Chapter 8 - Shifting Gears
When everyone had their hot drink of choice they regrouped in the living room with an unspoken agreement that all talks even semi-related to the apocalypse were momentarily off the table. Harry couldn't possibly be the only one who needed a break, after all, even if he was the only one willing to admit to and do anything about it.
Correctly surmising that they wouldn't be discussing anything interesting any time soon, Crowley had drifted off to some other part of the house to amuse himself. Castiel remained in the exact same spot he'd been standing in since Harry returned home, having declined both Harry's token offer of a drink and Hermione's much more genuine suggestion that he take a seat somewhere. Despite his continued physical presence, it was highly unlikely that Castiel would actually see any need to speak unless directly addressed, and even that might be hit or miss.
Initially the four of them took the quiet reprieve to calm their minds and steady themselves, but it grew quickly apparent that sipping tea and coffee in silence was not doing any favours for their nerves. They needed to talk about something, anything to fill the air, but the easiest topic at hand was the very one Harry had insisted on taking a break from.
Resting her mug on her knee, hands gently cradling the warm porcelain, Hermione glanced meaningfully about the group.
"With everything that's happened today I don't believe we've had a chance to be properly introduced. How about we do that?"
Truthfully the thought hadn't even occurred to Harry. That was why Hermione always had been and always would be the brains in the relationship. Spending so much time at the Roadhouse amongst hunters certainly hadn't done him any favours where social pleasantries were concerned - no one wanted to hear or share their life story, they just wanted to get down to business.
"Sounds good."
Sam nodded encouragingly and Dean shrugged, which wasn't a protest at least.
"We all know Harry, so he can just sit there quietly and listen. Anyway, my name is Hermione Granger. Harry and I were friends at school. You're… Sam, right?"
"That's right. Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean."
Dean saluted her with his coffee at the sound of his name, offering one of his 'you are a pretty lady' grins which was only mildly dampened by the knowledge that she'd shown up in the company of a bunch of confusing magic-users from across the pond. (Exposure therapy was doings wonders for his tolerance levels, it turned out.)
"Stop that," Harry protested reflexively at the sight.
Dean rolled his eyes. "What, you can hook up with my brother and I can't even say hi to your lady friend?"
Not at all ruffled by their brief back-and-forth, Hermione smiled pleasantly and interjected, "His 'lady friend' knows spells that could turn your whole body inside out in the blink of an eye, so perhaps choose your words wisely."
What little he'd seen of her interaction with Krum way back in fourth year had in no way prepared Harry to witness her self-assured clap-back. That hadn't even been Dean actually flirting, just something closer to his default 'interacting with women' attitude, but damn.
(Also, while he was well aware that spells of that nature existed, when exactly had Hermione gone about learning them herself?)
Sam made a valiant yet unsuccessful attempt at pretending he wasn't laughing, while Dean suddenly seemed actually interested in the conversation rather than just being there to make sure he stayed in the loop.
"Harry said the two of you were Hunters," she continued as if she hadn't said a thing, "but Harry, are you a Hunter too?"
"What happened to wanting me to be quiet?" he joked. "Other people would probably say yes, but I still don't really feel like I am. I'm less interested in hunting as I am invested in making sure these two reckless idiots make it through the night in one piece, you know? Sometimes that's a full-time job."
"Acting like he's some sort of baby-sitter," Dean muttered without any heat.
"Considering I've never really done anything that doesn't somehow revolve around hunting though, it's not like I complain or kick up a fuss when I get slapped with the label. It makes sense."
"I shouldn't be surprised," Hermione mused. "You always did excel at Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not to mention your teenage penchant for throwing yourself headlong into dangerous situations."
"Hey, at least 50% of that was not my fault!"
She simply laughed in response.
Sensing that things might spiral into petty bickering if left alone, Sam jumped in to redirect the conversation.
"What about you Hermione? I can't even imagine what sort of career paths would be on offer in a magical society."
He was downplaying his knowledge of the magical world - he'd certainly gained some insight from some of the trips Harry had taken him on - but it was still true that seeing magical retailers was barely scratching the surface of what could be possible.
"Me? I'm an Unspeakable."
As Sam and Dean shared confused glances Harry grimaced.
"The Department of Mysteries? Really?"
Hermione's jovial expression shifted into something equally grim as she nodded.
"It was surprising for me too. It's not like that's what I set out intending to do. I wanted to work at the ministry, to try and find a way to be a voice of reason, to somehow help steer them out of their ridiculous 18th century mindsets. Politics, I guess. You know the ministry has always been a mess, full of corruption and outdated ideologies."
"Sounds about right."
"Yes, well, turns out the very things the fresh-out-of-school me wanted to change were the same things that would prevent me from doing so. I managed to get an in at the ministry - eventually - with an internship, which turned into an admin assistant job that was barely better than being some glorified errand girl, constantly writing interdepartmental notes and chasing people down throughout the building over late or missing paperwork and all that fun stuff. It wasn't fulfilling, nor was it what I wanted to be doing, but I was good at my job regardless. I thought to myself, okay, maybe I have to start right at the bottom, but I can work my way up. This can still work. After enough time passed I should have gotten a raise, or whispers of promotion, anything. But no."
"Because you're muggleborn," Harry guessed.
"Because I'm muggleborn, because I don't have a fancy magical heritage, because I'm a woman. Because the whole world knows that I was friends with Harry Potter and to some people that makes me a dangerous unknown."
"Because you're intelligent and that scares them."
Hermione offered a wry smile. "Yeah, probably that too."
