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 15: Posting this a day early, because I'm busy tomorrow...lucky you guys!
Summary: In which Dean and Malfoy have a chat and there is trouble.
Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
It felt good to hit something, Dean thought. Then he thought, 'why can't I move?'
That Malfoy guy was lying in a heap in front of him, holding his face, eyes wide and panicked, but his wand had flown out of hand when Dean had punched him. Dean tried to turn his head to look at Harry, but it wouldn't move. He could move his eyes, but Harry was moving outside his field of vision. 'That fucking Wizard', Dean wanted to yell, but couldn't get his lungs to do anything but breathe. Dean had to admit that he was as panicked as Malfoy looked.
"Sam?" Harry said from a little behind him.
"I'm alright," Sam answered.
"Sorry about that," Harry said. "I uh, didn't realize he would panic. Stupid of me - he always panics."
Dean would have laughed at the way Malfoy's eyes narrowed and cut over to Harry in a glare, if he could do anything but breathe, and if he wasn't so goddamn angry.
"What's wrong with Dean?" Sam's voice said from behind him, pitched higher in concern.
"Sorry, I'll let him go, if he's calmed down," Harry's non-answer came. "See if Malfoy's bleeding, would you?" Then suddenly Dean's field of vision was filled with Harry, who looked up at him in measuring assessment.
"Hey Dean," Harry said. "I'm going to let you move now, but you can't hit Malfoy again, ok?"
Dean's response was to glare, because he didn't know what other response Harry could possibly want from him. Behind Harry, Sam had knelt on the floor beside Malfoy. Malfoy immediately shifted frantically away and pressed himself against the leg of the table. Dean suddenly realized that Malfoy didn't just have some grudge against Hunters, he was well and truly terrified of them.
He was so caught up in the realization, that he didn't catch the words Harry said. Suddenly, his body seemed to unlock, and Dean realized he could move again.
Sam was still on the floor, beside Malfoy, a deep furrow in his brow, and all the lines in his forehead creased in concern. Harry turned from Dean before Dean could ask him what the hell he had just done to him, and held out a hand towards Malfoy. Dean didn't know what he was expecting - maybe for Harry to talk to Malfoy like the frightened kid that he appeared to be - but instead, once Malfoy had taken Harry's hand, Harry pulled him up roughly and said in exasperation,
"That was quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do."
Malfoy gawked at Harry like a fish for a minute, and then shook his head as though Harry had gone insane.
"Have you lost your mind?" Malfoy said. "I've done far stupider things!"
And Dean had to admit, it was pretty hard to stay angry when you were laughing. Sam looked like he might bite through his lip, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Harry gave Malfoy a blinding grin, then laughed again as Malfoy's pale skin slowly turned red as he realized what he had just said.
"That's not..." Malfoy said. "That's not what I meant!"
Dean watched as Harry sobered, and replied "I know, I'm sorry." But Malfoy was obviously still angry about everything, and laughing at him hadn't helped. Dean hadn't known Malfoy for very long, but it was quite obvious that he was not the type of person who could easily laugh at himself.
"What I meant," Malfoy continued as though Harry hadn't spoken, "is that you are completely insane! You've not only had me sneak Muggles into the Department, but Hunters, are you trying to get us all killed? Goddamn it, Potter! You don't invite the snake to the mouse nest for tea!"
"Hey," Dean spoke then, and Malfoy's head whipped towards him as though in his anger towards Harry, he had actually forgotten they were still there. "We're not here to kill anyone! If we were we would have done it by now, it's not like we haven't had plenty of opportunity!"
"Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes, "really not helping."
"Look," Dean said, "I'm sorry I hit you, alright, but you did something to Sam first."
"He was - " Malfoy said defensively. Dean cut him off.
"He was worried you were going to faint, you idiot," Dean finished for him. "He was trying to prevent you from hitting your head."
Malfoy actually seemed at a loss for words, and Sam had the nerve to look a little sheepish.
"Alright," Harry said. "Now that we've established that Sam and Dean aren't going to kill anyone, and Malfoy has done a lot of stupid things, can we get back to finding the file please?"
Malfoy sighed, and scraped the chair along the floor as he sat down at the small desk.
"We don't investigate Hunters," he reiterated, "so, I'll have to do a broad search. It might take some time." Malfoy dipped the feathered quill in the inkwell and poised his hand over the parchment.
"You want your stick back?" Sam's voice suddenly said, and Dean looked over to find him holding Malfoy's wand out innocently. Sam must have picked it up at some point and no one had noticed.
