Beetles and Bees
He worked alone for the next few weeks, and honestly, he liked it that way. The solitude gave him focus and freedom, no need to explain himself or hide who he was. He worked efficiently, solving cases, taking down monsters, and disappearing without a trace. After the messy situation with Dean and Sam in Louisiana, Harry had hoped their paths wouldn’t cross again anytime soon.
That hope was short-lived.
Bobby had called him up one evening with a strange case out of Oklahoma. A man had dropped dead, supposedly from mad cow disease, but there was something off about it. The coroner’s report didn’t sit right with Bobby, and so Harry went in to investigate. Using magic and a few well-placed badges, Harry managed to speak directly to the coroner, who revealed something far more bizarre than a simple case of mad cow.
Beetles. The man’s brain had been eaten through by beetles.
"I don’t believe it was mad cow at all," the coroner told Harry, pulling out a small jar of specimens. "I found these inside the poor guy’s skull."
Harry studied the beatles, his mind already racing through possibilities. Dark magic? Curses? There was no shortage of ways this could happen. To make matters worse, the coroner mentioned another death recently, this one involving bees. It wasn’t hard to see a pattern forming.
Harry needed to dig deeper, and the best place to start was the community where these people had died. The housing development had an open house event coming up—perfect for blending in and asking questions without drawing too much attention.
Dressed in his finest—sharp suit, polished shoes, and his usual air of quiet confidence—Harry arrived at the open house. The moment he stepped through the door, he felt eyes on him. His British accent seemed to charm the man at the door who was practically falling over himself to be helpful.
“Welcome! You must be new to the area. Looking for a home?”
“Just curious,” Harry replied smoothly, offering a small smile. “Heard good things about the community. Thought I’d take a look around.”
The man nodded enthusiastically, giving Harry a brochure and directing him to the backyard where most of the guests were mingling.
Harry slipped through the crowd, effortlessly mingling with the other attendees. He chatted up a middle-aged woman who lived in the community, asking innocuous questions about the property, the neighborhood, anything that might give him a lead. So far, it seemed like an ordinary, if slightly upscale, suburban development. But Harry knew better. The deaths were no coincidence, and something darker lurked beneath the surface.
As Harry listened to the woman drone on about the local amenities, his instincts prickled. He glanced toward the entrance, and sure enough, there they were—Dean and Sam Winchester, clearly investigating the same case.
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. Of course, they’d show up here. It wasn’t that surprising. But still, part of him had hoped to avoid this. He'd made peace with Dean the last time they met but it was still an uneasy aquantanship and Harry knew he still wasn't trusted.
He could tell the brothers were already scoping the place out, but they hadn’t noticed him yet. Not wanting to make a scene, Harry turned back to the woman he was speaking to, forcing a polite smile as she continued.
“You know, the community is really wonderful. Great schools, low crime—”
“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted smoothly, slipping away from the conversation as Dean and Sam finally spotted him.
They made eye contact, and Harry sighed inwardly. This was bound to be awkward.
“Harry,” Sam greeted him cautiously as they approached.
“Sam,” Harry replied coolly, his eyes shifting briefly to Dean, who looked as gruff and suspicious as ever. “Dean.”
Dean gave him a curt nod but didn’t say anything.
“You’re hunting this thing too?” Sam asked, trying to keep the conversation civil.
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Seems that way. Any leads?”
Sam hesitated, clearly unsure whether to share any information. Dean, on the other hand, crossed his arms and shot Harry a distrustful glare.
Before the conversation could escalate, a voice cut through the tension.
“Hey, you guys know each other? It would be great to get some people in the neighborhood who are already friends!” The man exclaimed.
He was the same one Harry met at the front door and he put on his best Malfoy mask he'd seen Draco use so many times and smiled. He was used to being diplomatic. “We do, old friends, really. We were just discussing the area! I noticed on the drive in,” Harry began but was cut off by Dean.
“We’re fine,” Dean replied curtly, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand.
The man lingered for a moment longer before heading off to chat with other guests.
“Not quite as charming as I thought you'd be,” Harry muttered under his breath, watching the man walk away.