"So, the ministry is still full of assholes, that's nothing new. How did you go from pencil-pusher to Unspeakable?"
"Honestly? I'm still not entirely sure myself. No-one was ever willing to explain, and at this point I don't really care that much to find out. All I know is that one day someone from the Department of Mysteries came to talk to me with an offer: a temporary transfer with the intent of seeing whether I'd be a good fit for the department."
"Obviously you took them up on it."
"Not straight away. When I first learned about the department back in third year, when I had my time-turner, I thought it sounded fascinating, and that was just from the name alone. After everything that happened there in fifth year, though, I was definitely hesitant. I still don't know if they knew I was one of the people who broke in - maybe that's why they approached me in the first place. New recruits are few and far between since as a whole the department doesn't need lots of staff. They run on their own rules, and nothing they do is required to keep the ministry up and running, so even if there was only one Unspeakable left the department would keep working all the same."
"So you gave up on the idea of political reform?" Sam asked, finally having found something in their conversation that he clearly understood and could engage with.
"Ultimately? Yes. Nothing is going to change in the ministry unless someone sacrifices the whole of themselves to making it happen, whether the people want them to or not. When given the option to devote myself to the pursuit of knowledge and furthering my understanding of magic, to be appreciated for what I could do instead of brushed to the wayside, I found that no, I didn't want to have to be that person."
"I don't blame ya, I could never be a politician," Dean declared, adding his own two cents.
Given his short temper, penchant for yelling, and mild trigger-happiness, no one bothered to pretend to think he could do it if he tried. They shared a brief amused smile that went straight over Dean's head.
"You're too good for them anyway, 'Mione."
"Thanks." There was an edge of shyness in the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. For all that they had been powering through this whole day as if it'd barely been any time at all since they last saw each other, it had in reality been around a decade.
"I mean it," Harry added, firm. He may have vanished without giving anyone a proper farewell or explanation, but that didn't mean he had completely forgotten everything from back then. Hermione was right to be a little surprised that he still had this much faith in her, but she'd never given him any reason to doubt - not back then and not now - so he wanted to make sure she believed him.
She nodded, but quickly moved on.
"Anyway, Unspeakables are powerful in their own way. People are scared of them, unnerved by them. There are some regulations and contract stipulations from hundreds of years ago that mean the ministry has to fund the department no questions asked, and the Unspeakables are under no obligation to report in on what they're working on. The department was created for all sorts of obscure and theoretical research after all; why give quarterly updates when a project might be in stasis for decades?"
Her smile grew a little devious.
"I think the last hundred years or so the department has really been playing into that. If no-one knows what they're working on then they're mysterious, unapproachable, untouchable."
"Unspeakable," Harry joked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated, but agreed.
"Yes yes. Basically, at the end of the day, no one gives me shit at work any more, and that's more than I would've gotten anywhere else in the ministry."
Traumatic memories aside, Harry could admit that the DoM sounded like the best place to work in the ministry if you weren't fervently passionate about some other department.
"Are you… researching anything interesting at the moment?" Sam inquired, slightly hesitant that it might be a question he wasn't allowed to ask.
Hermione brushed away his concern.
"Not exactly. I haven't found a compelling enough topic to devote myself to as my personal project yet, so I'm something of a jack-of-all-trades research assistant at the moment. Funnily enough though, Harry, do you remember how we ended up shattering all those Time Turners?"
Wincing at the reminder Harry nodded slowly.
"Even when they approached me about the transfer they were - are - still working on replacing those. That's actually what they had me doing throughout my test period and for several more months after we made the job transfer permanent. Time magic is so complex and finicky that it takes an incredible amount of time and effort to create the necessary materials, let alone craft a finished time turner."
Harry refused to feel bad about that.
"It's not like they needed that many time turners anyway."
"Okay," Dean called over Hermione's laughter. "I let it go before but what's this I'm hearing about youthful B&E and property destruction?"
Sam kicked at Dean's feet for steering the conversation toward alleged crime.
"The property destruction was an accident," Harry protested.
Hermione followed up with some fuel for the fire. "But the breaking and entering were entirely on purpose."
"Nice."
"Dean."
"What? It's ancient history, it's not like I'm encouraging some kid to go out and do crime!"
Sam merely sighed, knowing a lost cause when he saw one.
"Let's just say it was a dire situation and leave it at that," Harry said. "Besides, those Death Eaters destroyed way more shit than we did."
It had been more than a little while since Harry talked about his wizarding past, but the brothers must've recognised that they were starting to toe the line of things better left un-discussed, because they didn't push for more information.
Drink finished, Hermione placed her mug on the coffee table and clapped her hands together.
"Well now, I think that's enough about me. What about the two of you? What is a hunter?"
Harry allowed himself to tune out the following conversation, Sam and Dean going back and forth running Hermione through some of their hopefully less eventful hunts.
Circumstances aside, sitting here in his house watching two halves of his life interact was oddly… comforting.
The only time he'd really thought about old acquaintances from the UK was when he'd been thinking of potion masters to reach out to for help, but his thoughts had never strayed to his actual friends or classmates. In the beginning it was purposeful avoidance: he was set to lose his magic and had decided to cut ties with that part of his life for his own sanity. Eventually, after he moved to America, it just became ingrained in him to subconsciously steer his thoughts away if they ever drifted in that direction.
At the time it probably was for the best - he had needed space and to find some new purpose in his life without the wizarding world weighing him down - but here and now? It was nice.
oOoOo
Crowley reappeared some time later with a scowl, snapping Harry back into the reality of why they were gathered together in the first place.
