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

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Fic: Damned Demented Demons 11/32 (SPN/HP)

Title: Damned Demented Demons 11/32
Author: ME!
Fandoms: Supernatural/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing)
Warnings: Spoilers for all Harry Potter books, Spoilers up to 4x17 for Supernatural.
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean belong to Kripke, Harry Potter belongs to Rowling.
A/N: I thought that the Battle of Hogwarts took place in Spring 1997...so that's what I based my timeline on. Since then I've seen that most sources have it in 1998. Ah well. In this story it's 1997.
A/N to chap 11: I'm back! I've also got my buffer back up to 1.5 chapters and counting, so things are looking good for getting a double update week sometime before the end of the month. And man, let me just say that Chapter 13 is a doozy.

Summary: In which there is much transformation and some idle chitchat under a Boston moon, and then Harry plays a trick on Malfoy!

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Sam's bones were shrinking, his face was stinging, and his muscles thinning. All this was happening while he watched Dean's face contort, his hair grow, and his body shrink. The only thing that seemed to remain constant were his green eyes and that was the only thing that kept Sam from fainting.

During the commotion, Sam vaguely registered Phil and Harry darting forward to catch the hip flasks as they fell from Dean and Sam's shrinking hands. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. Sam filled his new lungs with oxygen, and quickly brought a hand to the waistband of his pants to keep them from falling to his ankles, not that it would have mattered, given how he was swimming in his shirts.

Sam's only comfort was that Dean looked ridiculous, or rather, Harry did...well, Dean really, but...god this was confusing. Dean was standing there in Harry's body, without glasses, wild hair sticking everywhere, drowning in jeans and flannel, with a completely gobsmacked expression on his face.

Sam laughed.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, then looked Sam over head to toe. "Wow, Sammy, you haven't been that skinny since you were 18!" and Sam decided that hearing Dean say anything to him in a British accent was all kinds of weird, even if Dean was walking around in Harry's body.

"At least I'm still taller, jerk," Sam replied.

Harry - the real one - cleared his throat.

"As much as I enjoy you mocking my height, we have limited time here boys," Harry said, and he pulled some clothes out of his shoulder bag and threw them to Dean and Sam. "Change into these."

Both Sam and Dean lost their grips on their jeans when they caught the clothes on reflex, and Sam realized that Harry had to have done that on purpose. Twinning the glare that he knew Dean was giving Harry, Sam kicked his jeans all the way off and pulled on the slacks that Harry had thrown him.

He glanced over at Dean to see him rid himself of his t-shirt, and couldn't help the slight jaw drop at the site of Dean's - Harry's - bare chest. Dean seemed to notice his stare, and glanced down himself before pulling on the new shirt. There in the centre of Harry's chest was an odd purplish scar, almost like a small star burst.

"Did you get shot or something?" Dean asked, pulling Harry's attention away from stowing their discarded clothes in his shoulder bag. Harry grimaced slightly when he saw the scar.

"Uh, yeah, something," Harry replied. "Told you, I died once."

"Dude," Dean said, and Sam was once again struck by how odd Dean sounded with Harry's British accent. "I thought you were joking."

"How'd you come back?" Sam asked, since he too had thought Harry had been joking before.

"It's complicated," Harry replied, tossing them two pairs of shoes. "I was willing to die - so I didn't, instead he just killed...he killed something else, something other than me, and I came back."

"Like a deal?" Sam asked confused, "Did someone make a deal for you?"

"A deal?" Harry asked back, now as confused as Sam. "No, no one made a deal. You can do that? I mean, can people do that? Make deals to bring people back?"

Sam couldn't help but glance at Dean, and was momentarily thrown off by seeing Dean's familiar scowl on Harry's face.

"Yeah, they can," Dean answered, as he took off his ring and amulet.

"How does that work?" Harry asked further, handing Dean a spare pair of glasses as he spoke. Sam cursed himself for opening his big mouth about it in the first place, because obviously Harry had missed the memo on When to Drop the Subject.

