Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.
Author Note: This is AU for all (/most, there are certain elements I'm keeping. The Special Children are not one of those elements) of Supernatural starting after episode 1 of season 2. This is AU for Harry Potter after book 4. This focuses more on Supernatural than Harry Potter, but Harry Potter is still an important part, trust me. As of now, only book 5 and book 6 (season 2 and four) are planned for. I'm unsure of book 7 and season 5, but some way or another they will happen. Thank you for your time.
How do we even get into these messes?
Sam went crossed eyed to at the end of the wooden stick pointed right between his eyes. In normal circumstanced he would burst out laughing at the sight this would make to an outsider, but normal circumstances don't have five people wearing black robes and skull masks pointing sticks at him and his brother, with one of those sticks just recently fired a rush of cutting wind that sliced up Dean.
Besides, who ever said being a Winchester would be normal?
Dean took a gasping breath as slid down the alley wall to sit on the ground, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Even through the pain that must have been mind numbing he glared up at the goons with a pistol in hand, feature stoic.
"I would admire your stubbornness," the leader spoke, he was the only one close enough for Sam to see his stormy gray eyes. "If it weren't for the fact you killed one of our members."
"Whine, whine, whine," Dean groaned, "Just stuff your face. You freaks deserve it."
A stick—or, now that he thought about it—a wand flicked from Sam to Dean so now it was two to three. "If I were you," whoever it was snarled, "I would shut my mouth."
"Good thing you aren't then," someone else spoke up. "If we're the freaks then I'd hate to see what you two would be called."
Sam's blood grew colder, the freak had a good point. He already knew he was doomed to a life that was weirder than a normal Hunters, but what about Dean? He was completely normal, considering.
Dean rolled his eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about." He waved his hand half-heartily, "You're doing a really crappy job of killing us, so why don't you run along and be good freaks so we can pull the plug?"
"I don't think so." The leader raised his wand about his head, the tip glowing a bright green color. "Avada Keda—"
A burst of red light broke off his spell, sending him and his wand flying in opposite directions. Suddenly, chaos erupted, lights were shooting off everywhere as more people appeared out of nowhere, dress in possibly what could be called normal robes.
Sam slid down the wall to rest next to Dean. "How you holding up?" Dean's face was ashen and glistened with sweat.
"A European warlock/witch person just hit me with a spell, how do you think I feel?" He snapped, eyes flashing.
Sam winced in sympathy, before looking out onto the fight. "What do you think's going on?"
"I don't know," he took deep breaths through is nose. "But they're all European so it can't be good."
There was a final scream before the three remaining black robed men disappeared, leaving behind a group with a stern looking woman at the lead.
She looked down at them, features pinched. "Are you alright?"
Sam opened his mouth to answer when Dean moaned and slumped over, his face smashing into his little brother's shoulder. He caught him in a rush of panic. This was not how he wanted to spend their night of celebration. Ganking a nest of vampires wasn't something most Hunters got to do on a regular bases. (And yet this was, quite possibly, the second time they'd done it in two years.)
"He'll be fine," the woman said, words tilted much like the masked-group. "Just a few wounds. They'll heal and you'll forget all about this. Obliviate," she said, pointing at them in turn.
An ache developed in his head and the woman didn't drop her wand, almost like she was going to cast another spell after the one that sounded like something to do with memory.
"Now to heal this young man," she murmured, because maybe she realized that even the stupidest person would wonder why their companion suddenly had wounds. Though, why she didn't heal Dean then the memory spell was a question all in itself.
Sam clutched his brother close. "I don't think so."
She blinked at him like she wasn't expecting him to be there. "How are you still awake?" Well, that explained it. "...How do you still remember?" She glanced at her wand with a frown and raised it, possibly to try again.
Ah memory spell equals forgetting. Gotcha.
He snatch up Dean's dropped gun and pointed it at her. "Don't even think about it, witch," he snapped. "Raise it and I'll shoot, don't think I won't. You're not making me forget." He couldn't be sure if it already worked on Dean. "But it didn't work, whatever you wanna do to my brother now isn't gonna work either."
The witch stared at him with well covered surprise and disappeared with a soft crack. Sam didn't think she was running because she was afraid, the woman seemed to be made out of rock. No, she was running off to tell someone much more powerful about what just happened.
And isn't that just dandy?
Dean moaned again and shifted, subconsciouslypressing a hand to his stomach where one of the worse wounds was.
"Shit," Sam hissed.
He hefted his brother up and leaned him agains the brick wall before sliding off his flannel. It wasn't hot nor cold in this part of the state, wearing layers just became habit. He pressed the shirt onto his brother's stomach carefully.
"Dean," he urged, shaking his shoulder. "C'mon. Your ass is too heavy to haul around by myself."
