Meeting the Winchesters
The road to Boise stretched long and dark, with only the steady hum of the Harley beneath Harry keeping him company. The wind whipped past him, cool and sharp, and for the first time in ages, Harry felt a strange sense of exhilaration. It wasn’t magic that coursed through his veins now, but something more primal, more immediate—and urgent need to prove himself.
When Harry reached Boise, the town had an eerie calm to it. He parked his bike near the local police station and pulled his leather jacket tighter around him. His wand was tucked safely in his holster, concealed beneath his clothes.
He walked into the station, taking in the small number of officers working the late shift. The place was dimly lit, and the air felt thick with tension. Harry could tell the cops here were on edge. Four brutal murders in a town like this would do that.
Approaching the front desk, he put on his most official voice. “Excuse me, Harry James Potter. Looking into the recent attacks, where were the bodies found?”
The officer, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, blinked at Harry. “Who?”
Harry froze, taken off guard that someone didn't know who he was for a moment.
“What’s some british guy wanna know bout these murders for? If you can't show me a badge, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave,” the officer said gruffly.
With a quiet mutter under his breath, he slid his wand out of his sleeve and cast Imperio. The man’s frown melted away, his eyes going glassy as the spell took hold.
“I'm law entitlement, very high up. You need to help me get some information, yeah?” Harry asked and the man obediently nodded.
“Where was the last body found?” Harry asked, voice calm and authoritative.
The officer blinked slowly and pointed toward a map pinned on the wall behind him. “Edge of town. Off the old Hunter’s Trail. Victim’s name was Marcy Lawton.”
Harry smiled, satisfied. “Thank you. Now, let me take a look at the crime scene. I’m with a special task force. I'll need access, no questions asked.”
The officer nodded, the spell keeping him compliant as he handed Harry a set of keys to a patrol car and his own badge. Harry gave him one last look before pocketing the keys and badge and heading out the door.
The crime scene was quiet when Harry arrived, the forest around it dense and foreboding. The area had been taped off with yellow police tape, but that wasn’t a problem for him. He stepped over it and surveyed the scene.
The body had been removed days ago, but Harry could still feel the energy in the air. It was dark and hung over the place like death and rot. He crouched down, inspecting the earth where the body had been found. A few broken branches caught his eye, and the unmistakable smell of dried blood lingered in the air.
Carefully, he cast a revealing charm, his wand lighting up as it scanned the area for any hidden clues. At first, nothing appeared. But then, faint tracks started to emerge—footprints, leading off deeper into the woods. They were light, quick, and far too organized to be random animal tracks.
Vampires, Harry thought.
He followed the tracks for nearly an hour, the forest growing darker and thicker the further he went. Soon, he spotted a small abandoned cabin nestled in the trees. The place was decrepit, with broken windows and a door hanging on by a single hinge. But there was something about it—something off.
He could sense it.
Wand at the ready, Harry approached cautiously. He cast a quick Homenum Revelio, and immediately felt the presence of three people inside but no heartbeat.
Three vampires.
His pulse quickened, but he didn’t hesitate. These vampires were stronger than the ones he’d faced in training, but he had studied and trained for months. He was ready.
Harry moved silently through the doorway, slipping inside like a shadow. The cabin smelled of decay and rot, and his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim interior. In the corner, two vampires were lounging, their pale skin practically glowing in the darkness. The third stood by the window, keeping watch.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest. There was no room for error here. He needed to strike fast.
With a flick of his wand, he cast Expulso, blasting the door shut behind him and sealing the exits with a charm. The vampires jumped to their feet, hissing, their eyes glowing an unnatural red. Harry could feel the dark magic radiating off them, stronger than any vampires he had faced in practice.
They lunged at him in unison.
Harry spun on his heel, shouting Protego, casting a shimmering shield that deflected their first blows. His magic was weaker here, but it wasn’t powerless. He needed to rely on more than just spells. With a flick of his wrist, he cast Lumos Sol Maxima. flooding the room with blinding sunlight. The vampires recoiled and screeched in pain.
That was his opening.
