"Kingsley. You cannot be serious." Harry resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was moments like this when he could truly appreciate why Snape had made the gesture so often.
The head in his fire grimaced. "I am sorry, Harry, truly. Apparently this guy is a real piece of work, and because he is a British citizen, they are making him our problem."
Harry gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. "Kings. Even if I believed this guy was in any way, shape, or form my problem, you know I can't just leave Teddy!"
Kingsley's face grew calculating. "Can't? Or won't?"
Harry didn't even try to hold back his growl. "Won't. And you really don't want to piss me off."
His eyes flashed angrily, and Kingsley immediately raised his hands in surrender.
Harry gave one more pointed glare before he settled in for what promised to be a long conversation.
Sam struggled against the handcuffs keeping him attached to the pipes. Ketch had managed to handcuff him in such a way that he couldn't reach his face to push the blindfold off or pull the gag from his mouth.
He knew that if he could just get his shoulder dislocated, he would be able to somehow wiggle the cuffs around and find a way out of this mess. He felt a pop in his shoulder just as he heard the scuffing of a shoe against the cement floor. He immediately froze, straining to hear how many people were in the room.
He was fairly comfortable recognizing Ketch's footsteps, and he had heard a lighter set a few times, someone more feminine, if he was basing it off of weight and step pattern.
Ketch's low murmur sounded, and Sam strained to hear what directions he was giving. His shoulder was on fire and he felt like he might pass out. He bit into the gag to stifle the whimpers that wanted to escape, refusing to allow himself to lose consciousness. He didn't know what new torture Ketch was going to devise for him, whether he would wave his hand and somehow create unimaginable pain, or have the smaller person use a knife. Regardless, it didn't matter. He would find a way to get himself out of here, before they could trap Dean into coming for him.
There was the sound of a knife being unsheathed, and Sam gave an involuntary shudder. He wouldn't let them have any more of his pain than he could help. He braced himself as he felt the cold steel against his shoulder, the one that was already screaming with pain. He expected to feel the pain any moment, to feel the hot blood trickling down his chilled skin.
The steel disappeared and he heard an unfamiliar British voice speaking. "Shit, Ketch, what the fuck have you been doing to this poor man?" Then there were unfamiliar words, Latin perhaps, along with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and the thud of bodies hitting the ground.
The blindfold was pulled off abruptly and Sam blinked hard, trying to re-acclimate his eyes to the light. He hissed as his shoulder was jarred, then cursed himself under his breath for showing a weakness to a potential enemy.
The British man sounded caught between amusement and exasperation, a tone Sam was well versed in thanks to Dean. "Relax, mate. You're in no danger from me. Let me get these cuffs off of you and then we'll see about that shoulder." The man huffed out a small laugh. "If you'll even let me help, after what that bastard did to you."
Sam made some noises around the gag in his mouth, prompting the British guy to step back in front of him and roll his eyes. "Sorry, mate, it's been a minute since I did the whole rescue gig." He moved back behind Sam and started untying the gag, carefully untangling it from his hair.
He continued to talk as he worked quickly, shooting quick looks at Sam from the corner of his eye. "I'm Harry, by the way. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'd imagine you wouldn't care to return the sentiment, and that would just break my heart, so I'll refrain." He gave a cheeky wink as he carefully pulled the gag away from Sam's mouth, then offered him a glass of cool, clear water.
Sam decided to go with the 'if he wanted to kill me he wouldn't have rescued me' train of thought and gratefully accepted the water. "Thanks, Harry. I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."
Harry's lips quirked in amusement. "I'm well aware of who you are, Sam. Kingsley briefed me well." He moved back behind Sam to fiddle with the handcuffs, which Sam knew from experience would take a while to break through.
Craning his neck to try to watch Harry's movements, he absent-mindedly asked, "Kingsley? Who's that?"
The thoughtful look on Harry's face faded to confusion as he slowly took his eyes off the cuffs to meet Sam's. "Shacklebolt? The Minister for...fuck. You don't know, do you? You know nothing about us? When Kings said you were a Man of Letters, I guess I assumed that meant you already knew, and I wouldn't have to waste a bunch of time explaining things. Shite!" Harry kicked the chair that Ketch had used when he wanted to watch the torture. As his foot met the wood, the cuffs snapped off of Sam's wrists.
Sam jumped to his feet, then immediately crumbled back to the floor. "What the fuck is going on, man? Those cuffs just fell off. And the water? Where the hell did you get water? And when you came in, you were using Latin!"
The British man just stood over him, looking halfway between amused and exasperated. When Sam stopped to draw a breath, Harry huffed his own breath out and said, "You ready to listen now? I'm on a bit of a time crunch. I shouldn't have assumed you knew already, but when Kings said you and your brother were both Legacies, I thought he meant you were already read in on this." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging as he went, muttering under his breath.
Sam nodded slowly, and Harry reached down to help him off the floor. He set a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder as he pulled him up and it immediately felt better. He offered another cheeky wink before saying, "I'll explain, I promise, but let's get out of here, what do you say? I don't want to be anywhere near that sociopath when he wakes up, or his little helper."
Reminded that there were others in the room, Sam looked around to see if they were stirring.
"Mom?"