"Are you girls done gossiping yet or should I just call it quits? Places to be, people to see, time is money."
Castiel - who had honestly melded into the background so well during their break that Harry almost forgot he was still here - levelled Crowley with a cold stare, which is probably what classified as a glare for him.
"Oh don't give me that look Feathers, I'm sure even you have more productive things to be doing than listening to chit-chat."
Normally Harry would write this off as Crowley being both dramatic and an asshole, but it was true that he'd only intended to take a brief break and it had instead devolved into a lengthy discussion. All he'd wanted was to turn his brain off for a moment, but getting sidetracked when people were waiting on him wasn't a great look.
"Sorry." Harry straightened in his seat and put on his game face. "First, I wanted to clarify something with Castiel."
Castiel stopped glaring at Crowley, which was about as much acknowledgement as he would get.
"When it comes to angels, names have some sort of power, right? That's why you can find us when we call for you. But that needs to be done with intent, which is why you still call it praying. Is it possible to accidentally draw an angel's gaze just by saying their name?"
It would be insanely naive to think Uriel didn't already know where they lived, but they weren't always at home. If naming him would let him track their whereabouts they needed to know that sooner rather than later.
"Intent is important," Castiel confirmed. "However, heated emotions may imply an intent you did not mean to use. If you are worried, then avoidance is the safest path."
In other words he didn't really know, but as always proceeding with caution was the best idea.
"Okay. For today at least let's avoid name-dropping too many people. Agreed?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Whatever."
"I'll simply follow your lead on this." Hermione paused, then asked, "Actually, should I even still be here for this? I can leave if you want."
"It's not like it's confidential," Dean pointed out.
"If you want to leave, though, that's up to you," Sam continued.
"I'll stay."
In it for the long haul then. That was fine.
"Okay, let's summarise then to start things off. Firstly, there's a faction in Heaven that wants the apocalypse to play out."
"Probably one of the big guys too, since they went out of their way to have Castiel here drag me back to the land of the living after letting me break that seal."
Badmouthing the Heavenly Host out in the open like this clearly made Castiel uncomfortable, but he'd also reached a point where he couldn't whole-heartedly protest anything they were saying, so he had to keep his silence.
"The apocalypse faction could potentially be quite large, but given recent events I'd wager that there's an internal division about the preferred outcome of that fight."
"That tracks." Sam frowned. "Teaming up with demons like that was a bold move, but just because He's made his opinion clear out in the open it doesn't mean he's the only one batting for that team. At the end of the day we have no idea how many other angels want the same thing - how many of them think the world would be better off without humans messing things up."
"He wants me dead. What was it he said? Something about assuring their victory? If I'm supposed to be so god damned important it would be nice if someone had the decency to give me a heads up about it for once in their lives."
Even though that jab wasn't actually directed at Castiel for once, the angel still curled into himself slightly at the imagined slight.
"Not only that, but he intentionally attempted to avoid harming me. For some reason, in his head, the ideal playing field is one where Dean is dead and I'm alive."
Trying to figure out the logic behind enemy actions with zero context really was the worst.
"I have a question." Hermione raised her hand slightly, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Earlier you mentioned that angels and demons possess human bodies while they're here. Is that a requirement for existing outside their realms? Or is it just to make things easier for them?"
"If a mortal witnesses the true form of an angel they will perish."
That was in essence the same explanation he tried giving Pamela. Proving it obviously wasn't worth the cost.
Hermione turned to Crowley next. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "You wouldn't believe how inconvenient it is not having a solid form. Unfortunately angels get to boast about being deadly creatures of light and creation while demons are just a scary haze. You could say we really drew the short straw on that one."
Skilfully ignoring his last comment Hermione nodded to herself.
"So it's not about necessity but utility. I see. Given the context I'm assuming that this apocalypse is the, uh, biblical one? The one that involves Lucifer?" Receiving a series of agreements she continued her thought. "Concerning their forms, is Lucifer considered an angel or a demon?"
"He's our so-called ruler - in name only might I add - but old Lucy's still an angel through and through. Didn't even fall like angels do these days, no, all he did was get banished. Banished from daddy's kingdom until the end of time, sure, but they didn't even strip his powers or anything."
None of these nit-picky little details had ever seemed that important to Harry - he kind of got to the whole 'the apocalypse will probably destroy the world' part and decided that was enough information to decide to make a stand. Even though little details were important for hunting, stopping the apocalypse felt like something too big to be classified as a hunt and so it sometimes slipped his mind. Having an outsider like Hermione here, capable of looking at things objectively and without previous knowledge clouding her perception, was actually starting to look like a real boon.
"So it's an angel versus angel showdown," Sam interjected, starting to pick up on whatever thoughts were swirling around in Hermione's mind. "If angels don't have a physical form in the normal sense, are they even capable of meaningful physical interaction outside of human vessels?"
There was probably a lot Castiel wanted to say to that, but him trying to explain the intricacies of an angel's existence would probably be too much hyper-specific jargon for even the smartest of them to parse right now.
"If they tried to kill each other in their natural forms, could they do it?" Harry clarified, hoping to help streamline Castiel's thoughts.
It was with noticeable uncertainty that Castiel replied "No…?"
Given his personality he'd likely never considered it before, but certain mortal terminology might be difficult to translate in terms of their light forms. It definitely seemed like it was at the very least way easier to kill an angel when they were in a vessel, and maybe that was all there really was to it. They'd have to ask an angel more inclined towards violence for specifics, and there was no chance of doing that safely, so 'no' would have to do.
