A/N: This was my entry into the sn_cross community's Supernatural Crossover Big Bang Challenge.
WARNING: This is SLASH. That means male/male romance. Don't like? Don't read.
Since this site cuts off the summaries here is the proper one.
Summary: On October 31st, 1981 Harry Potter's parents died in one tragic and unforgettable night at the hand of Voldemort. No one questioned it, there was no other possible suspects for such a crime. Twenty-three years later, Harry's beginning to find that maybe jumping to conclusions wasn't the brightest idea and he gets the feeling that maybe this John Winchester would agree.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW, Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and WB. Nothing belongs to me. *tear*
Stutter and Stumble: Part One
Harry Potter sat anxiously on the edge of his cot in the Hospital Wing, the broken ends of his phoenix feather wand clenched tightly in his right hand. Madam Pomfrey looked at him bleakly.
"I'm sorry Harry- I can't seem to get a clear magical reading of you at all."
The young wizard shook his head in a panic. "What does that even mean?"
The medi-witch took a seat across him from, gently taking his trembling hands in hers. The sharp ends of holly prickled against her skin as she rubbed her favourite student's knuckles.
"I've only ever come across something like this in muggles who have been known to harbor preternatural gifts- psychics if you will- or…"
"Or what?" Harry prompted when she trailed off, knowing the answer but desperately hoping it wasn't true.
"Or in squibs." Pomfrey admitted, her eyes tearing up as she watched the young man before her tremble harder and bow his head in grief.
Harry felt like he had lost a part of himself with those words; as if a vital piece of Harry had been stripped away. His magic was more than just a bunch of wand-waving and Latin chanting. It was the only real connection Harry had to his parents anymore.
And now, Voldemort had taken that away too.
"But in the Great Hall-" Harry straightened up, sniffling. "I used magic then."
Pomfrey nodded sadly. "A simple Disarming Charm, dear. I doubt you could do it again if you tried."
Harry wiped his cheeks dry, ashamed to have shed any tears in front of the witch. "How did I lose it though? I mean, it's my magic."
The medi-witch sighed. "I have a theory about that and it stands very much on how you defeated V-Voldemort the night he killed your parents." Poppy waited for a nod to continue. "I believe that, much in the same way you 'killed' Voldemort that night, he killed you. Instead of destroying your soul, he blew out most of your magic." She paused suddenly contemplating something. "Or perhaps he simply destroyed the force within you that allows your magic to be controlled and focused into a wand."
Harry perked up. "Could it be fixed?"
"No, darling. You're magical reserves may fluctuate but you'll never be a full-blown wizard again."
The Boy Who Lived sat silently under her gaze before McGonagall knocked on the door and broke the silence.
"Potter, the press wants to know if you've made a decision on accepting the Minister position until a vote can make it official. Or are you opting to try for Headmaster?"
Harry sighed to himself, pocketing the pieces of Harry the wizard quickly and following his former-professor out the door.
The Wizarding World, it seemed, was determined to never give him any peace.
Minister of Magic. Headmaster of Hogwarts. Head Auror. Greatest Wizard to Ever Live. Squib. Muggle. Half-Blood. Weak.
Titles and taunts swirled around Harry's mind, constant and unending and he wanted nothing to do with either of them. He'd disliked anything to do with the Ministry since his Second Year and Rufus Scrimgeour was looking more and more murderous with each passing day. It was best if Harry stayed away from any sort of Ministry position.
Minerva McGonagall was still more than willing to forge him high enough marks to get into the Auror Program if he wanted to pursue that kind of career. Wizards and witches alike were grateful enough to ignore the fact that The Chosen One had skived off his last year at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts… the castle hadn't felt like home ever since Dumbledore had tumbled from the top of the Astronomy tower and cracked into a million little pieces of lies and betrayals. It didn't help to know that his death, the whole war, had all been in vain. Pure blood was pure blood- their world hadn't changed.
Harry couldn't stay there anymore, not knowing he'd never leave Hogwarts with a certificate of Graduation; that he'd never leave and find Remus and Tonks and Sirius waiting for him; he'd never leave with Ron on his left and Hermione on his right because they were together now and he'd never want to get in the way.
