Unfound
Chapter Twenty
"Then why is he still here?" Dean asked, bluntly, after Charlie finished an explanation that he had been unable to follow as to what exactly Draco Malfoy had done to help with this little project. And it seemed like that annoying dick was no longer required.
Luna frowned at him. "Draco is helping," she said.
"I have more of a hippogriff in this race than you do," Malfoy said with a sniff. "These are wizards we're talking about. Even if I didn't have inside knowledge, it is in my best interest to try and stop this. Honestly, I'm not quite sure why the two of you are involved at all. Your only interest in our world is dead."
If that had still been true, Dean would have punched the blond in the face right then and there.
Sam looked like he felt the same way. And then realized that it was probably a bit suspicious if he said nothing at all. "Don't talk about Harry that way," he snapped. "He was three times the man you are."
"A hundred times, actually," Ron chimed in, not wanting the Winchesters to think that they had some sort of monopoly on defending Harry. Especially against Malfoy.
"Yeah, yeah, Potter was a saint, I know," Malfoy said sarcastically, but there was an air of contrition in his voice. He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but this was an extremely stressful situation.
"It's the implications of this that are important," Charlie said, cutting through the testosterone-fueled bullshit.
"Obviously," Malfoy said.
"And what are those?" Dean asked.
Everyone turned to look at him like he was an idiot. And maybe he would.
"Dean – if what we're reading here is correct, the Men of Letters have been experimenting with extracting magic from wizards," Sam said.
"Yeah, I got that part, thanks to the highly graphic videos," Dean said. "So, we burn the place to the ground. Problem solved."
"It's not that simple," Charlie said. "They have outposts all over the world."
"Then we go on a world tour and burn them all to the ground," Dean said. "Sam and I haven't had much of a chance to travel, why not start now?"
Everyone just stared at him.
"That plan is stupider than even something Potter would've come up with," Malfoy said. "And I didn't think that would even be possible."
"Hey, watch it," Sam said warningly to Malfoy. "Although, Dean, he's right."
"You're taking blondie's side?"
"I'm not. They are too far into this process."
"It'll be a bit hard for them to kidnap every witch or wizard in the world and remove their magic. I'm pretty sure y'all could take them."
"That's not the problem," Luna spoke up. "They wouldn't have to take magic from everyone, just enough to scare wizarding governments and populations into listening to them. It might even be introduced as a replacement for the Dementor's Kiss for the worst criminal offenders. They could extract just enough grace to not kill the witch or wizard but still leave them incapable of doing magic."
"And look at these schematics," Charlie said, hitting a few buttons and pulling up blueprints of an oddly shaped weapon. "This is just a prototype, but look here," she zoomed in on the screen to show runes carved into the side.
Sam drew in a sharp breath.
"What?" Dean asked.
"This would work like the AVD – but for magic," Sam said.
"English, please, Sam," Dean said, impatiently.
"It would rearrange atoms – if they fired this at a wizard it would destroy their magic on impact."
"Fuck," Dean said.
No one disagreed with him.
"What're we gonna do then?"
Ron cleared his throat. "We've got to figure out how to stop them. That's why we're here. Malfoy – other than being able to help us get access to those files also had a hand in the initial rune work that created these weapons. Which means he can help us destroy them. Charlie understands how to get into their computers. Luna's grasp on the metaphysical will be instrumental."
"Then why are they here?" Malfoy asked, echoing Dean's question from earlier.
Ron looked at them. "They are legacies and have access to some of the lore that the Men of Letters used to create this. And, on top of that, they have some experience in saving the world."
It was the most credit the redhead had ever given them, and it didn't even come out grudgingly.
"This may be above our pay grade," Sam said, "but we'll help however we can."
"And we have a secret weapon," Ron said. Which made all eyes in the room snap to him. Dean subtly shook his head no while Sam was sending him a major bitch face. Neither wanted Malfoy to know about Harry unless it was completely unavoidable. Ron ignored them both. "We've got a man on the inside. A bit of a sleeper agent – and, as we speak, Hermione is activating him."
III
Several years earlier
This was the second time that Mick had come with the Kendricks' students to Hogwarts. The first time, it had been because there were rumors that Sam Winchester had taken up residence in the castle and Dr. Hess and the elders had wanted to know more.
And Sam Winchester, had, indeed, been there. Mick never got a clear answer as to why, but it was enough to confirm that there was a link between the American hunting community and the British magical government. Because there was no way that the sharp and quick-witted Minister of Magic wouldn't know about his presence on the grounds.
It had been a couple of years since he had spoken to Sam Winchester on the Quidditch pitch, and it had been confirmed that the hunter had since returned to the United States. It was hardly a regular duty of his to serve as a glorified chaperone to children, but he wasn't a man that questioned orders.
In an effort to strengthen their partnership, Headmistress McGonagall herself had requested a seasoned operative to come and guest lecture in their advanced Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
Doctor Hess had ordered him, of all people, to go.