“Yeah, he's about as subtle as a bull in a china shop,” Sam agreed. “We don't have any leads, we know one guy was killed by bees, and another in a sinkhole. But no symptoms of mad cow before dropping dead.”
Harry glanced around, his mind already piecing things together. “I spoke to the coroner earlier. This wasn’t just mad cow disease. Beetles ate through the guy’s brain. I got a sample but haven't studied it yet.”
“We did too,” Dean muttered, his face darkening. “Fucking gross. There were a bunch in the hole the guy was in. We're heading up to a university to see if we can figure out what they are.”
“I have some books I'll check through,” Harry continued. “I’m thinking it’s old magic, maybe a curse, or something ancient.”
Sam looked intrigued, but Dean still seemed on edge, as if waiting for an excuse to call Harry a freak again.
“Well,” Harry said, pulling a few bills from his wallet, “I’ll leave you to your investigation. Enjoy the party.”
Harry approached one of the saleswomen, putting on his most charming smile as he struck up casual conversation. She seemed eager to share all the selling points of the development, oblivious to the subtle spell he’d cast earlier that muffled his words from any eavesdroppers. As she rambled on about square footage and the scenic view, a soft hiss caught Harry’s attention beneath the table.
A grass snake, slithering quietly out of the bushes.
Harry barely glanced down but subtly hissed back in Parseltongue, the language of snakes. "What are you doing here?"
The saleswoman continued talking, grumbling about a spider she’d seen earlier, and Harry used it as cover to engage with the snake.
"Oh, Speaker!" the snake hissed back in surprise, "I didn’t realize you could hear me! There’s a nasty boy who keeps bugs in glass cages. He doesn’t let them out where I can reach them, but he puts a large spider on that table, hoping to scare the guests. I wish to eat it!"
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he continued to listen, his eyes scanning the yard for anything suspicious. "That’s not a good idea," he hissed softly, "but if you meet me by my bike in a bit, I’ll bring you a mouse. Deal?"
The snake flicks its tongue and seemed to consider the offer before slithering away, its parting words a grateful "Thank you, Speaker."
Harry, now on alert, shifted his gaze around the open house and finally spotted the large tarantula lazily crawling on a nearby table. Without drawing attention to himself, he scooped the creature up in his hand. It was calm, not overly agitated, and actually quite cute.
He scanned the area and spotted a teenager standing awkwardly by the pool, eyes darting nervously toward the table where the spider had been. Harry walked over and held the spider out to the boy, who froze in place.
“Looking for this?” Harry asked calmly.
The teen’s eyes widened, and he quickly took the tarantula, cradling it in his hands with a mix of relief and anxiety. “Uh... thanks,” he muttered, glancing around nervously. “Please don’t tell my dad. He... he wouldn’t understand.”
Harry gave him a knowing smile, sensing there was more to the boy’s fear than just being caught with a spider. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
The boy nodded gratefully, clutching the tarantula protectively. Harry wasn’t done, though. Leaning in slightly, he asked in a low voice, “You notice anything strange with the bugs around here? Something... unnatural?”
The question made the boy’s eyes widen even further, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to answer. But just as quickly, his face clouded with fear, and without another word, he turned and ran off, disappearing into the crowd.
Harry watched him go, a knot forming in his stomach. There was definitely something going on here. And whatever it was, the kid knew more than he was letting on.
The rest of the party was uneventful, but Harry figured it would be. At least the BBQ was good.
Harry rode back home after his encounter with Dean, his mind racing as he pieced together everything he had learned. Once inside, he settled down at his desk, cracking open a few dusty tomes for research. Hours passed as he flipped through pages, cross-referencing beetles, Native American legends, and curses. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he discovered something: the beetles he had seen were over 100 years old and practically extinct, native to the area that was once sacred to a Native American tribe.
The connection seemed tenuous at first, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the beetles tied into the strange behavior of the bees he'd encountered earlier. As he stifled a yawn, Trixi, his house-elf, appeared with a knowing look. “Master Harry needs to rest. No good comes from pushing yourself, sir.”
Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He knew better than to refuse Trixi when she got like this. “Alright, alright, you win. I’ll take a nap.”
