Disclaimer: I got tired of watching thoroughly out of character casts of Harry Potter betraying him and causing Harry to go be some angel's butt monkey and minor character in the Supernatural cast or end up being an angel through some strange contrivance usually related to the Deathly Hallows or Real!Family plots, so I decided to take an afternoon to Write my own Harry Potter/Supernatural fanfiction.

Summery: After the battle of Hogwarts, Harry decides to take a real vacation as opposed to the stress filled slog of his seventh year. After touring most of the world Harry is working his way through America when he runs afoul of the Supernatural cast. M is for Murder.

SuperNormal

By Byakugan

After the battle of Hogwarts ended in 1998 I decided to travel, see the world, meet interesting people, get away from the carnage of heartache and loss that was magical England. Ron and Hermione didn't understand it, but they let me go without too much fuss, knowing I'd be back. Ginny and I had a one sided screaming match, but that was it. When I left it was with a world saved and working to heal itself. Hermione naturally insisted on seeing that I was at least prepared for whatever I met wherever I was going and gave me a backpack full of camping equipment, a full set of books on every subject from first year to mastery and enough stasis charmed food to feed an army.

I kissed her full on the lips as a thank-you, an impulsive act which did me no favors whenever I returned.

My first stop was at Andromeda's place where I offered to take Teddy with me. He was my godson and it seemed the least I could do, to take care of him after failing to save his parents. Objectively I knew their deaths were not my fault, but my sense of responsibility remained. The last Tonks simply smiled and refused, somehow extracting a promise to return for a week with gifts every six months for a week before I'd even realized what had happened.

For the next several weeks I toured the islands, concealed under notice-me-not charms and occasionally my invisibility cloak. It was nice, after our long run, hiding like frightened rabbits in our tent in one remote forest or bog after the other, to be able to really enjoy the scenery of England and Ireland. I visited a variety of magical and muggle points of interest. Big Ben, the Giants Causeway, Shakespeare's Globe, Buckingham Palace (you wouldn't believe the wards on that place, brr) the Stone Henge, the Lea fold and dozens of others. Even taking the tacky tourist tours and mostly just sticking around to listen to the guides and snap pictures like Colin Crevey it took me a month to see everything I'd heard about. Even then I'm sure I missed a fair bit.

The only sour point of the trip up to this point has been the Deathly Hallows. Simply put, they've been following me. When the battle had ended and Voldemort was defeated I'd left the resurrection stone where I'd dropped it in the forest and reburied the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. I figured that, along side a few tricks of Hermione would mean that the power of the Hallows would die there.

I'd only be so lucky.

It seems that, just like the one ring from that Tolkien book Hermione had me read third year, that the hallows have wills of their own. Because I united them, I'm now their master and they actively seek my presence and do their best to return to me. I suppose that might stop if I were to be defeated, but I really don't and didn't want the power of the death-stick to pass on.

The first time they returned to me I snapped the elder wand in two and tossed the resurrection stone into the Thames.

They returned in an aurora of dappled silver light midnight Saturday nine days later. I stacked the elder wand into the small log-house of brush and twigs I intended to use as a cooking fire that evening and took a hammer to the stone.

They next appeared Monday, again at midnight and nine days after their destruction. That time I broke the elder wand into tiny pieces, dumped them in the fire place at the pub I was staying in and used a hammer to smash the stone to gravel.

The Hallows continued to return to me every nine days after than, even when I eventually added my families invisibility cloak to the trail of ever more imaginative destructive measures. By the time I was done touring France, Germany, the Netherlands, Denmark (which is part of magical Germany, but separated in the muggle world) I had run out of ideas and my methods had become rather Weasley-ish. Or at least Fred and George Weasley. I'd even tried out the Hermione rout of researching the Hallows and when that failed spectacularly simply diving into magic for ever more clever and impressive ways to vanish, banish and destroy things. Rather sadly in my opinion I learned more in those three months than I had learned in six years of Defense classes at Hogwarts.

It was during my first visit to Andromeda and Teddy that I finally made some progress on that front. Or rather, Mrs Tonks did. Many magical items, especially those endowed by their creator with purpose or large quantities of magic, often develop their own consciousnesses. This is a large part of what make muggle bating such a problem for Arthur and the ministry Obliviators actually as such items can become as clever as their creators in an effort to fulfill the purpose for which they were made. Her suggestion was simply that I talk to the Hallows as if they were wizards themselves, something muggles needed rituals to do.

SO, after off loading my more interesting collectables at the Tonks' and sending Hermione a collection of translate foreign books I'd picked up I sat down and waited for the Hallows to return again. My demand of them was simple. Go away. I neither need nor want two of you and with the skill gained from my trip, my wish to keep the invisibility cloak was mostly sentimental.

The hallows all pulsed in unison, somehow seeming as if they were laughing, and vanished.

Then I blacked out.

Ever since then I've been able to vanish at will, cast magic wandlessly and summon the dead with a thought. The damn specters even seek me out. Despite being the exact opposite of what I'd wanted it's actually a lot less of a hassle than it sounds.

The dead, or at least the ones I summon, return to what is known as the Akashik Field; an Indian philosophy that basically holds all knowledge ever developed by any sentient being ever. Except for ghosts. Despite this massive oneness and community of the dead a lot of spirits still get bored after a few centuries and are quite willing to latch onto the stone at the thought that I might want to know something they've experienced.

Chatty little bastards, and very informative.

And so I continued my travels, visiting more historic sites and getting the real story of what happened at each famous site and time from a bunch of overexcited specters. Many of them tend to be rather disgusted with the state of the tour programs and like to make snide comments while I walk along side the group, smiling blithely. I often make deals with the spirits to write things down as they remembered it and send the papers to Hermione just so they'll behave. A charmed dicta-quill, large roll of parchment and notice-me-not spell is were very familiar castings those days.

Eventually I made my way across Europe and into Russia and Asia. I stopped off with Charlie briefly to tour the dragon preserve as I had many of the other magical sentient/creature hideouts. The dragons were much friendlier than Vlad Dracul.