It was an honor and a test all in one.
Mick didn't have the background that others working for the organization did. He didn't come from a long line of squibs from pure-blood families. The Men of Letters had found him on the streets as a child and he had none of the power or privilege of most of the others who had attended Kendricks.
At first, it had been intimidating. But he had been determined to prove himself. With a chip on his shoulder and steely willpower, he had fought his way into the upper echelons of the organization and was currently the front-runner for a post that would all but ensure that he would, one day, be eligible to become one of the elders that ran the group. Possibly even become Headmaster of Kendricks.
He would show them that they had invested in the right boy. That he had earned his spot and would propel the organization into a period of greatness.
Even if that did mean being ordered to accompany a group of teenagers to a magical castle. Some might have found the task demeaning, but Mick took every opportunity he was given.
Mostly, the trip had been boring so far.
As boring as a trip to a magical castle could be.
Although he was assured that it was not the case, he was pretty sure that the stairs had a personal vendetta against him, only switching as he approached.
It was on the second to last day, that everything changed.
A red-haired young Hogwarts student approached him in the corridor while he had been on his way back to his quarters from lunch.
"Mr. Davies?" She asked, respectfully.
He stopped. "Yes?" He asked, confused.
"I have been asked to escort you to a meeting," she said with confidence. "Please follow me."
Mick was ninety-five percent sure that there was no meeting currently on his schedule. He was quite diligent.
"Are you quite sure?" He asked politely, never forgetting that he was representing the Men of Letters while he was there.
"Mr. Mick Davies?" She asked again.
"Yes, that's me."
She smiled. "Yes. Please, follow me."
Mick was generally a good judge of character and, witch or not, he didn't sense anything malicious. But he was curious. So, he followed.
Even though he had studied maps of Hogwarts, the twists and turns of the castle still mystified him, and it seemed that they were going in a particular roundabout way. Possibly to confuse him.
He was pretty sure that they were on the seventh floor of the castle when the girl stopped opposite a tapestry that depicted a wizard attempting to teach trolls how to do ballet. He stared at it for a moment. When he turned around, there was a door where there hadn't been before.
The girl opened it.
He raised an eyebrow.
She gestured for him to go in, and so he did so.
Mick didn't know what he expected to see when he entered the room, but he was quite disappointed when it appeared that it was nothing more than a medium-sized office. There seemed to be nothing overtly magical about the room in the least.
What did catch his attention was the woman sitting behind a large desk, who looked up as they entered the room.
"Minister Granger-Weasley!" He exclaimed.
She nodded at him. "Mr. Davies. Thank you for taking the time. Thank you, Molly, for the help. Run along now."
"Of course, Aunt Hermione," the girl responded. "You'll talk to Dad?"
"Yes, I will, although that wasn't contingent on this little favor."
"I know. Thanks – will you have time for tea this afternoon? Lucy'd love to see you. Dominque and Fred would be thrilled too."
The Minister smiled warmly. "I hope so. In any case, I'll be sure to stop by the common room before I leave."
The girl smiled and turned and left.
Mick was still a little shell-shocked. This was the legendary Hermione Weasley-Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, and Head of the Magical State. This was not the sort of meeting that he would be permitted to have under normal circumstances. He wasn't important enough.
"Mr. Davies," she greeted. "We've met in passing, of course, always in a group. I hope you don't mind taking a couple of minutes to speak with me. Please, have a seat."
He sat, completely intimidated by the situation. "Minister Granger-Weasley…"
"Hermione, please," she interrupted him. "That's quite the mouthful, isn't it?"
Mick knew for a fact that no one in his organization had ever been permitted to call her that. "I couldn't…"
"I assure you, you can. May I call you Mick?"
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Good. We're friends already."
That only fueled his anxiety. This was too far above him. What would Doctor Hess say when he told her that he had gone this far above her head?
When he said nothing, she kept talking as if there was no tension in the air at all. And why would she feel that anyway? "Mick, I was pleased when you were the operative that was sent with the Kendricks students this term. I have been wanting to speak with you for quite some time."
"Me?" Mick asked, astounded. "Why?" He blurted out before he could stop himself. "I'm no one special."
She leaned forward. "See, that's where I'm going to have to disagree with you. I'm sure that you are aware, as the Minister of Magic, that I am permitted to look at your employee and school records, and you are quite impressive, Mick."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said because it was all he could think to say. "I do my best to be of service. What can I help you with?" He finally remembered his training and did his best to calm his mind.
She opened a file that was sitting on her desk. "Your file was of particular interest to me. It says here that you were rescued by the Men of Letters as a child?"
"That's right, ma'am," he responded. "I was caught tryin' to steal from one of our members."
"And before that?"
"No one. Just an orphan – living on the streets of London."
"Hmm," she said. Making him feel further uneasy. "You remember nothing of your birth family?"