It didn't help that Ron wouldn't look at him nowadays- with two of his brothers dead, three maimed and his mother locked up in between Lockhart and the Longbottoms in St. Mungos. Hermione was sympathetic but Harry could see the tiniest flash of resentment in her gaze as well; the 'my parents won't be at my wedding because I stood beside you' that no one seemed to talk about.
He'd left his godson, Teddy Lupin, in the capable hands of his grandmother Andromeda. His hair was bright pink and curly as he looked up into his godfather's eyes and Harry saw no trace of Tonks or Remus in him. It was easier that way, leaving him here, and it seemed that Harry was going be the kind of godfather Sirius Black had been to him after all- absent and never truly known.
"Give him this, when he's old enough to understand." He'd told the only family his godson had left. "And if you ever need to contact me, leave a message at Gringott's. I'll get it."
Andromeda didn't ask why or where Harry was going and he didn't offer to tell.
Five weeks after Voldemort's demise, Harry packed his things and left Hogwarts for good.
Only Neville Longbottom tried to stop him.
"They can't see how much they need you yet." He'd said softly, understanding what the small rucksack on his friend's back meant. "Give them time to heal and things will get better- we won."
Harry pulled out the two halves of his broken wand, gripping them tightly in each hand. "What do you think that really means, Neville? We won. Do you feel like you've won anything?"
The other Prophecy-Child blinked at his tone, clueless but determined to understand anyway. He was just another person hoping Harry would save them, really.
"You can't just leave us like this- leaderless and scattered. We need a hero-"
"What about what I need?" Harry shouted, his voice echo-ing down the stone hallway. "I've given you everything, everything and you still ask for more."
The Gryffindor scowled, throwing the scars on his face into sharp relief. "I fought this war just as much as you did, Harry Potter."
"You think staying here, taking your lumps makes you a hero?" Harry asked darkly. "You think getting that hat crammed onto your head makes you special? I died that night; I died for every last one of you and nobody seems to care about what that means."
Neville's eyes were wide and dark in the shadows. He looked so young, like maybe the world hadn't touched him yet. Harry would say he missed the feeling himself, but he'd never been that pure before.
"We-we didn't know," he stammered, suddenly not so self-assured and mighty. "Harry, we….we just didn't know."
He was tired of this, of people never knowing when he was hurt. Harry put the pieces of his wand away, pulling his pack farther up on his shoulders. "You never asked."
Neville didn't try to stop him this time, looking pale and insubstantial in the torchlight. Harry paused at the end of the hallway, still feeling connected to the boy who could very well have been him, in another time and place.
"You need hero then stop waiting to be saved; stand up and be one."
MISSING: HARRY POTTER HAS DISAPPEARED FROM HOGWARTS! Where is our Chosen One? By: Dennis Creevey
PEACE RESTORED: A HERO TRAVELS TO VALKYRIE. The truth about the origin of Harry James Potter and his return to his own dimension. By: Luna Lovegood
Dear Madam Pomfrey,
I know this letter might come to you a bit of a shock, but I feel that you are the only one who can possibly understand what has been taken from me. You're the only one who knows about my magic, and I beg of you to keep it a secret. It is nobody's business but my own.
I've left Hogwarts- probably Britain if I'm in the mind for it. I can't watch all I've fought for and against fall under the same foolish beliefs as before. Now that I've done my part, it's up to the Wizarding world to change.
I just need to find my own place now. I won't be back.
All my love,
Harry was halfway across the Atlantic on a non-stop flight to Boston by the time anyone realized he was missing
He was eighteen in America, not old enough to drink but old enough to drive and the first thing he did, after discovering a deep-seated loathing for the public transit system, was buy a his self a car.
A 1991 Pontiac Sunbird Convertible. Two doors. A man down in Burwell, Nebraska sold it to him cheap. It's silvery-blue paint job and bright white top was quite possibly the ugliest thing Harry had ever seen.
He absolutely loved it.
The bartender down in Sierra Vista, Arizona told him he didn't look a day over twelve before plopping down a chilled bottle of the best brew he had. When Harry had quirked an eyebrow at him, the grizzled old man had muttered something about old souls needing the bottle more than most.
Until that moment, the closest thing Harry had ever tried to actual alcohol was a shot of Firewhiskey at Bill Weasley's Bachelor Party. Butterbeer was good when he'd been a mere student, but it had the alcoholic equivalent of cough syrup.
