Hell's Half Acre (hells_half_acre) wrote,
Hell's Half Acre

Fic: Vile Violent Vacations 15/30 (SPN/HP) PG-13, Gen

Title: Vile Violent Vacations 15/30
Author: hells_half_acre 
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Spoilers for all Harry Potter books, spoilers for Supernatural until 5x10.
Disclaimer:  This is a transformative work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
AN: Sequel to Damned Demented Demons and Bobby and Hermione - An Epistolary Fic . Updates every Wednesday (PST).

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: In which the Winchesters go investigating and receive their first Owl-letter

It was decided, due to Sam’s adverse reaction to apparating, that they’d only visit the houses that were connected to the Floo network the next day. Neither Sam nor Dean seemed particularly enthused about the idea, but Harry pointed out the distance between the incidents and how much driving would be involved – driving on the left, on narrow British roads – and Dean had decided that his car was safest parked in front of Harry’s house. So rather than spend all day visiting perhaps three houses, they planned to visit twice or thrice that many by Floo.

They ended up staying a bit late at the office while Ron arranged all the visits for the next day. Arriving home in time for Ginny to shove a crying Lily into Harry’s arms and declare that she was done parenting for the night and was going for a bath. By the time Ginny had returned looking much more relaxed, Lily had cried herself to sleep, much to Harry’s relief. Harry was thankful that his boys had been happily playing in the living room the whole time without even fighting like usual.

When he came back from putting Lily down in her nursery, he found Ginny and the Winchesters standing in the kitchen. Ginny was preparing a snack for them, while Sam was finishing up telling her how the training session went.

“What’s wrong with Lily?” Harry asked,

“I don’t know, she just woke up from her afternoon nap and decided to be the devil’s child,” Ginny replied.

“Do you think she’s sick?” Harry asked.

“Well, she doesn’t feel feverish at all...” Ginny replied, shrugging.

“She probably just had bad dreams and didn’t sleep well,” Dean said. Harry paused, wondering what sort of life-experiences Lily would have had that could possibly give her bad dreams. Dean continued, “It used to happen to Sammy all the time.”

“Really?” Sam asked, “how do you remember these things, you were what...six when I was her age?”

“Her age?” Dean said, “I’m talking the recent past, man. You are horrible to live with when you have bad dreams.” Harry laughed when Sam rolled his eyes.

It was at that moment that a small dark-haired blur ran shrieking into the room followed by another small slightly more red-haired blur, and Harry had just enough time to recognize them as Albus and James, before Albus suddenly disappeared-

-and reappeared straddling one of Sam’s shoulders and clinging to Sam’s head.

“Wha!” Sam said. Harry saw his arms come up defensively grasping Albus as if to push him away, then, thankfully, Sam hesitated and settled for awkwardly holding Albus where he was while Sam stared at Harry with wide-eyes. Harry was willing to bet that his own expression wasn’t that different.

“No fair!” James said.

“I DONWANNAEATDASPIDA!” Albus cried, burying his face in Sam’s hair. Sam now looked a little frightened.

“What the hell was that?” Dean said, looking around as though at any moment he could be the victim of a surprise attack.

“James,” Ginny said calmly, “what have we told you about scaring your brother?”

“I wasn’t really going to make him eat it!” James said.

Harry wondered if he even wanted to know. It seemed when he was picking out baby names, James Sirius had been a little too apt in the end.

“I ... *sniff*... donwanna ... *sniff*... eat...” Albus tried to say through his tears. Sam, very awkwardly, but carefully, eased the boy off his shoulder, until Albus’ face was buried in Sam’s neck and shoulder rather than his hair. Sam looked wide-eyed at Dean as he splayed one hand across Albus’ entire back and patted it gently.

“Make him eat what James?” Harry asked.

“Spider,” James said, opening his fist to reveal a slightly squished brown spider the size of a galleon.

“James...” Harry said, pressing a hand to his own forehead in frustration. “Do not threaten to make your brother eat dead spiders!”

“It’s not dead!” James protested.

“James...” Harry winced. As if this could get worse...but James already poking insistently at the spider, which of course, didn’t do much.

