Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
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 | 15 | 16 | 17
Summary: In which Draco saves the day...wait, what?
Draco was finished searching the upper floors in only forty minutes, and that included five minutes in which he just stared at his bed forlornly. Draco hadn’t been lying when he said that he had always liked the coach house – but it was only a two bedroom, and so Scorpius had to share with him and Astoria...and well, certain things could not be done in such situations.
He made it back to the drawing room doors with fifteen minutes to spare, and debated whether he should wait patiently for Dean there as planned or go and find him. On the one hand, Dean might accidentally shoot him should he surprise the Hunter. On the other hand, he had just given a Hunter complete access to his house – that had to be a mark of stupidity. What if Dean were to pick up one of Lucius’ more questionable books in the library? Dean didn’t seem to be the type to pick up books – but Draco had underestimated his foes before. Not that Dean was a foe, he was just a Hunter – who could kill Draco with a squeeze of a trigger if he suddenly decided that wizards were evil after all...and it would be quite understandable for Dean to decide that, if, say, he were to read one of Lucius’ more questionable books in the library.
At that moment, Charity Burbage decided to beg Severus to help her again, and even though the heavy drawing room doors were shut, Draco could still hear her – and even though he wasn’t even in the room, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could see her dangling there, alive and crying and then suddenly dead, her body being swallowed by Nagini while Draco trembled in terror and the Dark Lord smiled.
Draco decided it was best to go find Dean Winchester.
He didn’t have to go far, because he found the door to the cellar was open. Draco considered returning to the meeting point and waiting for Dean. Draco really hated the cellar. Staying upstairs and waiting for the big strong Hunter to come protect him would be cowardly, however, and Draco was not a coward – or, at least, not any more...that is to say, that he tried his best not to be, for whatever that was worth.
Taking a deep breath, Draco started down the stairs...and heard voices.
“There’s no escaping it, Dean,” a smooth voice said, “I told you, we’ll always end up here.”
“No,” Draco heard Dean reply, but something was wrong – other than the fact that Draco and Dean should be the only two people in the house, that is. Draco could tell that there was something wrong with the Hunter – something in his voice that filled Draco with fear.
Draco reached the bottom of the stairs silently and followed the voices around a short stone wall. Dean was standing in front of a large open storage cupboard with his back to Draco, but between Dean and the cupboard stood Dean’s brother, Sam. Only Draco could tell that it wasn’t the same Sam that they had left in the coach house with Astoria and Scorpius. This Sam was wearing a white suit, his messy hair slicked back, and his expressive face serene and slightly amused. While it was true that Draco did not know the Winchesters well, or at all really, he had spent enough time with them to know that this being wasn’t Sam...even when Sam had levelled that gun at Draco’s father, he had not looked as cold-hearted as the being that stood before Dean now. This was not the Sam Winchester who smiled warmly at Draco’s son. No, Draco knew what this was.
“We aren’t in Detroit. You aren’t really...Sam’s in the small house, looking after the kid-" Dean continued, but Sam cut him off.
“How long did you leave him alone this time, Dean?” Sam asked. “You should really watch out for Sammy better than that.”
“No, he wouldn’t-..I don’t-" Dean said.
“Dean,” Draco said, and Dean turned to face Draco. Draco could see Dean’s confusion and despair, a torrent of emotions swimming in green-eyes. The biggest emotion that Draco could see through the unshed tears was fear. It was all the confirmation that Draco needed. Leave it to a friend of Harry’s to encounter their greatest fear and just stand in front of it while it tore them to shreds. “Dean,” Draco repeated softer than before, “step away from him. I need you to get behind me.”
“He’ll kill you,” Dean said, not moving.
“I’ll kill everyone,” Sam amended.
“It’s not...whoever you think it is,” Draco said. “Let me get rid of it and I’ll explain...please.”
Dean looked back at Sam in confusion, but started backing away. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, until he realized that now he had to confront the boggart himself.
“It’s only a matter of time, Dean,” the boggart called to Dean’s retreating figure. Dean shot a look to Draco that was so far from the version of Dean that he had known until now, that Draco began moving forward before Dean had even reached him. He needed to end this now.
Immediately, the boggart changed shape, and Draco heard Dean’s breath catch behind him. The white suit was replaced by black wizard robes. Sam’s prominent nose disappeared as all the colour bleached from the formerly tanned skin. Soon enough, the being that was not Sam Winchester, was replaced with a being that was not Lord Voldemort, but was doing a very good job of looking like him.