A few hours later, Harry woke to the comforting smell of freshly brewed tea and warm scones. He stretched, smiling at the sight of Trixi waiting for him with a tray. “You’re a lifesaver, Trixi,” he said, gratefully taking a cup of tea and a scone.
After indulging in his snack and feeling refreshed, Harry returned to his research with renewed focus. It didn’t take long before a theory began to form in his mind. The beetles, the bees, the strange occurrences—it all seemed to point to one thing: the housing development was built on cursed Native American land. There were no known native American settlements in the area but he knew there wouldn't be if the land was seized illegally. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever was responsible for building on the land was in the most danger.
His thoughts turned to the man he had seen at the development—he was likely the key to unraveling this mystery. Harry decided to check out the man’s home, just to take a look around and see if anything stood out. He gathered his things and headed out, but when he stepped outside, he was surprised to see the sun already setting.
He shrugged. Evening or not, there was no harm in taking a quick look. Mounting his bike, he made his way to the man’s house. As he arrived, he immediately noticed something off—the familiar black Impala parked outside. His instincts kicked in, and Harry dismounted, creeping closer to the house.
That’s when he heard it: a low, ominous buzzing. The sound grew louder, and Harry’s heart sank as he realized what it was. Millions of insects, swarming. Before he could react, the front door flew open, and Dean yanked him inside, slamming the door behind them.
"Dammit, man! Get in here!" Dean growled, his eyes darting around the darkened room.
“What the hell’s going on?” Harry asked, scanning the area. He could hear the buzzing getting louder, closer.
Dean wiped the sweat from his brow, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "This land used to belong to a Native American tribe. Years ago, their village was pillaged, the people killed over seven days. And now, everyone in this house is in danger."
Harry nodded, already connecting the dots in his mind. “Alright, everyone, gather close,” he instructed, quickly drawing runes and sigils on the floor in a wide circle. He muttered an incantation, and a shimmering bubble of golden energy formed around them just as a massive swarm of insects began to break through the walls and windows, bombarding the shield.
Dean watched in awe as the swarm tried to penetrate the magical barrier. "This thing gonna hold?"
Harry grimaced, sweat starting to bead on his forehead from the strain. "As long as my magic does."
The insects pushed harder against the shield, and the pressure on Harry was becoming more obvious. The buzzing outside grew deafening, but for the moment, the shield held. Dean glanced at Sam, then back to Harry.
Harry grimaced, watching the shield flicker slightly under the relentless assault of insects. He turned to Dean. “How long is this going to last?”
Dean, still watching the swarm with narrowed eyes, replied, “Should stop at sunrise. We just need to survive till then.”
Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His fingers twitched, feeling the weight of the magic drain him slowly. "I’m really fucking glad I napped today," he muttered. “Alright, I can hold it till then.”
Sam, sitting cross-legged on the floor near the edge of the shield, looked up at Harry. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Harry nodded, his face pale from the effort. “Yeah, keep me awake.”
Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, who seemed uneasy, and nodded. But the momentary silence was broken by the escalating panic of the family huddled in the corner—the father was shouting, the mother trembling, and the son was crying uncontrollably. Their fear filled the small space like an oppressive cloud, adding to the already strained atmosphere.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the noise, but it only made it worse. The incessant buzzing, combined with the family’s frantic pleas, was a lot to handle. His head throbbed as the shield buckled with each wave of pressure from the insects.
Finally, unable to take the chaos any longer, Harry muttered a quiet incantation under his breath, tossing a small pouch of powder into the air. The dust swirled briefly before settling over the family. They slumped to the ground instantly, their panic silenced, their bodies still.
“Sleep,” Harry muttered under his breath, his tone grim. "They’ll be out for a few hours."
Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed but not fully relieved. “You really don’t do things by halves, do you?”
Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten just a fraction. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”
Sam, seemingly unaffected by the calm in the room, took a seat across from Harry, his eyes studying him. “Alright, so why did you become a hunter?” he asked, his voice gentle but curious.
Harry let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. "The life kinda chose me," he said, trying to keep things light, but it came out darker than he intended.