He was drunk in twenty minutes.
The music was low and drawn out, like it was underwater, and people swam across his vision like bizarre schools of overgrown fish. Harry sat back on his stool- that had to broken because it didn't sway like that when he'd first sat down- and giggled aimlessly at the bar light and the swirls of people on the dance floor.
Jimmy, the barkeep, took his keys after the second beer.
"Jesus kid if I'd have known you were such a light weight I'd have given you a coke."
Harry smiled at him, goofy and bright. "Itssss, alrigh. I fee'eel goooood. Haven't felt gooood ina lo-ong time." Something felt off with his tongue. Huh.
Time passed quickly, and a pretty girl with an apron kept handing him drinks with a small smile on her lips. It wasn't long before his good mood turned sour.
"I'ma wizzzzard." He told anyone who would listen. "Well, I wuz. Then I losh my magic and now…. I'm not."
Jimmy seemed to find him amusing. "Do a magic trick then?"
Harry frowned at him, his lips pushed out way too far. He looked like a pouting twelve year old. "I caaaan't. Volmer-Volder-Voldie- You-Know-Who blasted it out of me."
Jimmy blinked at him, his hand still rubbing at the stained bar. "No, I don't know who."
The ex-wizard huffed in frustration and left. Harry wasn't going to stay there if people were going to make fun of him, he thought with just the right amount drunken dignity. It wasn't a terribly long walk to his motel room anyway.
It figured that the first time Harry decided to drink his problems away, he'd run into a full-blown vengeful spirit.
It was well past midnight, the sky dark and moonless, when the shrill-scream startled the young man from his alcoholic mumblings. He whipped around to find the danger and tripped on a loose stone in his path. The ground was hard and cold against his face.
Harry hated everything.
The shrill scream came again, this time tinged with a hint of pain. Harry felt that familiar thrill of something in his blood, pushing away the alcohol and the despair and filling it with the knowledge that this was important. He could do something about the screaming.
A bunch of kids were crowded around an old, ramshackle house, banging on doors and windows and adding to the horrible screams coming from inside. The tinkle of broken glass could be heard over the shouts.
"Amy! Amy!" One blond-haired teen was calling over and over again. He kind of reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy. This was not going to be fun.
"What'sss wrong?" he tried to ask, his tongue tripping over itself. Damn, he really could have gone for a Sobering Charm right now. Blood-curdling screams would have to do.
Malfoy-kid and his three friends startled, staring at Harry as if he was a damned ghost or something.
"My girlfriend. She went- we dared her to go into the house and now she can't get out and something's in there, man and-"
Harry blinked and put up a hand to stop the kid. He swayed for a second, feeling nauseous. "Why would there be something in the house?"
"Because it's haunted, dumbass." The mouse-haired girl on Malfoy-kid's left said snidely. That seemed to be the cue for everyone to start banging on the door like an idiot again. Harry let out a long-suffering sigh and staggered over to the nearest window on the other side of the house. It was frosted from the inside out, which was weird beyond belief.
He picked up a huge rock and beat the glass out of the window, slicing one of his fingers open by mistake. Harry really needed to work on his heroic rescue attempts it seemed.
The screams were louder now, God damn it.
Harry hit each corner until all the glass littered the ground and with a groan of weariness, pulled himself into the house, head first.
It was fucking cold.
The girlfriend was curled up into a ball, under the massive pool table as lamps, books, chairs, pool balls and paintings were tossed around the room by an unseen force.
A book smashed into the top of Harry's head, awakening him from his dazed disbelief. What in the hell was going on here? A poltergeist? The former wizard felt more than a bit out of his element; mostly because he was more than sure this little ghostie wouldn't harbor a fear of the Bloody Baron or the late Albus Dumbledore.
Avoiding the cascade of books and things thrown his way, Harry crawled across the floor towards the girl still screaming under the pool table. He reached out, grabbed her arm, and had to dodge a sudden battery of flailing limbs. The screaming grew louder.
She landed an elbow to his chin- his teeth clicking together painfully- before Harry could pull her from the safety of the table and get her to look at him.
"Shut up!" He yelled, dragging her across the floor. "I'm trying to help you."