"I want to say that's kinda a good thing, since if they duked it out like that they'd seriously vaporise anyone in the area even before they started fighting. But it's gonna be a shitshow either way, so why do they have to drag people into their mess?"
"At the end of the day angels don't care about humanity any more than demons do. This apocalypse is like their ultimate prophecy: all they want is to see who comes out on top. Collateral damage doesn't factor into things at all. At least us demons are honest in that department."
"There's no need for the antagonism," Hermione said, glancing pointedly between Crowley and Castiel. "It's unhelpful. Fight on your own time."
Sam picked up where they left off.
"If they need vessels for their showdown then, based on what He said, wouldn't it make sense to assume that Dean and I factor into that somehow? I can't think of a single other reason for him to care about my well-being rather than trying to put me in the ground."
An alarming thought, but not unreasonable given the evidence.
Asking 'why the Winchesters?' at this point in the game was a waste of time. Sometimes it felt like everything was determined to be a Winchester problem one way or the other. They didn't need to know the intricate details that lead up to the decision; all that mattered was that someone - in this case Uriel, potentially Lilith, and an untold number of other angels and demons - had decided that Sam and Dean were going to play pivotal roles in the coming apocalypse.
"Two brothers to facilitate a showdown between brothers? Sounds like a good time to me. If that's their reason then honestly, I'd applaud for that one. Feels like the right amount of dramatic spice for the end of the world."
"Not helpful," Harry pointed out, doubling down on Hermione's comment as Crowley got good and invested in the conversation.
"Now now, I said 'If'." He shook his empty glass at Harry in a dismissive shushing motion. "As it stands I highly doubt they would know good dramatic taste if it smacked them in the face. No. They make decisions for logistical purposes, not for fun. If Loverboy and Trigger-Happy are the ultimate go-to players in this game then it's for some 'higher purpose' reason. Prophecies, bloodlines, destiny, all that jazz. They didn't pick your names out of a hat, that's for sure."
For a brief moment the entire group was struck silent at the insane imagined image of Uriel and a crowd of faceless angels filling a hat with the names of everyone on Earth and drawing slips of paper at random to find the actors for their apocalypse.
Sam, the first to recover, attempted to restart his train of thought. "They're already side-stepping the destiny part by forcing the apocalypse into being. The only part they care about is the fight itself."
"Do they, though?"
Everyone glanced at Hermione.
"What I mean is, if they actually wanted the fight itself, and Sam and Dean are indeed some sort of important part of it all, then why try to kill Dean? That theoretically makes the fight impossible. Since He seems to be on Lucifer's side, would that mean Dean's death would severely impact Michael?" She covered her mouth apologetically - shouting Lucifer's name until the end of time was safe as long as he was still locked up like now, but maybe throwing around the Number One Angel's name wasn't the best plan.
"Do not worry." Castiel appeared pained by his own reassurance. "He does not listen to prayers."
"None of them do," Crowley added gleefully, rubbing salt in the wound. "Only when it benefits them, which is almost never. That's why everyone comes to us."
In other words: they only listen when there's something they want to know. Castiel was keeping tabs on them so of course he was listening, Uriel would want to take any advantage he could get if they slipped up too much, but otherwise… Nothing.
Not exactly an inspiring showing from the Heavenly Host, but also not really important.
"For now, let's just assume that's true." Even though he was the one to initially suggest it, just tentatively confirming that thought seemed to drain Sam.
Harry knew from experience that being toyed around with by higher powers - in this case in the literal sense - was an exhausting way to live. Learning the motivations behind it never made it any easier to deal with - sometimes it made it worse.
"Knowing why those fuckers want us dead is meaningless," Dean declared. "Stuff wants us dead all the time for no bigger reason than we stepped on their turf. All we need to know is to keep our guards up."
Straight to the heart of the matter. Trust Dean to want to brush off all the miscellaneous details and just deal with the bare bones - although in this case it would probably save them some of the mental burden of trying to tease out this entire apocalyptic plot from thin air.
"'Sides, they can't duke it out - or take over the world, or whatever - until Lucifer's out and about, right? So first we just need to stay alive, and second we need to keep him locked up."
Easier said than done, but true nonetheless.
"Would be easier if we killed him," Harry couldn't help but point out, a brief moment of devil's advocate, "But of course we'd probably have to let him out for that so it's off the table."
"Is it safe to assume that we're shelving the topic of Him for now?"
That would be for the best. If Harry had to spend the rest of the day trying to psychoanalyse Uriel it would drive him to destruction - Dean too.
With a varying chorus of assent Hermione nodded, and they drew a purposeful line in the sand of their brainstorming.
"So we're back to the original square one: trying to protect the final seal."
The big problem, aka the thing they'd worked themselves into an exhausted fugue state trying to research before the whole angel murders incident came along to distract them.
The mood instantly tanked again, their despair clear for all to see.
Reluctant, but determined to see things through now that she was involved, Hermione asked, "Do you know what that is?"
Dean's only response was a tortured groan. Even Crowley couldn't poke fun at them on this point - he was equally as frustrated by his own lack of progress on the topic.
"All we know," Sam explained, "is that it involves a demon called Lilith in some manner, although we have no idea what she's supposed to do or why."
"That's all?"
Her question was directed at the room at large, but her gaze darted over to Castiel, who ought to be the best placed to know this sort of thing.
"Lilith will break the final seal," the angel quoted, echoing the only thing he knew once more, shoulders stiff with quiet discontent.