Dean, who had been standing quietly by the edge of the shield, turned around, his expression serious for the first time in hours. “Because of what happened to your parents?”
Harry's jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor as the weight of the question pressed into him. After a moment of silence, he nodded, just once. “You could say that... the man who killed them... he was after me. They died protecting me. And I was... basically trained from the age of ten to fight him. To kill him.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Dean’s voice was quieter now, “I hope you get the chance one day.”
Harry's eyes flickered up, locking onto Dean’s for a moment. There was a cold, cruel laugh that slipped out before Harry could stop it, a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I killed him when I was sixteen.” He paused, his voice going even quieter. “I sacrificed my own life to protect my friends... and somehow... I survived.”
A bitter smile crept across his face. “So many died fighting. But me, who chose to sacrifice himself…I survived. Managed to kill him after. To my friends, I was a hero. And it was all over. Everyone just moved on. But you can’t just go from being a soldier since you were a kid to a normal person.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words settling over the room like fog. Sam shifted, looking between them, his gaze still thoughtful. “So... you became a hunter after that?”
Harry nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. The world doesn’t stop just because you want it to. And no one prepares you for life after war. So, I became a hunter. It’s what I knew. It’s what I know.”
Dean, for once, didn’t have anything to say. He just nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch between them. Harry could feel his focus slipping as the pressure on the shield intensified, the buzzing almost deafening now.
“Keep talking,” Harry said quietly, his voice tight with strain. "Keep me... engaged. If I focus too much on my magic, the shield might pop. If I don’t focus on anything, it’ll drop. So... just talk to me.”
Sam was quick to pick up on the unspoken plea, his voice a steady stream of questions about Harry's experiences, the people he’d met, and his travels. As the minutes stretched on, Harry forced himself to stay present, allowing the conversation to anchor him. The shield held for now, but for how long?
Dean, watching Harry with a new understanding, kept his eyes on the insects outside the shield blanketing it so you couldn't see out. The swarm had not let up, and every once in a while, he'd glance back to Harry, silently offering his support in the only way he knew how. A few hours went by and Harry maintained the shield, but it wasn't easy.
The buzzing outside intensified, making Harry grimace as the shield buckled slightly under the strain. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and let his attention shift back to Dean and Sam.
“So,” Dean started, breaking the silence. “How’d you get that scar on your forehead?”
Harry raised a hand, absentmindedly tracing the familiar lightning-bolt-shaped scar. He hadn’t really thought about it in a while—most people knew the story before they even met him.
“The man who killed my parents left it,” Harry said quietly, his voice taking on a somber tone. “He tried to kill me, too. A curse backfired and marked me, but didn’t finish the job.”
Dean’s brow furrowed as he considered that. “So, what... it just left you with a scar? No side effects?”
Harry gave a small, almost bitter laugh. “Oh, there were side effects alright. The curse didn’t kill me, but it sure left its mark in other ways.”
Before Dean could ask more, Harry tilted his head, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Can I ask questions back, or is this a one-way street?”
Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut in before he could respond, his voice light. “Yeah, sure. Ask away.”
Harry turned his gaze to Dean. “You mentioned before that his girl was killed... like your mom. Do you have any idea what did it?”
Sam’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “No. We’ve been looking for answers ever since. Our dad... he’s been hunting it ever since we were kids, but we don’t have any solid leads.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully, his mind racing. “Maybe I should ask your dad. I could probably get more outta him than you two.”
Dean stiffened slightly, his face tightening. “He’s missing.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “I can probably find him with a tracking spell.”
Sam shot him a look, his eyes serious. “I’ll hold you to that one day. But he wouldn't want us using magic to find him, no offense.”
Dean shifted again, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of anyone getting involved in their family business, but before he could say anything, he asked, “So, what about you? You got a girlfriend back home? Or a boyfriend?”
Harry smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. I fell in love twice. Once to a boy who hated me, but ended up saving my life. His mum too. But he's married now with two kids, some girl his mum picked out. We never went out though, I just kinda…stalked him. Then there was Ginny.”
Harry looked out in the distance as if picturing her, he smiled a sad mourning smile, “She was my best mate’s sister, and I loved her.” The look grew more painful as he continued, “but the war changed me.” He paused, his gaze distant.