Besides, it was easier to judge how bad it was if Dean was awake. Granted, not the healthiest or the safest way to go about things, but it worked in the past what would stop it from working now? There was no fear of Dean dying, the only fear was that the magic did more than just slashing.
Dean groaned and shifted and groaned again. His eyes fluttered before green slits glared at him. "Dude," he said, voice cracking a bit. "Personal space."
Sam couldn't help but grin. He pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder and practically dragged him up. "Let's go, man."
"Don't wanna," Dean slurred, fighting against Sam's hold weakly.
He frowned at the action. This wasn't right. Dean wouldn't normally be this out of it and he wouldn't be fighting like this. His brother knew best, out of all people, what would happen if you were to be in the same spot when reinforcements came in and you were still injured.
"Dean," he tried again. "Come on. I think they're gonna come back."
That made him still and blink sluggishly again. "Sam?" He all but slurred, glancing at him. Finally he nodded and helped drag himself along silently except for the muffled moans of pain.
Sam gritted his teeth and held on. As much as Dean was helping his older brother was still slipping a little, blood making his hand slick. They were almost to their motel, just one more street and they could make it.
"You goin' sloooow, S'mmy," Dean whispered, an uncharacteristic giggle breaking past his lips.
His heart froze at the sound. What the hell did that witch do to his brother? Obliviate was a spell to make him forget, but Dean knew who he was. He was just acting like he was incredibly high. Maybe it was something the others did? Maybe a combination of spells?
Since when did witches use wands anyway? They were all hex bags and rabbit blood.
They stumbled into their room, a drop of blood staining the cream and dirt colored carpet. Sam made a face at it and directed Dean to the bathroom. There were no extra sheets in a closet in this dump and he really didn't want the older man to be sleeping in blood tonight.
He set Dean on the bathtub's edge, leaning him against the wall, and grabbed the kit from his duffle. Sam did his best to keep his worry from showing, Dean was too quiet and when he talked he sounded like he just took a couple hits of a bong.
When he came back in Dean's eyes were closed and his face flushed, hand gripped into a fist at his side and the other keeping Sam's ruin flannel against his stomach.
"I dunno," Dean mumbled, probably hearing Sam's footsteps. "I th'nk 'm g'ing crazy."
Was it sad that the only clear word of that jumbled mess was 'crazy?'
Sam sat on the toilet seat and started cutting off Dean's shirt with a pair of scissors. His brother was way too out of it to attempt pulling it off without hurting both of them.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
Dean's head rolled and he looked up at him, eyes wide and hazy. "Wizards," he said clearly. "Th'se w're wizards." He hissed when Sam started mopping up blood, even if he was gentle over the actual wounds.
He breathed a sigh of relief. They were deep enough and numerous enough to bleed like a sieve, but there was no need for stiches.
"What do you mean wizards?" He needed to keep Dean talking, especially when he sounded so lucid.
Dean waved a hand that really just flopped around. "Wizards," he repeated. "Like w'itches 'nd warl'cks, but sm'rter." His eyes slid close again, but he kept talking.
So Sam learned a lot about wizards. Well, okay, not really. It was very little information, but Sam hadn't been aware of the category of wizards so it was a lot to him. Like how they weren't as attached to Mother Earth except for potions and wands and that they were more interested in all spells other than ones that caused harm.
It painted a very gray picture to Sam, but he doubted Dean saw it the same way. His brother was very black when it came to the monster and creature world.
Dean's rambling trailed off and he just kind of slumped a little. He grabbed the edge of Sam's jacket a tugged on it.
"If I ever…see a…wizard…again," he said slowly, obviously trying not to slur. "It'll….be too…soon." He glared. "Help me…up."
There wasn't much more to say. Sam shoved some pain meds down Dean's throat and more or less tucked him in before heading to the other bed and stretching out. Just an hour or two of sleep, a quick check up on Dean, and then he could safely knock out.
But he just spent an hour thinking about how wrong this was. What were European wizards doing in the back alley of Middle-of-Nowhere town, USA? Why did they hurt Dean and not him? (Okay, that had an answer, Dean was the first to pull his gun). Why didn't they try and make them forget? The list of questions went on and on, but the most important one was this:
What the hell was wrong with Dean?
He's had worse wounds. Was it how they were inflicted? Combination of the wounds and the spell the witch tired that backfired? That was the only thing he could think of.
That was his last thought before he drifted off to sleep.
When he woke up, though, it was still dark and three hours passed. It took a moment to figure out what woke him up in the first place when he heard it. The sound of gagging reached his ears and he turned his face to see the bathroom light on.
Well, that wasn't good.
His back cracked when he got up. Sam ignored it and headed over to see his brother leaning over the toilet and puking his guts out.