Harry slashed his wand through the air, casting Diffindo toward the closest vampire, the spell slicing through its neck with a gruesome snap. He transfigured a wooden stake and sent it sailing through the air with a spell into the creature's heart. Blood sprayed across the room as the headless body crumpled to the floor.
The remaining two vampires snarled, their fangs gleaming. One charged at him, claws extended. Harry dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding its attack, and quickly shot a Stupefy toward its chest. The spell sent the creature flying back, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. But it wasn’t enough to kill it.
Before Harry could react, the third vampire was upon him. It slammed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. His wand clattered to the ground as the vampire’s fangs closed in on his neck.
For a brief moment, panic surged through him.
Then, Harry’s instincts kicked in. With a swift motion, he grabbed a silver knife he had tucked in his boot—one of the many tools he had started carrying since his training began. He drove it upward, plunging it deep into the vampire’s chest.
The vampire let out a strangled scream, its body convulsing but not dying. He transfigured the blade into wood once it was buried in its heart and the creature fell lifeless.
Harry pushed the now-limp body off him, breathing hard. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his wand, summoning it back into his hand.
One vampire remained—the one he had blasted against the wall. It stood slowly, baring its teeth, ready for a final attack. But Harry was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he cast Incendio, and flames engulfed the vampire, reducing it to ash within seconds.
The cabin fell eerily silent, the scent of burning flesh lingering in the air.
Harry stood amidst the wreckage, blood dripping from a gash on his arm, but he didn’t feel the pain. All he felt was the rush of victory.
He had done it. He had killed them.
With a shaky breath, he stepped outside into the cool night air, his body aching but his spirit alight with newfound purpose. He used fiendfyre on the cabin, concealing his tracks and smiled. Pulling out the phone, he dialed Bobby.
“I found them,” Harry said, his voice steady. “Three vampires. They're dead.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Bobby’s gruff voice responded. “Good job, kid. Got another job for ya when you’re ready. Get some rest first.”
Harry nodded, ending the call. As he looked out at the dark woods around him, a small smile tugged at his lips. He summoned his bike, leaving the badge in the squad car and sped to the nearest building with a lock on the door to use his key. Banishing his bike he opened the door and his home awaited just as death promised.
When Harry returned home from his first hunt, the weight of the night clung to him. His limbs ached, his mind was weary, his arm stung and bled, but there was a fire burning inside him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. The familiar warmth of his home greeted him as he stepped through the door, and Death was waiting, seated at the dinner table with two glasses of wine already poured.
"How did it go?" Death asked casually, as though Harry had just returned from an evening stroll.
Harry dropped his jacket onto the back of a chair and sat down. “It was... difficult,” he admitted. “But I killed them. Three vampires. Stronger than I expected.”
Death smiled knowingly. “You’ll face much worse in time. It never gets easier, but you’ll get better.”
They ate together, as they often did. Dinner with Death had become a strange comfort to Harry, something that tethered him to this new life. And as they talked, Harry voiced a frustration that had been gnawing at him.
“There has to be an easier way than using Imperio every time I need information,” Harry said, setting his wine glass down. “It’s effective, sure, but it’s... not ideal.”
Death chuckled softly, a deep, ancient sound that resonated in the room. “There are always easier ways, Harry. You just needed to ask.”
With a casual wave of his hand, Death summoned a small wooden box and slid it across the table. Harry looked at it curiously, lifting the lid to find an assortment of badges inside, all blank.
“Badges?” Harry asked, confused.
“Touch one,” Death said, his smile faint but amused.
Harry hesitated for a moment before pressing his fingers against one of the badges. Instantly, his picture appeared on it, along with a name—Jack Davis—and a fake FBI title. Harry’s lips curled into a smile as he inspected the badge.
“That’s... perfect,” he said with a chuckle, looking up at Death. “Thanks.”
“There are badges for every branch you could think of,” Death explained. “Police, government agencies, you name it. Whatever you need for the job.”
Harry marveled at the simplicity of it. “And here I thought you only dealt in souls.”
Death leaned back, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I deal in many things, Harry. Consider this a parting gift.”