“I was bitter,” he said in a tight, strained voice. “Cold even. The things that used to make me smile didn’t anymore. One of her brothers died in the war…she never blamed me. But I could see it in her mum's eyes. Her brothers. If he hadn't fought at my side he'd still be here. So I avoided her family, and she didn't like that. Became somewhat of a recluse except for work. But she wanted to go out and do things with me, and i just couldn't. Couldn't move on like the war neve happened. Like I hadn't lost my family. Seen so many die…She was so full of life, so vibrant... I couldn’t be an anchor to her. So, I cut myself loose before I could drag her down.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “So what? You just... let her go?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. She’s engaged now, to a bloke who deserves her. They’re planning a spring wedding.” He gave a small smile. “I’m happy for her. She’s an amazing soul.”
Sam leaned forward slightly, his voice soft. “That’s noble... to just let her go like that.”
Harry let out a long breath. “I guess I’m the self-sacrificing sort. She's amazing. Fierce as fiendfyre and twice as ruthless. She loves like a lioness, there's nothing she wouldn't do for her lion. But I didn't deserve her. The war…it changed so much for me. In the end, I killed the man who took my mum. She never took a life. None of my friends did. It changed me more than I'd care to admit. To hunt something evil, to beat it…you have to understand it. And to understand it, I think you can't be truly good anymore. I was different. Darker. But she was still the same.”
The sound of the swarm outside pulsed against the magical barrier, but inside the small room, Dean’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he leaned back, watching Harry.
“You keep mentioning a war,” Dean said slowly, “but I never heard of any war like that. Wouldn’t people have seen it?”
Harry chuckled softly, the sound a bit dry. “You know, once I was riding something called the Knight Bus—a magical bus that can be summoned to get magic folk like myself from one place to another. It drives around in broad daylight, zipping through traffic like it’s nothing. And I remember asking the driver, ‘Can non-magical folk see this?’ The driver laughed and said, ‘Muggles never notice nothin’.’”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Muggles?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, that’s what we call people without magic. Anyway, it hit me—there’s so much that happens right in front of people, but they don’t notice. You fight a similar war every day—ghosts, vampires, monsters. People die. But does anyone notice? Would you have, if your father hadn’t taught you what to look for?”
Dean’s expression tightened at that, and he looked down, pondering the weight of Harry’s words. He glanced back up, his voice quieter. “Are there more people like you?”
Harry shrugged, keeping his focus on the shimmering barrier. “Not here.”
Sam’s curiosity piqued, and he leaned forward. “In Europe?”
Harry shook his head, smiling faintly. “No. I’m from somewhere else... a place like this, but different. We have monsters too, but different kinds. Magic is something some people are born with, and others aren’t. But after I won the war there... I wanted more. To help more people, do more good, and find a purpose again. So I found a world that needed help.” His voice carried a quiet weight, the loneliness behind it clear.
Dean sighed, looking at Sam before turning back to Harry. “Sounds lonely. At least I’ve got Sam.”
Harry nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in agreement. “It can be. But my life before was lonely too. Everyone moving on in ways I just bloody couldn’t. They were getting jobs, getting married, having kids... and meanwhile, my head was still stuck in the war.” He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I didn’t belong there anymore.”
Dean’s gaze softened, understanding the weight of those words. He’d felt it too—the disconnect between living the hunter’s life and the normal world passing by.
“I do here, though,” Harry finished quietly, his voice firmer. “I belong here.”
Sam smiled softly, the sincerity in his voice clear as he said, “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You’re a damn good hunter.”
Harry gave a small nod, the tension in his face easing for a moment. “Thanks,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.
The strain on the magical barrier was getting worse, and Harry felt his nose start to bleed. He wiped it on his sleeve, ignoring the stinging sensation in his head, but couldn’t stop the soft groan that escaped him.
“Trixi’s gonna grill me about this when I get home,” Harry muttered under his breath.
Dean shot him a questioning look. “Trixi? Is she your new girl?”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “No. She’s more like a... maid, I guess. But really, she’s more like family. She looks after me.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “How rich are you?”
