A/N I don't own Supernatural nor Harry Potter

Chapter 21

Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is our life, is revealed, then you also will be revealed with Him in glory. Therefore consider the members of your earthly body as dead to immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed, which amounts to idolatry. For it is because of these things that the wrath of God will come upon the sons of disobedience, and in them you also once walked, when you were living in them.

Colossians 3:1-7

The clouds tumbled and frothed. Greys mixed with whites as an arctic chill wind descended from the north. Downwards it blew, gathering moisture from the atmosphere as it played around the soaring birds. Quicker still, it carried on, frolicking through the tall Oaks of Mountain Ash. Nimbly dancing through leaves and bramble as it twisted through the wood until it came to a glade where it whipped around the bare feet of Ascha. Disbelief clouded minds as an awkward silence hung heavy in the air as the boy walked on silent feet toward Crowley.

His staff made a soft thump every step he took. The quiet was broken by a musical trill as Fawkes descended to land upon Ascha's shoulder. Talons digging into the loose cloth of his peasant shirt. Ascha glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Black hair spilled over his shoulders. He could see the Green and Hazel one crying quietly by the thicket of trees. Ascha immediately felt bad. He didn't mean to lose control like that. The whispers buzzed louder in his ears as he lifted the hand that held the letter to trace the edges of the golden cross at his neck.

Crowley stood in front of him, hands on his knees, breathing deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. Perhaps Ascha had been too harsh on them all. It was inevitable that they would fight. Their natures are too different not too. He wasn't stupid nor was he ignorant of what Crowley was. He could see the darkness inside of him from the very start.

Crowley was very possessive of what he considered to be his, this, Ascha had learned in the time he had spent with him. Undoubtedly, Ascha is part of that list. He suspected it would remain that way even after the terms of their agreement were met. Crowley looked at him too fondly for him to think otherwise.

Brown hair plastered against Crowley's head as he glanced up, almost as if he could feel Ascha's gaze searing into his skin. A pained grin stretched across his face. Ascha could see he was more affected by what Ascha had done than the others. He had forgotten how dark ones reacted to his true voice.

"H…Ha..Harry?" That name again. A brief flash of anger burst through his mind. Ascha could feel the power inside of him begin to stir. The whispers heightened and then quieted.

Then it was gone. Breathe in and out. Calm. Control. This was the mantra repeated within Ascha's mind as he sent spurts of his power into the ground through his feet. Flowers bloomed after every step he made. A strangled gasp sounded from the same one who had spoken. Ascha ignored it as he came to stand before Crowley.

He allowed the parchment clutched in his hand to flutter to the ground. It was of no importance. He had abandoned that life. Harry Potter did not exist. Not anymore. Crowley straightened and extended his hand toward Ascha. Emerald met crimson. Ascha looked over his shoulder at the others in the clearing.

The man who claimed to be his godfather was kneeling upon a pile of leaves. His silvery eyes fixed upon the newly bloomed flowers at Ascha's feet. An amber-eyed man lay in a heap beside him. His pupils, blown wide. His clothing was saturated with sweat.

Faces glowed in the light of the newly risen moon. Tears made their way down worn faces. The magicals trembled. Their bodies were unused to the amount of power that permeated the air. Unkempt robes were tussled from the large rooted vines that had held them aloft. The two men that had come for the green and hazel one were crouched near the two young boys.

The old man with half-moon glasses was struggling to stay on his feet. The scarred one-legged man was leaning on a staff not dissimilar to Ascha's. The two women were leaning against a great Elm tree. The bark beneath the women's palms sang from the influx of magic they were emitting.

"Harry, come away from that creature." Came a mousey voice. It sounded small. Breathless. Fear coated every word. Jade eyes stared into a dull blue. The man was rotund, not unlike his previous masters. Double chin wobbling as he pushed himself up weakly from where he had fallen when released from the roots. Ascha ignored him. Harsh breaths came from the amber-eyed one as he strained himself to stand. His legs collapsed beneath him.