“Riddikulus” Draco said, before fear could grip him fully. Suddenly, Lord Voldemort shrunk to the size of an eleven-year old, wearing round glasses and baggy clothes, and looking rather indignant. “Fool,” Draco muttered, as he felt himself smile. He heard a confused huff of a laugh come from Dean behind him, and with another wave of his wand, the boggart disappeared into a puff of smoke.
“Was that the only thing down here?” Draco asked as a means to break the heavy silence.
“Mm, yeah,” Dean said. “He was-”
“It,” Draco corrected.
“It was in the cupboard – shoulda been my first clue that it wasn’t...” Dean trailed off, then chuckled briefly, “there’s a ‘coming out of the closet’ joke I should be making here.”
Draco shook his head and bit back a smile.
“You should have made it while it was here,” Draco said. “It's how they’re defeated – you have to laugh at them, make them amusing somehow.”
“What was it?” Dean asked. “I’ve never-“
“It’s called a boggart,” Draco said, making his way back to the bottom of the stairs. Boggart defeated or not, Draco really didn’t like the cellar. “They move into places that have been left unattended for a length of time, they like dark places – cellars, cupboards, underneath furniture. They feed off fear. They attack by changing into whatever it is that you are most afraid of.”
“How does it know?” Dean said. “How did it know to change into-... I have a fear of flying, why didn’t it change into an airplane?”
“Because an airplane wouldn’t fit in my cellar,” Draco rolled his eyes. Idiot.
“Was that Lord Voldymoron?” Dean asked, and Draco felt his heart seize momentarily – it had taken him years to get rid of the fear of saying the name Voldemort, and he couldn’t help but be struck by how causally Dean mangled the name into a joke that would have gotten him killed instantly if the Dark Lord had heard it.
“Yes,” Draco replied, keeping his voice even. Finally they were out of the cellar, and Draco closed the door with a wash of relief.
“Ugly son of a bitch, wasn’t he,” Dean said as they casually strolled through the halls. It was as though nothing had just happened, yet, it had, and now Draco couldn’t help but feel like something was different.
“Yes,” Draco agreed, “your brother was a much better looking fear.”
“It wasn’t-” Dean said, but then cut himself off. “Hey, um... don’t tell Sam, ok?”
Draco considered asking who that had really been, because he knew it hadn’t actually been Dean’s brother. Perhaps a demon – but then, Dean dealt with demons all the time. Draco had first-hand knowledge of how Dean could take on demons without fear. He also knew that Sam had been possessed before, and that they had both taken precautions so that it couldn’t happen again. He almost did ask, but when he looked over at Dean, he could still make out the redness in his eyes and he bit back the question.
“Don’t tell Sam that your greatest fear is his horrible fashion sense?” Draco said instead. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” At Dean’s disbelieving smile, Draco continued, “I’d be frightened too, personally – I mean, was that a cream coloured shirt with a white suit? Really, you must pick out his clothes for him every morning if that’s the way he dresses otherwise.” Now the Hunter was laughing, and Draco felt a boost of pride. “I could recommend him to my tailor, but I don’t think wizard robes are conducive to your line of work.”
“Oh man,” Dean laughed, “thanks, but no thanks.”
“Your choice,” Draco smiled. They were now standing outside the drawing room doors yet again. Thankfully, the drawing room seemed silent for the time being.
“Anything upstairs?” Dean asked.
“No,” Draco said.
“Let’s head back to the others, I gotta check... with Sam about the death echo” Dean said, motioning towards the closed doors beside them.
Draco nodded, and the two of them made their way outside, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them.
Dean had to admit that it felt good be out of that house. He wasn’t sure how Draco could live in there really – it seemed oppressive, whether that feeling came from the influence of the death echo, or the antique furniture, Dean couldn’t say. Without a doubt though, the only way you could make old houses like that spookier was by adding a death echo.
They were only halfway back up the laneway towards the coach house, when Dean spotted movement outside the gates near his car. His first instinct was to reach for his gun and yell at whoever the hell thought they touch his baby, but then he recognized the looming shape of his brother – with a kid on his hip.
“I don’t understand the affinity my son has for your brother,” Draco said from beside him. “It’s unsettling.”
“Hey, despite...” Dean said, then switched gears, “Listen, I don’t know what you think you know, but Sam’s a good guy.”
“Of course,” Draco said. “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
As they approached the gates, Dean watched as Sam attention shifted from Scorpius towards them, once he recognized Dean, he smiled. Dean felt something unclench in his chest. Sam’s smile faded.