Harry smirked, leaning back slightly, though his concentration remained on the shield. “Rich enough.”
Dean let out a low whistle, clearly impressed, but before anyone could say more, the buzzing outside the barrier grew even louder, the pressure from the insects intensifying. Harry gritted his teeth, his magic straining, but he held firm.
“Just gotta make it till sunrise,” he reminded himself, his voice strained but determined.
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, knowing the night was far from over.
Dean stretched, rubbing his stomach with a smirk. "Man, I wish we could order food right now. This whole ‘waiting for sunrise’ thing is making me hungry."
Harry chuckled, glancing at the magical barrier still holding strong. “Well, funny you say that. Trixi could probably bring us food and coffee. But, uh… you can’t freak out or try to kill her.”
Dean gave him a puzzled look. “Why would I kill your maid?”
Harry shifted slightly, smiling at their confusion. “She’s not just a maid. She’s a creature—part of a species of elf. House elves, to be exact. They’re subservient to wizards, love to cook and clean. Most of my people see them as property, but they prefer it that way—most of them, at least. I bought her years ago.”
Dean’s face froze, and Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “So... she’s a slave,” Sam said, his tone careful but uneasy.
Harry let out a short laugh. “Ask her.” Without hesitation, he snapped his fingers and called, “Trixi?”
With a soft pop, a small house elf appeared in front of them. She was petite, with large, bat-like ears and wide eyes. Dressed in a neatly pressed apron, she immediately began fussing over Harry, her high-pitched voice laced with concern.
“Oh, Master Harry! Look at the state of you! You be holding up the shield all this time without letting Trixi help! Naughty, naughty Harry!” she scolded, swatting at his sleeve with a tiny hand.
Harry grinned, a little embarrassed. “I’m fine, Trixi. Just need to hold the shield a bit longer.”
Trixi’s eyes widened. “No, Master Harry! I will bring help!” And before he could protest, she vanished with a pop, returning just seconds later with several small bottles. “Here! Potions to refresh your strength, sir! And let me just—” She immediately began dabbing at the bloodstain on his sleeve with hydrogen peroxide, muttering to herself about keeping his clothes in order.
Harry gestured toward Dean and Sam. “Trixi, these are my… colleagues. Sam and Dean Winchester.”
Trixi turned to them, her huge eyes twinkling. She extended her small hand, shaking theirs eagerly. “Hello, Masters Winchester and Winchester! Any friend of Master Harry is a friend of Trixi! But how could you let him get into such a state?” She wagged her finger at them, then turned to Sam, giving him a critical look. “And you! Too skinny! You be needing food!”
Dean, recovering from his initial shock, cracked a grin. “Any chance we can get a beer with that?”
Trixi’s eyes lit up. “Master Winchester wants a drink? Oh, Master Harry, sir, do you be wanting food as well?”
Harry chuckled softly. “Just coffee and more Pepper-Up Potion, Trixi.”
The elf scoffed, wagging her finger again. “No, no, no! You will getting dinner, Master Harry, you eat sos won’t be upsetting your stomach! As for beer, Trixi doesn’t have that—but I do have Firewhiskey!”
Before anyone could respond, she popped away, only to return seconds later with a tray balanced expertly on her small hands. The tray was loaded with steaming plates of food, snacks, coffee, tea, and a bottle of Firewhiskey with three glasses.
Dean’s grin widened as he picked up one of the glasses. “Now this I could get used to.”
Sam raised an eyebrow but smiled as he reached for a sandwich. “Trixi, thank you. This looks amazing.”
Trixi beamed, her entire face glowing with pride. “Anything for Master Harry and his friends!”
Harry leaned back against the wall, still holding the magical shield in place as he looked at Sam. “Trixi, Sam was asking... Are you my slave? Would you prefer to be free?”
At the word slave, Trixi screeched, making both Sam and Dean jump. “What?! Trixi is no slave!” she exclaimed, glaring indignantly at Sam. “Trixi serves the ancient and noble House of Potter! Master Harry Potter! Vanquisher of the Dark Lord! Heir to the most noble and ancient House of Black! It is an honor to serve him!”
