This is a prequel to my other two Dean/Harry oneshots. Set five years post-DH and pre-series for Supernatural.
I don't own anything.
"Look, your minister-"
"Right, your president asked me here-"
"Well, I didn't. I don't care about your reputation, Potter-"
"Your president obviously does which is why he asked me here in the first place. So, why don't you stop looking at me like I'm an idiot just because I've a different accent than you."
Harry was frustrated. Wait, no, that was an understatement. He was pissed off. He stood glaring at the two American aurors who seemed to think he was poaching on their territory. The biggest problem was that, really, they were right.
"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. But I am here so why don't you tell me why?"
It was all a game. Harry had joined the aurors five years earlier, less than a year after he'd defeated Voldemort. Bitterly, Harry thought over quitting the job as soon as he made it back home.
He was, since Dumbledore and Voldemort were both dead, the most famous person in the wizarding world. Everyone knew his name. Everyone. The ministry just loved to use that, especially when it came to international missions.
The two American's exchanged glances and the one on the left, Steve…something, reluctantly spoke up. "What do you know about muggle witches?"
Harry blinked. "Muggle witches? Isn't that an oxymoron?"
Steve smirked at him superiorly. "They sent you here and you don't even know?"
"Know what?" Harry asked, irritated.
"A while back a wizard died in a very violent and unexplainable fashion. Well, it would have been unexplainable if we were muggles. As it stood, we were convinced it was a spell. Then other people started dying in the town, most muggles. Only the attacker never seemed to be in the room with the victims. Then we found this." He tossed something to Harry, who caught it easily.
It was a small bag of some sort with twine wrapped around the top to keep it closed. "Go ahead," Steve said with that damned smirk. "Open it."
Harry only hesitated briefly before he complied. He only tilted his head at the sight of the tiny bones. "What is this?"
"They call it a hex bag."
Harry stared at them for several minutes. "You're talking about witchcraft. I mean, that stuff you read in muggle storybooks."
"Looks like it."
Harry was both still and silent for several seconds. "I'm going to kill the minister."
"Come on. Why am I here? One muggle witch-"
"That we've already taken care of," Steve interjected helpfully.
"What?" Harry echoed him, his ire rising.
"She's dead. The thing is…she's sort of stuck around."
"So?" Harry was having a very hard time not raising his voice now. "She's a ghost? Ghosts are fucking harmless! Why-"
"Not this one. She's killed several other people since her death."
This time, when Harry's mouth opened, no words came out for several seconds. He put his head in his hands. "So, let me guess. Word got around about a muggle that could somehow perform spells with a little help, and about ghosts that aren't so harmless and my ministry wanted to know about it…"
"That'd be my guess."
"Great. What are we doing now?"
"Well, we're going to her house first. Since you're here, why don't you go to the graveyard she's been buried at." That smirk was back on the man's face.
Harry only scowled at him.
"This is fucking ridiculous."
Harry was grumbling as he pushed open the gate of the graveyard. It was dark out already and he would have preferred to wait until the morning but Steve and his buddies had insisted that they get started right away. Even though Harry had no clue what he could possibly find in a graveyard. What was he supposed to do? Stare at her headstone until she showed up to try and off him too?
Harry stopped short on his way down one row with the sudden realization that the older he got, the bitchier he seemed to be getting. He really, really needed to quit his job.
He did know a banishment spell that would get rid of a ghost for a bit, remove them from the immediate area, anyway. Harry kept his wand out as he made his way through the rows of gravestones.
He stopped short again, however, when he found the right one and his mouth dropped open. Someone had dug it up. He only had a second or two to think this when a woman materialized before him.
She wasn't nearly as transparent as the ghosts he was used to seeing. But she was facing away from him and he raised his wand automatically. He cast the banishment spell just as a shotgun blast rang out. Unfortunately his spell hit first and Harry was thrown from his feet when the blast impacted his chest.
For a minute, he was sure he lost consciousness because the next thing he became aware of was the burning pain in his chest and the lack of ability to breathe properly. Someone was cursing above him, calling out to him and he opened his eyes.
Still dazed, Harry stared up at the man leaning close to him. Green eyes a few shades darker than his own framed by eyelashes that were long enough to be a girl's. Through the haze, he stared at the man's features. Pretty.
