Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter or Supernatural. All right go to their respective owners.
A/N: Okay, sorry to anyone who was waiting for updates on this but I am fully intending to finish this story no matter how long it takes me. Sorry if it's a little boring or uneventful, but we'll be getting into the more exciting parts soon (I hope). Also, thanks to the reviewer who corrected the mistakes in the last chapter, which have been fixed. Again, thanks for reading!
Mind the Gap
It had been an ordeal, but Harry had managed to escape the confines of his hospital bed. Initially he had attempted to convince Dr. Massan that he was feeling much better, really and should be getting back home to his family. He hadn't had much hope, so it was unsurprising when the doctor had responded that Harry wan't leaving until they had more information on the circumstances of his recovery and the location of his family. Given that they had no accounts of his identity, age or home address, Harry had figured the best course of action was to slip away in the dead of the night and remain a mystery to the good people of Everson, WA.
He now sat in a rundown motel room, soft moonlight peeking through the edges of the drawn curtains, staring intently at the toothbrush on the worn bedsheets in front of him. He had never created a portkey himself, but had seen Hermione do it plenty of times on their various missions throughout the years. The only problem being that, without his wand, the task was becoming much more difficult than he had anticipated.
He had trained himself somewhat in his use of wandless magic, anticipating a situation such as the one he found himself in now, though he now realised that his training had been somewhat inadequate. He had been able to clean his bloodied clothes before leaving the hospital, but performing an unknown spell was a considerably harder task He had rented the room to give himself privacy and time to complete the task properly.
He scolded himself not to let his anxiety to get back home rush him and breathed in and out deeply before trying again. He whisper-cheered in triumph when the toothbrush glowed an electric blue before fading back to normalcy. Now he just had an anxious ten minutes before the portkey activated. It wasn't as though he was desperate to leave the town he had somehow crash-landed into; the walk through the colonial homes, heavily forested roads and small town square to get to the motel had been peaceful in a way he had never really experienced in his home country. He had expected that the roads of the small town would be almost as deserted during the day as they were during his night-time journey.
No, his main concern were his friends and family, who he was sure were out of their minds worrying about what had happened to him. Being Harry Potter only made matters worse, as he was sure word would get out about the great saviour suddenly going missing. His memories immediately before he woke in this strange land were still out of focus to him, only increasing his anxiety at the circumstances surrounding his disappearance.
He was pulled from his dazed waiting by the dull roar of an engine as a car pulled into the parking lot outside his window before being cut off by the driver. He glanced distractedly towards the window but his attention was caught fully when he heard low, murmuring voices arguing outside the confines of his room. Checking that he had a few minutes before the portly was ready, he crept quietly to the window and pulled the aged yellow curtains apart slightly.
He almost groaned when he saw the two men in heated conversation only meters away from him, outside the front of the room next door. He debated going back to sit next to the portkey and ignoring whatever issue the "officers" from the day before seemed to be having before he heard his own name uttered.
"Look, this Harry guy is clearly suspicious and now he just up and leaves the hospital without anyone noticing?" The shorter one who had called himself Jones was mocking in his tone. "He's clearly our guy."
The taller one seemed more skeptical. "I don't know, Dean."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Just 'cause you've got a hard on for the guy, Sam, doesn't mean he's-"
"You hit him with your car, Dean," Sam cut in, his words grinding through his teeth. "Why would he have let that happen?"
"That's another thing," Dean responded, apparently unphased by guilt at his part in the collision. "How'd he heal so quickly? Don't tell me that doesn't scream witchy behaviour to you." Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline, unsure he had heard the man's words correctly.
Sam seemed pained by accusation. "I just don't think it's him, Dean."
Dean sighed, lowering his head and rubbed the back of his neck slightly. The tone of his next words were softer.
"Sammy, I know you like to see the best in people," Sam's eyes flashed but he didn't dispute the other man's words. "But you know this job. The good guys can look like bad guys and the bad guys can look like good guys."
Sam didn't seem to be able to argue with that logic. He sighed then, looking around as he finally seemed to notice that their location wasn't exactly private.
"We should get some sleep. We can ask around town if anyone's seen him tomorrow."
Dean nodded, also checking the darkness of the parking lot, despite it being empty save for the two men's old black muscle car. Expecting the pair to head inside their own motel room, Harry was surprised when the handsome man's green eyes looked directly towards his window. Not realising how much he had opened the curtains during the course of the conversation, he ducked suddenly into the darkness of his room, the abandoned curtain fluttering noticeably. The silence that followed was deafening and he cursed to himself as he realised that the men outside were about to ambush him.
