"I token of my thanks and great affection," he spoke softly, offering her the handle. She took it, warmth infusing her being much like she had felt when she first found her wand.
He didn't mean to. He had been scared and it just happened! One minute they were hidden and then whoosh, they were on full display. They caught the air, yanking him from the out of control Nimbus 2000, and he bobbed in the air, breathing heavily as his heart beat a tattoo against his ribs. The broom stopped bucking abruptly, falling to the ground and crashing. Then Harry realized what was going on and it was his every instinct to flee. Every set of eyes was on him, shock, horror, and confusion radiating from everyone.
But he was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't run away from anything. Tactical retreat yes, when they were getting their asses soundly kicked, but running away, no.
Carefully he descended, landing perfectly and then folding his wings back although still keeping them visible. He flicked his wrist, calling his wand to hand, performed spell, and then spoke, with his voice echoing off everything, "Hello, I'm Harry Winchester and I'm part angel. Half human, fourth angel, fourth other." He grinned, all bravado even as he prepared for something bad to happen, "Now, usually my wings are hidden off this plane, but when I get scared…they pop out."
It was the end of the world, or it could be. Potter's Platoon, the remaining members of the Order, and volunteers stood behind their leader, the Chosen One, spaced out with gaps between each.
Harry stood strong, wings visible, dressed in his armor. At his waist was a trumpet.
Before them stood the armies of Voldemort; there seemed to be thousands of them, dark wizards, dark creatures, rogue demons packed tightly.
Voldemort made his speech, promising asylum for any pureblood who defected and quick deaths for anyone else.
Nobody took his offer.
It came time for Harry's speech; he just arched an eyebrow, pulled the trumpet from his belt, brought it to his lips, and played.
Seven short blasts, loud and clear, high and light.
There was no movement for seconds before the clouds parted and the stars began falling, speeding to earth at a million miles per second.
Impacts came next, while air screamed past wings as angels and passed on souls given temporary human form landed between humans; all of the Heavenly Host and every soul they could muster stood proud. Soldiers from every eon, the greatest minds, the best and bravest of the gloried dead, stood ready for a fight.
There were still empty spaces between bodies; Harry trumpeted again; three long, mournful, eerie notes.
The sounds of Hell rose as demons appeared in puffs of smoke and bursts of hellfire, taking their places amongst the army of Harry Potter.
There was still room.
Harry Potter pulled a cellphone from his waistband and flipped it open, hit a button, and then closed it again.
Almost automatically the roar of engines started as helicopters appeared over the horizons; hovering, men and women began sliding down robes, each decked out with weapons and ammunition, landing harshly and taking the remaining spaces. The helicopters hovered, waiting.