As I journeyed into Asia the magical creatures took on an odd tendency to be more human than creature, more and more often setting up their own communities or mixing into muggle society than staying hidden or living wild as their European cousins did. Japan and eastern china in particular were rather serious in this trend. To the point that it's causing them overpopulation problems. India has a similar problem, but with them there genuinely is a ridiculous muggle birthrate, the all to human magical creatures simply aren't helping things any.

Touring China and India actually got me in a fair deal of trouble. It wasn't that I needed to use translation charms every three seconds, but rather the countries being in the middle of major industrial revolutions. Listening to local chatter those revolutions are actually the main source of the overcrowding population wise. The areas are still adapted to the high birthrates needed to maintain family lines and farmhands in the poor areas and with the push to modernize food distribution, medical care and mechanical aid massive numbers of children are surviving where they wouldn't have before to continue the cycle of large families meant to combat high death-rates.

The reason this situation got me in trouble is that the rapid and rampant industrialization and high populations that push it to continue at a ridiculous rate have also increased pollution to an extreme degree. The smog in Beijing is bad enough that you can't even see the sky at noon and the tops of the skyscrapers? Only the old ones are visible from the street. Walking around in a bubble head charm is obvious. Walking around in a full bubble charm is even more-so. Summoning a stream of concentrated smog out of the air and to one hand while I transfigure it into blocks of stone with the other? Apparently that's too much for even Asian 'politeness' to simply turn your head away from and ignore.

Needless to day, I spent a lot of time running from the Aurors. I didn't get on YouTube at least, magic (in active use at least) does indeed causes phones and camera's to become blurred and fuzzy if they don't short out outright like uncle Vernon's toaster when Marge visited.

Japan was fun though. Lost my virginity to this girl that turned into a snowflake and lost the ability to blush after a few weeks of traveling with another girl, Hisako, who had fox ears and a tail. I was rather sad when she turned around at the Iranian border. Apparently Kitsune and the local Dijinn spirits have a rather bad history with each other. We parted with a promise to look each other up if we were ever in each others neck of the woods.

Arabia... was different. Where my last year and a half across Europe and Asia have seen wands use, pretty much to the exclusion of all else, the Persian Empire did things mostly by ritual.

The Persian Empire... right, that's another difference between the muggle world and the magical one. When Genghis Khan and his Shaman came through from conquering China, Russia, Korea and Japan and tore the Persian Empire to shreds the magical world separated from their muggle brethren in a big way. They were actually the first groups to do so, well before Statute of Secrecy. Genghis Shaman couldn't defeat the Persian cultists, but they could protect the Horde from their rituals, thus the split.

Anyways, Persia. They own the muggle lands of Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and the surrounding little Oil barons. Things are... Very traditional around here. Much like the Muslim extremists with whom they share a mutual loathing.

In this endless desert the Djinn are everywhere. Contrary to popular belief Djinni are not all, or even often, wish granters of the tales of Aladdin and the recent muggle movie on the subject. Much like the shinto and hindi creatures they are spirits of nature and reflect that with their vaguely corporeal form and vast array of skills.

Pretty near everything there had wings. Bulls, lions, snakes, there were even a few magical varieties of camels. For all that I'm fascinated by flight this should have been my idea vacation spot, but aside from a few landmarks like the gardens of Babalon and the great library I ended up leaving rather quickly. Perhaps its our own fault what with the Romans, the crusades, Israel and America, but the people here are simply... unfriendly would be the politest way to put it.

Africa was different again from anything I've experienced before. Nearly five times the size of Europe pretty much all of the magical creatures here are well and truly creatures. The only humanoid magicals I found in my year on the continent were local wizards who had sought to change themselves and become... less in the undertaking. Local mythology often refers to them as demons or malevolent nature spirits of one sort or another.

Politically Africa is... broken I guess would be the best word for it. In the northeast the Pharaohs are still strong and in the far south there is a large sect of British ex-patriots, but everything else is very tribal. The statute of secrecy, while in effect, doesn't seem to really be a big thing around here. In the tribal communities wizards live alongside muggles and practice arts that pretty much every law enforcement agency I know would label dark in heartbeat, but in the more developed areas the divide is fairly clear. Mostly what I got from my tour was that they were tired of dealing with the warlords and would happily kill any of their muggle clients who talked.

Most of my time was spent in Egypt with Bill. In the magical world, Egypt still owns the Sudan and Ethiopia along with about a third of Liberia and Chad. The local government is rather... disgusted with Gringotts and their British employees, but allows the Tomb Raiders on account of having lost to the Empire a little under two centuries ago and a deal with the goblins to allow them the gold if they return the cultural artifacts from the crypts they successfully plunder. Even this is grudging on the part of the goblins but it turns out that Egyptian wizards are incredibly adept at curses, even if they can't perform well in battle. The last few time Gringotts tried to cheat on the deal or even refuse negotiations plagues started following the little green skinned menaces.

Curse breaking, which is all done by wizards rather than their goblin employers, turned out to be quite fun. With Bill returned here shortly before I did, Fleur and their kids in tow, I found a knack for deciphering riddles and runework. Personally I think it's Hermione rubbing off on me after all of our adventures together, but Bill insists that my parents were good at it. Bill was only nine when my parents died, but he insisted their teasing him with puzzles and stories of heroes and hidden treasure was what had gotten him interested in curse breaking to begin with.

South Africa was also fun. The diamond mines run by the De-Beer's group and the numerous safari's were a blast, but as one of Africa's primary exporters of magical animal parts for potions, rituals, textiles and big game hunting I also had the misfortune of seeing the slaughter fields. It wasn't as bad as in mid and northwest Africa where they simply slaughter the beasts wholesale and sell the parts in the street, but perhaps the organization and farming of the creatures here made it even bloodier. If only through sheer quantity alone.