A glowing blue light caught the corner of his eye and Harry sighed in relief as he remembered the portkey that was prepared to take him away to the safety of his home. He grasped the glowing device firmly in his hand and, as he felt the familiar pull behind his navel signalling the beginning of his journey home, watched as the door burst inwards, denting the wall in the force of its impact. The faces of the two men shifted from determined hostility to amazed confusion as Harry was wrenched into the tumultuous confusion of portray travel.
Harry only just managed to keep his balance as his feet landed hard onto the concrete sidewalk. Harry's vision swirled dangerously as he gathered his bearings before taking in the familiar drab surroundings of Grimmauld Place. Harry ignored his still unsettled stomach and mind as he darted across the street towards his home at Number 12. He stopped short before entering the property, suddenly caught with the sensation that something was very wrong with the picture before him. Unsure exactly about what had alerted him to this fact, he gazed around the property for suspicious signs.
The front of the house was dark and foreboding as ever, but the yard, Harry realised, looked much tidier than the state that he had left it in. He wasn't exactly a master gardener and he very much doubted someone had tended to his plants in the two weeks that he had been missing.
If the garden wasn't giveaway enough, the light that blinked into existence in one of the upstairs windows warned Harry that something was definitely wrong. Harry crouched behind one of the pillars of the front gate and watched a shadowy figure move into the path of the light. Unsure whether the silhouette was a friend or foe given the gaps in his memory, Harry made the decision to check the ministry for someone to help him.
Hours later, Harry sat on the curb with his head in his hands, oblivious to the looks he was receiving from passersby on the sidewalk. He had gone first to the ministry, slightly confused when the visitors' entrance hadn't admitted him and then a little concerned when the other official entrances had refused to allow him entrance. His confusion had grown to trepidation to outright desperation as he ventured to King's Cross, the Leaky Cauldron and every other magical location in London he could think of only for each to be as non-magical as the last.
He moaned in despair, attracting even more concerned looks from the people hurrying past, their pace accelerating to steer clear of him. He couldn't help himself and couldn't bring himself to care. He thought he had been hurled into a different country, but now realised he was much more lost than that. Whatever dream, alternate reality or simulation he had found himself in, it was clear that his world, his family and friends didn't exist here. It had been bad enough when he had thought an ocean separated him from his home but now… the profound sensation of loss clawed at his insides.
He sat in the same spot for a few minutes before he remembered something from earlier that day. Before his escape from the two men in the motel room in Everson, one of them had described him as "witchy". It wasn't much to go on, but it was evidence that magic did exist in this world, and that his would-be attackers knew something about it.
Harry thought carefully about the situation as it was. His only lead was back in America, which either meant he had to put himself in harm's way again or wait around in London for a sign, any sign of something magical. Deciding quickly that forward was his only option, Harry looked around for an expendable object. Watching a formal looking businessman litter his empty coffee cup, Harry picked the disposed object up and, ignoring people who probably thought he was a homeless man scrounging for food, moved to a nearby alleyway.
Discreetly placing his hands around the cardboard cylinder, Harry watched the cup glow faintly for a moment before checking the mouth of the alley. Watching the people pass to and fro in front of the small opening, Harry was hit with a sudden pang of loneliness as he remembered the walks he had taken with Hermione or Ron or the both of them to the Ministry for work when their schedules worked out and they didn't feel like apparating. In that moment, Harry was hit with the realisation that he may never do something as normal as that with either of them ever again. That he might not see them ever again.
He felt the telltale itch in his eyes as tears began to form before a pulling sensation joined the pit of despair in his stomach and he disappeared in a flash of light.
The two brothers sat on opposite sides of the motel room, Sam blocking the entrance while Dean sat on the bed cleaning his gun. Dean's hands moved tensely over the cool metal, betraying the annoyance that had grown since the witch had disappeared from the room.
Sam had demanded that the pair remain in the room, somehow sure that the creature would return to the motel despite leaving behind no belongings. Dean found this ridiculous, complaining that the witch could be committing even more evil acts while the pair just sat there.
In fact, he was about to reiterate his stance when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brilliant flash of light and watched as the figure of the fleeing man returned before his eyes.
Grabbing his gun, which was thankfully in one piece and watching as Sam stiffened into a defensive posture, Dean waited for the light disappear before firmly addressing the surprised witch in front of him.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now."