They reached the window slowly, Harry stopping every now and then to cover the hysterical girl with his body when the books and lamps came a bit too close for comfort.
He was going to be black and blue in the morning.
An unfamiliar man was halfway in the window when Harry pulled the girl to her feet and pushed them both back out to safety. They fell to the ground with a hard, flat smack and
Harry grinned at the sudden rush of curses even as he dropped to the floor to avoid another volley of books and paintings. He'd never thought he'd have missed Peeves- ever.
"Get out of here!" The man was yelling, waving his sawed off shotgun around wildly.
The kids were tripping over themselves, shouting at each other and crying as they made their escape. Harry pulled himself up onto the windowsill as the mysterious man turned back around to face him.
"Thank-" The ex-wizard began, throwing his leg out the window when something hot-cold and painful sunk into his shoulders and pulled him back into the house.
Harry hit the far bookcase with a crack, bouncing off the floor. His head swam as the faint imprint of a young girl, no older than himself, hissed at him from across the room. Her skin was pale- the unhealthy kind of pale too- but the criss-cross of bloody cuts all up her arms and the huge stains of blood on her ragged dress gave away the fact that she wasn't anywhere near alive.
Her fingers were long and pointed and covered in Harry's blood. He could feel the deep, oozing hole in his shoulders where the thing-the girl? - had grabbed him.
She shuffled towards him, malevolence clear in her eyes as the blast of a shotgun going off sounded behind her. He flinched.
Harry felt his mouth drop open in surprise as the dead girl scattered into a cloud of dust.
The man in the window re-cocked the gun and glared at Harry.
"Move it kid. I don't know how long that'll keep her down."
Harry didn't have to be told twice.
Papers started swirling around the floor as he stumbled across the room and launched himself out the window. The man grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him to his feet.
"Get out of here."
Harry swayed in the moonlight and said, "No, not until you tell me what in the hell just happened. You killed that thing. Whatever that thing was."
The man rolled his eyes, pulling them both farther away from the house.
"I didn't kill her- she's a ghost, a vengeful spirit. Rock salt slows them down but it doesn't stop them for good. I need to salt and burn her bones before she hurts anyone else."
That made a surprising amount of sense to Harry. Neville had knocked over the saltshaker at the Welcoming Feast during their Third Year and completely doused Nearly-Headless Nick. The Gryffindor Ghost had disappeared in a puff of smoke and to this day, refused to sit anywhere near Neville when there was condiments about.
The ghost appeared in the broken window, screaming insanely at them as the other man blasted her with rock salt again.
"Damn it, she's a fast little bitch." He said, reloading quickly. Harry turned to stare at him, eyes wide.
"You regularly shoot ghosts with salt or were all the other hobbies at the mental institute taken?"
The man smirked at him. "I'm a hunter, kid. This is the only thing I do."
The hunter- whatever that meant- turned away, heading back towards the house. The muscles in Harry's back protested as he tried to catch up with him.
"Hey, do you perhaps need some help with your ghost hunting?"
The man paused in his trek, giving Harry a surprised look.
"Most people are running in the other direction when they see a ghost, kid. It's the smart thing to do."
The ex-wizard shrugged, ignoring the screaming sharp pain in his back. "I don't scare easily…and the thing you used- the rock salt- is there more to ghost hunting than that?"
The hunter seemed to be studying him, weighing his worth and such, making Harry vaguely wish he hadn't drank so much earlier. There was a noticeable difference in the man's eyes when he spoke.
"What's your name, kid? You don't look a day over fourteen."
He made a face at that. Stupid height made him look like a pre-pubescent. "Harry. I'm eighteen."
The man gestured with his gun. "Harry have a last name?"
The teen shook his head quickly. "Just Harry."
The man let out a soft bark of laughter. "Well, I'm Caleb. It's good to know a man's name when your hunting with him- gives me something to put on the tombstone when the night is through."
Harry hoped his was kidding.
Caleb crossed to the Jeep he had parked in the driveway, opening the trunk and pulling out two shovels and another shotgun. He tossed one of each to Harry.
"Come on, kid. I ain't got all night."
Harry caught both the gun and the shovel- still a Seeker no matter what- and made to follow his new teacher. He politely didn't mention he had no idea how to shoot a shotgun.
This was going to be interesting.