“Daddy!” James whined frantically, tears welling up “Daddy! Fix him!”

“Daddy can’t fix death, Jamie,” Harry said.

“I didn’t meaned to killed him! I didn’t meaned to!” James cried.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry muttered, taking a deep breath. Carefully, he slid the spider out of James’ hand into his own, and then, deciding that throwing it in the garbage bin right in front of James might be even more traumatizing, placed it carefully on the table. “I think it’s time for bed, Jamie-love.”

After gathering James up into his arms, Harry glanced over at Sam, who gave him a nod. Harry could see that Albus was starting to fall asleep while still sniffling into Sam’s shirt. Harry looked at Dean to find his gaze alternating between the two kids as if one or both of them might turn into an alien at any moment.

“Come on,” Harry said to both Winchesters, “I’ll explain while we get them in bed.” Harry turned to Ginny and then reluctantly glanced down at the dead spider. “Gin? Could you...”

“No problem,” Ginny said, shaking her head fondly.

They were half way up the stairs when Dean prompted Harry with a “So...”

“Accidental magic,” Harry replied. “Wizard children sometimes do things by accident when they get upset. That’s the first time Albus has ever apparated, but it’s not the first time he’s accidentally used magic.”

“Isn’t that a little...dangerous?” Dean asked. “I mean, they could accidentally hurt someone or themselves.”

“It’s usually a self-preservation response,” Harry said, “or occasionally a product of an active imagination – like accidentally turning your teacher’s hair blue because you’re bored in class. Wizard parents are usually thrilled the first time it happens, because it means their child is definitely a wizard. I have a friend who was a late bloomer, and an uncle got so worried that he wasn’t a wizard that he threw him out the window – thankfully he magically bounced, thanks to the self-preservation reflex. I don’t know what the bloody hell his uncle was thinking though...I mean, what if he had been a squib?”

“Squib?” Sam asked.

“Opposite of a Muggleborn – a Squib is a child born to wizards that doesn’t have magic,” Harry replied. “It’s rare, but it happens.”

They reached the boys’ rooms, and Harry put James down. He shook out his stiff arms and grabbed James’ pyjamas. James was still a little sniffly, but was mostly just exhausted. He stood docile as Harry got him ready for bed.

“Is Albus awake or asleep?” Harry asked, while he shoved James into his pyjama shirt. Dean peaked around Sam’s shoulder to get a look at Albus’s face – waving a hand in front of it a moment later.

“A little bit of both?” Dean answered. “His eyes are open, but they’re not tracking very well.”

“They must have faked their nap at the playgroup today,” Harry shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“I didn’t meaned to...” James muttered as Harry pulled the blankets over him.

“I know, love, it’s ok,” Harry replied, “go to sleep.” He kissed James goodnight and then had Sam and Dean follow him to Albus’ room.

“Just lay him down on the bed, I doubt he’s awake enough to stand while I put him in his pyjamas.” Harry instructed. Sam awkwardly leaned way over and lowered Albus onto his bed. Albus seemed boneless, until he reached up and patted Sam on the face just before Sam could pull away.

“Goodnight Horsey, I love you,” Albus mumbled, before his hand dropped to the bed and his eyes slid shut.

It took all of Harry’s strength not to laugh. Sam blushed deeply as he stood to his full height again, looking anywhere except at Harry or Dean. Dean either was less successful at containing his laughter, or he just wasn’t even trying.

“I’ll just...umm...go downstairs now,” Sam mumbled and walked toward the door, punching Dean in the shoulder and saying, “Shut up!” on his way out.

“You’re never going to let him live it down, are you?” Harry said, smiling.


The next day was spent going from house to house – by Floo. Harry always went first, so that he could catch Dean when Dean stumbled out of the fireplace, and then they’d both wait for Sam – neither mentioning the extra tension in those brief seconds, wondering if this was the time something would go wrong. Every time, though, Sam came through unscathed, and Dean always caught him.

They wore their suits to look official. They also brought their fake wands and even some fake Auror credentials, though they never used either. It was enough that Harry came with them. It was just like when they waltzed into the American Ministry of Magic the year before – as soon as anyone saw Harry, no one noticed who he was with.