Oh God, he looked horrible. The last time he could remember Dean looking like this was when…was when was dying from that rawhead incident. Dark shadows under his eyes making them look sunken, sweat dripping down his face, the flush high on his cheeks, and his arms trembled as he tried to support his weight.
Dean took one look at him with too bright eyes, glazed over in fever, muttered, "Damn wizards," then promptly passed out, smacking his head on the porcelain on his way down.
Albus Dumbledore stood in front of Muggle establishment. Not quite at a lost of what to do, but more of "not sure if this was the best course of action." Minerva was very clear on the Muggles she encountered last night, how they weren't affected by the Memory Charm—which no one, Muggle or wizard was immune to—and she said the alley way she had apparate into had a heavy, not enough air feeling that wasn't due to the Death Eaters. The feeling had still been there after the last of them had run away.
She could only attribute it to the two Muggles and based on the evidence Albus had to agree. What was more worrisome was not the heavy air or the fact that they had apparently pulled a gun on the Death Eaters and made threats as if they were in a familiar situation.
No, what worried Albus was that one of men had been hurt and the Memory Charm backfiring. He had never run into something like this, but he had a pretty good feeling what was happening now behind this motel door.
He raised a fist a knocked lightly. A full minute passed before he heard a hissed "one second!" and the sound of someone running into something.
A very tall man answered the door. Albus was a little surprised at the height.
"Can I help you?" The man asked in a haggard voice, his hazel eyes kept glancing behind into the room periodically until he caught sight of Albus' robes.
Ah, perhaps he should have gone with light blue instead of purple?
He found himself faced with a Muggle weapon, a gun, and those hazel eyes that looked so worried before were hard and relentless.
"Who are you?" The man snapped.
Albus raised his hands to show himself unarmed and answered calmly, "My name is Albus Dumbledore. My associate tried to wipe your memories last night, but it seems something went wrong."
The man's eyes widened considerably. "You here to finish the job?" He cocked his gun and moved his finger towards the trigger.
He kept his hands were they were. "No, I'm here to help. I have a theory. My associate tells me your companion was hurt before her charm. Is he sick now? Terribly sick?" At the way the man's face paled Albus knew he was right so he rushed to say, "I believe the spell made him forget the wrong thing."
The man frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Instead of affecting his memory it affected his immune system. His body forgot how to heal itself and fight off infection."
"Can you fix him?" The man asked suspiciously. "Without us owing you," he added. "It's your fault in the first place."
Albus nodded. "I can help and it won't cost you a thing. I should probably help you as well since you were hit with the spell, but you weren't hurt so it's not detrimental."
"I'm Sam," the man told him. "And he's my brother. Dean." He hesitated before he stepped to the side to allow Albus in, but he didn't lower his gun. "If you hurt him," he warned.
"I won't," he assured.
He had to take a moment when he finally crossed the threshold of the room (was that salt?) because he found himself unable to breath for a brief, panic filled moment. And then it was gone like nothing happened, but the air still felt heavy.
Now he could see what Minerva meant.
Albus was quickly distracted from his musings by the sight of Dean curled up in a ball under more than a few blankets, shivering uncontrollably. Sweat dripped down his brow, most likely stinging as it hit a wound surrounded by a bruise, and his face was flushed red.
He pulled out his wand, pausing when Sam's grip tightened on his gun. "I am only going to remove the charm," he informed the Muggle. It warmed him a little to see such protective instincts in one so young. "That is all. After he is comfortable I will remove the charm from you as well."
"Can you heal him?" Sam asked.
Albus shook his head. "The infection will be gone, but I cannot heal his wounds. I was never proficient in healing magic and I do not have the potions for it."
Sam seemed to be at mental war with himself before he nodded. "No funny business, Mr. Dumbledore."
"Professor," he corrected absently. "Or Headmaster. I prefer professor, though." He leaned over Dean and said, quite clearly for the benefit of Sam, the counter spell.
Dean let out a long moan and shifted onto his back before he silenced, the pained lines around his mouth and on his forehead smoothing away. Sam sighed in relief and the grip on his gun relaxed ever so slightly.
The young Muggle put his hand on his brother's forehead and nodded. "His fever's down." He pulled off a few blankets before peering under Dean's shirt. "His wounds are still there, but it looks like the infections gone."
The fact that such a young man was efficient in his clinical cataloged of his brother made the warm part of him from seeing the protective instincts grow cold. No one that young should be like this: so dark and stormy with knowledge he should never know. It reminded him of another young one he knew.
Sam looked up at him. "Thank you," he said sincerely, a small smile of gratitude forming on his face.
Albus smiled in return and quickly took the memory charm from Sam as well. "I am curious," he said. "As how you came across the Death Eaters in the first place."