After that, I went to South America. Argentina had a lot of German ex-patriots and Grindelwald supporters, but not a whole lot of magical culture to really enjoy. It was rather interesting to learn that Grindelwald was not in fact anti muggleborn or halfblood as we learned in history of magic, but rather anti-Muggle. I'm not certain if that's a whole lot better, but he saw muggles as a plague upon the world, a lesser race which needed to be expunged by any of a variety of means to make way for the master race. A race which was not muscular blue eyed blonds of his Muggle whipping boy Adolf Hitler, but rather wizards and witches in general. This philosophy also saw half-bloods as muggles being bred up, rather than magicals being sullied and contrary to British politics he and his supporters were rather fond of half-creature mixes where it improved the magical strength of the children. Especially elves. Not house elves, German and Scandinavian elves the likes of which appear in folklore and were popularized by Tolkien.

Strangely I learned all of this after failing to hide my identity as Harry Potter. Charles Potter, my grandfather was apparently a personal friend of Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore in the early stages of the Nazi Wizards rise to power. It turns out Skeeters books were actually true and Dumbledore split from the cause at the age of 45 when and altercation between him, Gellert and Abberforth killed Ariana Dumbledore making the mans name mud here in Argentina.

Getting out of trouble for helping the man who ran the first and second world wars was also how the Potter family lost nearly ninety percent of its gold and became one of the few noble houses not in the top five percent of wealth.

Wonderful the illusions that are shattered about ones family history...

Things remained interesting into Brazil, though for the most part the country was one big series of parties. There was apparently a quiet but bloody struggle between the muggle farmers and ranchers and the more... tribal native magic users, but where ever it was I could never seem to find it outside of vague mentions in magical bars and taverns. There's a pretty good mix of African, European and native cultures represented here too, both in the muggle and magical districts of each town and city, but things didn't get really interesting until I got to Peru.

All of those ruins muggles like to take tours of? Bustling magical cities. The reason nobody has ever been able to find the lost treasure of the Inca is because it's still there, hidden under a massive quantity of muggle confounding wards. Children in the streets play games with the muggle archeologists and tourists, stealing their equipment, moving things and generally making people think the places are haunted. ...which far from stopping muggles from going there actually seems to have increased the interest, much to the kids' amusement.

Precious metals and gems are cheap here, perhaps unsurprisingly, due to their abundance. When I asked what they thought of the Spaniards who had hounded their Aztec cousins and forced them into hiding many of them laughed. The diseases the Conquistadors brought with them were no small matter they told me, but the men themselves were so devout to their church that they refused to allow any sort of sorcerer to be part of their efforts and thus it was all too easy to make fools of them. Further, the Spanish sorcerers who DID accompany them anyways were quite willing to sell them spell and potion based remedies to the muggle diseases as well as the ones they themselves might possibly carry over.

It does not do to insult the people who can make or break your campaign.

The story was similar, and yet fundamentally different, as I moved further north over the weeks that followed. The Aztecs who had killed and consumed the Mayans, had also come into contact with the Spanish wizards, but instead of accepting their assistance in the face of their mutual enemy the priests of the Aztec culture had attacked the European sorcerers as well, leading to their downfall in a rather bloody three way war of attrition.

Perhaps that was all for the best though, because as advanced and well joined as the Aztec culture was between its magical and non-magical populations, their magic was based heavily around sacrifices, blood lettings and cannibalism as a method of powering spells and enchantments. This, more than anything I think, is what led to the blanket ban on blood magic in Europe and because of the chatty raving of the local dead I learned far more than I ever wanted to on the subject.

I thought I'd be glad to have gotten to America, but sadly I came through border patrol at the Arizona border near Tucson instead of Texas like I probably should have. Trail of Tears. That's all that needs to be said really, what with the ghosts that pop up fast and thick since the Hallows became part of my magic.

America, magical like muggle, truly is the melting pot for all of the worlds cultures, and it shows in the vast variety of magical districts and muggle ethnic cities, but It's also a sad place. For me at least. American Muggle entertainment is always going on about how just about freaking anything is going to cause the Apocalypse and how we should be afraid of the monsters under our bed and the crazies and nerds who bring them to life, but what I don't think they really realize... is that the Apocalypse very nearly happened, right here where they live.

Or maybe they do subconsciously and that's why it's such a fad..?

Eleven hundred years ago America was a continent teeming with life and civilization. While built mostly out of wood and sun-baked mud the place was filled with dozens of countries and populated by tens of millions of people. That doesn't sound like a lot now with the united states population of three hundred a fifty million, but considering that they were dealing with a combination of late bronze age technology and shamanistic magic that was a pretty bustling number.

Then the Siedhr came. Norse rune wizards and their muggle viking friends and cousins, they traveled along the the northern border of what is now America, drinking trading, whoring and brawling and by in large were rather friendly.

But in their wake they left a trail of disease for which neither medicine man nor shaman had any real cure.

None of the ghosts could tell me if it was intentional or accidental but a wave of plagues spread out from the Norse-men's travels like the red tide. Carried by fleeing civilians, traders, nomads and battling warriors there was no way to stop it. Over ninety percent of the the population of the North American continent died as a result of the pathogens. The plagues didn't stop until it hit the Aztechs and their blood sacrifices to spirit gods who they normally used to create plagues of their own.

The surviving natives took great pains to kill any further Seidhr and Viking travelers and eventually drove them out of towns they'd established in Michigan, Quebec, New York, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Maine, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia Newfoundland.

Unfortunately for them, that was hardly the end of the European plague bearers. Columbus, the conquistadors, Roanoke, New York again, Virginia Colony, Cuba. After the Norse had been driven out the Americas had been given a four hundred year period to grieve, rebuild and forget, but when the Europeans found maps of the 'new world' and followed them they saw it not for what it was, a raped widow, but a virgin land ready for expansion.

And expand they did. People came, this time in a steady stream of large colony boats, well armed and carrying not adventuring companies by whole villages with dozens of families apiece. The plagues started again, fighting broke out and the clash of cultures saw the native population slowly whittled away, one new city or company at a time. Now the surviving native populations are limited to enclaves, mostly won for them by wizards. Muggles weren't the only people to go native and breed into the local tribes after all.