Harry would distract the home-owner with small talk while Dean and Sam looked around the house. Most of the time, they couldn’t use the EMF meter – the houses were too steeped in magic. The house of Natasha Jones, the one fatality, was empty though, so they scanned it top to bottom. Unfortunately, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

After Dean and Sam had given each house a walk through, and confirmed that there weren’t odd piles of sulphur or anything else suspicious around, they would join Harry and run their own questions by the home-owner. When did they first notice the ghost or poltergeist? Could they describe what they saw? Could they think of anything they might have done that would have caused the spirit to become restless? And as they day wore on all they got for their efforts was nothing, nothing, and more nothing.

Dean was sick of falling out of fireplaces, and feeling like he was being pulled through chimneys by tornados. Sam kept hitting his head on people’s fireplaces, and judging by the red spot was going to end up with a really nasty bruise from it all. Dean could even tell that Harry was getting sick of the constant small talk, and if people forced any more tea on them, they were all going to set new records for the longest piss.

So, it wasn’t too surprising that at the end of the day, when they finally got back to Harry’s place. They all just talked to the children instead of each other. Sam decided that he was turning in early, and Dean decided he was hitting the pub down the street again – and that was that.


Sam made Dean’s coffee Irish, while he waited for Dean to come downstairs Wednesday morning, because every once in a while Dean decided that ‘hair of the dog’ was a legit remedy for a hangover. Normally, he would have argued medical science, but he wasn’t really feeling up to it and Harry had the whiskey anyway.

“Did you know in the original Gaelic, whiskey is literally ‘life-water’?” Harry said, as he dished out their breakfasts. Ginny had already left to drop Albus and James off at daycare for the day.

“Ironic,” Sam said, “if Heaven and Hell don’t kill us, the whiskey certainly might.”

Sam expected Harry to come back with a judging look, or a speech about moderation, liver damage, and unhealthy self-medication, but instead Harry just shrugged.

“At least it’d be a death you chose yourself,” Harry said.

Sam stopped short and suddenly wondered when it was that he had stopped giving Dean a hard time about drinking. He couldn’t help but think about whether it had been, at least subconsciously, a specific decision – maybe they were looking for a way out...albeit an extremely slow one. Sam had been serious, after all, when he had told Lucifer that he would kill himself rather than say yes – he knew he would have done it immediately if Lucifer hadn’t told him it wouldn’t work. Well, he probably would have shipped his stuff off to Bobby and left a message for Dean first, but then he would have put a bullet in his brain without a second thought besides the regret of spending his last days alone. He wondered if the apocalypse would still be going on in the amount of time it would take him and Dean to drink themselves to death – if the angels would still be around to bring them back or if they’d be living in that camp Dean described, with a stoned angel and the world in ruins. Would it still be a victory for them if the world ended anyway?

“Sam?” Harry’s voice filtered through his thoughts.

Before Sam could say anything, there was a tapping on the kitchen window. Sam’s hand went to the small of his back, even though he was still in his sleep pants and a t-shirt, and there wasn’t actually a gun resting against his spine at the moment.

At the window were the huge yellow eyes of a deep ebony owl.

“What the...?” Sam said.

“It’s just a letter,” Harry said, calmly walking over to open the window, as though this were an everyday occurrence. Sam saw the jar beside the window sill that said OWL TREATS and realized that it actually was an everyday occurrence.

“Is that an owl?” Dean asked from the doorway, “or am I still drunk?”

“Owl,” Sam confirmed. “I made you coffee.”

“Thanks,” Dean made a beeline for the coffee and took an appreciative sip. “Mm, I think it’s even better with this wizard whiskey.”

“The letter is for you,” Harry said from the window. “I don’t think he’s going to let me take it.”

Sure enough, the owl was looking defiantly at Harry and pecking at his hand every time he tried to reach for the letter tied to the owl’s leg.

Sam looked at Dean – but Dean was already looking at him, so Sam sighed and went over to the huge bird. He reached out carefully towards the letter, hoping he wasn’t about to get pecked for his troubles. Thankfully, all the owl did was hold out its leg to make it easier for Sam.