"Yeah, his boss doesn't tell him jack shit," Dean scoffed. "Need to know, and he doesn't need to know."
"Initially we didn't want to draw too much attention by trying to poke around upstairs looking for answers, but after today it's definitely too much of a risk. There's no knowing who's on what side or what they might do with the knowledge that Castiel's looking into it."
"Asking around Downstairs isn't an issue - of course all us demons should be excited about the coming apocalypse, what's wrong with seeing if we can help it along? The problem is that no one was stupid enough to leak intel to the low-level grunts, and trying to track down more important people is a gruelling endeavour. No one is ever where you think they should be."
That was kind of rich coming from someone like Crowley who prided themselves on being unpredictable and hard to find, spending untold amounts of time on the surface instead of down with those very same grunts. The problem it created remained either way.
"So if the stars align, you'll do your best, but otherwise intel-gathering is a doomed venture?"
Crowley waved a finger in Harry's direction. "Your words, not mine."
Even if Crowley did know who might have information and where to find them, he'd never given Harry the impression that he had amicable relationships with any other demons. There was no way of knowing if he'd be able to convince anyone to talk.
"Something tells me this has been an ongoing problem," Hermione commented, tone carefully neutral. "I know what it's like to spend long periods of time trying to navigate a research roadblock. How about we shelve that topic too. Let's try an angle that might be a bit more manageable. You need a safe place, good defences, and whatever protection plans you can think of in order to have the space to tackle these harder issues. Are you safe?"
"We're Hunters." Dean gestured vaguely around the room, thinking about all of their weapons and the usual collection of supernatural fighting miscellany.
Hermione levelled him with an unimpressed stare before turning to Sam.
"The house is warded."
"How and against what?"
Well, that was a question for Harry.
"It's warded against demons. Not magical wards - I wouldn't have the slightest clue where to start with something like that. Oh, and before you ask, Crowley has special permissions."
Initially that simply meant Harry carefully walked him through a pathway into the house that bypassed the majority of the ward triggers and traps. After a lot of back and forth, however, they managed to figure out how to alter the sigils just enough to specifically allow Crowley entry while still rejecting other demonic signatures. It meant Harry felt less guilty about doubling-down the wards in the weaker points of his original design afterwards.
"It might be a good idea to look into magical wards," Hermione mused, chin in hand. "Probably better that I do that, though. An idea for another day. What about angelic protections? Surely He knows were you live by now - what if He just comes back?"
"Today's the first day we've been back in town since He made his desire to murder me public knowledge. Dunno if you noticed but we haven't exactly had time to do anything between then and now."
"While it's true that He likely knows where this house is, He's unlikely to do anything crazy like destroy the building since there's a high chance of me also dying."
Both brothers had good points. It was also true that they couldn't let the status quo be their only safeguard.
"Castiel would need to be our advisor for angelic defences. We've been combing through religious texts since Dean's resurrection and all we've managed to cobble together are summoning signs and emergency banishing sigils - it's just not doable on our own."
Everyone's attention shifted to Castiel. He squared his shoulders resolutely.
"I will think it over."
"Okay, great." Hermione smiled, a cutting business smile that simply dared you to try and contradict her. "Shoring up your defences is your immediate, short-term goal. Everything else needs time and patience. With that sorted, it's time to call it a day on the brainstorming. Burning yourself out and giving into stress isn't going to do any of you any good."
Words of wisdom that they rarely lived by.
Dean hauled himself to his feet as Crowley, hearing no protests against ending the conversation, slipped out to do something more interesting without so much as a token farewell.
"I dunno about the rest of you, but after all this shop talk I need a damn drink or two."
oOoOo
Up in their room, almost ready to call it a night after a frankly exhausting day, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam pace. It wasn't difficult to guess what was on his mind. Hell, he didn't need to guess at all. It was plain as day what he was worked up about - the very same thing he'd been mulling over ever since Snape showed up earlier.
Sam was better at compartmentalising than both Harry and Dean combined, so he'd easily set the issue aside while everyone talked downstairs, but now that it was just the two of them it was starting to bubble over.
When he first started pacing Harry mentally allotted him ten minutes to wander uninterrupted, to burn off some of the nervous energy that had been building up over the course of the afternoon, but too long in the silence was only going to let Sam get too deep into his own head. Having determined that those ten minutes were now over, Harry reached out and grabbed Sam's hand on his next pass, gently tugging him to a stop.
"Sam."
Sam allowed himself to be moved, shifting to face Harry when prompted, expression downcast. Unexpectedly, he lifted his free hand to cup Harry's cheek, before slowly dragging his fingers down to tilt his chin up to meet Sam's gaze.
"Are you okay?"
Bewildered Harry blinked up at him.
"Me? I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You don't feel weird at all?"
It clicked then that Sam wasn't asking him about his emotional state, but about whether any side effects from the potion had cropped up.
"I'll tell you if anything comes up, I swear, but for the time being I'm fine. Promise."
Sam exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping. "Okay."
"Sit down," Harry said, freeing his hand to nudge Sam's side.
He moved without protest, but instead of just sitting Sam collapsed backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly from the impact.
Well, that worked too. Harry pulled his legs up onto the mattress and shifted to face Sam's prone body.
"Still thinking about the potion?"
"Mhm."
Perhaps it was an uncharitable thought, but this was part of why Harry never bothered telling the brothers - or anyone else for that matter - that he was even looking into it. The thought of a potential solution, no matter how feeble or distant or fragile, would have drilled itself into Sam's skull until thinking about it became ingrained into him. That would've been a poor burden to saddle him with when Harry himself hadn't had particularly high expectations of success.