"Are we doing this thing or not?" Dean asked angrily in reply. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Harry actually flinched at Dean's tone. Phil looked a little terrified and Sam didn't blame him.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly - fucking subdued - and Sam would have gloated on Dean's behalf if it wasn't for the way Harry seemed to curl in on himself like an abused kid. Then just as suddenly as Harry folded inward, he seemed to give himself a shake and straighten back up again. It was as if the exchange had never happened. Harry pulled a shimmering cloak out of his bag and gave Sam and Dean a smile.

"Follow Phil, I'll be right behind you," Harry said, and he threw the cloak over his shoulders and was gone. Sam and Dean both stared at the empty space that held Harry.

"Ok, Dean," Harry's disembodied voice said. "You're me, so close your mouth and try to look like you know what you are doing." Sam snorted a laugh as Dean snapped his jaw shut and leveled a glare in the vague direction of Harry's voice. "Sam, you're Deacon...so, umm...it'd actually be good to show a little less confidence." It was Dean's turn to laugh as Sam sighed, realizing he had to play the part of a nervous trainee.

Phil nodded to the two of them and left the alley at a brisk pace. Sam let Dean walk ahead of him, watching as he set Harry's legs to an even brisker pace in order to keep up. Sam nervously trailed behind, watching their backs and glancing around every once in a while to see if he could spot where Harry hid.

Sam was able to recognize their location after Phil lead them around another corner. They were heading straight into Boston Common. As the darkness of the park enveloped them, Sam felt Harry's presence beside him.

"Harry?" Sam whispered.

"Yes?" he heard Harry respond, they were much closer to each other in height now, and it actually threw Sam off a bit to have Harry's voice come from shoulder height instead of at his elbow.

"Just checking," Sam said.

"Did I say something wrong before?" Harry's voice whispered to him after a pause.

"No," Sam answered, keeping his eyes trained on the back of Dean's head, letting the space between them grow a little more to be safe. "I did. Deals...Dean- ... Da-... I shouldn't have -"

"I was only asking..." Harry interrupted Sam's floundering, much to Sam's relief, "...because Riddle, he liked to find ways around death, you know? If deals are possible...well, I mean, what do you deal with? Is it money? Favours?"

Sam understood now. Harry hadn't been trying to pry into their lives, he had been worried about having to fight another war - worried that the sick freak who had tried to kill him time and time again could still come back. Sam could sympathize, he still had nightmares of people burning on the ceiling, or Dean being thrown back in hell.

"Souls," Sam whispered. "It's an exchange, not a purchase - your soul for theirs. The only bargaining is with the time you get left - standard is ten years, but sometimes you just get one... sometimes you just get a few minutes."

"Oh, that's a relief," Harry said. Sam looked at the empty air in disbelief.

"A relief?" he squeaked in Deacon's voice.

"Yeah," Harry replied, and even though Sam couldn't see him, he could tell that he was smiling. "Riddle's followers aren't the self-sacrificing type."

"Oh," Sam replied.

They walked a few more paces in silence, and then Harry's voice whispered to him again.

"Did you...make a deal for Dean?"

Sam ran a hand pointlessly through Deacon's short hair, and bit his lip.

"The angels brought Dean back," he replied, in a tone that said you know this. Harry didn't press the issue, and Sam could have left it at that, but he suddenly didn't want to. The guilt, the failure, it all ate away at him, and he couldn't talk about it with Dean. And there was no one else except for Dean...and Ruby, but for some reason Sam always just felt worse after talking to her.

"I tried," Sam said softly. "A straight exchange, anything. I begged the Crossroads Demon to let us switch places, put me in hell instead...It should have been me all along...but he wouldn't take me, didn't want me, said they had things just the way they wanted them. I killed that fucker so slowly...no one answered my summonings after that. I'd killed another one the year before, so -"

"Through here, Sir," Phil's voice said loudly from ahead and interrupted Sam. Phil had stopped and was pointing to a grove of trees just off the path. Dean had walked a little passed Phil, so Sam could see the furrow in his - Harry's - brow as Sam quickened his pace to catch up to them.