Ignoring the history and the rather... depressing number and demeanor of the ghosts I've been swamped with here America is still a rather interesting place. China and India both had more ghosts, but those were mostly from the touch of the second horseman rather than the first. Less of a genuine sob story and more fury.

America though... Everything I've found elsewhere in the world I'm seeing again here. Sometimes multiple different continents wonders in the same city tossed together in random order. Wands, ritual, runes, palmistry, alchemy, zoos and farms containing magical creatures from all over the world. And the statute of secrecy... oh boy, considering what goes on here I can't even fathom how it is that the muggles just... Don't. Know.

Americans as a general rule seem to enjoy flouting tradition. If it wasn't something invented by an American or even simply in America, it is worthy of being mocked. The traditional conflict between mysticism and science? Techno-mages. The statute of secrecy? Occult shops and stage magicians. Robes and pointed hats? Tuxedo and top hat, some cuts of which can get pretty obscene. Especially on women. The Salem Witch Trials? Salem Massachusetts is the larges single campus for magical learning in the country and was first headmaster-ed by Benjamin Franklin himself more than a century after his official death in the muggle world. He apparently left a lucrative enchanting job to take up the position. They even promote this crazy Muggle movement called Wicca to further confuse the issue and because it pisses off the Christians, Jews and Islamic's.

That's not to say there aren't problems of course, squibs are taboo here. You have a squib? Whew boy. Not only is the kid the now the antichrist, your entire family gets a big black mark all over its reputation. America has the highest population density of wizards and half-breeds in the world, and often aren't the strongest of magicals even compared to what I was used to in Britain, but if you have a squib... Americans will screw just about anything, so having a squib means that you're doing it with a close relative and that is no simpatico here. I never saw anyone, even Draco, get wound as tight about muggleborns as Americans do about squibs.

All of that is beside the point though.

It was early 2005 and I have been traveling for seven years when I ran... into them. Remember what I said about Americans playing fast and loose with the statute of secrecy? The Winchester boys are a perfect example of the reason it's in place to begin with.

Hunters are groups of humans who the obliviators missed for one reason or another. More specifically, they're the ones who, instead of repressing everything or getting locked up in mental institutions, become sociopathic assholes and actively hunt magical people and creatures with no regard for whether or not they're dangerous. Occasionally the ministry makes use of these fanatics to thin out the vampire population in a manner they can't be blamed for but more often than not they end up hunting the worlds Wicca.

While most of the worlds Wicca are a bunch of silly girls who prance around their living rooms or local parks in funny outfits and pray to trees or shop keepers into the hippy lifestyle, there are two communities, and I use that term loosely, of serious Wicca. First, are the squibs. They know magic is real and they know that there is power in various plant and animal parts or minerals. Since their own power is to small to perform magic on their own they are the foremost developers of ritual across the world, always in an effort to capture the power of their heritage denied them. The second group are the... well we call them Zionists. Muggle's who barter with the elder god Elohim and his creations. Sometimes for power, but most often for petty things. Unimaginative revenges, promotion in their jobs, staving off the death of a company or favorite pet, love of someone they themselves are going to tire of quickly. And in exchange they often promise their souls once all is said and done.

Contrary to British wizarding belief muggles can indeed produce ghosts, but the process for such is more...complicated. Where a wizard needs only to be terrified of death and specifically not being remembered, and their magic allows them that last request as they die. For a muggle it's more complicated. There needs to be some sort of extreme circumstance. Brutal murder, emotionally charged suicide, an incredible sense of obligation. Something that means when the reapers come to take you to your designated pantheons afterlife for reward or punishment, you would flat out refuse them. Most muggles, and really most people in general are so in shock at their deaths they don't even thing to say no, just walking off with Death's minions not the infinite holding cells or, in the case of pagans, one of the rebirth chambers.

One of these reapers had gotten into contact with me while I was on my way though main, looking to head up towards Canada and finish exploring North America in favor of Australia, the very last place on my list. I was flying over the interstate in an enchanted American car I'd picked up in Denver from some witch with the last name Tesla when the creature appeared on the bridge beside me. As the inside of wizards cars can be literally anything we want, the Ferrari F-70 had been enchanted by the dealer to have the look and dimensions of an American scifi spaceship.

The thing looked like a woman in a slinky black dress, but exuded an aura of cold power that was almost suffocating despite its pleasantly smiling demeanor. "Watcher" she said bowing.

"Ah, wotcher." I replied. "What can I do for a lovely... being like yourself? What are you exactly?"

She smiled. "I am known by many names across many cultures, but you might know me best as the reaper." At my raised brow she smirked. "You have no need to fear me, watcher. In your first two deaths you were entangled with the soul of another, one that would not let us take you. Now that you are free you reject the gifts of death that so many have coveted, imagining that they could gain control over him." She scoffed. "The fools. Regardless, that act, the repeated dismissal of the hallows has granted you deaths trust. The dead respect you. It is because of this that you are allowed to see us and it is because of this that I have come seeking you. A mortal has sought to bind a reaper, using him to sacrifice mortals who would decry her husband and build him up on the alter of Elohim as a healer, using those same souls as payment for spells of regeneration."

"And you want me to stop her." It wasn't a question, the implication was clear enough. She nodded and I sighed. "If you know me then you probably know I'd do it anyways because of how I was raised the first 17 years, but is there any sort of reward for this?"

The reaper laughed, her voice like a bell. "Mortals, you never cease to amaze." She shook her head. "I suppose I can offer you one thing, a bit of knowledge if you will. Because you rejected deaths gifts rather than gathering them with the intent to control," she rolled her eyes "as if you could, death has seen fit to allow you to choose the time and manner of your death. This is a rare honor, as most mortal lives are predetermined by the web of causality."

"Where can I find this woman, and how will I recognize her?" Harry asked, smiling slightly as a great weight seemed to have lifted off his shoulders.