The young man frowned. "Death Eaters?" He said. "That's what they're called?" He shrugged when Albus nodded. "Dean and I were on our way to a bar. We had—," he faltered for a moment. "—We had just finished up a job and wanted to celebrate. They were following us, though they were just some random guys, so we thought we'd head them off in the alley."
Albus thought for a moment. Well, this was certainly something unforeseen. Though, he had a feeling… "Were you aware the was a vampire nest located just outside of town?" His assumptions were proven correct when Sam stiffened.
"'Was?'" He asked nonchalantly. His acting was very good.
The wizard couldn't help but smile. "Yes, 'was.' Those Death Eaters were attempting to recruit them into their cause, while my own associate was attempting to convince them to say no. But it seems they were beheaded long before any wizard got there." He looked at Sam, slightly amused. "I would assume they were bad?"
Sam struggled with himself, but before he could say anything a raspy voice answered, "They were killing little kids."
"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, falling to his knees even as Dean pushed himself up with shaking arms so he was leaning against the headboard. "Lay back down," he commanded.
Dean just waved him away and eyed Albus with suspicion. "Since Sammy hasn't kicked you out yet, I'm assuming you're the one who helped me." At Albus' nod he continued with, "Yes, those vampires were bad. They were killing little kids through out the country until we stepped in."
"Why were the Death Eaters trying to recruit them?" Sam asked.
A snort came from Dean, no doubt at the name.
Albus smiled softly at the humor. "The Death Eaters are a group of Pure, or mostly pure, bloods who are attempting to kill of all Muggle borns and half-bloods in the Wizarding world, they work for a Dark Lord who hates Muggles with a passion." He refused to say his name in front of these American Muggles. Why should he take away their ignorance? "Let alone those with mixed blood. The Dark Lord has the help of many Dark creatures and is trying to expand off the continent. Your country is full of Dark creatures, I'm honestly surprised they didn't try sooner."
"That is weird," Sam muttered. "Why, I wonder."
He didn't have an answer for that.
"Maybe something's here that's scaring them off," Dean said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, looking tired. "We've got lots of bad guys over here, maybe this Dark Lord dude is too afraid too come over here?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Doubt it."
"You two are Hunters," Albus said, deciding that just letting it hang unannounced was not the best course of action.
"Jeez, what gave it away?" Dean said sarcastically. He was looking more and more tired as the seconds passed. "Was it the fact that we took out a nest of vampires or knew you guys were wizards and not witches and warlocks?"
Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but he held back. Shame, really, Albus wanted to know what it was.
"Are you aware of a man with yellow eyes?" Albus asked. "He's been working with the Dark Lord for about two months now. We have no idea how to counter him and our European Hunters are at a loss."
Both men froze and Albus found it, yet again, hard to breath. Dean swore and stood up before Sam could keep him down. He swayed, his face quickly losing color and making his freckles stand out starkly. Sam caught him as his legs buckled and made him at least sit down before he passed out.
"Stay," Sam ordered. "He's a demon," Sam told him. "Demons weren't very active until a few months ago so it's not weird that Hunters aren't aware of the yellow eyed one."
Dean laid out, stretching out on the bed and wincing. "Bastard," he slurred.
Albus raised an eyebrow. He was not expecting to run into the very thing he needed: information on the yellow eyed man. He had just asked the question on a whim.
"There have been attacks all over from the yellow eyed demon," Albus said. "He works for the Dark Lord I told you about earlier," he repeated.
"Well that explains a few things," Sam said mostly to himself, but also directed at Dean. "It's been awhile since we've seen demons around. They're probably off helping him." He turned to Albus. "And he's not working for your Dark Lord. Your Dark Lord is working for him."
"I don't understand."
"He wants something, something big," Sam told him. "And it's not the destruction of the Wizarding world, I can tell you that. It's but bigger than that. Dean thought—." Sam cut himself off and glanced down at his brother to see him sleeping. He shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "Anyway, Dean thinks that the demon has a domino plan going on. He does one thing and the rest fall into place. We just haven't figured out what."
Albus nodded his agreement of the theory. That does make sense. Voldemort was fond of those types of plans every now and then.
Another thought struck him. The Minister of Magic had been hurrying him along to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor or else, as he threatened, the Minister would be forced to put in his own people. Considering their knowledge of Dark Creatures and their display of logical thinking that would no doubt serve well if it came to understanding how spells work Muggle or not and they were the most knowledgeable of the yellow eyed demon—even knowing it was a demon in the first place.
And it helped that these men seemed to want this demon taken out much more than Albus wished for it, considering how Dean was ready to force himself through pain just at the thought of the demon.
"Sam," Albus said slowing. "Do you remember me telling you I was a Headmaster?"
The young man nodded, frowning a little in confusion.
"How would you and your brother feel about coming to the school I am Headmaster at and teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"