"Through where?" Dean asked, fidgeting oddly, "Why we stopping here? Let's keep going."

Sam stared at Dean in confusion and glanced at the grove of trees. They looked fine, his eyes bounced off them and he looked back at Dean whose fidgeting had only increased.

"What's with you?" Sam asked.

"I don't want..." Dean started, looking as though he was forcing himself to stay still. "Why don't I want to be here?"

"Shit, the charms!" Phil said, as Sam gave the trees another look trying to figure out what was freaking Dean out so much. They were trees. Phil was pulling two long chains with pendants out of his robes.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Phil said, handing them quickly to Sam and Dean. "Hide them under your clothes. They'll nullify the Muggle repelling charms on the trees."

Oh, Sam thought, and dutifully slipped the pendant over his head. He watched as Dean did the same and then visibly relaxed. Dean had been repelled by charms.

"That's better," Sam said, hoping to God no one had noticed.

"Yeah, that was weird," Dean replied. "Anything else you've forgotten?"

"No, sorry," Phil said, and turned to walk into the grove of trees, with Dean following close behind.

"Nothing?" Harry's voice questioned from beside Sam. Sam didn't answer. He simply followed Dean into the trees. There were muggle repelling charms on the trees and Sam hadn't felt a goddamn thing.

He was so angry that he didn't even blink when he saw Phil walk straight into a tree and disappear.


Once they were through the tree, and yeah - as if being in someone else's body wasn't weird enough - they found themselves at the top of a marble staircase that lead down. Phil stood a few steps ahead, but motioned for Dean to take the lead, he whispered "just head to the door to the right of the security desk."

It was then that Dean realized what playing the part of Harry meant. Harry was squad commander, or whatever the hell Phil had called him. Harry was the kind of person who had people as old as Phil calling him sir and fuckin' revering him. Dean tried to imagine Bobby saying "Yessir, right away, Sir" to either Dean or Sam instead of calling them morons all the time, and had to stop himself from laughing at the image. If that ever happened, it'd creep him out so much that he'd probably try to exorcize the guy.

The staircase lead about two or three stories down to a large round foyer also made of white marble. Pillars lined the edge of the room, and lining the wall behind the pillars were a dozen or more grand fireplaces. In the middle of the room was a large inlaid crest in red, green, black, and white stone. A chandelier hung overhead, and sconces rested high on the pillars and the walls behind them, but instead of holding light bulbs, they held burning candles that flickered randomly between burning yellow, red, and blue flames.

Dean knew that he couldn't take the time to study what the crest was, since he was supposed to be Harry and Harry had been here before, and wouldn't show surprise or interest in what he saw. Dean kept his face still, and glanced back at Sam to make sure he was remembering his part. Deacon, being from America, would be even less surprised by the room than Harry.

Sam was scowling at the floor as he came off the steps, but looked up, seeming to sense Dean's eyes on him. Dean gave him a quick glare to get your head in the game and then the scowl lifted off of Deacon's face and was replaced with something that looked more like...well, Deacon. Dean turned back around and strode purposefully towards the door just to the right of the secruity desk.

The security desk lay directly across from the entrance to the foyer. On either side of it stood a door, and beyond them, equal curved staircases hugging the round wall leading up towards large double doors on a second floor.

At the security desk, Dean could see someone's feet, neatly crossed at the ankles and resting on the desk. As their group drew closer, he saw the guy's body reclined in a cushy office chair. Dean knew the moment that the guy clued into who it was that was striding towards him, because the feet untangled themselves and came down to the floor with an abrupt noise, and the guy sat bolt upright.

"Mr. Potter, sir!" He said, "Uh...good evening?"