Harry’s smile faded slightly. “Parting?”
Death nodded, his expression softening. “I won’t be seeing you as often now. I have business to attend to, matters that require my full attention.”
Harry felt a pang of something close to disappointment. “Why? Is it something I did?”
Death shook his head, his gaze almost compassionate. “No, it’s not personal. You’re doing well, Harry. You’ve found your purpose again, and I won’t be far. But for now, you’ll be on your own. Keep taking Bobby’s jobs. Eventually, you’ll meet the Winchesters—Dean and Sam. And when you do, you’ll help them save the world.”
Harry frowned. He had heard the names mentioned before but had yet to meet these mysterious hunters. “Save the world? From what?”
Death didn’t answer, as usual. Instead, he rose from his seat, his thin frame casting an almost ethereal shadow. “It’s always the same, Harry. You'll see with time.”
And with that, Death vanished, leaving Harry alone at the dinner table. Harry sat there for a while, staring at the empty chair where Death had been. The silence was thick, and Harry huffed out a sigh.
Harry spent the next few months hunting.
Poltergeists, werewolves, a wendigo—each new hunt tested his skills in different ways. He called Bobby after each job, giving quick reports and receiving new assignments. The hunts were bloody, grueling work, but Harry thrived on it. He had purpose again. Each time he vanquished a creature, he felt a part of himself heal, a part that had been lost after the war.
He’d return to his home after every hunt, exhausted but satisfied. He’d eat dinner alone, sometimes writing letters to Ron, Hermione, or even Ginny. His friends believed he was traveling the world, studying and learning new forms of magic. And in a way, he was. Just not the kind they imagined.
The life of a hunter was lonely. Days on the road, nights spent in dingy motels or abandoned cabins, always watching his back. But Harry found solace in the isolation. He had never liked the fame, the constant eyes on him. Now, he was just another nameless hunter, moving through the world in the shadows, saving lives without fanfare.
And that was exactly how he liked it.
Months passed, and Harry’s reputation in the hunting world began to grow. Bobby kept giving him jobs, always through the phone, always distant. Harry never met him in person, and he still hadn’t met the Winchesters. But he didn’t mind. The work was enough. He was saving people, and that’s all that mattered.
He had gotten used to the rhythm of it all. Hunt, rest, repeat. His skills had sharpened. He had become deadly, just as Death had promised. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was on the horizon.
It had been a few days since Death had given Harry the box of badges. Since then, Harry had been getting used to the convenience of flashing his fake credentials, slipping in and out of crime scenes and restricted areas with ease. He had gone on more hunts, steadily improving his skills and gaining confidence. The badges were a perfect solution, but he was still learning to balance the lonely, transient life of a hunter with his need for some semblance of normalcy.
One evening, after a particularly exhausting hunt involving a poltergeist in a small Kansas town, Harry returned home, his body aching and his mind clouded with fatigue. When he entered his familiar, comfortable home, he found Death waiting for him, as he had on many nights before. The table was set, as usual, with two plates of food and glasses of wine. But this time, Death had a different air about him—less cryptic, more direct.
“Another job well done, I take it?” Death asked, raising his glass in a silent toast.
Harry nodded, sitting down and pouring himself a drink. “Poltergeists are tricky, but it’s done. I sent the family home.”
As they began their meal, Harry noticed Death had a faint smile on his lips, the kind that usually meant he was about to drop another bombshell.
“What’s the smile for?” Harry asked, cautiously amused.
“I’ve been thinking,” Death said, swirling the wine in his glass. “There’s something you haven’t addressed yet, Harry. When you need something outside these walls, what will you do?”
Harry tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
Death chuckled, “you've been using this key in random doors, and making by…but you could buy hotel rooms to use the key in. Or food when you don't feel like cooking. Bribe people who can't be fooled…”
Harry shrugged, “hunting isn't exactly a lucrative business.”
Death reached into his coat pocket and produced a small, unremarkable key, sliding it across the table toward Harry. It was heavier than it looked, and its dull gold gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
“This,” Death said, “is a key to your vault. A personal vault here in your home, directly connected to your accounts at Gringotts.”