This all felt very inappropriate. No one asked him about his birth family. He wasn't ashamed though – that had been bullied out of him years ago. "Vague recollections. A lullaby. Certain colognes trigger somethin', but…"
"Of course, my apologies for dredging up memories. I don't say this as a way of hurting you, of course, but I noticed your surname, and it made me question some of the things I read in your file, is all."
"My surname?"
"Yes. You were..." she glanced down at the file, "six…when you were found, correct?"
"I was. But…"
"But you still knew your name, of course. But what else do you remember?" She pushed again.
He stared at her blankly. Not much, really. He had been very young. He wasn't even sure how long he had been on the streets, maybe a year or so.
"Nothing of import, ma'am," he said. He had locked away those memories years ago.
"Mick – again, I apologize for the personal nature of this conversation, but I have reason to believe that your…adoption…into the Men of Letters isn't as stated on your official records."
"No. I remember…"
"Remember, what, exactly?"
He searched through his mind. He knew the story. It had been told to him many times. He had stolen a cursed coin and… "They took me off the streets."
"That they did. But why you?"
"I told you why – I pickpocketed a member and…"
"You may have, Mick, but I have reason to believe that was orchestrated by the Men of Letters themselves. Surely, from your years of service, you know that they don't usually pick up orphans from the streets. Have you ever heard about anyone but you?"
"No, but it was because they thought that I showed promise and…"
"I'm sure you did." She looked at him with kind, gentle eyes. He was so confused.
"What do you know?"
"I know that the late eighties and early nineties were a dark time, Mick. Many families were attacked, so many that some children slipped through the cracks. I have reason to believe that your parents were killed by Death Eaters."
"Death Eaters? Why would Death Eater's target…?"
"Well, they attacked many Muggle families, of course, just out of spite, but yours was more targeted than that. You see, your mother was a witch, and your father was the squib son of a pureblood family."
"No, that…"
She pulled a picture out of the file. There was a Muggle photograph, of a mother, father, and toddler.
Mick took a sharp breath. He recognized them. He didn't know how but…
"This is you, Mick," she said gently. "These are your parents. Emily and Patrick Davies. It was assumed that you were killed in the same attack as they were. No body was found so your family did look for you for a couple of years before you were declared dead. You have a gravestone and a family, Mr. Davies."
"No – Doctor Hess said…"
"Joanne Hess is a monster," Hermione said. "This picture was in your file. She knows you have a family. In fact, I was in school at the same time as your cousin, Roger. Ravenclaw Chaser. Later, Captain of the team."
Mick felt like the world was spinning. What did it mean? Why would Doctor Hess lie to him? He had a family?
"I know this is a lot to take in, Mick," she said. "And I'll help you sort it out. But this isn't why I called you here today. Regardless of your answer to my request, I will help you, of course, but, regrettably, I've run into a bit of a wall when it comes to your organization, and I need to ask you a favor…"
His eyes snapped up. "Can I think on it?"
Hermione nodded. "Of course. When you're ready to talk you can call this number," she slid a piece of parchment across the desk to him. "I look forward to hearing from you."
He knew a dismissal when he heard one. So, he took the parchment and walked out. He had some investigating to do.
III
Present Time
Mick sat at a table in the Men of Letter's Bunker, waiting for the return of Sam and Dean. He had helped himself to some whiskey, while he was at it. This was a risky move, but it was time.
The two men entered.
"No, dude, we're not calling Crowley…" Dean was saying before he stopped short, noticing the man sitting there.
"Hello, boys," Mick greeted. "Do come in and have a drink."
"Did you break into our house?" Sam asked.
"Our house," Mick corrected, including himself in that statement. "Men of Letters. Did you know your key opens every chapter house in the world?"
They both stared at him.
"Well, you did say you'd give me a second chance," he pointed out.
"Yeah," Dean said. "That doesn't mean that we wanna hang out."
"You here for a reason?" Sam asked, cutting to the chase.
"I am, and it's a bit urgent. Some time ago, the home office recorded some sort of cosmic shock wave. Very rare. And after a few months of…"
"Nephilim," Sam finished for him. But something was bothering him. "Also, I'm pretty sure that we put up wards to be sure that you couldn't just break-in," by we, he really meant Harry. He didn't know how this man could have gotten past those wards.
Mick looked behind him.
Sam and Dean tensed, ready for a fight.
"At ease, gentlemen," a British voice greeted them, as a woman out from behind the archway. "It's only me. Harry keyed me into your wards. And I told you, Mick, that they already knew. You owe me 10 quid."
"But how did they even get the information?" Mick asked, fishing his wallet out and handing the money over.
"Hermione?" Sam asked, taking his hand off the gun that he had been about to pull from his back pocket.
"Yes. My apologies for the delay. My freedom of movement is…limited, these days. It's good to see you, Sam, Dean."
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, gruffly, not ready to take his hand off his own gun.
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought Ron would have told you. I am here to help. As is Mr. Davies. Now, where's Harry? I'd like him to be present for this conversation."
