Do You Believe in Magic?

Summary:

The Winchesters head off to England to investigate some mysterious deaths in Godric's Hollow. Turns out they're not the only ones on the case, and unfortunately, rock salt won't work on Harry Potter and Co. SPNxHP cross-over, AU

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, and I certainly don't own Harry, Ron, Hermione, or their universe. (Psh, like I'm that cool.)

Be prepared for a really, really long author's note (skip this if you're not a detail-oriented nut like me who likes a good explanation now and then):

What's this, you say? Silv is branching out from writing Harry Potter oneshots and not-even-close-to-half-finished multi-chaptered stories? She's actually posting something from a different fandom (and no, I hardly count that PotC story, which is, for general information, the shortest story I've written, ever)? Well...yes and no. See, I'm just really, really got into Supernatural, and I have not seen the second season, or the final ep of the first season, so this story is gonna be compeltley AU. I'm going with what I know about the Winchesters and branching from there.

And of course, I have to throw some Harry Potter in there. Seriously.

This is my first cross-over story, and sadly enough, my Supernatural one...uh, well it's SORTA Supernatural. You know the Golden Trio and Company had to make an appearance, right? So yeah, bear with me. I had more fun writing this than I've had in months, which is sort of sad, but also kinda neat. xD The title is subject to change because I sat there for an hour trying to think of one, and that's the best I could come up with. I'm posting the prologue and first two chapters now and if it's recieved well, I'll definitely continue. If not...um, then we'll just pretend this never happened, and chalk it all up to the stress of homework and my psychological need to escape the daily pressures of teenage life, yeah? Ah well. Here goes nothing. (And yes, I think I might get past two friggin' chapters before my inspiration dries up this time.)

ooo

Prologue

Sam Winchester took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and blinked blearily at his laptop.

Finding a job was proving to be harder than expected.

Not, he noted wryly, that there wasn't plenty of bad stuff going on. A school shooting. A family of five drowning in a freak boating accident. Some poor bullied kid driven to suicide.

It was all bad and depressing and everything, but there wasn't a thing that seemed to be up the Winchester's ally.

"I don't believe this," Sam announced, turning to look at his brother, who was stretched across the motel bed, idly sharpening a dangerous-looking machete. "Absolutely nothing."

"Of course there's something," Dean grunted. "There's always something."

"Well, if it's there, it's not making headlines. I've scanned the national papers, too—there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary; no random deaths, nobody missing." He shifted uncomfortably. "It's too normal. I don't like it, Dean."

"You must be missing something," his older brother informed him, not even looking up from his work. "Keep at it, Sammy."

"It's Sam. And if you're so sure I'm missing something, then why don't you prove me wrong and find it yourself?" Sam snapped, scowling. Dean propped himself up on an elbow, set down the machete, and motioned his brother over.

"Well, if that's the way you're gonna be, Sammy-boy, I guess I'd better."

"Yeah, good luck with that." Sam plunked the computer down next to his brother, yawned widely, and flopped down on the other bed. "While you're wasting time, I think I'll try to get some rest."

"You do that," Dean said absentmindedly, already engrossed in the news.

Moron, Sam thought, rolling his eyes as he turned onto his side. We'll see how smug he is after he's been—

"Sam, I think I got something!"

­—Or not.

"What?" Sam scrambled upright, slightly shocked. "That's impossible—I spent hours—"

"Obviously you weren't looking in the right places," Dean informed him with an air of utmost self-satisfaction. "Read it and weep, kiddo." Irritably, Sam flopped down on Dean's bed and snatched the laptop. The website Dean seemed to have been perusing was CNN, and the bolded red headline jumped out at Sam:

Mysterious deaths terrify town; local police stumped.

Godric's Hollow—

This little village is not so sleepy anymore.

