What's Another Brand?
Year- 1980 - One year later.
Harry flew back grunting when his back hit a wall. It was the third ritual he had tried and nothing was working. Everything was nearly in place. He knew it. He just needed a little more time. Unfortunately the room he was currently staying in was in ruins. The constant magical backlash destroyed everything in a 20 meter radius, and it didn't look like the walls were going to hold much longer. He needed to find a new place.
Sighing from his place on the floor he hung his head in thought, 'what am I missing?' he threw his head back ignoring the pain as his head thumped against the wall and stared at the ceiling imploringly.
"If your really listening up there, a little help wouldn't go amiss."
Harry sighed, disappointed "Maybe next time…"
Year- 1983 - Two years later.
A bright light encompassed an apartment as the buildings foundations shook. A dark figure darted by the window cursing. The Figure moved to the window checking to see if the coast was clear, revealing the worn form of Harry Potter.
Harry picked up the book he had been using from it's place on the floor and flung it across the room. Watching haplessly as it tumbled to the floor. He prayed to God for help or guidance in his mission to defeat Voldemort. His faith was fading. He thought God could help.
A lone tear ran down his cheek as he gripped the silver cross beneath his shirt. "Please! I've never asked for anything… and I'll never ask again, just this once! Please!"
The sound of his own heart wrenching sobs was the only reply as he crumpled to the floor faith dwindling.
Year - 1985 - Two years later.
Harry stood outside the Ministry as the Death Eaters flooded the building. Voldemort was inside waiting for him, waiting for him to show himself and walk straight into his trap.
He finally had everything together, or at least he hoped he did, if not then he was at his wits end. He was going to summon an Angel. Well attempt to anyway. From his mother's book he had studied the summoning ritual and knew an Angel would come. They had to.
An Angel, a Warrior of the Lord he had devoted himself to for the last five years of his life. The one he had turned to for guidance. He hoped and prayed that when the Angel arrived they would force Voldemort back or kill him, responding in a way their Divine Father couldn't.
Harry pulled the sleeves of his battle robes up, revealing two runes carved into each of his fore arms, the base for the summoning ritual. Now all he needed to do was get Voldemort in his sights and start the ritual.
Readying himself Harry realized that Voldemort had grown tired of waiting and brought the fight to him as he turned the corner his snakish visage contorted into a grimace.
This was his last hope. As Voldemort drew near he started the ritual.
"Potter, what are you doing? I don't have time for your little games. I have a Ministry to over run." he sneered, eyes narrowing at the dull glow that was beginning to envelop the savior.
Harry ignored him concentrating on the final steps of the ritual. He hoped everything would work because this ritual took up too much energy for there to be any mistakes. An angry yell drew his eyes to Voldemort who stood eyes narrowed as he recognized the ritual.
Voldemort lifted his wand to break Harry's concentration in an effort to stop him, but it was too late as Harry's body was engulfed in the light streaming from his very being.
Everyone watched breathlessly as they waited for the glow to fade and what it would reveal. The light faded slowly and Voldemort gave a small chuckle as his eyes pierced the light. A grave feeling spread through the crowd as Voldemort mirthless chuckle became a full booming laugh, sending shivers down everyone's spines.
Finally the light cleared revealing the crumpled form of the Savior, alone, unconscious and powerless to the world.
And all hell broke loose.
Year - 1986 - One year later.
It had been one year exactly since the fiasco at the Ministry and he was lucky to have escaped with his life. A member of the Order had been there and rescued him when everyone was distracted. Luckily the extent of the damage to himself caused by the failed ritual was minimal. Two scars in the shape of the sigils he had engraved into his wrists was the only damage left behind. A constant reminder of his misplaced faith. The degradation and humiliation his attempt to kill Voldemort brought forth he could not.
Closing his eyes Harry reached down for the bottle he had been cradling only moments ago. Tipping his head back he gulped down the acidic liquid hoping it would burn away his memories like it was the lining of his throat.
He was done. The wizarding world was right. He was crazy to believe a Muggle God could save them. Would care what happened to them. Another gulp of the vile liquid had Harry laughing mirthlessly. He probably never had a chance, considering God condemned witchcraft. Didn't he? He downed the rest of the liter bottle of Fire whiskey not caring that half the liquid had missed his mouth and was now running down his stained shirt, creating a fresh stain.
Stumbling to his feet Harry threw the bottle aimlessly to the floor with the other bottles having been consumed earlier that day. He could barely stand but that was how it was these days. He had failed. There was nothing else he could do.
Pausing to regain his balance Harry looked around his apartment, bottles strewn across the floor, take out containers littering every available surface in the place. He wondered idly what his landlady would say should she have seen the state of the place, it was in a rather upscale part of London after all and appearances were everything.