Dean smiled.

"Evening," he said with a nod, and continued towards the door.

"Hello Roger," Phil said from slightly behind him.

"Oh, Hi Mr. O'Shaughnessy, Deacon."

Dean glanced over his shoulder and realized that Roger wasn't even really looking at Phil or Sam - his eyes were still trained on Dean.

"Keep up the good work, Roger," Dean winked as he opened the door and strode into a dark hallway. Seriously, with the way Roger's eyes widened, Dean figured they could have just walked in as themselves behind the real Harry and he wouldn't have seen them.

"Head to the elevator," Phil muttered behind him, once both he, Sam, and the invisible Harry were through the door and it had swung shut behind them. Dean spotted the elevators halfway down the corridor. The way was lit by blue torches, casting an eerie light on everything.

At first Dean wasn't quite sure why it was that Harry was still under his invisible blanket. They had gotten passed the security desk with no trouble and the corridor they were in was abandoned. Dean glanced around for security cameras out of habit. There were none, of course. But a small movement caught the corner of his eye. The hall was lined with paintings, and if Dean wasn't losing his mind (and at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if he was) someone in one of the paintings just moved.

A man sleeping awkwardly in an ornate chair cracked one eye open as Dean walked by the painting. Dean tried not to look surprised and instead gave the painting a short nod to test his theory. The man in the painting nodded back, and then closed his eye again. The moving people in Harry's photograph hadn't reacted at all to being pointed at or talked about, but the painting had nodded back to Dean. It was the most bizarre surveillance device Dean had ever seen. He wondered if the paintings lining the hallway were possessed, like that fugly painting he and Sam had tried to destroy nearly three years ago. Dean rolled his eyes, even if they were possessed, Harry would probably just tell him 'it's different for wizards' and not let him salt and burn them. Dean was beginning to wonder what wasn't different for wizards.

The elevator doors slid open as if the elevator knew there were there - they probably do, Dean thought - and everyone piled in. Dean saw Sam move oddly to the side to get through the door, and that was his only clue to the fact that Harry had stepped into the elevator as well.

The elevator didn't have buttons, just an odd lever at the side. Phil immediately stepped up to it and pushed it slowly and the elevator started a smooth descent. The old fashioned dial over the door began moving from the left slowly to the right. Dean realized that they were in a seven story building that was all underground.

"Are there more paintings?" Sam asked. "Why are you still invisible?"

"There aren't any more paintings, I just want to try something," Harry answered, from between Sam and Phil. "We're getting off on four. Turn right off the elevator. Draco Malfoy should be waiting for us at the end of the hall. I want to see if he can see through Dean's disguise. Call him Malfoy, don't use his first name."

Before Dean could respond, the dial rested on the fourth floor and the doors chimed open, announcing "The Department of Mysteries" in a sing-song female voice. Everyone shuffled to allow Dean to exit first. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of trying to trick this Malfoy guy, but he strode out of the elevator like he was Harry Potter and turned right.

Sure enough, there was a tall - or, at least, tall when you are in Harry's body - blond man leaning casually beside a doorway at the end of the hall. He was dressed all in black, which made his blond hair and pale skin stand out all the more. He held his arms crossed in front of him, his right hand disappearing into the crook of his left elbow. His eyes were on Dean, and there was nothing welcoming about them. If Harry hadn't said so before, it was quite obvious now that Malfoy was no friend of his.

As he got closer, the loathing in Malfoy's eyes changed to something else that Dean couldn't interpret, and Malfoy straightened, but kept his arms casually crossed. Dean heard Phil and Sam come to a stop just behind him.

"Malfoy," Dean greeted, keeping his tone neutral.

Malfoy moved his lips like he was about to return the greeting, then suddenly his arms were uncrossed and there was a wand nearly poking Dean in the throat.

"Who are you?" Malfoy sneered.

Chapter 12

Tags: crossover, demented'verse, fic, harry potter, season 4

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