"You hit your head on the way down?" The words finally penetrated his brain and the haze left, the pain in his chest got worse.
"What happened?" He asked, a little breathlessly.
"Still tryin' to figure that one out. You wanna tell me what you did to get rid of that spirit?"
"Spirit?" Harry grimaced and sat up slowly, wrapping one arm around his chest. It hurt, and he was sure he had some bruised ribs but he'd had worse injuries before. He glanced around and finally noted the shotgun on the ground. "You shot me!" He paused. "Wait, don't those things usually cause a lot more damage?" Like death…
"Not if they're loaded with rocksalt," the man commented, helping Harry to his feet. Harry searched the ground for his wand. "Sides, I didn't mean to shoot you."
Harry picked up his wand and wrinkled his nose when he picked up a nasty smell in the air. They were standing beside the open grave and when he looked down, the decayed body was smoldering with dying flames.
"So, how did you get rid of the spirit?"
"Why did you dig up a grave and burn a body?" Harry retorted, raising one hand to press the back of it against his nose in disgust.
"Are we gonna stand here and ask each other the same questions over and over again until somebody cracks?"
"Only if you want to be difficult."
"I thought I was pretty?" The man raised an eyebrow and Harry blushed. He'd been sure he hadn't said that out loud. They stared at each other for a few minutes.
"It's the only way I know of to get rid of a spirit," the man finally admitted, tilting his head towards the grave. Harry only hesitated for a second.
"I used a banishment spell. It's the only thing I know of that works on ghosts."
The man eyed him for a minute before he bent to pick up the shotgun. Harry tensed but the man didn't raise it.
"Dean Winchester," he finally offered.
Harry raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Harry Potter."
After several hours and much convincing on both parts that neither one of them were evil or anything, Harry was sitting on a motel bed across from Dean. The man had taken his explanation of the wizarding world well, but, then again, considering Dean's explanation of hunters, that wasn't so surprising.
Harry had, at Dean's insistence, struggled out of his shirt and Dean was inspecting the bruises that had formed on his chest. "It's really fine," Harry said after a moment. "I've had worse injuries and I can get it fixed up in a few seconds when I get back. Which I should probably be doing…"
"Hold up," Dean said, tightening his grip on Harry's arm so he couldn't leave the bed. "It's not every day I get to see stuff like this. I mean, every witch I've ever come across has tried to gut me."
"Not a witch," Harry mumbled and Dean grinned.
"Yeah, I know." He reached forward, his hand ghosting over Harry's chest, causing goose bumps to rise. His smile turned wicked when his hand brushed over one of Harry's nipples and Harry sucked in a breath.
"Still think I'm pretty?" Dean asked, hand still moving. Harry only nodded, breath hitching this time when Dean's hand moved lower. "What else can you do with that wand?"
Then his hand was in Harry's pants and Harry definitely was not protesting when callused fingers wrapped around him. He was already straining against the jeans he'd put on when he'd realized he'd have to go out into the muggle world for the case. They were baggy but now they seemed entirely too tight.
Harry was no virgin. Not by a long shot. After his disastrous relationship with Ginny that had helped him realize that girls just really did nothing for him, he'd done his fair share of experimenting. The press had had a field day with it, when they'd found out somehow. Harry still couldn't figure out how they'd gotten a picture of him on all fours on a bed with Oliver Wood behind him, pounding into him. But he'd been so mortified he hadn't left his house for days and Oliver hadn't spoken to him since.
Still, the point was he was no virgin and he was not against one night stands, so he reached up, pushing Dean onto his back on the bed before settling over the man. He pressed his hips against Dean's.
"I can do lots of very interesting things with my wand," Harry said, reaching between them and squeezing Dean through his pants.
Hours later, Harry woke on his side in the bed, still completely naked. He'd have to leave soon. Steve and his co-workers were probably cursing him for not checking in. However, when there was movement from behind him and Dean's body pressed into his, Dean's renewed hardness pressing against his ass, he faltered.
"Still open for me?" Dean asked in his ear and a finger went between his cheeks, pressing inside. Harry arched slightly, going hard again himself and made a decision.
Screw Steve. Screw the ministry. They could wait. He didn't even like his job anyway.