III
Harry didn't remember the trip here. He must have passed out at a certain point or been knocked out.
The first thing that he noticed was the feeling of something soft on his back. It wasn't the shirt he had put on this morning – that hadn't been anything special. It took him a second to place it. Feathers. Somehow, his wings had been pulled out of whatever shadowy realm they were normally hidden in and now existed physically on his body. And they ached as if someone had ripped them from one dimension to another.
After getting over the shock of the earthly presence of his wings, he noticed that there were still shackles on his ankles and his hands were cuffed behind his back. A metal collar was around his throat and attached to the floor, making it difficult for him to lift his head more than a foot or so above the ground. But, on top of that, there was a ring of fire surrounding him on all sides. The heat from which felt threatening as being near it seemed to blister his skin. Holy fire.
He gathered his power, focusing the energy first on the chains that held his wrists together. Once he was free of those, he'd be able to…he wasn't able to finish that thought. As he attempted to use his angelic grace to break the cuffs, a fiery agony coursed through his veins.
"Ahh!" He couldn't help but cry out. He broke his concentration, and as he did so, the pain faded. 'Fuck,' he thought to himself. He felt like he had almost been there.
Harry took a few centering breaths before trying again. Maybe if he just pushed a little more…blinding pain. Worse than before. He yelled again.
The fire in front of him shifted as a man that Harry had to struggle to look up at entered the circle. He had changed the shape of the fire, to allow himself space to enter, only for the fire to close behind him.
He was wearing a pristine white suit and had a neat goatee. Harry could tell that he was a demon, and a shiver ran through him.
"Welcome, Mr. Potter," the man said, with a thick American Southern accent. "I see that you have finally awoken. I do hope that you find your accommodations…pleasing. They weren't designed for you, of course, but a tweak here, a sigil there and I think I've accomplished somethin' truly extraordinary."
"Who. Are. You." Harry gritted out, still in pain.
"Oh, how rude of me," the man said, sounding genuinely sorry. "I didn't introduce myself. I am Asmodeus, Prince of Hell."
A name was always useful. "You…Ramiel mentioned you."
"Yes. My brother. Who you killed, I do believe. He sent me a message about you. And I'll admit, you are a curiosity. And I do enjoy a curiosity."
"Where's Teddy?" Harry demanded. "If you hurt him…"
The demon laughed. It wasn't pleasant. "You do not disappoint. I was told that the werewolf halfling was precious to you. This is why I stole his phone and impersonated his voice to get you…out of your comfort zone. You were a tricky man to find, Mr. Potter, I don't mind sharing."
That calmed Harry. If he was here alone, then he could handle the next steps in getting out. He tried to send a prayer to Gabriel. Searing pain in his head. He doubled over.
"Tsk," the demon tutted with disapproval. "Surely you would know I took precautions. No one is coming to help you. There's this serum, you see, that I developed especially for angels. I'm pleased to see that it seems to be working on you – anytime you attempt to you use your grace, you'll burn. An unexpected side effect was the appearance of your rather brilliant plumage. Your wings are truly magnificent, Mr. Potter, even if they are a bit useless to you at the moment. Don't think of tryin' to call our to your angel friend neither – that collar around your neck also has runes to prevent you from accessing…what did I hear you charmingly call it…angel radio."
"What. Do. You. Want," Harry once again had to ground out through the pain.
The demon kneeled. "That, dear boy, would be telling. We'll get to it in good time. But first, I'd really like to get to know you better. I have a couple more things to gather, but, until then…" Somehow, the restraints got tighter.
Harry couldn't hold back his groan of pain.
The demon patted him on the head. "You won't like what happens if you try to escape. So, I recommend that you rest, while you can. I'll be back soon."
He left.
Harry roared in pain as the fire once again closed in around him.
III
Several Years Earlier
Mick felt ridiculous even thinking about exploring this avenue. The Men of Letters had given him everything. Before them, all he had to look forward to was a life of crime that likely would have ended in an early death or many years of imprisonment.
But the Minister had been convincing. And even a couple of weeks later, he couldn't shake the feeling that there had been truth to her words. Carefully and with as much subtlety as possible, he began to research.
He had to be careful. He knew all-to-well how easy it was to get caught and what the consequences would be if he were to be. Mick had, at times, been in charge of sniffing out and eliminating traitors and he had learned from their mistakes.
As a rule, a part of The Code, Men of Letters were never given access to their own records. Mick had never questioned this protocol before (he rarely questioned anything; he didn't have that luxury) but now he was a bit curious as to why. Afterall, everything from test scores to missions complete was always shared wide and far to foster an environment of excellence and accountability.
But Mick prided himself on knowing the ins and outs of the Code. In fact, he had personally found and corrected loopholes as some of the first work he had done when he had become an official Man of Letters after graduating from Kendricks. That didn't mean he had closed all of them, however. So, he strode into the records office with confidence.