Things were a little different now, with a finished product in their hands, but the pay-off was still unknown.
From things Harry had heard, there had been a short period of time before his death wherein Sam had possessed some small amount of psychic power. To the best of his knowledge these powers had never manifested again in any way since then, and possibly didn't even exist at all anymore. Harry was no expert, but that psychic potential didn't feel like something that could simply be erased, so there was a decent chance that the potion would actually have no effect on Sam at all.
Using it anyway as a placebo of sorts would have been a valid option, except they now had both demonic and angelic acquaintances Sam could turn to to verify whether the demonic taint in his soul was gone or not. Castiel wouldn't even think to lie about the outcome, for better or worse, and Crowley wasn't that interested in playing nice so his answer could go either way.
For Sam's sake, for his peace of mind, Harry genuinely hoped the potion would do what Sam wanted it to. But he didn't want him making that decision blind.
"I'm going to need some time to experiment with my magic, to see what, if anything, has changed."
Sam turned his head slightly to show he was listening.
"That'll be tomorrow at the earliest. I'm way too tired for that sort of thing right now. But anyway, what I mean is that I don't want you making any rash decisions. There's a chance it didn't have any actual effect on me, and some potions are less effective on non-magical beings. Since this is experimental it's impossible to say whether this falls into that category or not."
"You want me to be patient," Sam mumbled.
"Yes, but I also want you to be prepared. If you take it and nothing happens, will that be a worse outcome than not taking it at all? You need to decide where you sit on that. And, to make sure you aren't just stewing about it in silence, you need to make sure to talk to Dean about it before you make your decision."
Turning further Sam caught his gaze.
"Just Dean? Not you?"
"Just Dean," Harry confirmed. "I've told you what I think I need to for now. I'll support whatever decision you make, as long as you've thought it through."
Sam lifted his arm in Harry's general direction. Harry grasped his hand briefly and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Can we go to bed properly now, or are you going to sleep down there tonight?"
"And if I am?"
Harry snorted a laugh, crawling up to the head of the bed.
"Then I hope you're prepared to get kicked a lot while I sleep."
Hauling himself up off the bed Sam made a faux-aggrieved face, visibly tucking the potion topic back into the recesses of his mind.
"Fine, fine, I'm coming."
oOoOo
Someone was cooking breakfast when Harry woke the next morning.
He was alone in bed, which was the norm unless he had a pre-existing reason to get up early. Sam generally only slept in if he was feeling unwell, and Harry was a heavy enough sleeper that his leaving the room rarely disturbed his slumber.
Waking to the scent of food wasn't that unusual these days - Dean was experimenting with different breakfast foods recently - but every now and again it felt a little jarring how easily they all shifted back to domesticity after something went haywire.
They hadn't even come to blows with Uriel and his lackeys - although they might have if they hadn't been interrupted - but that almost made yesterday weirder. As much as they could pretend otherwise, when it came to supernatural incidents violence was basically the norm. Shouting matches and plotting were something of an outlier. It would take more than a single night's sleep to shake the strangeness of the day, but in the meantime he would just have to keep moving forward.
One shower later Harry quietly made his way downstairs.
Hermione had bunked down in the living room for the night, making an unnecessarily big show out of transfiguring some of the furniture in an attempt to further lighten the mood before everyone turned in. At school he'd never known her to be a late riser, but he wasn't going to stomp down the stairs and cause a ruckus just because he thought she'd probably be awake.
He needn't have worried. When he turned into the kitchen he found Hermione seated at the counter, calmly sipping at a cup of tea as she watched Dean cook a continuously growing stack of pancakes and bacon.
"Are you stress cooking or hungover?" Harry asked curiously, not bothering with morning pleasantries.
Dean glared at him over his shoulder, so Harry guessed it was a bit of both.
"Good morning Harry."
"'Morning."
He sat on the stool next to Hermione, passing on a morning drink for now. Since Sam wasn't around he must be out on a run - something that was, for the time being, far safer for him than for Dean.
"Does he do that often?"
"Hm?"
"Stress cook."
"Oh." Harry considered it, head tilted as he watched Dean. "I guess not? If I had to say, he cooks more when he's angry or frustrated. Which I guess could count as stress - just not anxious stress."
"I'm not angry," Dean protested.
Sure. He definitely wasn't angry that higher powers were continuing to play games with his and Sam's lives. Harry could pretend to believe him, for now.
"It doesn't matter. Anyway I'm not going to turn down food now that he's not at risk of burning my house down in the process."
"You mess up one little thing, one time…"
Hermione laughed as Dean grumbled to himself, gaze fond as she watched them interact.
"There wasn't really a good time to say this yesterday, but Harry? I'm really happy to see that you're doing well. That even though you're somewhere else you've found new people to let into your life. Maybe it's a little mean of me, but there was a part of me that worried I would find you all alone out here."
Harry offered a confused smile.
"Damn Mione, am I that bad at making friends in your head?"
"You lived at the Roadhouse for how long exactly?" Dean probed, full of snark. "And you only managed to befriend the owners and my old man. Not exactly an impressive list there."
So what if his circle of friends was on the smaller side? Being emotionally attached to people was hard work - might as well make sure it was worth the effort by being a little picky. It definitely had nothing to do with not wanting to connect with people after the move, nope.
"Maybe I just have high standards. Really, you should be honoured you made the list at all."
Dean threw the tea towel at him in retaliation.
