Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. This story is also based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Supernatural'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: And this, my dear readers, is the very end of 'Twice is Circumstance'. I hope you all liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As I mentioned in the previous chapter's A/N, the third and final installment in this story arc is still in notes, and I don't know when I'll be getting it ready for posting. Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope to see you all again when I get to 'Three Times is Enemy Action'. Feel free to speculate on what the story will involve – who knows, I just might have folks who guess right make cameos in the final installment of this universe!

Twice is Circumstance

3:19 pm, October 27, 2007
Singer Salvage Yard
Outside Pierre, South Dakota

It was good to be home. Dean was happy that he was back because he'd gone almost an entire week without even seeing his precious car, let alone driving it anywhere. As soon as he got some sleep, he was going to make it up to her – a full tune-up, a tank of premium, and a long wash, complete with detailing. Sure, he could start on that now, but he knew Bobby wouldn't want to wait for him to finish with the Impala before hearing his version of the events in the UK.

Sam was ecstatic to be home because that meant there were only a few, short hours remaining before Harry brought an end to Dean's contract. It's odd, a random thought flitted across Sam's mind as Bobby greeted everyone, most people would rather know for sure when their time is up. I think I prefer not knowing. It lets us believe in tomorrow. A forever of tomorrows, even.

Harry was just glad to be back in a country where he wasn't on the government's most-wanted list.

As expected, Bobby provided beer, and later, ignoring the chilly weather outside, grilled up burgers, brats, and steak. Not the healthiest dinner by any stretch of the imagination, but tasty and well-deserved all the same. Dean, Harry, and Sam took it in turns to describe what they'd done while in the UK. Bobby was probably more amused than he should have been at the descriptions of Hermione. As their tale wound to a close, Dean cracked open another beer and set to trimming a willow withe so that he could 'torture some marshmallows into roasted gooeyness'. He felt it nearly criminal that Harry'd never had s'mores, 'the only good thing about camping, and the absolute best thing about a barbecue'. "Hmm…" he mused aloud as he stripped the thin bark.

"'Hmm' what?" Harry asked, feeling warmly content in spite of the cool evening air.

"Just wondering," Dean finished the bark and set to sharpening the thinner end, "now that you've got that mofo's soul in that bottle, what're ya gonna do with it? I don't recall anyone saying what we were gonna do with it now that we've got it." Though his attention was seemingly focused on the soon-to-be skewer of gooey goodness, Dean didn't miss the meaningful glances that passed among Harry, Sam, and Bobby. They're up to something, echoed in his head.

His thoughts were confirmed when Harry shrugged a little, "I'll think of something. If I can't come up with anything on my own, there's a ritual that will destroy Riddle completely. I don't want to go that route if I can avoid it though. The ritual is hella complicated and takes a full lunar cycle to complete." The left corner of Harry's mouth was pulled back in the most infinitesimal of smirks, a sure sign the man was lying about his plans for the bottle's contents; any poker player worth his chips would have been able to spot the tell.

Dean nodded and let the topic drop, mentally noting to keep a close eye on his three fellows until he managed to uncover the truth. He skewered three marshmallows on the end of his roasting stick and kicked back a little, slowly rotating the sugary goodness over the glowing charcoal in the grill so that it would toast evenly and not burn. Just about the only thing I can think of that none of them would talk to me about is, well, me. I don't think I'm being selfish or egocentric or whatever thinking that, it's just the way it is. I know I tend to fly off the handle a little whenever Sammy brings up the deal, but… She said, 'If you try to welch or weasel your way out, then the deal is off. Sam drops dead. He's back to rotten meat in no time.' I know I've told Sammy the exact wording of that deal…

He was startled from his musings as Harry's attempt to roast a marshmallow suddenly caught fire. "Blast, bugger, and damnation!"

"Hand it here, kiddo, I don't mind the high-brown ones," Bobby traded skewers with Harry while Dean and Sam laughed at their friend's unsuccessful roasting attempt.

"Hold it a little further from the coals, Harry," Sam advised.

Letting the smile remain on his face, Dean returned to his thoughts. Could Sammy have told Harry the exact deal? I know I gave the gist of it a couple of weeks ago, but could Sammy have let him know the specifics? It's likely. Sammy's been wearing himself out looking for a way out of it. It wouldn't be like him to ignore a possible source, and Harry knows about different things than we do.

Dean transferred his now-roasted marshmallow onto a waiting graham cracker and chocolate square before smushing it down with another cracker. It oozed out the sides and generally made a sticky mess of his hand, at which Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly – the gesture communicating more clearly than words 'some things never change'. Dean licked the escaping globs of goo before crunching into his s'more, all the while compiling a mental list.

Okay, so I'm almost positive Sammy's told Harry about the deal, right down to the exact words. Still doesn't explain why he's not telling me the plans for the bottle.

It's not the bottle, though. It's what's inside the bottle. An evil soul.

Dean polished off his s'more and set to roasting three more marshmallows for another one. He noticed that Harry seemed to have gotten the knack for not burning them and was nibbling on his own while trading jokes with Bobby. Every now and then Sam would pipe up with one he knew. You know, it's really good to see Sammy acting more like the Sammy I remember from before Stanford. Regardless of his internal trains of thought, he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Sam was happy, thus Dean was happy.