"Lizzy, love, how are you?" He asked with a charming smile. The current record's clerk was a young legacy graduate of Kendricks. She was cut-throat, just like all graduates, but generally pleasant. And she still had a healthy respect for older operatives like Mick. He knew that would die in time, but he'd use it to his advantage for now.
"Mr. Davies, I've been well. I was just reviewing the paper you wrote about…" She went on brown-nosing for about another five minutes and Mick smiled indulgently.
"Well, I'm quite flattered," he responded. "But I was hoping I'd be able to ask you for some assistance today."
Her eyes went wide.
"Oh, of course. What do you need help with?"
He sighed. "The young man who was supposed to work out my passport renewal messed up the paperwork. As I'm sure you know, failure to pay attention to detail on a senior operative's documents could lead to a demerit. He's been great so far and I'd hate to see him punished for a small error that I can easily correct."
"To cover up a mistake, though, would mean…"
"I know. And I'm not askin' you to cover it up, love. But if we are able to fix it quick enough, I'm sure that his punishment will be less."
"Ok. What do you need?"
"Just a copy of my birth certificate," Mick said. He had known for ages that the birth certificate on file for him was a fake. How could it be anything else? He had never seen the document himself though, and, if there was a real one on record, then that might be both a reason and a place to start digging.
"You want to see your file?" Lizzy asked, looking alarmed. She was not authorized for that.
"No, no, of course not. I know the rules. Just a photocopy of the certificate. Renny got some numbers wrong when he…"
"Renny Rawlings?" She squeaked.
Renny was well known for being a favorite of Doctor Hess. This girl would think that she could use that information in search of advancement for herself or as a way to get in good with him and hitch a ride on his train.
"Please, I shouldn't have said his name," Mick said with fake horror. "You see why I've got to protect him then?"
"Of course," she said. "I can't give you access to your file though."
"Of course not," he said. "And I'm not askin' just a copy of the certificate will do. Or, even just the serial number."
Her face brightened. Providing information from the file was well within the Code. Both for Mick to ask and for her to give. She went into the back.
Mick held his breath.
She came back a couple of minutes later with a small piece of paper. "Here's the serial number," she said.
Mick gave her a smile. "Great. Thank you so much. Now the mistake will be easily fixed and no one's career will be in danger."
"You're so nice, Mr. Davies," she said.
He didn't respond just gave her a conspiratorial wink and walked out.
III
Present Time
Kelly waited. After she had been caught the first time, she knew that after her second attempt, there wouldn't be another one.
The dreams persisted and got worst. Every night she was plagued with visions of her child, miserable, isolated, alone. A lonely existence that would end in death.
She had barely slept in weeks.
It wasn't good for the baby. Harry had told her that the baby was good. That he loved her. And she loved him. Her Jack.
Kelly also knew that he was powerful. And she knew that they could hear prayers. Harry had shown her how prayers could work – could call out to him so that he could hear her if she needed anything at all.
Which gave her an idea.
"Jack," she prayed. "Baby, we, we're not safe here. I'm not safe here. But this angel, your Uncle Gabriel, he's keeping us locked in. I don't know if you can – but we need to get out of here."
She felt the baby kick in response. He had heard. She glowed with love. "Jack, I feel you, baby," she prayed again. "I love you. I'll keep you safe." With everything she had, she prayed her love to the child. She pushed her emotions through the link that she was almost sure she was imagining. A need to leave this place, to get someplace safe.
Kelly felt warmth under her skin. She felt love. And then – suddenly, she wasn't where she had been. It had been the afternoon in Florida. And what was typical for that time of year, there had been an epic downpour and she could hear thunder in the distance.
Where she was now – it looked like a park of some sort. And it was sunny but cool. The air didn't hold the same thickness. It was as if she could breathe freely for the first time in ages – it was cool and crisp, and the sun wasn't as high in the sky as it would have been.
Walking carefully, looking around her, she walked past a row of cars. Their license plates were from Washington State. White and blue with a mountain in the middle – the state logo, "The Evergreen State," written below the numbers.
She plopped down on a bench, relieved. "Good job, Jack," she whispered to her stomach. "This is perfect. You are perfect."
She swore that she could feel a contented sigh from within. Kelly grinned. She was free.
III
Asmodeus was old. He felt that down to his bones. There was a reason that he and his siblings had gone into hiding all those years ago. They were tired of the fight, and they had wanted a peaceful existence. Working for their father had been demanding and grueling and the man was impossible to please. And they had all strived for his pleasure.
In the end, they split up. Which was for the best, because their arguments often time brought destruction. And while they didn't really mind the loss of human life – but it drew attention to them. The angels had been hunting them for years.
Ramiel chose to settle in remote communities. He moved every couple of decades to keep a low profile. Spending his days in idle pursuits. Stealing virgins from time to time and occasionally mutilating cattle in between fishing trips.
Dagon had acted as a demi-god of a sort – starting in what was now Syria. She reveled in the worship and, on very rare occasions, looked after expectant mothers and raised their children so that, upon their death, they became some of the most powerful demons in Hell and on Earth.