All in all it was a light-hearted morning, a welcome relief from the day before.
When Sam returned from his run they all had breakfast together and chatted about inconsequential things. It was nice to be able to pretend for a while that they were simply enjoying a surprise visit from an old friend, without any of the baggage of reality weighing them down.
oOoOo
"So, what are you planning to do now?" Harry asked as he watched Hermione return his living room to its normal state of being.
"Now?" She gave one last flourish with her wand before tucking it away. "I have to head back, at least for a little while. Someone has to make sure to get the Headmaster's international travel permissions restricted, and I won't leave that to someone else's half-hearted effort."
"Might as well check in with the school board while you're at it, remind them that it's about time they started looking for some younger staff."
"Oh no," she laughed, shaking her head. "Professor Snape can deal with that. If he wants to improve his work environment - or get a new job - he's going to have to take that fight up himself."
A fair point. If he wasn't forever labelled as a former Death Eater Harry imagined he would've staged a staff coup by now - or maybe that was just Harry's own impatience raring its head and Snape had more patience than he gave him credit for.
"Good luck to him. You headed back to work then?"
"Well… There are some things I need to discuss with my supervisor and the department head, but after that," Hermione shifted to fully face him, expression serious. "If you'll have me, once I've sorted my work permissions I would like to come back here and help."
"Hermione-"
"Before you refuse on reflex," she interrupted, "take a step back and think about it. This is an issue with the fate of the entire human race on the line, and it's unfair that this burden has been dumped onto this tiny group of people. I know that you're doing your best within your means, but magic is vast and malleable, and I have experience and resources that I can offer you to help from a different perspective."
Taking a calming breath Hermione stepped forward and took Harry's hands in hers, holding them clasped between them.
"That's my selfless excuse. But selfishly speaking, Harry, you're one of my dearest friends. There might be part of you that feels bad about that; we've been apart longer than we were together, but I don't care about any of that. What I know is that this is the first time I've seen you in a decade, and you're in danger again just like you always were back at school, and I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself if I just turned my back and walked away instead of trying to help you." She squeezed his hands. "Will you let me help you?"
Tears burned his eyes.
For the record, Harry thought he'd been doing a superb job of compartmentalising over the last 24 hours, but it turned out his walls were fragile and easily shattered with the right amount of genuine emotion.
"Hermione…"
She gave him a wobbly smile which must have reflected his own expression. Releasing his hands she pulled him into a hug instead, which he gladly reciprocated.
Cutting everyone out of his life and leaving without a word was a decision he made for the sake of his own sanity, but that didn't mean it was a decision he expected to be forgiven for. Of course that was irrelevant when he never expected to run into anyone he used to know ever again in the first place, but that was no longer a safe shield he could hide behind because one of those people was right in front of him, not only not reprimanding him but instead reclaiming him and offering aid.
How was he supposed to remain unaffected in the face of Hermione's unconditional affection?
"Okay," he murmured eventually, voice thick with emotion. "I could really use your help."
"Gladly," she whispered back, giving him one more squeeze before breaking away from the embrace. "I'll try to get everything wrapped up within a week. I won't even be gone long enough for you to start missing me."
He'd done a perfectly good job of not missing her for ten whole years. It might be a little harder this time around.
oOoOo
Castiel had vanished at some point during the evening, but he returned now unprompted, as sudden and surprising as always.
The thought of forcing a phone on the angel crossed Harry's mind, not for the first time and surely not the last either.
"I have… an idea," he said, apropos of nothing as soon as he encountered someone in the house - those people being Harry, cleaning the kitchen, and Dean, doing weapons maintenance.
He was incredibly lucky that Dean had grown accustomed to sudden comings and goings, because startling a man with a gun in hand had a tendency to end badly.
"Is it useful?" Dean asked, not bothering to look up from his work.
"Should I get the others for this?"
"...Yes."
Since Castiel didn't clarify which question he was answering, Harry tossed his cloth in the sink and went off to find Sam and Hermione.
Once they were all together it was time for Castiel to explain.
"I have discovered a way to hide you from an angel's senses."
In a normal scenario the method would probably be invisibility, but not only would general invisibility be a hassle for everyone on a personal level, angels had plenty of ways to find a person other than using regular human sight.
"Through a series of enochian runes it can mask your presence, preventing you from being sensed from a distance."
"Is that how you've been tracking us down all this time?" Sam asked curiously.
No one had really questioned it until now. They either summoned him to their side or he appeared at random and they had all just accepted it as a fact of life.
"Yes."
"And these runes would also prevent you from being able to locate us."
"Yes."
So, pros and cons. Maybe the cell phone idea actually had some merit after all.
"What if we need your help?"
"If you pray to me I can follow it back to your location."
A handy-dandy SOS beacon - also the exact same thing they were already doing to grab his attention.
"Well, that all seems fairly useful," Hermione mused. "Are there any other drawbacks?"
"It won't stop anyone from knowing where this house is, but it will make it difficult for them to know if we're here or not unless they have someone watching the house. Any advantage is a good advantage."
Not that it would matter once they finally got the house properly warded, but it was nice to think they wouldn't constantly be tracked by their angelic overseers.
"How would we even do it?" Dean asked. "More tattoos?"
If Harry was a tattoo artist and three guys with anti-possession tats marched in wanting a bunch of strange runic tattoos he'd be a little worried about some sort of cult moving into town. Needs must, of course, if they needed tattoos they'd get tattoos, but maybe… Somewhere out of town?