Harry’s eyes widened as he took the key. “Wait, my Gringotts vault? The same one I’ve always had?”
“Indeed,” Death nodded. “All the gold, investments, and businesses you still own are growing, even while you’ve been living this life. You’ve been passively earning through the years. This key will give you access to all of that wealth, right here.”
Harry stared at the key for a moment, feeling a strange sense of relief. He had been so consumed with his hunts and his purpose that he’d forgotten about his other life—his financial life. “That... that’s incredibly useful.”
“Your home here is now linked to your vaults,” Death continued. “And, since you may travel across the globe, you’ll need currency for different regions. I’ll teach you a spell that allows you to convert any amount of your galleons into the local currency you require.”
Harry leaned in, his interest now fully engaged. “How does it work?”
Death waved his hand, and a portion of the wall next to the bookshelf shimmered and revealed a vault door. The door was massive, made of ancient, gleaming metal, inscribed with protective runes. It looked impenetrable, but Harry knew that with his key, he had complete access.
“Place your key in the lock,” Death instructed.
Harry stood up and approached the vault. With a sense of awe, he inserted the key and turned it. There was a soft click, and the door swung open silently, revealing piles of galleons stacked neatly inside. Gold coins shimmered, reflecting the dim light of the room. It was wealth beyond anything Harry had ever truly appreciated, sitting right there in his home.
“Now, for the spell,” Death said, standing beside him. He pointed to a small pile of galleons and spoke clearly, “Aequus Pecunia.”
The galleons shimmered for a moment, then transformed into stacks of crisp American dollars.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “That simple?”
Death nodded. “That simple. You’ll never need to worry about money again, Harry. Use it wisely, wherever your hunts take you.”
Harry turned to Death, feeling a sense of gratitude. “Thank you... again.”
Death waved his hand dismissively. “Consider it a necessity. You’ve been playing the part of a hunter, living on the road, but there’s no need for you to struggle like other hunters. You have resources at your disposal. Use them.”
Harry stepped back from the vault, closing the door gently as it sealed with another soft click. He felt lighter, more secure. With the ability to tap into his wealth, he could focus entirely on his missions without worrying about how to fund them.
As they returned to the dinner table, Death poured more wine and raised his glass once again. “A toast,” he said, “to new beginnings, new wealth, and the endless pursuit of purpose.”
Harry smiled, clinking his glass with Death’s. “To the hunt.”
They drank, and as the night went on, Harry found himself more at ease. The vault, the spell, the badges—everything was falling into place. He had the tools he needed to live this new life, and for the first time in a long while, he felt in control of his future.
As the evening wound down, Death stood to leave. “Remember, Harry, I won’t be around as often. We'll go stretches without seeing each other, though I'll always be near you. You’ll need to rely on your skills, your knowledge, and your resources. But you’re ready for it.”
Harry nodded, accepting the weight of Death’s words. “I know. I’ll be fine.”
Death gave him one last look before vanishing into the shadows, leaving Harry alone in the quiet of his home.
And though the night was still, Harry felt anything but lonely. He had his purpose. He had his wealth. And now, he had the means to take on the world, one hunt at a time.
Bobby’s latest call had sent Harry to a quiet, rural part of Idaho where a series of mysterious deaths had locals on edge. Harry had arrived in town the previous night and wasted no time using his newly acquired FBI badge to get into the crime scene. With his magical enhancements, it was easy enough to convince local law enforcement that he was an agent, and they had allowed him access to the latest victim’s house without much fuss.
As he walked through the quiet home, Harry's sharp eyes scanned every corner. Blood had pooled on the bedroom floor, and the body had been removed, but the ominous message scrawled in blood on the wall hadn’t been cleaned up yet: "Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the lights?"
Harry frowned. He’d come across cryptic messages like this before. His instincts told him he was dealing with a violent spirit, likely vengeful. He was about to crouch down to examine the blood splatter more closely when he heard footsteps behind him.
He straightened, turning slowly, only to see two men stepping into the room, flashing badges. Harry’s eyes narrowed in recognition as the shorter one spoke first.