To Dean and Samuel Winchester
Harry Potter’s Residence
London, England

On the back of the envelope was a wax seal that looked like it had a peacock on it.

“It’s from Malfoy,” Harry said, when Sam looked up at him wondering who the hell knew their last name and that they were staying with Harry. “I recognised the owl.” Harry grabbed a handful of treats and held it out to the owl then, who seemed to have forgotten all about trying to peck Harry thirty seconds before and happily ate up the treats. “Typical...” Harry muttered.

“Open it up,” Dean said, “it’s probably about dinner tonight.”

Sam opened the letter, and read aloud:

Dear Dean, Sam, and undoubtedly Potter who doesn’t know how to mind his own business,

I am writing to you in regards to the invitation to dinner issued to you by my lovely wife on Sunday last. We do hope you are still planning to attend. Due to your circumstances, and preferred method of travel, I’ve taken the liberty of enclosing driving directions to my residence.

When you arrive, please come to the coach house – not the manor.

On a more delicate matter, I need to inform you that my parents will also be joining us for dinner. In keeping with the official information concerning your visit, I have informed them that you are from America, and are working closely with the Auror department. I think it would be wise, for all involved, if we were to keep your true profession a secret, as well as possibly your magical status. I hope you understand.

Please reply by owl to my office at the MInistry should you have any questions or concerns.

Dinner will be served at six o’clock.

Yours sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

“He actually gave you driving directions?” Harry asked.

Sam unfolded the second piece of paper and there, carefully written, were step by step driving directions and a small map that looked like it began on the outskirts of London. He passed them to Dean.

“He did, yeah,” Sam said.

“And why the coach house? Why on earth would a Malfoy entertain in the coach house and not the manor?” Harry muttered.

“How should we know?” Dean said, reading over the directions. “Looks like I’ll have to steal some license plates. He’s written things out in kilometres here – Sammy, do you know-”

“Roughly speaking, a kilometre is 1.6 of a mile, so...” Sam said, and watched as Dean squinted one eye closed, stared at the ceiling, and whispered numbers to himself.

“At least a two hour trip...” Dean said, “depending on traffic. We’ll leave before rush-hour to be on the safe side.”

“I can charm your car so that you don’t need to steal anything,” Harry said. “I’ll put a notice-me-not spell on the plate itself so that the police won’t check it.”

“You can do that?” Dean asked.

“I could put it on the whole car,” Harry said, “but that’s a bit dangerous – unless you like people driving into you as though you aren’t even there.”

“Nah, just getting the cops off our tail would be great,” Dean said.

“Ok,” Harry replied. “Now, about today – I actually have to go into the office, and can’t spend the day with you. I know by now you could probably handle using the Floo to get to The Burrow – Molly and Arthur’s house –on your own, but I asked Ron to go with you anyway. I thought he might like the excuse to fill up on his Mum’s cooking. Plus, any questions you have about the ghoul or the house that Molly couldn’t answer, Ron would probably know.”

Sam nodded along with Dean. He was starting to wonder if there was even any point going to the Weasley’s house, given how completely fruitless all their visits the day before had been. Still though, those had been all ghost-incidents. Perhaps they’d turn up something different about the ghoul attack –as it was, Sam didn’t even know whether or not the ghoul was connected with the ghost incidents.

Harry left for work – via the front door, surprisingly, so that he could charm their license plate before he disappeared. Sam and Dean waited around for Ron to show up – going over everything again to see if they had missed anything. Dean ended up making long lists of names, and then long lists of dates, just to see if there was some kind of pattern in timing or anagrams or anything. Sam figured it was good measure on how little information they had that Dean had resorted to anagramming.

After the fifth time Dean anagrammed a name into a lewd phrase, and Sam had given his customary eye-roll and I’m-not-amused glare, Harry’s fireplace came to life and Ron stepped out.

“Hello!” Ron said, “all set?”

“Hey, man, yeah,” Dean replied, and shoved the notebook he had been using into his jacket pocket. Sam made sure he had the EMF meter on him, even though he figured it was probably highly unlikely he’d be able to use it anywhere near Ron’s parent’s house.