Shaking himself he walked slowly towards his bedroom using the wall to keep him up. He rubbed his face with his hand as he stood a the entrance to his bedroom, a bed and dresser was the only furniture inside. He had forgone luxury, for space. This way he could study the sigils and runes engraved into his walls to see what could have gone wrong.
He couldn't let it go, he knew there had to be something he could do. The Angels wouldn't come he had learned that lesson well. The two steps from the door to the bed was all it took for his constantly wavering energy to give out, making him fall flat on his face. Groaning into the bed he maneuvered himself so he was lying on his back an arm thrown over his face trying to block the pain pounding behind his eyes.
Throwing his other arm out blindly, he cried out in pain when his hand whacked of the dresser. Leaning up on his elbows he frowned at the dresser and then at his hand. Looking back to the dresser the open drawer and a flash of silver caught his eye making him groan as he realized he'd have to move to see what was in the drawer.
Gathering the last of his energy he leaned off the bed and peered into the drawer. His Cross was the fist thing he seen, but he hadn't worn that since the day of the ritual. Tossing it aside he saw the wretched book that had gotten him into this position in the first place. He cursed, pulling himself in an upright position. Ignoring the sudden onslaught of vertigo he picked it up and stared at the cover. The faded imprint of once brilliant runes was overshadowed by the thick covering of dust, that had molded itself to the cover.
This was the first time he'd touched the book since the last ritual and he no longer had the heart to finish it. What was the point? His trump card had basically pissed on him without even the courtesy of calling it rain. Turning it over re wiped the dust from the back and front staring intently at it, wondering if it would suddenly give him all the answers.
With one last look he threw the book to the end of the bed, uncaring as it landed open on a random page. He would find somewhere to bury it tomorrow after he slept. Sighing he leant forward to pull of his boots so he could climb into bed. It seemed he had had just a little too much to drink as he tipped over falling head first straight into the footboard.
Pushing up with a hand at his now bruised forehead he cursed "Damn!, I guess I over did it a…. what the fuck?" Staring up at him was something he'd never seen before. An excerpt from the book. A ritual. Older then the last ones he had tried. It seemed it leaned towards the darker side of magic.
Intrigued he lifted the book from it's place on his bed, wary of trusting something that had betrayed him so deeply before. Looking back down, he re read through the passage. It had promise. After all who was more likely to listen when his soul was on the line God or the Devil? At this point Harry didn't really care, he was pretty sure he was summoning a Demon.
Year- 1986 - One Month Later
Harry stood on Hogwarts ground. The obvious and bloody evidence of a recent battle having taken place scattered the ground. Not two feet from Harry's feet was Voldemort. Dead. He had done it. The Demon had answered, and all it took was his soul, or so the demon said.
Lucky or rather unlucky for him, the demon knew exactly who and what he was. It turned out the price of a deal with a wizard was worth much more than his soul. It was worth his very existence, but at least he wouldn't have to stick around for the aftermath. Now that Voldemort was defeated all that was left to do was wait for the collection. By the sound of the howls piercing the air, collection time would be sooner than he thought.
"Not here…"Harry whispered panicking slightly.
Apparating away from the scene Harry landed in his apartment, kicking the rubbish out of his way he collapsed in blood stained robes onto the couch and waited. It was only a matter of time. He hadn't wanted the wizarding world to see what they had reduced him to. To watch on as his soul was dragged to hell, for them. He couldn't do it.
Looking towards the ceiling a lone tear rolled down his cheek "None of this would have happened if you had just answered….I "
His prayer was interrupted by the scratching of hell hounds at his door. He waited patiently as the busted through, surrounding him as they waited for their master to arrive.
One of the hounds stepped forward catching his attention, and covering up it's master's entrance.
"Harry Potter." Harry swung around as the cultured voice reached his ears, startling him and making him jump from the couch.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the demon standing before him. "Who are you?, you're not the one who holds my deal."
A smug grin flitted across the man's face as he took a sep forward coming chest to chest with Harry. "Well, you're a pretty big fish, you know. Gotta make sure you have only the best, and believe me love, when I say, I .Am .The .Best."
Smirking at the boy's defiant stare he lifted his hand to Harry's cheek, Commending him mentally for not flinching away at his touch. Harry shivered slightly as the hand traced down his cheek to the back of his neck before burying itself in his ebony locks and pulling tight. A gasp shot from Harry's mouth, but he knew better than to struggle, he had resigned himself to this fate.
Harry's hair tight in the Demon's hand left his neck exposed to the demon in question. Smiling wickedly he leant down to lick a long trail up the column of the savior's throat. Harry winced as his hair was pulled taunt once more and the demon leaned close to his ear, in a mocking show of intimacy and whispered.
"Name's Crowley…and you, boy wonder are Mine."
AN: Next Chapter will be more centered around Supernatural. I just felt that some background on Harry was needed. Please be kind this is my first ever Crossover of any kind.