"Go to Nebraska and look for the faith healer." She gave a sardonic smile before disappearing. "Shouldn't be too hard; there are billboard!"

Nebraska, huh? Pulling up the magical maps function I got oriented and apparate, pulling the car with me. There was a dull thud as the overpressure from my teleportation into the airspace over Omaha, but other than that I was a pleasant trip. The car was already saturated with my magic due to the long periods flying it rather than driving. I checked the obfuscation charms to make sure that nobody noticed or cared about my arrival and then set to looking. As the reaper said, it wasn't too hard to find information. The man was operating out of a tent in central Nebraska, just outside a town called Merna. People gave me some pretty strange looks when I asked about finding a faith healer, but then maybe they were wondering why a healthy sane looking man would want one of those.

I arrived outside the tent on January 17th 2006 and took a seat in leaning position against one of the poles in the back and waited. The place was packed and stank with desperation. It was rather uncomfortable to watch despite having been in vaguely similar straits several times myself. As I looked over the people filing in, I wondered, just how many of them would come back if they knew how their sons and daughters were going to be healed. Would they still do it, knowing that to save their loved one some random person would be sacrificed?

Would I?

I shook my head. Perhaps when I was younger, before talking to an entourage of bored and eager ghosts became common place to me. I had gotten a chance to know my parents, really know them, since this all started. Lily was every bit as much of an angel everyone said she was, but had a vicious streak that showed itself when you truly hurt someone close to her and a rather low capacity for forgiveness. She was also smarter than Hermione and prettier than Ginny, though the comparison between the two womens' features made me rather queasy. James, much to my disappointment was easily half as arrogant as Snape always said he was, but he was easy to get along with and incredibly enthusiastic. He was also quite willing to go haunt everyone who was ever mean to me and still live. So much so that I had to order him to return to the afterlife and keep mom company after any summoning.

Finally, the last of the guests, a pair of young men about my age, walked in and took seats by the front, guided by a woman, Sue Ann Le Grange. The Reaper stood there in plane sight, at least to me, glaring at her. Fury and impotence was written on its face and I whistled. That was some powerful black magic. The Reaper turned to look at me, as if shocked, then straitened his coat and walked over.

"Watcher." He said bowing slightly, his movements stiff and visage grim. "We were not sure you would come."

I nodded. "So... what do I call you, and what can you give me on the ritual controlling you?" When the creature stiffened, looking angry, I put up my hand and explained, ignoring the looks that were starting to turn toward me. "I'm not looking to learn or use it. But the only thing I know about reapers is Mayan and those rituals are pretty large and gruesome. This?" I said, gesturing around the tent "looks much cleaner. More akin to a leash than a cage."

Everybody was looking now, and the minister, Le Grange, had even paused in his little sermon. "Son, come up here. Please. Come up here if you would."

I looked at the Reaper and cocked a brow. He nodded and we walked forward slowly. "The woman, Sue Ann, she carries a talisman. You will have to take it from her and destroy it. Then I will be free. I would suggest taking her grimoire as well so that others cannot follow in her footsteps. Her victims are people she dubs to be amoral. I've had the chance to examine each of their souls as I exchange the death dates and she doesn't have a bad eye, but these people are far from monster she herself has become. When I take her soul as punishment she will be going to a place much worse than any of her victims, even with their various crimes." We arrived at the front of the tent as the Reaper, who still hadn't given me a name, stopped talking.

"Please, tell me son. What ails you?" the blind preacher asked. "Madness? Dementia? I have healed both before, child, be not afraid."

"No, pastor." I replied "what ails me is hypocrisy." I replied, sending a bright red stunner at his wife. As she collapsed unconscious half of the audience screamed and jumped back in their chairs, whilst the man before me simply shook slightly. "Did you know that your healing powers came from your wife? Or that she had bound a Reaper to her service? All magic comes with a price, and you wife was paying for the lives of those you saved with the deaths of others." I bend down and retrieved the crude ritual item from the woman's clenched hands and held it up to him.

Behind he the Winchesters were standing as well, but instead of looking scared, they were angry. Dean because of what I had said, and Sam because I was stopping his brother from being healed. I barely noticed as they whispered to each other and make their way out of the tent where most of the original inhabitants were still cowering.

"If t-that is t-true," the blind man said "then I am truly sorry for the crimes I helped to commit. I am not sorry for the lives I helped to save however. All of them were good people with nowhere else to turn to. Tell me son, if you destroy my wife's work, and keep in mind, I don't believe you, would all of the people we have saved die?"

I looked at the Reaper who shook his head. "No." I replied simply. "They're healed and will stay healed. Law of Ontological Inertia. What is done is done." I looked at the charm speculatively and then back at the Reaper. "Mind doing one last job?"

The creature glared at me and and a feeling of ice coldness stole over me. "That depends on whether or not you with to die as well" it replied.

"Oh, come off it, you said you were going to take her anyways for the insult of controlling you." I rebutted. "I'd just like the pastor here to be able to see again and more importantly, see you, so he can understand what it is he's been taking part in."

The black suited man thing looked at me for several moments and nodded. "Burn that and we have a deal." I cheerfully complied, turning the dark artifact to ash as the Reaper went to work.

That was when the Winchesters burst back in, shotguns raised. "Hands in the air, demon bitch."

I stared at them in consternation while the people still cowering behind their chairs shrieked again, some in support of the two hunters, and others in fear at the appearance of gunmen. "Excuse me, but that's really rather rude. I'd hoped that bit of tripe went the way of the dodo with the end of the witch hunts in the 1800's. Devils work, honestly."

I transfigured their guns into raccoons and turned to leave, but the short dark one, whipped out a pistol and shot me in the shoulder. I roared in pain, but didn't go down or black out. Basalisk venom had been worse than this. Voldemort's much beloved Cruciatus had been much worse than this. With an angry snarl I let loose with a blasting curse, sending the boy flying out of the tent and caving his chest in. As the taller of the two rushed out after his fallen friend I turned to the rest of the people, still cowering in the tent.