“Alright,” Ron said. “I’ll go through first. You just have to say ‘The Burrow.’ Harry told me you didn’t have much luck yesterday – and well, I don’t think you’ll find much more at the Burrow, but Mum is looking forward to feeding you, so there’s that.”

“Sounds great,” Sam smiled, “and you never know – yesterday was all ghosts...the ghoul might have left more clues behind.”

Ron smiled back, perhaps a little nervously, and then threw a handful of powder into the fireplace and disappeared in green flame. Dean sighed and followed. Sam figured Dean probably hated Floo travel as much as he did.

When Sam stepped – well, fell out – of the fireplace in the Burrow, he found himself in an extremely cozy country home. Dean quickly steadied him as usual, and then they both turned to be greeted by Molly Weasley, who was waiting excitedly by the fireplace.

“Welcome to my home, my dears,” Molly said, “Arthur’s at work, but he promised he’d stop by briefly to say hello. Plus, I think he wants to show off his collection of Muggle electronikkis in the shed.”

Ron groaned, but it was affectionate. He shot Dean a pre-emptive apologetic look. Dean just shrugged. After the fuss Ron made over the silly EMF meter the year before, they had fair warning on what his father was like.

“Thanks for having us, Mrs. Weasley,” Sam said, “do we have time before lunch to ask you a few questions and maybe take a look around?”

“Call me Molly, dear,” Molly said, “and yes, yes of course. I’ll um...or maybe Ron could...show you where the ghoul lived. The stairs are a bit hard on the knees these days, and it’s just – well, I didn’t want to kill the poor thing...”

“It’s ok, Mum,” Ron said. “I’ll take them on a tour of the place, and then we can sit down and go over what happened while we wait for Dad.”

“Ok, thank you, Ronnykins,” Molly said.

Mum,” Ron said, blushing.

Sam bit his lip – hard. Dean’s eyes lit up like he had been given a present, and he slung an arm around Ron’s shoulders and started steering Ron towards the staircase.

“Come on Ronny, I think I remember you saying that this thing lived in the attic – why don’t we start there,” Dean said smiling.

Sam smiled at Molly and followed behind Dean and Ron. When he got to the staircase, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing – even with Dean’s “holy...” that should have warned him. It was a crazy layered vertical labyrinth of staircases – all seemingly rickety and they groaned and squeaked under Sam’s feet as he climbed them. He shot a questioning look at Ron, and Ron just smiled back at him.

“Try sneaking out of this house as a teenager, eh?” Ron said.

Each landing seemed to have a room attached to it. Ron named them as he went for whose bedroom they formerly were, until they finally got to the top floor.

“And this is my old room,” Ron said.

“What does this house look like from the outside? That’s what I want to know,” Dean said, now staring down the labyrinthine stairs and out a nearby window in puzzlement.

“I can show you after lunch,” Ron shrugged.

Ron pulled a trap door on the ceiling open and a ladder slide down. They ascended into a typical looking attic. It was half filled with old trunks and boxes, and half empty. In one corner was a nest of blankets next to some pipes that must have led away from an old fashioned reservoir back whenever the house was first built, but now just lay unused. Sam didn’t need Ron to tell him that the pile of blankets was the ghoul’s former bed.

They couldn’t use the EMF meter in the house, but Sam and Dean took a look around the entire attic, trying to find anything out of the ordinary that may have set the ghoul off. As much as Sam believed that having the ghoul in the house was just inviting trouble, he could also see the Weasleys’ side of things – the ghoul had been docile and nonthreatening for decades. Something had to have happened to change that.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in the attic though – it was actually even more ordinary than the rest of the house. They made their way back downstairs to talk to Molly, who was just finishing making lunch. Ron offered to set the table while she talked to Sam and Dean.

“Could you tell us exactly what happened when the ghoul attacked?” Sam asked, while Dean took out his notebook and pen.

