Welcome to Aspen Creek, where the monsters don't hide under the bed and in the closets but in the room next door, the post office, the hotel, the schoolhouse, and the medical clinic. The town that isn't run by a mayor but the Marrok. If you happen to be outside during the full moon and see a gigantic wolflike creature, don't run unless you want to commit suicide by werewolf. Witches are not welcome.

Eight-year-old Harry Potter is so excited, but he really is trying to hide it. He gets to go on vacation to the United States of America with his family. Two whole weeks of not being locked inside the cupboard and not being starved. They can't take him without feeding him, right?

Harry Potter belongs to JK Rolling, and Bran "Marrok" Cornick and Pack belong to the wonderful Patricia Briggs. I make no money from this work; I'm just playing in the two ladies' sandbox.

There is a distinct lack of Harry Potter Mercy Thompson/Alpha and Omega crossovers! I challenge the readers to a sandcastle contest. May the best story win! If you write a crossover story in these two universes, please let me know, and I will promote you.

"Marrok, everythin' all right?" Tag asked as he stood beside his Alpha outside the main eating tent. They were all in Yellowstone as a pleasant retreat for the children of Aspen Creek. The teachers at the school were using the time to teach the children geology, biology, botany, forestry, and hospitality and tourism classes. The children of Aspen Creek were some of the most well-educated in Montana, almost all left Aspen Creek to attend Universities worldwide, and all were successful in their careers. Those that didn't go usually were the ones who either married werewolves, attempted to become Weres themselves, or just stayed in the area working because they loved Aspen Creek.

"There is a witch in the area," the Marrok responded, turning his pale gold eyes to Tag.

"They should know better to come into our territory," Tag growled as other Weres came out of the tent, hearing the conversation.

"Where?" Is all Charles asked his father as he stood next to him, handing the Marrok a cup of coffee.

"I don't know, but it arrived by plane late last night," the Marrok growled.

"There were no requests sent to me by any witch to visit Yellowstone at this time," Charles told his father.

"What do the spirits say?" the Marrok asked.

Charles huffed, "I'll go ask," the man said before walking into the forest surrounding their camp.

"The rest of you, keep an eye out for the witch while chaperoning the children today. Let me know if you catch sight of it. Do not approach; witches are dangerous," the Marrok ordered as Tag snorted.

Eight-year-old Harry Potter was so happy to hear he was coming with the Dursley family to Yellowstone for vacation. This was a working vacation for Uncle Vernon, he and the owner of Grunnings were trying to expand the business from a UK Drill company to an international one. Mr. Grunning had found out about Harry after the Dursleys' last international trip to Mexico when Harry was five. Mr. Grunning was horrified that the Dursley had to leave their nephew home when the rest of the family went on vacation. Harry wasn't sure how Uncle Vernon had slipped and told Mr. Grunning about him, but he was sure happy it happened; Harry almost died when the family went to Mexico for two weeks with him locked in the cupboard. Harry broke out of the cupboard and raided the fridge and pantry while the Dursleys were gone. When Uncle Vernon returned and found the lock broken and the food missing, it was afterward that he whipped Harry bloody, and Harry almost died. Of course, Mr. Grunning didn't know that, and he took special care to ask how Harry was when he met him at the airport. Uncle Vernon and Mr. Grunning sat in First Class on the flight to the USA. At the same time, Harry, his Aunt Petunia, and Cousin Dudley got to sit in Business Class. Harry sat next to the window as Dudley hated to fly and got sick on plane rides. Harry decided at that point that he loved flying.

He also decided after they landed in a smaller propeller plane that he loved Mr. Grunning. Harry got to sit next to the pilot as they landed at the small airport in Yellowstone, thanks to Mr. Grunning. Mr. Grunning has also booked a suite at Old Faithful Lodge, a room for him and a room for the Dursley parents, with Dudley and Harry sleeping on the pull-out couch in the shared lounge. This also meant to Harry that the Dursleys couldn't stuff Harry in a closet and expect him to stay there. Mr. Grunning expected to see Harry doing the tourist thing with his Aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley, including attending breakfast and dinner with Mr. Grunning.

That morning Harry got to eat breakfast with the Dursley family for the first time while Mr. Grunning was giving Petunia all sorts of tips on things to do and see in Yellowstone and how to get around. Then Mr. Grunning watched as the small family left the amazing-looking Lodge to see Old Faithfull as he and Uncle Vernon waited for the first local drill companies to come and meet with them.

"The spirits warn of fire," Charles said as he entered his father's tent.

"Hmmm…yes, I agree," the Marrok replied as he sat in the canvas tent looking at some paperwork. "We should do a controlled burn when we return to Aspen Creek."

"Yes," Charles responded as he sat at the table across from his father.