"SO..." I said into the still room, using my wand to visibly heal repair my shoulder and clean away the blood. "You came here to be healed. ...I think I can help you with that."

"How?" Demanded one of them, an older looking woman. "You assaulted the priest, you probably killed those boys. Who are you to offer us healing?"

I grinned. "I'm a bloody wizard." I replied with a grin.

I spent the rest of the night healing the people who'd come to the faith healer, summoning ghosts of deceased Medi-witches and muggle doctors for direction and explanation whenever necessary. When I was done I left a tent full of stunned, disbelieving people, many of whom were dancing in elation, so surprised were they at the lack of pain and fatigue that they had spend years getting used to. It was a massive break of the statute of secrecy, but these people had come to a faith healer in the first place, and honestly, who would believe them? Still, given that it was a break in the statute I made my way back to my car and set course for Canada. It was time to continue my vacation and leaving the scene of the crime was a very good place to start.

I got as far as Chicago before trouble caught up with me.

Interestingly enough trouble came not in the form on the US Department of Sorcery, but rather in a strange and very pissed of man with glowing golden eyes. Unlike the reaper chick, Azazel didn't appear inside my car, but in front of it, despite the fact that I was cruising at nearly 1000 feet.

I ran into him. While moving at 500 miles an hour. And all he did was glare at me.

Perhaps it's a personal failing of mine, but ever since entering Hogwarts 15 years ago I've been completely unable to resist a mystery. The first couple of times it was because they wouldn't stop chasing me. Then it became because I felt a sense of responsibility, after all, each of my adventures had something to do with Tom and why he'd killed my parents. By the time if the seventh year that wasn't though I think I'd actually sort of started to enjoy them though. My year in the wilderness hunting Horcrxes wasn't fun, don't get me wrong, but once it was over and everything was peaceful... it just felt wrong somehow to be without! So when my return to adventure was interrupted by a miserable golden eyed superman, you can forgive me for being interested.

Stopping the car, still in mid air, I charmed by cloths for flight and stepped out to meet him.

"You alright?" I asked as the other flying man 'stood' and brushed himself off. "I didn't think I was flying over anyone's turf, so sorry for hitting you."

He answered with a glare, only to become confused by something. His confusion didn't last long though, because he immediately lashed out at me with a blast of force. It hit me like a freight train and I went tumbling through the air. Focusing on the flight charms Id put on my cloths I righted myself and dodged out of the way of his flying tackle. "Alright, superhero comics weren't kidding, the heroes always get in turf fights when you aren't careful about where you're traveling." As yellow eyes turned around I shouted "Fulgura!" A bolt of lightning launched from my Holly wand making it warm to the touch.

The bold struck the other man and he snarled, healing the electrical damage and returning with a spout of flames. A quick shield and apparition later I was out of the way and sending a mix of stunning, blasting and cutting curses at him as was often shown in in muggle comics. My opponent dodged around most of them, but took several hits that caused him to spark slightly. Instead of getting angrier at the pain though, he began grinning. With a roar he threw his hands up and the air began spinning. Clouds formed, a funnel extending down from their center and hail whipping everywhere.

Swearing profusely as lightning bolts began raining down everywhere I summoned my car from where it was beginning to follow the wind and put it in my pocket. This guy was strong. Freakishly strong, and coming from a freak among freaks that was saying something. He also wasn't afraid of showing it.

Calling on the power of the cloak, as had become habit for me of late, I flew with the wind and into the center of the storm. Maneuvering myself behind they guy I lashed out with a powerful confundus and sleep spell combo at point blank range. It was at this when the mans eyes rolled up and into his skull, as opposed to during any of my other attacks, all of which could have put a human, wizard or most types of magical beasts down for the count. It wasn't until I had us both on the ground and the storm had dissipated that I realized there was something wrong.

In our world, it is not at all uncommon for the weak to follow the strong, and with American wizards close connection to their muggle counterparts and their pride in all things distinctly American It's not that uncommon for strong wizards to take themselves up as superheros or super-villains just for a lark. Often they gather followers on both sides of the divide and become more akin to rival mob bosses, but these witch kings are almost universally territorial, so powerful foreign wizards intruding on their turf without prior warning is a good way to get into a scrap. Usually they take it pretty well, but then there are those like that group of sisters in San Francisco who just take themselves way to seriously.

At first, this guy seemed to fit the description... Save that he had two souls.

One was human, and upon questioning a number of ghosts, I found that the other one rather distinctly wasn't. Following the spirit, Mary someone, frantic instructions I began drawing series of really strange runes around the guy in Iron filings and salt. After that, I woke him up.

"Well now,.." he drawled looking around at the symbols around him "ain't this a pickle." He turned his golden gaze to me. "An here I hadn't thought the pagans had kept up with this old stuff."

"Pagan..." I muttered in reply. "You're one of those Enochian idiots! The hell? What are Elohim's servants doing standing in front of my car!?"

The man shuddered and snarled at the elder gods name. "What are you doing messing with our toys?"

"What toys?" I asked "that preacher and his wife? It was their own damn fault for messing with a Valkyrie! Your side should know better than to mess with the king of the dead gods, servants or otherwise. That's no reason to get in my flight path and attack me!"

The yellow eyed demon stared at me for several minutes before breaking out laughing. "You have no idea what you've just stepped in, do you?" He laughed again. "Oh, this is good. Look, pagan, that guy you killed in the preachers tent? His name was Dean Winchester. Because you killed him before I could get there the angels had time to return his soul, heal his body and deprive me of the chance to influence little Sammy. And if you don't take this truth spell of of me I'm going to show you just what a bad idea it was to let the Winchester boys know about angels before the plan could be completed."

At that I grinned. It is a sad fact of life that I have never met a challenge more appealing, than being told I not to do something. Maybe it was spending my formative years in the rush of freedom from the Dursleys control, or perhaps it was my rage at the long history of pain that came from people keeping things from me for 'my own good', but some words were like a drug, and this guy's threats and insinuations? The perfect bait.

