Harry Winchester

Harry is pretty sure that went well. He likes Sam, he spoke a little about his time at Stanford before he dropped out, pre-law if he remembered correctly. He seemed quite interested in his friends though, and his school, and after Harry took out the obviously magical bits, was a pretty safe topic. Dean was kind of intimidating though; Harry could have sworn he never looked away from him the entire time.

He was surprised that they were so believing of his story, he expected to be questioned in depth about how he learned about John.

Harry began to give the car a more in-depth look then the cursory glance he gave it when he first got in, it seemed like Dean and Sam weren’t leaving the diner in a while. It was in surprisingly good condition to his unexperienced eyes, seeing how… life hardened his brothers were, he expected it to be a beat-up old truck, having never seen a ‘1967 Chevy Impala’ before. He saw black object in the crack between the passenger door and seat. Taking a glance out the window to check if he wouldn’t be interrupted, he carefully extracted the item then froze. A handgun. He probably wouldn’t have even recognized it if he didn’t see it once or twice on one of Dudley’s shows in passing. He took another peak outside, seeing nothing, he carefully put it back where he found it and begun rationalizing. Guns are legal in America, right? It didn’t mean anything, for all he knew they gave kids the things. Yes, that makes sense, their just Americans.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when the driver’s door opened, announcing Dean’s arrival.

“Hey kid, Bobby lives in South Dakota, so I hope you like long rides.” Harry nodded, not willing to admit to having no clue where South Dakota was, and therefore not willing to ask how long the drive was. Sam got in and they were off.

-----

When Sam got in, he noticed his Smith and Wesson was in a different position, and then started berating himself. He should of thought of this, he waited until they were on the highway before looking at Harry, who glanced at him, then where the gun was, back to him, in rapid succession. They really needed to teach Harry how to hide what he’s thinking.

Darting a look at his oblivious brother, he spoke, “It’s for protection.”

Harry looked like he was goanna play dumb for a moment, before he sighed and said, “ok.”

Dean seemed to clock onto what happened, and, trying to avoid awkwardness said, “when we get to Bobby’s, we can teach you. If you want.”

Sam gave Dean a look. He didn’t think Dean was doing it on purpose, maybe he was just emulating their dad to know how to interact with someone so much younger, but it felt like the beginning of a training regimen.

Sam saw Harry’s eyes light up a bit “really?”

“Sure kid.”

Sam smiled a bit, at least the kid didn’t think they were serial killers, though technically he’d be right to think so.

-----

Seven hours later and a pitstop at a gas station to refuel, and do their business, they arrived.

-----

At first when Bobby got the call, he’d been surprised. John knocked a woman up? John? He was too paranoid to sleep without a gun underneath his pillow, how’d he get it?

After a while however, it started to make sense, Dean said around 14 years ago? Would’ve been just after the 10 years anniversary fire. Maybe he needed something to take his mind from it. Bobby didn’t when his love died, but men grieve differently.

How it happened doesn’t matter right now, he told himself. He to get the house ready for them. He was under strict orders from Dean that the new one wasn’t to find out about hunting. God these boys would kill him someday. He wasn’t ever going to admit it, but all this running around grocery shopping, hiding of the particularly obviously not normal artifacts and books, and setting up another mattress in the boys’ bedroom, was killing his back. The kids were worth it… Oh god never let Dean hear him say that.

Once he was done with a half-hour to spare, he let himself start to think about the new one. Harry. Dean hadn’t told him much, just that he was British, the people he was staying with were bastards, and that could they stay the summer at his house.

If he let himself be honest, he was a little excited. He hadn’t seen the idjits in years, he could admit he was getting a little lonely. It was getting a little embarrassing how long he kept the boys’ room set up, it had been long after they had grown up.

When he heard the impala’s distinct sound pulling up, he pushed himself up and grabbed a silver blade, and three shot glasses filled with holy water. The boys can find a normal explanation for that, he wasn’t taking any chances.

-----

Harry was reminded a bit of the cupboard by the drive. Those long days and nights trapped. The car was significantly better though; he had company. They talked quite a bit, well, Sam and Dean mostly, but Harry tried putting his input in a few times, and found he wasn’t rebuffed.

He was kinda excited about learning how to use a gun. He kinda felt like he was a dumb tourist, but it felt like he was getting the American experience. Before Hogwarts, he’d never left Little Winging, even afterwards he never traveled far, so this was an experience he wanted to cherish. Plus, spending time with his brothers couldn’t hurt.