Azazel was a zealot. The others found him to be quite pathetic. Century after century of trying to follow prophecy that would allow their father to walk the Earth again. He had finally unlocked the cage, however, through his work with his "special children" and, more specifically, the Winchesters. His triumph was short-lived, in the end.
What Asmodeus lacked in power he made up for in intellect. He watched. Observed. Studied. All in search of what he wanted more than anything. Power. Originally, he had wanted to be the strongest of his siblings, to prove his worth to his father, but now, with only one remaining, that seemed meaningless.
But with Lucifer walking the Earth again and his child soon-to-be-born, Asmodeus couldn't wait to show his father all that he had learned and gained. He was no longer the son that needed to be scared to be taught a lesson – he rose from the ashes.
And nothing fascinated him more than Harry Potter. When wizards had first come into being, he had been the only one of the princes that had been interested in them beyond destroying them at their father's orders. They were fascinating creatures – especially the early ones that were angel enough to contain real power but human enough to not be able to use to protect themselves from him. He had even embarked on an ambitious project with them, to impress Lucifer.
His failure to deliver what he had sought to do to their souls had been a disappointment, and soon, they were too weak to be of any interest to him.
It had been a millennium since one had been powerful enough to capture his interest.
It had been too bad that the boy had been killed while protecting the same pathetic humans that had led to Azazel's death. But when, shortly before his untimely demise, Ramiel had sent word to Asmodeus that he was back, that was too good to pass up. Even before Dagon asked him to hold the boy hostage.
It was perfect. He had been building a cage worthy of an archangel for years. He had even once had a contract with a demi-god that said that he could procure one for him. That ultimately fell through, and he had had to kill that demi-god, but now, it was well worth the wait.
Everything was in place. He would keep his guest in chains warded with powerful sigils. The serum he had developed himself would make it excruciatingly painful to use any of his powers. Kept properly dosed, each attempt would escalate the pain until it became too unbearable to attempt.
And the grace. He could hardly wait to consume that grace. The demon couldn't help but wonder what it would taste like - what it would feel like. All that power.
He shivered with anticipation as he observed his captive. The boy was proud, that was evident. Which would only make breaking him all the more satisfying. And, as an angel, he would be easy enough to keep alive. A perfect pet, really. Sure, he'd occasionally have to feed and water the thing, especially with what he had planned, but that would be a relatively minor inconvenience in exchange for finally being able to become the son that his father deserved. With grace from an angel and the mutilated, molded soul of an original demon, he and his father would rule side-by-side.
Asmodeus smiled. At last, it was time.
III
Several Years Earlier
The serial number had been all he had needed to do more, in depth, research, outside the prying eyes of the Men of Letters. It hadn't been easy, but he was nothing if not resourceful. The Muggle birth certificate was real.
Moreso, it had all the signs of a wizarding birth record that had been converted. Minister Granger-Weasley had made it possible for squibs to access their own records without the help of a witch or wizard family member. So, while it was possible for her to have manipulated the information, the sinking feeling in Mick's gut told him that she was telling him the truth.
And he had found it. He was the son of a witch and a pureblood squib. His records showed exactly what the Minister had told him. After several years of searching, the Davies family had finally given up and had him declared dead. His gravestone was located next to his parents'. It was enough information for him.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the call came through.
"Minister Granger-Weasley?"
"Hermione, but yes, is this Mr. Davies?"
"It is. I – I looked into it. And you're right. I don't know why they took me or what they hoped to accomplish, but…I'd like to meet my family."
"I'm happy to hear that, Mr. Davies, I'm sure that they will be thrilled," she said, sounding genuinely happy.
Mick started to tear up a little. He took a deep breath. "Minister, ultimately, I'd like to get out of the Men of Letters. I was hoping, in exchange for helping you with…whatever you need help with…you may be able to do me the additional favor of arranging that for me."
"Mr. Davies, with your help, there will no more Men of Letters when we're done. But yes, I am happy to assist in anyway that I can."
That…that was big news. And it showed just how much trust the witch was putting in him. But he was nothing if not a man of honor. He knew what the Men of Letters were capable of. What they were able to justify to themselves – what he had justified to himself many times in the past. Total dissolution would be the only way to stop the corruption. "I would like that very much."
"Very good. Expect to hear from me soon." She hung up.
For the first time, Mick didn't know what his future held. But he would do what he could, and, at the end, hopefully he would gain a family. A real family. He couldn't wait.
III
Present Time
"Didn't he let you in?" Sam asked, frowning at Hermione's question. Dean was looking around as if he expected Harry to appear out of thin air. Which wouldn't be unheard of. "You said that he keyed you into the wards."
"He did that ages ago," Hermione said. "I would have expected that he told you that."
"You'd think," Dean muttered. "He mention it to you, Sam?"