“I was in the kitchen,” Molly said, “cleaning up, mostly, because everyone had just been the night before for a big family supper. Arthur had just apparated off to work from the front laneway, and I was all alone. I put on the wireless to have a bit of company, and I suppose that’s why I didn’t hear him coming down the stairs. I had my back turned to the door, but he made this noise when he walked into the kitchen.”

“What sort of noise,” Dean asked.

“An unhappy noise – as if he were in great distress,” Molly frowned. “I was quite surprised. He never liked leaving the attic. He spent a year in Ron’s room during the war, and was quite unhappy about it. So, my first thought was that he was just upset at being downstairs – but then, he had come down himself, hadn’t he? Before I could make heads or tails of it, he was launching himself at me – snarling and making those distressed noises.”

“He was angry at you then,” Dean said.

“No, no, that’s just the problem. It was like he was angry, but didn’t want to be,” Molly said. “And, well, it was reflex really – to hit him with as many defensive spells as I could. I was just trying to keep him back in the hopes that he would calm down. I should have used a binding spell, or a paralysis spell, but it all happened so fast – and I’ve always been quicker with the protection spells, rather than then the more offensive spell work. But I digress; the next thing I knew, he had found the knives – and was coming at me with a cleaver – so I hit him with a spell that knocked him backwards over the table, quite roughly...and well, he didn’t get back up.”

“The spell killed him?” Sam tried to clarify, because they’d been taught that only decapitation killed ghouls.

“The cleaver,” Molly said. “It must have been the way he fell – it sliced right through his neck. That’s when I called Ron, and he and Harry came immediately.”

“So, do you have any idea what would have made him angry?” Dean asked.

“No,” Molly said. “I don’t even think he was genuinely angry. He seemed confused – it was almost as though he were fighting off the Imperious curse. Only, that couldn’t have been it – because humans can’t even fight that curse, let alone a low-level ghoul.”

“The Imperious curse?” Sam asked, “what-”

“It’s one of the Unforgivables,” Ron stated. “If I were to use it on you – you would basically do exactly as I bid you to do, whether or not it was against your own will. It would basically give me completely control of your body and actions.”

“Like being possessed,” Sam said.

“Yes, I’d assume so,” Ron said. “I’ve only ever known one person who could resist it.” Molly seemed surprised at that, but Ron just smiled. “I’ll give you three guesses who, and the first two don’t count.”

“Harry,” Sam said.

“He was only ever able to resist a little though,” Ron said. “If Harry can only resist a little...there’s no way a ghoul-“

“Still,” Sam interrupted. “The ghoul was conflicted – which itself is unusual for a ghoul. Something made it that way.”

“But what?” Molly asked.

Sam sighed, tucking the notebook back into his pocket. He had hoped that they would have found that the ghoul was an isolated incident from the ghost attacks – but it followed the same pattern. Something was making the spirits, and the ghoul, restless and angry when they had never been restless and angry before. Yet, it had nothing to do with the apocalypse, because the only victims had been wizards. They had figured out what the cases had in common, they just couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Arthur came home moments later and they all sat down for lunch. Ron reported on how the shop was going, and if he knew whether George and Angelina were still considering themselves a couple or not. Apparently, as Sam found out, neither had dated anyone else since the war – yet, occasionally they’d have huge fights and declare the relationship over, though, Angelina never returned the engagement ring and George never cancelled the wedding arrangements.

Before Ron could explain further, Arthur changed the conversation to cars – and began to engage Dean in a series of rapid fire questions. It eventually led to Dean giving Arthur a mechanical version of the “the legbone’s connected to the hip bone...” only with “the air cleaner’s connected to the carburetor...” and something about valve covers.

Thankfully Molly interrupted to ask how the training session with the Aurors had gone. Sam and Dean both said they felt it went fine, and Ron said that he thought it was brilliant – informing them that they still had the Aurors guessing as to who they actually were.

After lunch, Arthur led them out to his back shed. Ron followed behind complaining that Sam and Dean probably weren’t interested in his Muggle artefact collection – given the fact that they were Muggles. Sam, like Dean, was interested in seeing the property though. There were fields and forests, and a long dirt driveway that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Dean was staring back at the house as they walked – stumbling every few steps, and when Sam turned to look he could see why. It was gravitationally impossible for such a house to exist. It looked like it had once been a modest bungalow and then someone had decides to add a haphazard second story – and when that wasn’t enough, they had stacked rooms on the house like a child stacks wooden blocks. No wonder the staircase had been so confusing.