"What did the spirits say about the witch?" the Marrok asked as he flipped a page in the paperwork he was going through.

"Marrok, you have a visitor," a werewolf female said outside the tent.

"Who?" the Marrok asked.

"A native," the Were replied.

"Send them in," the Marrok said as he flipped all the paperwork over so no one could read it.

"Marrok," a young Native American woman said as she came in and bowed, not looking either man in the eyes.

"What can we do for you?" Charles asked the woman in the Salish language.

"Cousin Wolf," the woman said, referring to Charles, "there is a British man named Mr. Grunning who wishes to speak to you. He said it's about an abused child he has tried to help in Britain on multiple occasions, but the witches of Britain keep interfering. He took the issue to the London Alpha, his grandson, but was told he couldn't interfere with the witches without starting a war. However, he gave Mr. Grunning your name. He told him to ask any Native American for you at the Yellowstone Lodge, so we would get you a message. That you might be able to help the child."

"I don't know how he thinks we can help a child in Britain," the Marrok replied in the Salish language.

"I believe he brought the child here," the woman replied.

"Coincidence?" Charles asked his father.

"No," the Marrok replied, his lips pressed thin, "Go ahead and bring the man to see me tonight after he eats dinner."

"Yes, Marrok," the woman said and turned to leave.

"Cousin," Charles called out, and the woman stopped and turned back, "the spirits warn of fire."

"Of course, with how hot and dry it is and the stupid white man's 'Let it burn' policy, we are in for a doozy of a fire season," the woman replied, "I will warn those who will listen."

"Recall Tag, I would like him here when I meet with the Brit; I would like him as the face of the Marrok; he can question the man," the Marrok replied as he started back in on his paperwork.

"Wrth gwrs, Da."

"Feeling sentamental my son? First Salish, now Welsh," the Marrok teased his son as he left the tent.

So after seeing Old Faithful go off, Dudley was bored and whining. Usually, Petunia would send Dudley inside to watch the telly, but there was no telly in the hotel. Dudley was horrified when he found out this morning; Petunia and Vernon were horrified by the tantrum Dudley threw in front of Mr. Grunning. When asking around, Petunia found out the only way to see Yellowstone was by car, walking, or biking. There was no public transport to see the park. There was no way Dudley could walk to all the places Petunia wanted to see. Dudley threw another tantrum in front of the Lodge about wanting to go to the lake to swim and play in the water when a very tall man with a Scottish accent offered the small family of three a ride to the lake. What he pointed at made Petunia want to say no, but Dudley was already trying to get on. It was a flatbed trailer that had seats all around it, being hauled by an older truck. Children and parents/teachers were already sitting down and getting buckled up. The Scots man went over to Dudley and picked him up effortlessly, and Dudley scrambled to a seat. Petunia was next helped into a seat; it was the last seat available.

"Lassie, your younger son will need to sit on your lap," the man said as he picked up Harry and put him on the flatbed.

"Nonsense, he can sit on the floor," Petunia said as she buckled Dudley up.

"No, Lassie, he will need to be sitting securely on your lap, sharing your seat belt," the Scotsman said.

"No, not happening," Petunia said as she unbuckled her seat belt, standing up and intending to get off.

"Mummmmy, I want to go to the lake!" Dudley whined, and several adults sitting behind Dudley winced at the high-pitched tone.

"How about I take your little one to the truck with me? There is room for him squeezed between Asil and me," the Scotsman offered.

"Is there a cooling system in the truck?" Petunia asked hopefully.

"A cooling system…oh, you mean air conditioning, unfortunately, no," the Scotsman replied.

"Oh well, yes, you can take the boy to the front," Petunia said, sitting back down and buckled up.

"Come here, laddie," the Scotsman said to Harry, picking him up and carrying him all the way to the front of the truck while another man closed the flatbed gate. The Scotsman put Harry in the truck, told him to scoot to the middle, and buckled him up. The other man gave the Scotsman a look over Harry's head as he climbed into the right side of the truck. The Scotsman climbed into the left side, turned the truck on, rolled up the windows, and turned on the air. "Don't tell your mummy, I lied to her about the truck not having air conditioning," the Scotsman said, winking at Harry.

"She's not my mummy; she's my Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered.

"Well, just the same," the Scotsman said with a smile, "my name is Colin Taggart, you can call me Tag, this ugly fellow is Asil Moreno, you can call him Mr. Ugly," the Scotsman laughed.

"Taggart!" The man growled, "You can call me Asil; what is your name, child?

"Harry, Harry Potter," he whispered.

AN: As always, please let me know what you think. I have the second chapter started. If you like this first one, I'll post the second. I'm using this as a way to get back into writing. Patrica Briggs, Mercy Thompson's books, and the side series, Alpha and Omega are some of my favorites.