"Harry. Don't." Remus Lupin begged. He stretched a quaking arm towards him. Sweat matted his brown locks to his face.

"Get away from that demon scum boy. Come to us. We will protect you. Whatever he promised you. It's a lie. Come here." John Winchester implored. His voice edged in desperateness.

"Ascha." Came the velvety dulcet tones of Crowley's voice. Ascha turned back toward him. His eyes traced the long fingers of Crowley's outstretched hand. "Come." Protests rang up behind Ascha as he began to move.

"Harry! NO!" Crowley's grin became predatory as Ascha lifted a pale hand and laid it gently in his. Lengthy digits slowly cage Ascha's hand. Crimson stared out at those in the glade as Ascha glanced at his godfather from over his shoulder, his glowing green eye skimming the faces that stared at him in stunned horror. "NO! Let go of him you monster! Let go of him!" Sirius shouted as he pushed himself to his feet before he stumbled. A breath and they were gone. Sirius's screams of anguish echoed through the trees. The cottage stood abandoned. Waiting.

…

3 years later

Bobby Singer's house at Singer Salvage Yard, South Dakota

Summer 1994

The kitchen was silent save for the soft breaths of Bobby Singer. He stared out across his yard to the thicket of trees beyond through the window above the sink. Regret. It sat like a heavy weight upon his mind. Three years it has been. Three years since he had seen the blessed child. Three years of combing through ancient texts.

Three years of going around in circles trying to find him off the smallest of rumors. Three years since he had to talk down a group of distraught magicals from mind-wiping him and that good-for-nothing Winchester and his boys. An explosive sigh escaped him as he turned on the faucet to rinse out a dirty mug. Lifting it to the light he looked inside it, then shrugged.

Clean enough.

Walking over to his fridge he opened it. Bending over, he grabbed a beer from inside. Popping the cap off using his teeth, he spat the metal cap into the sink and poured the beer into the mug. Taking the mug, he walked into his living room.

Books littered the floor, spilling from the dust-covered shelves. Papers lay half-hazard throughout the dim room. Shaking his head, Bobby sighed again as he went and sat down on his couch, dragging an open book on demon lore toward him. He took a sip from his mug. The alcohol a warm burn down his throat. He got back to work. Research.

Somewhere in Scotland

Hogsmeade Village

October 31st 1994

Winter's chill had come early that year as the people hurried in clusters attempting to stay warm through the village in excited chatter. Robes were held close to bodies and warming charms were used repeatedly.

Two cloaked men walked slowly through the crowd, the people parting around the two unconsciously. No head turned toward them as they walked. Their forest green cloaks trailed along behind them, though no one noticed the path they made, for it disappeared just as they made it. Faces were hidden beneath the hoods.

Their movements were graceful as they trekked the village streets, though no eye turned to see. So long as they wished it, it would stay that way. Such was their power. It blanketed the air. Hung thick in crackling waves, causing the people to huddle closer to one another. Even though they could not see it, they could feel it. Though they didn't understand what they sensed.

Leisurely, they strolled down the path that would lead them to the castle that the village surrounded. As they continued a trilling bird call that caused the men and women that surrounded the two to sigh in content, sounded from above them.

The sound was joyous and filled with warmth. One of the men tilted his head up, a slim gloved hand reaching toward his neck, then falling towards his side in an aborted movement. His companion glanced at him from over his shoulder.

Crimson stared out at him from beneath the darkened hood. They continued walking, the sounds of the village fading in the distance, until they arrived at the base of the hill that would lead them up toward the castle.

Stopping, they observed the great buttresses that rose toward the clouds in front of them. They could see a small wooden hut surrounded by a patch of pumpkins beyond the gate at the top of the hill. Smoke billowed out from a chimney beside it. A black dog relaxed on the porch chained to a pole. Glowing green eyes peered out from the dark cloth.

"So it begins." Came the silken tones of Crowley's voice.

"So it does," Ascha answered as the two ascended toward the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts and the wrought iron gates. The castle wards rippled in protest before they quieted with a pulse of power from Ascha as they climbed toward their destination. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.