"How's about I make a deal with you," I drawled, not knowing I was speaking to a demon and current lord of the christian hell in Lucifer's absence. "You tell me what I want to know, and I'll not follow listen to miss pushy ghost Mary here and vanquish your sorry ass." I said, waving off the misty red haired woman who was indeed crying out for yellow eyes head.

Azazel leaned back where he was sitting in the circle, a wall of light popping up behind him to stop his motion further. "No can do, son. A counter offer for you though, release me now, and I won't torture and kill everyone who's ever known you, while you watch helpless from my wall, knowing it was you who set me on them."

"Been there, done that." I quipped. "I'd rather not repeat it. But you know what? I killed him too, and he wasn't stopped by a silly line of salt and iron filings. Let's start with why you're after me. C'mon, you don't want me to take you to the Fey Council do you? I hear they like trapping nasty rogue souls like yourself in skulls for all of eternity. And we're oh so close to Chicago!"

He snarled, but I could see the fear in that look. And a small measure of respect, as odd as that sounded. "Fine, fine. You have a deal. Your stepping in on behalf of the Reapers has messed the big plan. You may not have ruined it, but the Winchester boys weren't supposed to know about the angels until John or Dean could break the first seal in hell and start the apocalypse. Now that they know things are going to change somewhat. Plans have to be remade, new contingencies worked up, the whole enchilada. I am here because we don't want any more interference. You may have vanquished your dark lord, Harry Potter, but you're not playing quidditch anymore. Ever since you stepped foot in America it's a whole new ballgame."

I snorted. "So... you know who I am, so what? Why's the irritating ghost so mad at you?" I asked, pointing my thumb and Marry, who now had her arms crossed and was muttering explicative at both of us.

"Oh, her?" he replied smiling, voice casual. "She got in my way."

I rolled my eyes. "You're a demon," I said dryly, "or worse, an angel. Your whole breed deems humans as being in the way simply for existing. Be more specific."

Azazel ground his teeth but continued. "She's part of the big plan between Heaven and Hell. Her and her hubbie were supposed to pop out a pair of angelic vessels for the coming war and my side, hell, decided to get in on the action. First I killed her husband and then made a deal with her to resurrect him. Then I fed her son my blood to make him a cambion. When she tried to stop me I killed her." He finished with a smile as he looked at the now white ghost. "Oh? Didn't know that did you, Mrs Winchester? Yes, your precious little Sammy is one of my pawns now. I've even had hopes of him becoming a knight, or possibly even the queen" he turned to glare at me again. "Before the pagan interfered."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got ghosts talking to me that teach spells ten thousand years old. You know when the first of your friends showed up? Only seven thousand years ago when Elohim and Metronome made their garden in Iraq."

Azazel flinched again at the name of the old god. "Metatron. Yes, one of my brothers. It turns out you puny mortals can't handle the presence of our father without exploding. Even you pagans burn up halfway through a short conversation." He smirked. "Made for a nice barbeque."

"Right," I said, standing up abruptly, "let's go find you a skull! Would you prefer goat or snake? Or perhaps a nice baboon..."

Azazel stood too, slamming his fist against the rippling barrier or light that sprang up from the salt and iron sigil. "NO! WE MADE A DEAL! WE MADE A DEAL!"

I turned back to him, disgust clear in my expression. "Yeah, we did. I agreed not to vanquish you. Thing is, I still have questions and you're being a prick. Deal isn't done and stuffing you in a skull wouldn't kill you even if you were a low level puff of sulfur. You gonna drop the attitude, or are we going to see how well you like being a pet in Mabb's Palace."

The dome in which Azazel stood exploded into fire, waves of force and lightning, clouds of dark smoke and riotous kaleidoscope of dark colors before he settled back down into a gray skull filled mist that flowed into the eyes, nose mouth and ears of the man who stood there in the circle with him. "Fine" he snapped. "Ask your questions, mortal, and I shall try to be patient."

I smiled and looked between my two current guests. "Right! So... Mary Winchester... I gotta admit, i've got quite a bit of respect for you. My own mother did pretty much the same thing for me. I gotta say though, your sons? Not the sharpest knives in the drawer. Sort of the shoot first, ask questions never sort."

"Oh, so you're talking to me now?" she snapped.

"Yeah, well learning that I killed one of your sons and you still helped me with this little cage here? That and your own similarities to my mother puts some things in perspective." I smile. "Meaning you've been upgraded from vengeful ghost to someone who's opinions I take seriously." She looked confused by that statement, and off balance so I pushed on. "SO! What happened to their father. He die too?"

"No." both the spirit and the demon replied in unison before glaring daggers at each other.

"Dump the boys with some friends and go hunting this thing?" I asked hopefully. Mary shook her head again.

"He raised them." she said. "On the road, learning to be one of the best hunters I've ever seen and without a steady job. He managed to to a pretty good job of it too. I've seen their work, it's impressive."

I scowled. "Hunters." I spat. "A whole family of freaking hunters."

"And you're from a family of witches." She replied angrily. "How is that any better?"

"If I was one of those soul selling Wicca you're probably familiar with, not much, but do you even understand the difference?" She opened her mouth, but I shook my head. "No more talk. You and I can hash it out later. Go watch over your idiot sons." With that, Mary faded, forced out of my car and off to see her family as troubled ghosts often do.

I rounded on Azazel who was looking amused at the exchange. "Now, to you." I walked back and forth. "Demons aren't the type to leave things to chance. Not the ones who attain any sort of rank as you've hinted. I suppose you've made more of these cambion?" He nodded reluctantly. "And my scampering off to continue my vacation isn't going to get your sorry smokey ass of my back is it?" He shook his head, even more reluctantly. "Right. What are these kids going to be used for?"