Sam shook his head. "No. But that doesn't surprise me. But that still doesn't answer why he's not here. We specifically left him alone with some lore books while we went to meet with…Ron," he stumbled a bit over the last part, not wanting to reveal anything to Mick.
"I know about Mr. Malfoy," Mick said. "But none of this matters. How did you know about the Nephilim?"
"Sort of a long story," Sam said. And it was.
"I've got time," Mick said.
"Mick, they don't have to…"
"It's fine," Dean said. "Lucifer jacked the President…and then knocked up his girlfriend."
"And now, she's being hidden by an archangel."
"Gabriel?" Hermione frowned.
"Yeah," Sam responded.
"Wait – the Devil is having a…child. It seems like something you might have shared with us, considering the gravity of the situation."
Dean sent him a withering glare. "It's kind of a need-to-know kind of thing."
"Minister?" Mick turned to Hermione. "I know that all things considered, you may not want to illicit the help of the Men of Letters, but surely…"
"There were other pressing matters at hand," Hermione said. "And I certainly don't trust anyone in the organization to have any sort of rational response to this." What she didn't say was that any work that the Men of Letters did to try and counter or learn about how to control the Nephilim could also be turned on Harry.
"Where is this woman now?" Mick asked, agitated.
"What part of hidden by an archangel don't you understand?" Dean shot back.
"We're not sure," Sam responding to the question. "We had her. Tried to help her, but, she uh…"
"We lost her," Dean finished.
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry," Mick said, "You…you had her? And you let her live?"
"Look it's not Kelly's fault, ok? She didn't know Lucifer was her boyfriend." Dean wasn't tone-deaf to the hypocrisy of his taking the woman's side. And, knowing what he did now, he was relieved that they hadn't killed the baby.
"Yeah, sure, it could happen to anyone," Mick sneered.
"Mr. Davies," Hermione scolded and that snapped the man out of scolding Sam and Dean.
"Sorry, ma'am," he muttered. Sam couldn't help but smirk at that.
"If Gabriel has her, then all is well. Harry can just convince him to tell us where she is and we can make sure that she remains safe for the remainder of her pregnancy."
Dean scoffed. "Yeah, good luck with that, lady."
Hermione turned her attention to the eldest Winchester. "What does that mean?"
"It means that Harry is the one who arranged to have her hidden in the first place," Sam said. "Gabriel certainly didn't do it out of the kindness of his own heart."
"He didn't tell you any of this?" Dean asked.
"Obviously not. Where is he?" She asked again.
"I've been praying," Sam said, worry in his voice.
"Me too," Dean said. "Try calling him?"
Sam took out his phone and dialed.
Everyone's heart sank (and not for the usual reason) when they heard My Heart Will Go On playing from a deeper in the library. Sam hung up and went in search of the device.
"He left his phone," Dean said, dumbly.
"Yeah," Sam said. He bent down and picked the phone up off the floor. "Do you think he accidentally dropped it?"
"I don't know man," Dean responded, a terrible feeling in his gut. "He's been pretty dedicated to keeping that thing on him since he was back. Especially since Teddy uses it to communicate with him."
Sam opened the phone – easily typing in the passcode (that he had set up). "The last call he got from Teddy was a couple of hours ago. Lasted about 30 seconds." Sam called the number back.
It rang. And rang. And then went to voicemail.
"Can you track it?" Dean asked him.
"Uh – yeah, one sec," Sam said. They had to have Charlie and Luna do something special to the wizard's phone so that they could have the GPS turned on. The kid hadn't been happy to be tracked at all times, but Harry had thought it was best. Sam rattled off where the phone was currently located.
Mick frowned. "Let me see that," he said as he snatched the phone away from Sam. "Mr. Lupin shouldn't be there. He went back to HQ with Mr. Ketch."
"What are the coordinates, Mick?" Hermione asked. He gave them to her. She apparated away on the spot.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Dean exclaimed. "I thought she was supposed to be the responsible one. What if it's a trap? What if we just sent the leader of Wizarding Britain into a trap?"
"Should I go after her?" Sam asked. "I've never tried to apparate someplace I've never been before but…" he stopped talking immediately, realizing his mistake two seconds too late. "I mean…"
Mick stared at him.
"Son of a bitch," Dean repeated. "What is happening today?"
"Sam, you're a…"
He didn't have a chance to finish that sentence because Hermione reappeared in the room.
"You alright?" Sam asked, noticing the expression on her face.
She shook her head.
"Was Teddy there?" Dean demanded.
"No. But his phone was." She held it out to the youngest Winchester, he took it. "Turn it over."
Sam did. "Is that…Enochian?" He asked, noticing what looked like the language carved into the back case of the phone.
"Looks like," Mick said. "Can you read it?"
Sam shook his head. He had never really bothered beyond the couple of symbols they had needed for sigils and seals. Cas was usually around to help if they needed a translator. He thumbed the etching as if that would give some added meaning to the words.
Meanwhile, Mick had grabbed his own phone.
"Wait, stop," Dean said, noticing the action. "What are you doing?"