“Detective Dean and Sam Winchester, local PD called us in.”
Harry knew those names immediately. Well, that’s interesting, he thought to himself. He had heard about the infamous Winchester brothers through Bobby, though they hadn’t crossed paths until now, and he'd been on the lookout since Death gave him his new life. He cast a silent wandless silencing charm around them and straightened up. Pretending not to know them, Harry played it cool. “You’re hunting this thing too, then? Got any leads?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed, clearly suspicious of Harry. He was the one to answer, his tone clipped. “We’re just investigating the crime scene, sir.”
Sam, on the other hand, gave Harry a once-over before speaking. “We think it might be a spirit.” He offered it as an explanation before Dean shot him a look, clearly not happy about his brother spilling the beans so easily.
“Sam,” Dean growled, pulling him aside for a moment and whispering something Harry couldn’t quite hear. Harry could tell Dean wasn’t trusting him just yet, but he wasn’t concerned. He had his own methods, and he didn’t need their approval.
He didn’t fail to notice how Sam looked at him, shy and maybe even a little awkward, but it was Dean’s hard edge and suspicious stare that drew Harry’s attention more. There was something undeniably attractive about the older Winchester’s confidence and mistrust, and Harry couldn’t help but think Dean was sexy in his own rugged way.
“Never met a British hunter around here before,” Dean grunted when he returned. “You're a long way from home.”
On the contrary,” Harry countered, “I keep my home with me,” he said patting his chest pocket where his key lie. He smiled to himself at his joke but Dean didn't look amused.
“Well, we work alone.” Dean retorted, then the Winchesters left to continue their own investigation, leaving Harry behind to look through the crime scene in peace. He moved through the house quickly, his mind already working on piecing the case together.
After some research back home of the local area, he came to believe that the haunting was likely caused by the spirit of Jacob Karns, a man who had been executed for murder years ago. A violent and vengeful spirit, Karns seemed people of ill morals, likely continuing his murderous spree from beyond the grave.
Harry’s next move was clear: he needed to find Karns’ remains and salt and burn them to put the spirit to rest. After some research, he located the unmarked grave where Karns had been buried, but when Harry arrived at the site, he found that the grave had already been dug up and the remains were gone. Damn, he thought, his first assumption being that the Winchester brothers had beaten him to it.
Shrugging it off, Harry prepared to head back home, satisfied that the brothers had taken care of the situation. But something still didn’t sit right with him. Something about the case felt unfinished. He decided to investigate the old church where Karns had been executed, figuring it couldn’t hurt to check for any residual energy or signs of lingering activity.
As Harry neared the abandoned church, he spotted two familiar figures sneaking inside—Dean and Sam. So they haven’t finished the job yet, he thought with a smirk. Casting a quick disillusionment charm over himself, he followed them inside unnoticed.
Inside the church, the air felt heavy, oppressive. Harry could feel the dark energy swirling, and it was clear the spirit was still active. Dean, Sam, and Lori, the young woman they were trying to protect, were now in serious danger.
Suddenly, Jacob Karns’ spirit appeared, his terrifying figure looming with the bloody hook he used to terrorize his victims. The Winchesters jumped into action, but the spirit was fast and powerful. Dean was thrown into a wall and Sam and Lori were about to be attacked.
Harry saw an opening and dropped his disillusionment charm, charging forward with his wand drawn, slicing through the air with a spell he created that hit the spirit with powdered iron, dispelling it temporarily.
It reappeared near Dean this time and the man tensed for impact.
“I’ve got this,” Harry called out, casting a powerful spell that knocked Karns back behind a conjured iron wall buying the Winchesters a few precious moments to regroup.
“What the hell?” Dean shouted, surprised to see Harry again and even more surprised by his magic. “I thought we got rid of you!”
“You burned the body, right?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer but needing confirmation.
“Yeah, but not the hook!” Sam shouted over the chaos, his voice strained as Karns lunged toward them again. Harry sent another blast of magic at the spirit, temporarily forcing it to retreat.