"Yes, thank you," Malfoy said evenly and let Sam drop it into his open left hand. Dean could tell that Malfoy was doing his best to keep his emotions in check. He glanced over at Harry and was surprised to find Harry's eyes darting back and forth between Sam and the wand, as though he had been expecting something to happen that hadn't. Dean didn't like it. He didn't like the fact that Harry knew Sam was different, hell, he didn't like the fact that Sam was different, but having someone be openly curious about it put him on edge.
"Anything we can do to help?" Dean asked, hoping Malfoy would assign some task to Harry so that he'd stop eyeing his brother.
"You can stop hovering," Malfoy snapped back. "Go amuse yourselves elsewhere, I'll call you when I find something."
"Ok, man, sorry," Dean muttered and put a couple of feet between him and Malfoy. Throwing a shrug towards Harry and Sam who also moved away, "We'll just go, umm...stand over here."
"Enjoy," Malfoy drawled, and then began writing something on the parchment. Dean wasn't quite sure how writing was going to find a file, he watched as the words disappeared into the page and reformed into other words, which Malfoy bent over and wrote more words beside, which also morphed into more words.
"Still hovering," Malfoy said.
"Right, sorry," Dean reluctantly stepped over to where Harry and Sam were leaning up against some shelves and waited.
Twenty minutes later, Dean was listening with half an ear as Sam fired questions at Harry, who answered them in various degrees of elaboration. Mostly, they were talking about the history and lore behind the Chamber and some ancient civilization, occasionally Sam would try to get Harry to elaborate on what the Department of Mysteries did, but Harry generally didn't seem to have very much information apart from the fact that they were sort of like scientists, but not really. Dean found himself gazing up and down the long rows of shelves and cabinets wondering what kind of information he would find if he just picked something at random. Malfoy was still bent over the table, writing and reading whatever information the parchment was coughing back up to him.
Occasionally a roll of parchment or a file folder would fly through the air overhead and land on the table next to Malfoy. Harry always looked over eagerly when this happened, but so far Malfoy had always scanned the file, shook his head, and released it, flicking his wand to make it fly back whence it came.
Dean was just about to start wandering around looking for files himself, when a silvery-blue shape suddenly ran into the room. Dean tensed and Harry sprang to attention. It was a very small monkey.
"Fuck," it said.
The monkey lurched as if someone had shot it from behind and then disappeared.
"Sam with me," Harry spoke. "Dean stay with Draco," and it was that goddamn tone of voice again, that had Dean biting back a 'yessir'.
"Wha - " Sam began, but Harry cut him off.
"Phil's in trouble," Harry answered.
"Our duffle," Dean demanded, "give it here."
Harry paused as if only just remembering that Sam and Dean were unarmed. He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled the duffle out. Dean would never get over how weird it looked to see something being pulled out of a bag that looked too small to hold it. Dean quickly unzipped the duffle and threw Sam his gun and a shotgun.
"I doubt it's a ghost, Dean," Sam replied, tossing the shotgun back.
"You aren't allowed to shoot anyone either," Harry replied, eyeing the gun.
"Humour us," Dean replied.
"Fine, let's go Sam. Malfoy..." Harry seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say halfway through saying it, "if you make your escape, take Dean with you."
"You've got to be joking," Malfoy said, glancing over at Dean.
"Just do it," Harry replied.
"Yes, Sir," Malfoy said, but it was dripping with sarcasm and he rolled his eyes as he said it.
With that, Harry nodded and walked out of the room, Sam at his heels.
Dean reached into the duffle and pulled out his own gun, tapping the clip before loading it. He glanced over at Malfoy to find him staring at him warily.
"Dude," Dean said. "I'm not going to shoot you, I promise."
"Could you just...stand where I can see you," Malfoy replied, pointing to the small open area beside the desk. Dean assessed it and decided that he would still be able to see the door.
"Yeah, ok," He replied, and noted that Malfoy seemed relieved. Though, Malfoy did glance back towards the door in concern before turning back to the parchment and writing with renewed speed.
"What do you think the problem is?" Dean asked, hoping that Malfoy wasn't one of those people who hated being interrupted.
"Probably just some security guard who wanted to bask in the light of 'The Chosen One'," Malfoy dismissed with an exaggerated eyeroll.
"Ha, yeah, probably," Dean laughed. Malfoy looked up at him with a surprised smile. Dean wondered if maybe no one had laughed at Malfoy's jokes before. Harry had been chuckling at Malfoy's sarcasm all night, though. Dean supposed he had been forgiven for punching the dude in the face, even though he could already see that it was going to leave a nasty bruise.
"So, did you fight with Harry in that war?" Dean asked, hoping to fill the silence left behind by Sam's departure.
"That's one way to put it," Malfoy replied, pausing in his writing. Dean studied the wizard for a moment. He was about to conclude that the guy just didn't like being interrupted in his work, when Malfoy's eyes darted up to meet his and then flashed away again just as quickly. The question had put him more on edge.