They arrived at the large shed and Sam discovered it was a lot bigger than Harry’s, but also a lot more crowded. Arthur had shelves upon shelves of random things – light bulbs, wires, floppy discs, and VHS tapes.

“Is this a Commadore 64?” Sam asked, running his hands over the casing, then spotting something else just behind it. “Holy shit – is that an Apple II? I haven’t seen one of those since...um...I was BORN. I bet you could get a lot of money from collectors for some of these.”

“Could I?” Arthur said with a smile, “even if I’ve broken all of them?”

“You’ve probably just short-circuited them,” Dean said. “Though, being kept in a shed probably hasn’t done them any favours either.”

“No, no...a mouse built a nest in one of them,” Arthur said. “Still, they are pleasant to look at. And I must say, the mouse was quite adorable. I named him Ichabod.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to say to that, but Dean just laughed a little and nodded.

“I’ve got spark plugs!” Arthur announced, “They’re my favourite.”

“Great,” Dean said.

“Oh, and I want to thank you for that screaming device you helped Ron make me last year,” Arthur continued, “it’s ever so much fun. I like to walk around the property with it until it explodes.”

“No wonder I’ve got to fix it all the time,” Ron muttered.

“Sadly, I have to get back to work. Feel free to look around though,” Arthur said.

“Oh,” Sam said, “I wanted to ask you about the ghoul a bit too.”

“We’ll walk you to the apparition point,” Ron said. “We can talk on the way.”

They made their way around the side of the house to the front, while Arthur confirmed that he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the house or the ghoul before the attack. They walked to the small gate at the edge of the property and out onto the country road. The gate hung on a low stone wall, and Sam sat on the edge of the wall while he ran his last few questions by Arthur.

“Sorry I’m not much more help lads,” Arthur said, “but I do hope you and Harry are able to get to the bottom of this – it’s all rather distressing. First real trouble we’ve had since the war, well, since things settled down politically in any case.”

“We’ll sort it out, Dad,” Ron said.

“Of course you will,” Arthur smiled proudly. “Well, it was a pleasure to talk with you fellows again, I do hope you find time to enjoy England while you’re here and it’s not all just work.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sam said politely, and Dean nodded. Arthur waved and then turned and disappeared.

“A little frustrating, isn’t it?” Ron said. Sam sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers through some random groves cut into the stone beside his leg.

“I can see why you and Harry called us,” Dean said. “I’ve got half a mind to call Bobby and ask if he can figure any of this shit out...”

“Or Cas?” Sam said.

“Yeah, but there has to be something – something we’re missing somewhere,” Dean replied.

“Maybe we should check out the grave sites?” Sam asked, then clarified, “of the ghosts, I mean. Maybe someone’s been disturbing them that way.”

“Already looked,” Ron shook his head. “Harry and I oversaw each salting and burning ourselves. I can tell you right now, there was nothing odd about those graves. We went over every inch.”

Sam watched as Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and was half tempted to do the same.

“Come on,” Ron said. “I told Harry I’d take the Floo back with you to make sure both of you made it alright.”

“After yesterday, I think we got the hang of it,” Sam muttered, not really liking the fact he basically had to be babysat everywhere he went in case his freakishness caused some sort of accident.

“Dude,” Dean said, “speak for yourself, without Harry or Ron waiting for me on the other end, I’d end up face first on the frickin’ floor every single time, and that is not an appealing thought.”

“Oh,” Sam said, because yeah – without Dean there to catch Sam, he’d probably end up with bruises. He hadn’t really thought that maybe Dean needed someone to catch him too.

Chapter 16

Additional A/N: If anyone wants to make me a banner or something for this story that I can use when for the Master Post when I'm finished...that's be really really cool. I'd do it myself, but I have no graphic-design skills to speak of.
Tags: crossover, demented'verse, fic, harry potter, season 5

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