Last Thursday, Adrian Banks, 45, his wife, Gina, 37, and their son, Gregory, 12, were found murdered in their home. Two days before, Benjamin and Amelie Hargrove ( both 24), a couple living a few blocks away, were found in a similar condition, and just yesterday, Marianne Wilkins, 49, was discovered dead inside the restaurant she owned.

In all cases, there was no sign of struggle, the doors and windows were locked, and strangest of all, the cause of death—for all six— has yet to be determined.

"There's not a mark on them!" said coroner Arnold Martin. "All appear to be in nearly perfect health, except for the fact that they're dead. In fact, the only thing that seemed wrong with them were their expressions; they looked absolutely terrified!"

These strange deaths are not the first of their kind.

Decades ago, in the village of Little Hangleton (located only a few hours south of Godric's Hollow), the Riddle family was murdered in their mansion, and almost four years ago, so was their elderly groundskeeper (originally a suspect in the case). All bore terrified expressions, and it was impossible to determine the cause of death.

The murders seem linked, but relatively untraceable. The next-door neighbor of the Banks family, Jeremy Tucker, seemed unclear on what might have happened to the victims and noticed nothing amiss before and after their deaths.

"I don't rightly recall what I've done for the last week, really," a sheepish Tucker admitted. "All's I know is that one day it occurred to me to check in on Adrian and—well—it wasn't a pretty sight, not a pretty sight at all."


Neighbors and friends of the other victims were equally befuddled, and there are no reported witnesses.

All residents of Godric's Hollow have been advised to be overly-cautious when it comes to safety, and many have left town.

Sam glanced over at Dean, eyebrows raised.

"What sort of thing kills without leaving a mark?"

"Couple bastards I can think of off the top of my head," Dean replied casually. "Wraiths. A few types of demon—I'm sure there's more in Dad's journal. Point is, those deaths sound fishy, and the people in that village need help. I say we hop in the Impala and blow this juke-joint."

"Uh, there might be a bit of a problem with that," Sam informed his brother, grinning widely.

"Yeah? And why's that, college boy?"

"Well for one, Godric's Hollow is in England. You were browsing international news, genius."

"Wha—England? You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Nope. Says so right here." Sam gestured pointedly at the computer screen. "I'll admit the stuff going on there sounds like our kind of job, but it's not the kind of job we can really afford. Plus, you've got that thing with planes, remember?"

"Ugh." Dean scowled at the computer screen contemplatively. "Well, I dunno, Sammy. England as a country hasn't exactly had the best luck lately, has it?"

"Yeah, you're right. Weird weather, I heard, the worst it's ever been. And yeesh, remember when they had some sort of mass break-out from a high-security prison?"

"Yeah, and that was only last year." Dean rubbed his chin thoughtfully, squinting at the headline. "You know, we might be able to help. And, seeing as how there's no new leads on the demon and the US of A seems relatively supernatural-free for the moment, what've we got to lose?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam said, staring in slight horror at his brother. "Dean, where are we going to get the money for an international trip, not to mention passports?"

"Please. Passports are no big thing; I can whip 'em up by tomorrow. As for the money—that's what credit card scams are for."

"Dean, this is big. This is—" Sam paused. "—this is illegal on about five different levels. I mean, if we do something to get ourselves arrested outside of America, that could be it. There's no way we're getting off easy. And suppose something crops up while we're gone? Suppose…suppose Dad needs us, or…" He trailed off as Dean raised his eyebrows skeptically. "…I can't believe you're actually serious."

"The only thing I'm not looking forward to is the damned plane ride, but I guess it'll be worth it if we can help get rid of whatever it is attacking that village," Dean announced. "And just think, Sammy, England has all sorts of interesting history crap you can see! Castles! Shakespeare's grave!"

"I doubt we'll have time to be tourists, Dean," Sam said tiredly, but he seemed a bit more keen on the idea. "Ok, fine, England it is, but don't say I didn't try and stop you."

"Whatever." Dean rolled off the bed, grabbed his duffel, and pawed through it. "Start packin', Sammy. We've got a town to save."