To the Masses: I decided to try something new. This story is a bit of an experiment for me, and I haven't yet decided if I'll continue past chapter two.

Soundtrack: I'm at school, so currently there is no soundtrack.

Warnings: pre-slash, mentions of child abuse, OOC & AU (all fanfics are), and I haven't decided on much else.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Chapter One

"Family is not an important thing, it's everything." Micheal J. Fox

Whenever John Winchester was unsure of how to handle a situation he just charged forward and hoped that everything would work out in the end. He did it all the time; during hunts, meeting girls, and especially with all that new technology.

He even did it with his children.

Obviously, at one year old, Sammy was still too young to know any different. Dumping Dean into the life and hoping he'd learn how to swim was something different all together. Dean had developed long term memories, and he knew a time before shooting lessons and having to take care of Sammy all on his own. His eldest son took to the life easy enough, but he was a distrustful little snot. Ever since his mother died Dean asked strangers a hundred and one questions before he let them anywhere near his baby brother. Even Bobby Singer, in his own house, was subjected to inquiry after childish inquiry.

John didn't know how to handle this new development. So he sat the green eyed baby down, in front of Dean, took a moment to pry his little fingers off of his shirt, and then hoped for the best.

Dean's little face scrunched up and he scooted over until Sam was out of view. The kids they met at day-care usually took offense, as if Dean were hiding something awesome and he had no right, and would try to bypass the protective older brother just to satisfy their own curiosity or they wouldn't care and just leave. The kid John had just sat down looked saddened by Dean's obvious show of distrust, but didn't react otherwise.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, in a pompous tone that Missouri Moseley said he got from his daddy.

The kid, all skin and bones, and his expressive green eyes looked up at John as if he were asking 'why are you doing this to me?' John backed away slowly.

John had found the kid in Surrey, England.

Bob Singer, from over in Sioux Falls, had called him with a hot tip. Apparently some shit had hit the fan in England a couple of years back and, sure the Brit's had claimed it was all resolved. Except there were still some crazy witches running around and kidnapping kids at random. Hunters, the one's that survived the so-called war, were gathering to launch a counterattack as a unit rather than trying to handle the situation from all different angles. Too bad for them, their numbers were still low. One call led to another, which eventually got to Bobby Singer, who got hold of the most capable hunters he knew and shipped them off to London like they were some big, militarized contingency that just happened to specialize in witches (or werewolves, or vampires, or ghosts, and so on).

Singer claimed some psycho who called himself Voldemort had wiped most of those posh hunters out, and there were barely any left to launch their S.O.S. John didn't stick around to hear the rest of the story, he didn't really give a fuck. He just wanted to be pointed towards the witches, get his job done, and return to Kansas where he'd left his boys.

Naturally John assumed those Brit hunters were all pussies, and decided before he even got there that they needed some red-blooded Americans to show them how to properly gank their witches.

He did have to eat his words.

John glanced back down at the kids. Green-eyes was opening his mouth to speak, and John had a good guess as to what he would say. Instead he watched Dean, and waited with anticipation for his son's reaction. He sure wished Mary were there, she'd at least get a picture or twenty.

"Dev'l speak daddy!" Dean began shouting, shielding Sammy's sleeping lump while pointing at the child.

John knew the kid was actually speaking some baby dialect of French, because he'd had a really long flight from London to Detroit, and then a long ass drive from Detroit back to Lawrence. It was fifteen very silent hours, punctuated by a random question and a bilingual answer every hour or so. Dean's face was priceless though. Green-eye's wasn't so great.

'Devil' was apparently one of the few English words the kid did know. It was odd though, that instead of crying or shouting back the kid shrunk. He grabbed his ankles and put his head between his knees, like he was expecting someone to start striking him.

John knew the kid was treated bad, possibly even before he was kidnapped, but he hadn't expected a three year old to take such an obvious defense position and prepared to take some hits. John wanted to know why the kid didn't even try to run away, but he wouldn't get his answers. He planned for the kid to learn English, that was a given, but by the time he could find the words to explain what was running through his little head he expected the kid to have forgotten it all. He was curious, sure, but happiness was far more important.

Carefully John moved in, giving the kid a wide berth of personal space, and patted Dean on the head indulgently. "It's called French, buddy. You remember watching that movie with daddy, about the guy with the gun who didn't speak English?" John remembered it well, because Mary had been infuriated that John would let their son watch a movie with so much killing.