Anyway, back to the task at hand. So, point one: Sammy told Harry the specifics of the deal. Point two: Harry said that the soul in that damn bottle was truly evil. Not just that, though. He'd been after immortality. That's something… Demons feed on the evil present in souls, as well as the pain and whatnot – at least, that's what all the books say. So, if that Voldemort-sucker was cheating death and not going to Hell like he was supposed to, then the demons would have been deprived of feeding on his evil. There's a thought – which would be more important to Hell; my soul or Voldemort's?

But, if that was their plan, to trade Voldemort for me, then wouldn't that be welching on it? 'If you try to welch or weasel your way out…' Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. 'If you try'. She was talking to me. Not to Sammy. Definitely not to Bobby or Harry or anyone else. To me. 'If you try'. She never said anything about anyone else trying. Dean let out an amused bark of laughter, though it was directed at his own blindness in not seeing the loophole earlier and not the joke Bobby had just told the punchline for. That's it. Gotta be. He felt a little surge of pride, just like every time he managed to figure out their Hunt ahead of Sam. He assembled his second s'more and joined in the joke-a-thon. "You guys ever hear the one about the insurance adjuster's wife?"

2:32 am, October 28, 2007
Corner of Rural Route 9 and Oak Road
Outside Pierre, South Dakota

"I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Harry turned around and mentally sighed. "I told you before – I keep my promises," the night was chilly and his words were given a physical presence of white fog, illuminated by the just-past-full moon high in the clear sky. He was starting to see why Hunters didn't much care for demons, even ignoring that whole evil-from-the-pits-of-hell-factor. This time, the crossroads demon was wearing the body of a slim brunette.

"So, am I to assume you've managed to capture Riddle's soul for me?"

Harry nodded, "I did." He looked down at his boots for a moment before meeting the demon's eyes, "Before I hand it over, though… There's just one, little thing I want from you."

She tutted, "Sorry, honey. You know I can't deal with you. I'm in enough trouble with my boss over this whole Dean-and-Riddle thing."

Harry smiled a tight grin, "That's fine. It's not a deal, just a little piece of information." She made a 'go on, I'm listening' gesture. "Where can I find Lucius Malfoy? He and I have some unfinished business."

The demon shook her head sadly, "Sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know. If it's any consolation, he does have a special seat reserved downstairs."

Harry's expression brightened slightly, "Well, that is something."

"And now, Riddle?"

Harry nodded and walked a few feet away from the center of the crossroads, where he had smoothed the dirt and inscribed a septagram, circled by rings of concentric writing. The Aroliantivashi sat in the precise middle of the design.

"That's not a devil's trap," the demon observed. "What is it?"

Harry found it surprising that she'd not recognized the spirit trap pattern, but kept it from his face. "It's a spirit trap. Wouldn't want all my hard work in capturing Riddle to go to waste, and I doubt you'd be all that happy if he managed to escape at this point."

Harry used his wand and a simple charm to uncork the bottle. Oily, gray smoke started boiling up out of it. In short order, the bottle was empty and back to its normal dull brown color. The smoke floated aimlessly for a moment before it moved swiftly to escape, only to splash harmlessly on the edge of the trap. Harry glanced at the demon only to see an amused smile on her face. "He's all yours," Harry said, his tone indicating a light puzzlement as to why she was just standing there watching.

"Just a moment, Harry. I want to savor this." She didn't take her eyes off of Voldemort's soul as the gray cloud flattened out and felt along the edges of the trap for a way out.

Harry was just about to say something when the demon threw back her head and escaped the body of her host in a roiling mass of black smoke. The new cloud threw itself at the Voldemort-cloud within the trap. Bands of black encircled the gray and, almost before Harry had realized what was going on, the black was seeping into the earth, dragging the struggling gray with it. When the last of the smoke disappeared, Harry brushed away the design drawn in the dust. Well, that's half a life-debt paid.

Finished with the trap, Harry turned his attention to the brunette who had been the crossroads demon's suit-of-choice for the evening. According to the address on the ID in her purse, she lived only a couple of miles away. He couldn't find anything wrong with her, physically, despite the fact she was unconscious, and so charmed one of her earrings as a single-use portkey to take her home.

Whistling to himself, Harry pulled his motorcycle jacket a little tighter around himself and began the half-mile hike back to Bobby's.

Dean waited until the slightly out-of-tune version of some piece of classical he'd never bothered to learn the name of faded away before emerging from the tightly-packed shadows of three tall pine trees that grew at the northeast corner of the crossroads. I was right, he thought, referring to his mental acrobatics of just a few hours earlier. "I was right." He repeated it, whispering the fact to the empty crossroads. A smug smile threatened to split his face in half.

Finite Incantatem

A/N2: I know some of you might be disappointed that the epilogue focused so much on Dean, but Sam just didn't have anything to add to this story. Besides, I needed a bit of happy fluff to counterbalance the cloud of demonic angst that's been hovering over my head since the final scene of the finale.

Review to let me know what you thought of this story and, if you're so inclined, to put forth your theories on what's to come in part three!