Dean shot a glare at Harry. “We didn’t ask for your help from you or your damn stick! And how the hell did you do that?!”
Harry smirked. “You’re welcome anyway.”
As they fought the spirit together, Harry noticed the Winchesters still didn’t fully trust him. Dean especially seemed on edge around him, and Sam looked conflicted, unsure whether Harry was friend or foe. Regardless, they worked together out of necessity, taking turns distracting Karns as Harry quickly scanned the church.
“We need to destroy the hook,” Harry said,
“It was melted down, but we don't know into what,” Sam explained quickly.
Harry was already formulating a plan. With an advanced summoning spell he made all silver fly into Dean's hands.
“Go!” Harry barked, continuing to hold the spirit back with his spells. Dean and Sam hurried to start a fire and throw in the pile of silver. Working together, they melted down the silver using one of Harry’s spells and Dean’s lighter fluid.
Finally, the spirit screamed one last time before fading into nothing, banished for good.
The church fell silent, the oppressive energy lifting instantly. Dean and Sam were breathing hard, sweat beading on their brows. Harry holstered his wand, giving the brothers a quick nod. “That should do it.”
Dean, still clearly not thrilled with Harry’s involvement, frowned. “We didn’t need your help, you know.”
Harry chuckled, wiping his hands. “Sure you didn’t.”
Sam, a little more open, gave Harry a small nod of thanks. “Still, you helped. So... thanks.”
Harry smiled, still feeling a strange attraction toward the both of them, though in different ways. “Anytime.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed at Harry, his hand twitching toward his gun, and before Harry could even blink, Dean had the barrel pointed straight at him.
“Alright, let’s get some things straight here,” Dean growled, his voice rough and authoritative. “How’d you get your power? Sold your soul for it? What’s your deal?”
Harry’s eyes flicked to the gun for a moment before locking with Dean’s, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, yeah totally. Sold my soul for some magic beans, ate um and one day…poof! Magic powers. This wand? Got it as a prize in a Cracker Jack box,” he said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. “Not like it’s any of your business, but whatever.”
Sam, looking unsure but still suspicious, stepped forward with a vial of what Harry suspected was water in hand. Without missing a beat, he splashed the contents directly at Harry’s chest.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Really? You think that’s gonna work?” he muttered, wiping away the droplets from his jacket. “You two really have some trust issues, huh?”
Dean’s suspicion didn’t waver, his grip tightening on the gun. “You’re one weird son of a bitch. You’ve got all this power, and it’s not like anything we’ve seen before. You’re some kind of freak, and we need to deal with you.”
That last word—freak—struck a chord with Harry. He’d dealt with plenty of people calling him names, but this one was different. It hit a nerve deeper than he wanted to admit. His expression darkened, eyes turning cold as ice.
“Don’t you ever DARE call me a freak again,” Harry growled, his voice low, dangerous. “I’ve saved your asses. Both of you. I can end you just as easily if I wanted to.” The air around Harry grew cold and dangerous.
Dean didn’t even flinch, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Eat lead, freak,” he spat, and the next second, the gunshot rang out.
But Harry was faster. His eyes flashed with fury as he snapped his wandless, nonverbal spell in the blink of an eye. A shimmering, invisible shield sprang into place in front of him, and the bullet hit it with a sharp crack before falling harmlessly to the ground.
Dean’s jaw clenched, but Harry was already moving. He turned to face them, voice dripping with venom. “Fuck you, Winchester,” he spat, his anger boiling over. Without another word, he waved his hand, his magic swirling around him as he disappeared with a sharp crack—apparating away before either of the brothers could react.
Left in the silence of the empty church, the two Winchesters stood there, shocked and momentarily speechless. The power Harry had displayed was unlike anything they had ever seen, and for the first time in a long while, Dean felt a real unease creeping up his spine.
“What the hell was that?” Sam asked, his voice hesitant.
Dean gritted his teeth, staring at the empty spot where Harry had stood just moments before. “I don’t know, but whatever it was… it’s not over. We need to keep an eye on him.”
Sam’s expression was pensive. “Yeah… I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him either. But he did save us.