“Hey Sammy,” Dean greeted.
“It’s Sam,” Sam corrected, “Everything ok?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes.
“You sure?” Sam asked.
“What are you two up to?” Dean asked as he nodded, which had the desired effect of having Sam smile and focus his attention back on Scorpius.
“Scorpius was getting tired, but I know you guys wanted him to see the car,” Sam said, “so, I was showing it to him. Hey, do you have the keys? I said if you got back in time we’d run it so that he could see the engine when it’s running.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to deprive the kid of experiencing an American classic,” Dean smiled. Scorpius smiled back as Dean jogged around to the driver’s seat. He waited until Sam had opened the hood before he turned the key and the car roared to life.
Dean jumped back out of the car and came around the front so that he could see the kid’s reaction. He found Scorpius holding his hands over his ears and smiling. Sam was laughing and even Draco looked a little less miserable than usual – his eyes trained on his son, rather than the car.
“Awesome, isn’t it?!” Dean asked Scorpius.
“Yes, sir,” Scorpius replied, as he lowered his hands, getting used to the noise. Dean turned back and cut the engine. He loved it when his baby was appreciated.
“Thank you,” Scorpius said, then yawned impressively, as Sam slammed the hood shut.
“Time for bed now, Scorpius,” Draco said, reaching to take Scorpius from Sam’s arms.
“Goodnight Scorpy,” Dean waved.
“Scorpius,” Scorpius corrected.
“Right,” Dean smiled, then turned to Draco, “still wondering why they get along?”
Sam looked confused, but Draco smiled briefly.
“Perhaps you two should...discuss things out here, while I return Scorpius to Astoria,” Draco said. “I’ll return shortly.”
“Sounds good,” Dean agreed.
Scorpius said goodnight to both of them, and then Dean and Sam leaned against the side of the car, watching as Draco walked through the gate and towards the house – Scorpius already laying his head down on his father’s shoulder.
“Nice kid,” Dean noted.
“Yeah, he’s cute,” Sam said. “So, what happened in the house?”
“It’s a death echo,” Dean said. “Except the remains are impossible to burn, so we gotta find another way.”
“Cremated?” Sam said. “That’s unusual for a death echo.”
“Eaten by a snake,” Dean replied. “Though, if you want unusual, it’s the death echo of a witch. According to everything we’ve read up on blood-wizards so far, that should be impossible.”
Sam’s sigh was so heavy, Dean felt it in his own diaphragm.
“What the hell is going on here, Dean?” Sam asked, as they both stared at gates to the Malfoy’s property.
“Wish I knew,” Dean said.
“We’re going to have to call Bobby on the death echo thing,” Sam said. “I don’t think we’ve ever come across one that we couldn’t just salt-n-burn.”
“Should get in touch with him anyway,” Dean said. “See how things are back home.”
Dean watched as Draco exited the coach house and made his way back over to them, his dark clothing blending into the night just as much as his impossibly blond hair stood out. It sort of made him look like a disembodied head.
“I wonder what that is...” Sam muttered beside him. Dean was about to say, ‘Um, Draco, who else?’ when he realized that Sam’s attention was a little more to the left.
“What?” Dean asked, but Sam was already pushing off the car and walking over to the stone wall beside the fake iron gate. Dean watched as Sam reached up and ran his fingers through some odd groves carved into the stone. At first Dean thought that they were protection runes, but then he realized that they weren’t any sort of rune he’d ever seen before.
“Hey, Drake,” Dean said, as Draco reached ear-shot. “What are those runes up there? We’ve never seen them before.”
Draco turned and looked in confusion to where Sam was standing, running his fingers over them.
“I...have never seen them before either,” Draco said, walking to stand next to Sam. “Why are they on my wall?”
“They aren’t just on your wall,” Sam said, turning to look at Dean with a look that Dean would know in the dark. “They were engraved in Weasleys’ wall too, just beside the gate. I didn’t even...I mean, I sat on them, while we talked to Ron.”
“You sat on...” Dean shook his head, then switched his attention back to Draco, “You sure you don’t know what those are? Not a secret Wizard house numbering system or something like that?”
“I assure you, I have no idea what those marks are, what they mean, where they came from, or who put them there,” Draco replied.
“God,” Sam said, rubbing his forehead, “we’re idiots!”
“Speak for yourself,” Dean replied.