When they pulled down an old, worn road, he knew they were close. Farmland surrounding them on both sides, and at the end of the road he could see what he thought were the junked cars and old-style American farmhouse.

“Almost there kid,” Dean paused, seeming to find his words, “Bobby might seem a little… gruff, but he loves us, and he’ll love you too. Okay?”

Harry looked at him through the rearview mirror, Dean looked like was genuine, so harry decided to believe him. Still, it made him a little worried to meet Bobby. “Okay”

The descriptions his brothers gave him did the junkyard no justice, towers and towers of cars, up to six meters tall formed an almost wall between the front side of the house and the street, only leaving the garage and front door the only opening. The house itself didn’t look old perse, but used, broken in.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by two door slams, causing him to rush to follow them.

Sam looked back, giving him a once over.

“It’ll be fine. Promise.”

Harry didn’t believe it, but he wanted to, he wanted to be able to trust his brothers.

“Ok.”

Before Dean could even knock, the door was thrown open, a medium sized man in a cap burst out, saying, “Dean?” Before thrusting a shot glass and a knife to Dean, giving an expectant look.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to Harry, “he’s, uh- superstitious. Just copy me. Okay?”

When harry gave a slightly concerned nod, Dean grabbed the glass, downed it in one gulp, grabbed the knife and pricked his finger with it, showing the blood to Bobby. When Bobby gave a nod, Dean passed the knife to Sam and Bobby gave him another cup of water. Sam repeated the actions, seeming to have expected this. Then it was Harry’s turn. He wearily took the knife, then poked his finger and showed it to Bobby. After he got a nod, he took the proffered water and tried, and failed, to mimic his brothers and drink it in one gulp, choking slightly. Once he was done, he looked up to see Bobby nodding is acceptance. This might be the oddest moment of his life, and there wasn’t even any magic in it!

Bobby finally seemed to relax, and instantly drew Dean into what looked like a bone crushing hug. Repeating his action with Sam, though bit more awkwardly due to Sam being so much taller than him. When he let go, he looked to Harry nodded, and then walked inside, quickly followed by Sam and Dean.

Harry stood still for a moment in shock, before a voice yelled from inside, “What are you still doin’ out there ya idjit!”

-----

Sam didn’t realize how much he had missed Bobby. Sure, he knew he loved him, and he hadn’t seen him since the year before he left for college when the man ran John off his property yelling, ‘JOHN YOU BASTARD! NEXT TIME I SEE YOU ILL PUT A SHOTGUN SHELL IN YOU.’

He’d never seen his father so angry then when they reached the motel they were staying at. John had left for three days and returned angry and drunk. That was the day Sam decided to apply to college.

The house looked just as he remembered, a little shabby, but in a way that made his heart warm, not cold how the many cheap motels growing up had.

God, he needs to stop thinking about the past.

It was after dinner and him, Dean and Harry were in the living room, Bobby had said he had gone to his study, but Sam knew he really just went to bed and didn’t want to sound like an old man to Harry. Dean had decided that since the gig was up about them owning guns, he might as well clean the collection, and had brought out every non-immediately recognizably illegal one. It was kind of funny seeing Harry’s reaction to the amount growing as Dean made the trips from the car to the house. Sam was brushing up on his Latin, having decided if they weren’t goanna hunt, they were going to brush up on their skills, both physical and mental. When Harry had seen what he was doing, he’d asked if he could to, vaguely stating his teachers would probably like it if he knew it. Sam has no idea what kind of high school in the 20th century still promoted learning Latin as a second language, but maybe Scottish boarding schools were just like that. No matter the reason, Sam jumped at doing something for the kid, sue him, he wanted Harry to like him, and got out his old Latin textbook, one of the few subject John had tolerated, a practically shoved it into his hands. They were now sitting in silence, with the occasional question from Harry about a specific word or phrase.

Sam thinks he could get used to this.

_____

Hermione didn’t know what to do, Harry had done complete 180. Not in sleep pattern, his eyebags were still the size of mountains, but in his behavior. One week ago, at the beginning of October, he seemed to have decided he would change his life around. He’s spending some time with everyone it seems, from Neville, which she could sort of see, they were vaguely friends, but he hadn’t purposefully sought him out before, to Lavender Brown, who Hermione is pretty sure he had never even spoken to. He was disregarding his schoolwork, though that isn’t necessarily unusual, as she usually had to help both Harry and Ron cram before tests because they had decided to shirk their homework for later, what was unusual however, was his reasoning for it, it wasn’t, “but Hermione, I can do it later! The test isn’t due for two weeks!’ or ‘I’m quite tired Hermione, could we do this later?’ it was, ‘ I don’t have time for this Hermione, would you like to talk about what your doing in arithmancy?’ or ‘I’m goanna go play watch Anthony Goldstein try to brew some Green Liquid, catch you later?’ It was like he was trying to get every experience, get as much possible time with everyone he was friends with, and everyone he wasn’t. He had read about something like this, and she didn’t like where it ended.