"Checking in," Mick said. "To make sure that Mr. Lupin isn't a second missing person."
It was a smart move. He put the phone on speaker as it rang.
"What?" Came the annoyed voice of Ketch.
"Mr. Ketch," Mick responded. "Is Mr. Lupin with you?"
"Why?" Ketch asked.
"Just tell us if you have the kid," Dean growled.
"That Dean?"
"Yes. Please, Arthur, it's important," Mick said, using the man's first name to show just how urgent the situation was. It seemed to move the man.
"Hello?" Came the unsure, unmistakable voice of Teddy Lupin on the other end. "Is everything alright?"
Everyone in the room looked at each other.
"Fine, Teddy," Sam responded, deciding that it was best not to alert the rest of the British Men of Letters or Harry's godson that there was a potential problem. "It seems that you left your phone here is all, and we worried."
"Oh. I was sure it was in my bag…"
"Don't worry about it, Teddy. We'll have Mick return it to you when he comes back. Just – uh, could you hand the phone back to Ketch?"
"Sure, Uncle Sam. Are you sure…"
"Yes. Do what he asked," Dean snapped.
Teddy didn't respond.
"Satisfied, gentlemen?" Ketch asked, clearly in possession of the phone again.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Ketch," Mick said.
"What was the big emergency, hmmm?"
"I'll fill you in on the details later. Thank you." He hung up.
"Could Harry just have flown off, again?" Dean asked, trying to come up with any sort of reason that didn't mean that his middle brother wasn't in grave danger. "He does that, you know."
"Not like this," Sam argued. "Not without his phone or answering our prayers."
"Prayers to him have been blocked before, right?" Hermione asked mind in hyperdrive. "He said something about angels…"
"Yeah, Gabriel did it, once," Sam said. "And that time at the Men of Letters compound. That was also angels. Do you think that they got him?"
Dean shook his head. "They couldn't have, he's too powerful."
"But if they came with numbers…"
"It wasn't angels." Everyone in the room jumped. Just a couple of feet away, Gabriel had flown into the Bunker.
"Gabriel!" Sam exclaimed.
The archangel did not look well. His face was pale and drawn. He looked more worried than the night that he confronted Lucifer at the Elysian Fields hotel.
"What's happening?" Dean asked.
"You tell me. You summoned me."
They all looked around at each other, confused. "We didn't summon you," Sam finally said.
"Yeah, what you got there?" Gabriel asked, pointing at the phone.
"It's Teddy's phone – it has…" before he could finish that thought, Gabriel had closed the distance between them and grabbed it out of his hands. If possible his face got paler. "It's not angels," he repeated.
"Who, then?" Dean demanded.
"Demons. More specifically, a Prince of Hell – Asmodeus."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"I got a ransom note," Gabriel pulled something out of his pocket.
"What does it say?" Hermione asked, in horror.
"It says to bring them the girl…or else."
"Or else what?" Sam asked, uneasy, and dreading the answer to that question.
Gabriel pulled a bundle of feathers out from his pocket and laid them down on the table. They were, at first glance, raven black, but, if when they looked closer, they were actually a very deep forest green. The parts of them that weren't covered in blood. And a shimmering slightly with a bright green substance.
"Is that?" Hermione asked, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Yeah. Harry's feathers, with his blood, and his grace on them," Gabriel said grimly.
"What are you waiting for, then?" Dean, going crazy with the implications. "Surely you could bring her and take down the demon? Go get Harry!"
"There's a problem with that, you see," Gabriel said, his eyes glowing slightly. "Kelly ran away last night. Gone – into the wind. I don't have her. No Kelly. No Harry. And we're on a time constraint. He said that we have a week."
"A week until what?" Mick was the only one able to ask the question.
"A week before they offer him up as a reward to any creature that can find her."
AN – I warned you that it was going to get darker didn't I?
I have been hinting about Mick being more than he appeared a couple of times, but I'm not sure if anyone caught on. There is a scene that I deleted from this chapter that I might put in a later one about what he actually did with that werewolf girl. Hint – he didn't kill her. But, believe it or not, I do actually cut this fic down from time to time to try and make things more succinct.
For those of you who don't know who Asmodeus is because you didn't make it to Season 13 of Supernatural: He is a Prince of Hell that captured and tortured Gabriel between Seasons 5 – 13 when everyone thought that he was dead. I make some vague references to the canon parts of that here and will continue to do so. There were even tinier hints about him earlier in the story – I kind of wanted him to be a surprise, but it works less well when y'all don't know who he is! So, sorry about the suddenness of his appearance.
There is going to be a lot of chaos between now and the end of this part of the fic – I promise you that there is a plan and that it should all come together nicely. I feel like it's also important that y'all know that, ultimately, this will be a happy ending. I just want to be sure that you wonder how that will be possible, lol, while we get there.
As always, thank you so much to everyone who interacts! I can't wait to hear what y'all think of this twist. See you next week!