"You'd want it somewhere hidden, wouldn't you?" Hermione glanced down at her arms thoughtfully. "Skin can be burned and disfigured, and once a rune's broken that's it, it won't work anymore. They're vying for your lives, so if they found out about it they'd definitely want to make their lives easier by ruining it if they got the chance."
Forget fire, even a nice knife wound would scar a permanent break in the lines.
"With your consent," Castiel began slowly, watching them all, "I can carve the runes into your ribs."
Reflexively Harry pressed a hand to his chest.
'Carve into your ribs' was objectively a horrifying phrase, especially since he meant it literally. Not in the open-chest surgery sense - at least he sure as hell hoped not, although Castiel would definitely maintain a straight face suggesting something like that - but it was still difficult to dismiss the knee-jerk sense of discomfit the idea provoked.
"It would be quick," he explained.
He did not promise it would be painless.
He might just not know one way or the other, but still not reassuring.
Hermione aside, however, they were a group of hunters. What was a few minutes of pain in the face of protection against powerful enemies?
They glanced at each other and nodded in unison.
"We'll do it," Harry said, "But Hermione, I don't want you to feel like you have to do this too if you don't want to."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'll do it. There's no detriment to my health, so why shouldn't I? My one condition is that you," she pointed at Castiel, "write out the runes for me so I can study them later."
Harry laughed helplessly, but her response also settled something inside him. Yes, she'd promised to help, but he wouldn't blame her if she changed her mind. Uriel wouldn't hunt her back to England - it would be a waste of his time and effort. She only benefited from the runes because she intended to be here, in the thick of it, putting a target on her back.
Castiel nodded. "Understood."
Decisions made, there was no time like the present.
One by one they stood before Castiel as he placed a hand to their ribs, emitting a pale glow that hurt just a little to look at - a tiny peek at his true angelic grace, or something along those lines.
It did hurt, but half the pain came from the confusing sensations of being touched internally in a way that you should absolutely never be touched. The scorching sensation of the marking itself ranked fairly low on Harry's personal list of painful experiences, but truly very few things came close to extended exposure to the cruciatus curse.
"I hope I never have to get a chest x-ray," Dean muttered to himself.
If their biggest worry after everything was done and dusted was that they would become popular gossip at a hospital one day down the line, then Harry was more than happy to be a medical legend.
oOoOo
Hermione was getting ready to head off to the Ministry when Harry remembered there was one last thing he needed to sort out.
He had promised remuneration for the potions, but Snape hadn't exactly stuck around - not that Harry blamed him. In his shoes Harry would've wanted to be gone ASAP, even if it meant never getting paid for his services.
But he couldn't stand the thought of owing Snape something - some nebulous future favour to be cashed in because he forgot to pay up, even if the likelihood of Snape willingly seeking him out was infinitesimally small - so he needed to square it away while he still remembered.
"Hey, do you have any idea what sort of price private brewers usually charge for their services?"
"Huh?" The seemingly random question threw her for a moment, but then her gaze lit up with understanding. "Oh, is this about Professor Snape? I'm guessing you never actually discussed payments with him then."
In Harry's defence, that was partially Snape's own fault too. If he'd tried naming an offering price when he sent out his request in the first place he would have run the risk of severely over or under estimating what something like that might be worth, and an underestimation would be an insult that would likely get him ignored. Snape could have sent a response - either at the beginning or once he'd finished the potion - outlining his own payment expectations, but instead he'd just shown up in person out of the blue then left just as quickly.
"Can't say I'm overly familiar with market prices for things like that, but I'd be happy to look into it for you while I'm there. I could get in touch and see what he thinks, too."
"I'd appreciate it, seriously, thank you."
If Hermione was volunteering to be their intermediary then Harry wasn't going to say no. She was much better at remaining civil and level-headed than he was, which was better for everyone involved.
"You can tell him to name his price. Otherwise… I don't know what happened with Grimmauld Place, but if it's still in one piece and hasn't been totally ransacked by now, well… The Blacks probably had a bunch of old books about all sorts of things. If he finds something there that he wants, he can have that instead." He imagined the Black library was probably mostly darker things, but that wouldn't bother someone like Snape. Actually, given her current line of work, Hermione might be interested too. "Feel free to have a look around yourself, too. Anything could be helpful at this point."
"Oh!" Hermione clapped her hands together. "I never thought of that! Since we're adults ourselves now no one can shoo us away and chide us for being 'too young for things like this'." The tone she adopted evoked visceral sense memories of Molly Weasley - among others - trying to lay down the 'children should be children' card in the middle of chaos that revolved primarily around the lives of those self-same children. "As far as I know everyone finally stopped using it as a base by the time we graduated, and no other member of the Black family has swooped in to claim ownership of the building, so it should mostly be fine."
Sirius had shown him the family tree in the living room once upon a time. It had been large in the sense that it was old - generations upon generations upon generations - but as far as members still in the land of the living… He couldn't remember, but he didn't imagine it was that many. Numbers aside, the idea of someone like the Malfoys willingly moving into a mundane community just because Narcissa was capable of laying claim to a family inheritance was laughable at best.
"I hope you find something interesting. Just don't get too absorbed and forget to come back."
Hermione patted his shoulder. "Books will always be waiting for me. How am I supposed to read them if the world ends?"
oOoOo
Hermione wasn't sure how long it would take her to sort things out back in London, so they were going to switch gears during her absence and set aside any questions about magic for when she returned. For Harry, just knowing that she was determined to return and lend her aid gave him an extra boost of confidence that they would make it out of this whole thing in one piece.