“No, Dean, think about it,” Sam continued. “What have we been doing the past two days?”
“Um, going from house to house, trying to find a freakin’ connection between all these goddamn ghost attacks?” Dean said, and then realized where Sam was going with his question, “...and doing our best not to fall on our asses as we hurtled out of people’s fireplaces. Goddamn it, Sam – we never went outside.”
“Except for here and at the Weasleys,” Sam replied. “Two places that just so happen to have odd carvings near their entrances – how much do you want to bet that Arthur has no clue what they are either.”
“You’d think someone would have noticed though,” Dean said. “I mean, if someone carved up my wall, I think I’d notice.”
“Draco,” Sam said in response, “how often do you come out here?”
“Never,” Draco confirmed. “I travel by floo or I apparate. We don’t even have a coach anymore.”
“Get me a notebook,” Sam said. “I’m going to copy this down and see what I can find about it.”
Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the notebook he had been working in earlier that day. Before he handed it to Sam, he tore out the page where he had written down all the names of the wizards that had been attacked. As Sam pulled a pen from his own pocket and started sketching down the strange engravings, Dean handed the page of names to Draco.
“Do you have anything in common with the people listed here?” Dean asked.
Dean watched as Draco read through the list of names carefully. He realized this might in fact be a breach of confidentiality, but at this point, Dean would take whatever help he could get and Harry would just have to forgive him.
“Blood-traitors,” Draco sighed. “If the Death Eaters were still in power, myself and mostly everyone on this list would be considered blood-traitors.”
“So what you’re saying,” Sam said, “is that if Voldemort were still around, there would be a hit out all you guys.”
“I don’t-" Draco started.
“You’d be an enemy to Voldy and his followers,” Dean explained.
“Yes,” Draco said. “Not like the muggleborns...but, well, there were a few Death Eaters who considered it even worse to be a blood-traitor.”
“Call Harry,” Sam said.
As Dean flipped opened the mirror, he couldn’t help but catch Draco’s wince.
“I’m sorry, man,” Dean said, “I have to get him in on this...listen, we’ll keep it quiet, ok? And I’ll make sure it’s me and Sammy who take care of your problem inside.”
As Draco nodded, Dean spoke Harry’s name into the mirror and waited for Harry’s face to come into focus.
“Dean? What’s-” Harry started.
“Harry, you’re an idiot,” Dean said, “come to the entrance of Malfoy’s place right now.”
Dean snapped the mirror closed and flashed a smile at Draco’s smirk.
“Thought you might enjoy that,” Dean said. Suddenly there was a popping noise and Harry appeared next to Dean.
“What’s going on?” Harry said, wand held tightly and looking around with wide-eyes.
“Make a copy of this piece of paper,” Sam ordered, handing Harry the sketch of the runes. Harry copied it.
“What is-” Harry started to say.
“Now, we need you to apparate to the end of the Molly and Arthur’s walkway,” Dean said. “Let us know if there is an engraving on the stone wall that matches this.”
“What is this?” Harry asked.
“Go, Harry,” Dean said. “Then come right back and we’ll explain.”
Harry nodded a little dumbfounded and then turned and disappeared.
“I’m starting to feel a little better about this, I must say,” Draco said.
“See, it’s us coming to your rescue, not Harry,” Dean smiled. “He just works for us right now...and we come to people’s rescue all the time. You’re in good company.”
“We saved a mayor once,” Sam said. “He was a bit of a douche about it though.”
“We did set fire to his antique taxidermy collection,” Dean said, remembering the hunt well – Sam must have been all of 16 at the time.
“Yeah, well, even if they hadn't been haunted, they would still be creepy,” Sam replied. “Animals deserve to be respected in death too.”
Dean laughed and shook his head, but couldn’t help but notice that Draco was looking at Sam as though he were a fascinating alien from another planet. Dean shrugged it off – maybe Draco liked taxidermy or something.
At that moment, Harry returned, still clutching the copy of the runes Sam had given.
“It matches,” Harry said. “What is it? What’s going on?”
Dean took the page of names back from Draco and handed it to Harry. Sam ignored them in favour of sitting on the hood of the Impala and writing quickly on a blank page in the notebook.
“Blood-traitors,” Dean said. “That’s the connection. Every last person would have been considered a blood-traitor. Sounds like a pretty freakin’ obvious connection to me, Harry – why the heck didn’t you pick up on that? It took Drake here all of ten seconds.”