She tried to tell Ron this, but he saw it as a good thing. Harry’s happy? More time to goof off? Bloody brilliant, c’mon Harry, lets go see what Luna’s doing!

That was until Harry did what Ron saw as the unthinkable.

Harry tried to apologize to Snape.

It was before potions, yet just after herbology. Harry had cleaned up quick and they had agreed that Harry should walk ahead and they would follow. What they saw when rounding the corner to the potions classroom Hermione was sure would scar Ron for the rest of his life.

They had heard Snape walking down the hallway to make his signature entrance into the classroom, billowing cloak and all, peaking around the corner they saw him stop, right in front of a student, Harry.

“Oh hell.” Ron muttered under his breath.

“What are you doing outside of class?” Snape drawled.

Harry spoke as if he had memorized it, looking back, Hermione thinks he might’ve, “Professor Snape, I am here to apologize for my behavior in prior years, it was both immature, and disrespectful, I would like to begin again with you sir,”

To her utter shock, he held out his hand, as if he tried to shake Snape’s hand.

Hermione could have sworn she saw shock grace her professor’s face too before it was quickly masked.

“I don’t know if I’ve made myself clear,” He paused, for what Hermione could only think was for dramatic effect, “You are a narcistic, arrogant, stupid child. Just like your father. I don’t know what you expected to get from this little… conversation. But you are surely going to be disappointed.”

And with that, Snape glided back into his classroom, looking as if nothing had happened, like Harry didn’t just attempt to make amends to the teacher who had mercilessly bullied him since he was eleven. The second the door shut, Harry having stood completely still, her Ron rushed both forward and for words.

“What the bloody hell was that?!”

“Harry why would- what- why?!”

Harry looked like he was a dear in headlights, like he’d been caught red handed.

She took a breath, and when Ron went for another round of yelling, she covered his mouth with her hand, ignoring the immediate licking Ron began, too used to Ron for it to surprise her.

“Let’s find somewhere to talk,” giving the door to the classroom a glance, “somewhere where we have no one to overhear us.”

She waited until she got nods from both of them, Harry’s a little stiff, before letting Ron go, wiping the slobber on her robe, and began to march to an unused classroom she knew of, knowing that the boys would follow.

_____

The second Ron had entered the room, he rounded on Harry, “What the bloody hell Harry! Snape! Next your goanna say you wanna get chummy with Malfoy!”

The guilty look said his worst fear was proven to be true, “YOU ARE!”

He could see Hermione cringing when his voice cracked, and usually it embarrassed him, but this time didn’t care.

“I can’t believe this!”

“Ron-” Harry began, looking for an opening.

“I can’t believe this! You have to be kidding me!”

“Ro-” Harry tried again to get a word in.

“I can’t believe YOU! Hermione said something was happening with you. I didn’t believe it of course, couldn’t! You looked so bloody happy! And you were doing so much!”

“R-” Harry tried once again.

“I must’ve bloody well missed SOMETHING! FUCKING SNAPE?! MALFOY?!”

“WE CAN FUCKING DIE RON!”

Ron shut his mouth with a snap, stunned. Finally getting his first real look at Harry since they arrive in this room. He was breathing hard, clenching his fists, and he looked pissed. For a second Ron though he was goanna punch him until harry began pacing.

“EVERY BLOODY YEAR RON! WE ALMOST FUCKING DIE! WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DON’T ESCAPE! What happens when we finally when our luck runs out! What happens when I die?!” Harry’s voice had gradually quieted, “I don’t want to have enemies when I’m gone. Ron. Stupid rivalries that end with my best friend hating me or my childhood rival bullying my kid.”

Harry looked back at Ron, “I don’t want to be my parents. I don’t want someone to pick up my mess.”

He was crying. Harry was crying. Ron couldn’t remember a time when Harry had cried. Not when Hermione was petrified, not from the dementors, not even when Sirius said he couldn’t take him.

Harry’s face hardened and he brought up his sleeve to wipe his tears off, “I’m not goanna leave a mess.”

And then Harry left.