He struggled not to speak, but ended up doing so anyway. "Demons can possess any host they want, but the more powerful the demon, the stronger the host has to be to support it. Same thing happens with angels, but they need permission to slip on a meat suit. Now a fallen angel, like myself and like father Lucifer, we need Very particular meat suits to keep from wearing them out, and Lucifer, he needs his to be strengthened besides. That's what the kids are for. The demon blood prepares them, wakes up their powers and makes them like you pagans. Able to withstand the presence of angels when they aren't born to do so, and arch angels when they are. That's why I need Sammy."

I sat down outside the circle, legs crossed, elbows on my knees and chin in my hands. "And that's why the lot of you have so many plans for the pair of them. Why you attacked me for interfering." I said slowly. "Why you don't trust me to leave alone and continue my vacation in peace." I snorted. "Well, I gotta tell you, I woulda done it. I would have truly, simply left. But you attacking? Being such a prick? I think I'm gonna stick around. See what there is to see." I tilted my head to the side. "What happens to the other kids? The ones who aren't chosen."

"Who say's they're chosen further?" he asked with a smile. "Once their powers manifest I take them all to an abandoned town and make them fight it out. Winner takes all. Can't have Lucifer in a weak vessel now can we?"

"Right," I replied dully, shaking my head. "That's the first thing I'm gonna change. You've already got your vessel in Winchester and I'm sure you're smart enough to manipulate that blockhead no matter how many times I interfere, but the other kids? They have no need to die. You want out of here? You're going to swear to me on your existence that you will have nothing further to do with those kids beyond bringing me to them. In exchange, I let you out and leave Sam and his brother in your oh so tender care." I said the last part with as much sarcasm as I could put into it. "Do we have a deal?"

"If we don't" the demon said slowly, "How long do you think you can keep me here? There is a reason after all that my pantheon is worshiped and feared, whilst your pagan gods are largely forgotten, their avatars power diminished to controlling the weather. In the absence of my fathers, Elohim" he shuddered "and Lucifer, I ruled Hell."

"Well for starters, you still haven't managed to escape the circle." I returned with an easy drawl. "For another, I've been able to force you to reveal pretty much the entire outline of your master plan. You've got to kill Dean or John Winchester after they've stupidly damned themselves under your watch. Whatever it is you want them to do down below is going to break the first seal spoken of in the bible Revelations. Then, given what you hinted, the angels are going to come into play and resurrect the pair of them to use like a pair of cloths. You're going to manipulate Sam into freeing your boss and once that's done, you're going to attempt the apocalypse, which by the gods if that isn't a cliche for the ages..."

I rolled my eyes. "This had been tried before both by your own pantheon and half a dozen others and it never works. Despite all of your grand plans all of you idiots just keep failing and the world keeps spinning. The only thing you really accomplish is keeping the population down, something we humans do well enough without your help I'm sad to say."

Azazel looked at me in consternation. "What? You just think I'm going to hand you my board full of minions? And without even demanding some proviso to protect yourself from me?"

I shrugged. "If you're any good at your job as a devil you'd find a way around both of those, and I'm hardly asking for all your minions. You just suggested the ones I want were lambs for the slaughter so you could bring out the wolf in Sam. Doubtless you've got dozens more minions running around doing projects for you. Besides, as we just proved an hour or two ago, I can take care of myself."

"You're still not selling me on this, kid."

I smirked. "Well, I'm off to Canada then." I said clapping my hands together and heading for the bridge. "Good luck getting out of there!"

Over the next few weeks I traveled through Canada, seeing hockey games, touring old town districts of various cities and visiting with the local native tribes. The Inuit were actually quite the interesting people. Followers of an old form of animism similar to the Shinto that dominated Japan, all sorts of little spirit gods existed for animal species, trees, rivers and mountains. Among them, my favorite was the raven. The character reminded me a lot of my deceased godfather, Sirius. Noble, but a prankster. Always trying to help, but usually causing a mess while he went about it.

I was visiting a tribe of Sasquatch when a figure appeared by the campfire with what sounded to be a rustle of wings. All of the large harry 'cavemen' tensed and bristle at the strangers presence. Weapons were readied, but not drawn and Harry, who the figure was staring at intently, sighed heavily.

Getting up I walked over to the man in the suit. "So, what's up padre?" I asked.

"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked in a monotone.

I raised a shield and nodded. It turned out to be a good idea, because the moment I'd confirmed my identity the man whipped out a silver blade and tried to stab me with it. The blade pierced through my shield easily, with a flash of light, but his hand was another matter. Using the power of the elder wand I cast a wandless full body bind on the man and pulled out my wand. Taking the long dagger from my attacker I kicked him over and put the blade against his chest and my wand at his throat, sitting on his stomach for good measure. "You're another one of those Enochian ass-hats aren't you?" I asked, releasing the body bind. "So, what, you here to free your friend Azazel?"

"How did you do that?" the creature rebutted, ignoring my question. "My vessel would not move. No demon contractor has that sort of power over one of the Host."

"I'm the one with the knife, chum." I reminded him. "How's about you answer some of my questions and I think about answering yours rather than returning it to you point first."

The creature scoffed. "You cannot kill an angel with his own blade."

I have to admit, my eyebrows rose. "Ah, correct me if I'm wrong, but your book says angels are six winged creatures of fire and light with three faces, only one of which is human. You don't look like a ball of overexcited gas."

The angel frowned. "The events of Christ's ascension forced us to play by certain rules. We may only appear in vessels now so as not to frighten you worms."

"So you're possessing some poor man in a suit, like a demon." The angel scowled at that. "Let me guess, you're here to stop me from interfering with Sam and Dean Winchester." The angel nodded and I moved my hands to grab him by the shoulders and lift us both up. "Well congratulations, ya ruddy poof, you chose the absolute worst way to go about it."

There was rustle of wings and the man disappeared. I didn't have to wait long for him to show up again, but it wasn't a particularly brilliant entrance. The angel had gone to my car to free Azazel, apparently thinking he could work beside the devil he knew, to destroy the one who threatened both of their plans. Me.

It didn't work. After breaking the demon trap, Azazel dragged himself out of my passenger door his hand inside the angel's chest, holding him up by the poor vessels heart. "Round two!" He said with a grin.