"What's another way to put it?" Dean asked slowly, suddenly getting an idea of why Harry had insisted that him and Malfoy were not friends.
"Another way to put it," Malfoy said finally meeting Dean's eyes in apparent defiance of whatever Dean's response would be, "would be to say that I was young, and stupid, and I made a mistake."
"I read about what Lord Whateverhisnamewas did," Dean said after a pause. "Are you telling me you fought on his side? How - "
"I was young, stupid and I made a mistake," Malfoy repeated.
"That's some mistake," Dean said derisively, re-evaluating the wizard in front of him - wondering how it was that Harry seemed to trust him now. For a few minutes, they didn't say anything. Then Malfoy's voice broke the uneasy silence.
"I was trying to be a good son," Malfoy stated, and Dean's heart fell to his stomach. "In the beginning, I was just...trying to be what my father wanted. In the end, I was just trying to stay alive. The...Voldemort had moved into our house, my mother was the one that brought him his tea. If he questioned our loyalty..."
Dean looked away as Malfoy trailed off. He tried to imagine what it would be like if his own father had been wrong, well, hell, maybe he had been wrong on some things - on Sam. Dean had let a nest of vampires go - and they never showed up on Dean and Sam's radar again. Dad had told him that he might have to kill Sam and that was stupid...Sam would never...Sam...
"How'd you..." Dean started, but didn't really know what he was trying to ask. He finally settled on, "How'd you survive? In the end, I mean - because, obviously Harry doesn't have a problem trusting you, and you aren't dead or in prison."
"Harry," Malfoy answered. "I like to think that he understood. But, when I ask him, he just calls me a git and says that my mother saved his life. Nevermind that she saved his life after he had already saved mine." Dean watched as a small smile appeared on Malfoy's face, "Maybe he just enjoys getting on my nerves. It would spoil all his fun if I were dead or locked away."
Dean laughed at that. He still didn't know what to make of it all, but then again, he really couldn't hold a grudge against Malfoy for what he'd done - not after what Dean himself had done...just to survive, just because he couldn't take it anymore.
"Alright, Winchester," Malfoy said, thankfully interrupting Dean's thoughts. "I think I'm finally getting somewhere here. You might want to watch your head."
With that, Malfoy started making quick check-marks down the right side of the page. Dean heard the now familiar russle and thunk of cabinets opening and papers rearranging themselves, and then realized that Malfoy had told him to stand directly in a flight path. Cursing, Dean dropped to the ground as stacks of papers and rolls of parchment flew towards the table right through where his head had just been.
"Thanks for the warning," Dean grumbled, peering down the stacks of shelves cautiously, trying to see if there was anything else coming. When the coast seemed clear, he stood and leaned over the desk to see what Malfoy had uncovered, and was promptly met with pale hands covering as much of the page as possible.
"Maybe Potter is alright with giving Hunters a personal tour of the Ministry, but I for one, would rather you didn't look at confidential documents. It's bad enough that I'm reading them, let alone Harry, let alone you." Malfoy spoke tersely.
"But those papers are about me and my brother!" Dean argued, "I've got a right to see them."
"I'll let Harry determine that," Malfoy stated. "There's no telling what's in here. You might not like it and decide to shoot me in anger!"
Dean held his hands up, which would have been a much more calming gesture had he not still had the gun in his hands. Malfoy tensed and Dean winced at his mistake.
"I'm not going to shoot you over a stupid file," Dean said.
"Then kindly wait by the door until Harry comes back," Malfoy replied and then added, "please."
"Fine," Dean huffed, "but don't go anywhere with it." and he walked over and propped himself next to the door, in a good position in case whatever came through next wasn't Sam or Harry.
Malfoy simply rolled his eyes, muttered a "thanks" and turned back over the stacks of paper. He read, while Dean waited. Dividing his attention between watching Malfoy for any sign of reaction to what he was reading, and looking at the back of the door wondering if Harry and Sam had gotten nabbed by Roger: Magic Security Guard Extraordinaire.
What seemed like an eternity later, but was probably only ten minutes. The door handle turned and in walked Harry with Sam's large frame beside him. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sight, but tensed as he registered the blood on Harry's face.
"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, making Sam frown and Harry jump slightly. He reached for Harry's face and turned it towards the light. There was a large gash along the hairline.
"It's not that bad," Harry said, and Dean could tell he was doing his best not to reflexively pull himself away. "Head wounds always bleed a lot."
"I know," Dean stated, then asked again, "What the hell happened?"
"We've got trouble," Sam replied, and Dean really wished he didn't understand by the tone exactly what kind of trouble Sam was taking about: Our kind of trouble.