"Uh huh," Dean replied carefully, then turned eyes on the kid who was peering at them through the rough fringe of his hair. "You said people speak lots 'o differ'nt ways." Dean quickly came to understand that it wasn't a bad thing, but didn't understand there was a language barrier. He began asking his questions despite a lack of response. "Where did you come from? Where's your daddy? What'scher name?"

Other issues became apparent. Because the kid was rescued and not adopted from his guardians, because he was found in a locked room with no identification, John didn't really know his name. None of the other hunters could get him to talk either, and it was only because he was already a father that the group had decided he would take the kid. Among other things. Despite how much he'd gotten though to the kid, he just didn't speak his own name. So far he only responded to 'boy' and 'kid.'

According to some bilingual Brit, whenever someone asked for his name or who he was he simply responded with 'Je suis un garçon' which meant he was only responding 'I am a boy.' John remembered when Dean was that way he couldn't wait to tell all the strangers that he was Dean Winchester and he was three, sometimes he was accidentally four, fingers old.

Dean must have really wanted to know what the kids name was, because he'd started using the Jane-Meets-Tarzan communication method. He pointed to himself and said 'Dean' before he pointed to John and said 'Daddy.' Reluctantly he moved to the side so Sammy, who could nap like the dead, was visible and called him 'Sammy.' He repeated the pattern two more times before pointing to the kid, who had reluctantly unballed himself.

The child continued to look confused, but picked up soon enough. He'd known a daddy before, that much was obvious, when he gave John a confused look that could have possibly meant 'you don't look like any daddy I've ever seen, are you sure?' Then turned back to Dean, who was becoming frustrated with the lack of replies.

"Haddie," the kid eventually said, rather cautiously. There was a number of things that could translate to, and the heavy French pronuncation wasn't helping matters at all.

Dean looked elated that the kid actually said something, and did the round of introductions again. When he got past Sammy he said with a slightly less confusing four year old dialect, and an American accent, 'Hades.' He must have remembered that name from an old action movie John had let him watch, and to his son it just made sense.

The kid, and John really did need to figure out his real name before he was deemed Hades for the rest of his life, didn't look convinced for a moment but then his eyes lit up and he sat a little straighter.

Dean took his understanding to mean that he was ready to learn other names of things, and he picked up his action figures and started to introduce them as well. The kid, who John would never call Hades, didn't reach out to hold the toys at all. It took Dean moving to his side and shoving the plastic figures into his lap to get the kid to even touch them, and the kid went about the entire situation with a confused smile.

It went rather well, John decided. The kid had a lot of problems for a three year old. He'd obviously been conditioned to a life of neglect, but it would work out. Especially with Dean's genius communication skills, John thought with a tad bit of sarcasm. They would be fine. He would be fine. His diaper bill just increased by fifty percent, but he would be fine.

Mary would be proud of him, John thought to himself proudly.

Then Sammy startled himself out of his nap with a sharp shout, and Dean abandoned his new brother-in-imaginary-arms and told his daddy in a no-nonsense tone that Sammy needed a diaper change.

John would have chuckled at the adult impression if he hadn't already been familiar with the noxious impressions of Sam Winchesters diapers. Instead, he did was he was told with a warning look that Dean shouldn't make a habit out of bossing him around, but set to work immediately.

Across the pond Wizards and Witches were experiencing the repercussions. An entire generation of muggleborns had disappeared from the Ministry's watch-lists and from Hogwarts registry. New names were cropping up, some old names were returning but under different guardianship, and in the same night several familiar affiliates with the Dark Lord were reported as dead. An entire generation of muggleborns had been mucked with, and Hunters were to blame. No one was sure how, or why, but there were several reports of known hunters within shooting distance of magical areas, and it was rather suspicious.

Unfortunately for those who needed to know, Harry Potter was amongst the missing children from the muggle world. There were several others, but he was arguably the most important. He was also lost.

To the Masses:
Harry is Hades this time around. Gosh, that name is horrible. I was running out of 'Har' names though. I figured since Harry was still young he'd use baby talk, and r's would come out as w's or d's. Plus the potential for hilarity is too much for me to pass up. In retrospect, 'Harry' would have probably been pronounced like 'Ah-uh-ie' or something. Oh well.

Poor Dean...Poor Harry. They're going to torture each other for the rest of their lives.

I may get the second chapter up really soon, because my intro chapters are always really short and it drives me nuts.

Tell me what you think, in complete sentences, if you don't mind.

Alzipher