“I considered it,” Harry defended, “but it doesn’t fit for everyone. Natasha Jones was-”
“Very good at hiding the fact that her real name was Karkaroff,” Draco interrupted.
“What?!” Harry said, “but I searched through her records and-”
“Her, no doubt, falsified records,” Draco interrupted again. “Her brother wasn’t the only one who had something to fear from Voldemort’s return – he was considerably less skilled at hiding though. My father only discovered Natasha’s whereabouts towards the end...and by then Voldemort was too consumed with his desire to destroy you to pay attention to a rogue former Death Eater.”
“I see,” Harry said. “And the werewolf attack? How does that fit in with this theory?”
“Really, Potter, just because I helped, you have to go out of your way to poke holes?” Draco said. “You’d think you’d be more grateful to have a lead – your two American friends here seemed much more appreciative.”
“The werewolf doesn’t fit in,” Dean cut in, “but that doesn’t mean anything – it could just be a coincidence.”
“And these strange stone carvings?” Harry asked. “How do they fit in? What are they?”
“We don’t know,” Sam said from his position on the hood of the car, still bent over the notebook. “But I’m willing to bet that you’ll find them written or carved into something outside every one of the victim’s houses.”
Dean watched as Harry’s eyes shifted to take in the gate and stone wall behind where Dean and Draco stood.
“Why didn’t you report it?” Harry asked Draco, but his tone wasn’t angry or confused, simply resigned.
“You know why,” Draco shrugged.
“Malfoy, you have as much right to Auror protection as everyone else,” Harry said. “You’re not some sort of second-class citizen.”
“Aren’t I?” Draco replied. Harry didn’t look pleased at the response.
“That’s why...the coach house,” Harry muttered, then addressed Draco in a stronger voice, “Is your family ok?”
“It’s just a bit of a complicated death echo,” Dean added in, “nothing dangerous, and Draco’s already made all the right moves to protect his family. Sammy and I told him we’d take care of it while we were here.”
“And on that note,” Sam said, standing while he carefully folded a couple sheets of paper together before handing them to Harry. “Can you have Hermione send these to Bobby?”
“Sure, what-?” Harry said.
“Just asking his advice on the death echo,” Sam said, “and I figured we’d get another opinion on the engravings as well – Bobby knows more languages than I do.”
“Ok,” Harry nodded, “I’ll floo her when I get home. Are you done here? I could-”
“Um, Astoria has cake and coffee waiting...” Draco interrupted. “I know it would be rude of me not to invite you in since you’re here, Potter, but-"
Dean nearly laughed at how Harry looked momentarily terrified by the idea that Draco might actually invite him into his house for cake. Draco looked equally unsettled by the idea, so Dean figured it was probably up to him to think of an excuse to break the rules of etiquette.
“But it’s probably not a good idea,” Dean finished for Draco, “I mean, I’ve already stabbed Drake’s dad once today...and Sam’s threatened him at gunpoint ...that’s probably enough drama for the night.”
Harry’s eyes went wide.
“Stabbed...” Harry muttered, looking between Draco and Dean.
“Truthfully,” Draco shrugged at Harry, “My father deserved it...but you are forbidden from repeating that to Weasley...or anyone married to Weasley...or anyone at all really.”
“Understood,” Harry said, still looking like he had entered the twilight zone. “I’ll just...um, go send this letter then...”
“Thanks, Harry,” Sam said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry still looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights, as he nodded numbly.
“Um, bye Malfoy?” Harry said.
“Potter,” Malfoy nodded.
“See you back at yours,” Dean waved, as Harry turned and disappeared.
“Well,” Draco said. “It’s nice to know that even the great Harry Potter can feel out of his depth from time to time.”
“Listen, we don’t know how long it’ll take to work out the death echo business, but we promise it’ll be first priority, ok?” Dean said, bringing the topic back to business before they went back inside to socialize.
“Thank you,” Draco replied. “And the engraving? Now that you have a written copy, can I destroy it? I do not like strange things on my property.”
“Leave it for a bit, just until we figure out what it is,” Dean said. “Sometimes these things can be programmed to do something nasty if you try to remove them.”
“Programmed?” Draco asked, “like...cursed?”
“Yeah, like cursed,” Dean confirmed. “Now, let’s go in and have some cake – then me and Sam will solve all your problems.”
“All of them?” Draco asked, sarcastically hopeful.
“Uh, no...you’re on your own with your father and those creepy albino peacocks,” Dean laughed.
“Albino peacocks?” Sam said. “What the hell did I miss...”