Sam looked taken aback but pressed on. “But... he bought you, right?”
Trixi puffed up, shaking her head firmly. “We elves are born to serve! When we have no Master, no one to serve… we wither away. Our lives depend on our masters. We need their core to sustain us, and we need to serve them so we have purpose.” She looked back at Harry, her large eyes filled with pride. “He bought me, yes, but I needed a wizard to serve. And Master Harry... he needed an elf to help him, you see. My young master, he needs someone to keep him alive! Without me, the house is a wreck, and he doesn’t eat!”
Harry chuckled softly. “You do marvelous work, Trixi. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Trixi blushed, wringing her hands as she beamed at the compliment. “Some wizards are not good masters,” she continued, her voice lowering slightly. “They beat us, or yell, or treat us badly. An elf can only be free if its master presents it with clothes. But Master Harry gave me clothes my first day! Trixi can leave anytime but Master Harry is the best master an elf could ask for! I stay for him and one day his children!”
With that, she gave a little bow and popped away, leaving the room silent for a moment. Harry glanced down at the plate of roast duck she’d left, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He picked up his fork and began to eat, clearly enjoying the meal.
Dean looked over at Sam, eyebrows raised. “Huh. Guess I’ve heard weirder things,” he muttered before grabbing his glass of firewhiskey and taking a long drink.
Dean took a cautious sip of the firewhiskey at first, his eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise as the smooth, warm burn settled in. “Damn, this is good,” he said, taking a bigger swig. “I’ve gotta get myself a bottle of this stuff.”
Harry chuckled, pushing the bottle toward him. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty back home.”
Dean grinned, not needing to be told twice, and poured himself another glass. Sam, meanwhile, took a bite of the roast duck, chewing slowly as he savored the rich flavor. After a few more bites and sips of the firewhiskey, his eyes grew heavy, and before long, he passed out beside the makeshift camp they'd set up in the room. Dean glanced at his brother, then over at Harry, who was sipping a cup of coffee, eyes still alert despite the late hour.
For a while, the two sat in a companionable silence. The firewhiskey warmed Dean, while Harry seemed focused on keeping his magical shield intact. The quiet was calming, almost surreal, considering the chaos outside.
Eventually, Dean cleared his throat, looking slightly awkward as he broke the silence. “Hey, uh... about giving you such a hard time.” He looked genuinely remorseful, swirling the firewhiskey in his glass. “That wasn’t cool. I mean, hell, I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff, and I judged you because of magic. That was... wrong. And I’m sorry.”
Harry glanced over at him, his green eyes softening. “No offense taken, Dean,” he said after a moment. “People fear what they don’t understand. Magic is... a bit of a shock to most people. Hell, sometimes even I don’t fully understand it.”
Dean nodded, grateful that Harry didn’t hold a grudge. “Yeah, I just... I’ve met a lot of people who use magic, and most of ‘em don’t have the best intentions, you know? But you—” Dean paused, looking Harry in the eyes. “You’re a good guy. A damn good hunter, too. So... thanks for that. For everything.”
Harry smiled faintly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Winchester. Besides, I get it. I didn’t exactly get along with most of my world either.”
The two of them shared a small laugh, the tension easing. They settled into more casual conversation, talking about past hunts, close calls, and the rare moments they had to unwind. Dean refilled his glass again, while Harry stuck to his coffee, still maintaining focus on the protective spell.
As the hours passed, the darkness outside began to lift, the first hints of sunrise creeping through the windows. Dean glanced outside, then back at Harry, who seemed a little paler but still steady.
“Well, looks like we made it,” Dean said, standing up and stretching. He glanced at Harry, who was still sipping his coffee. “You okay?”
Harry nodded, though he looked tired. “Yeah. I’m good.” He stood up, lowering the shield as the danger passed with the sunrise. “I’ll rest when we’re out of here.”
Dean gave him a nod of approval, glancing over at the still-sleeping Sam. “Thanks for sticking with us through this. I mean it.”
Harry smirked, finishing the last of his coffee. “Anytime, Winchester. Now, let’s get out of here before your brother sleeps through breakfast.”
The sun was barely cresting the horizon when they all piled into the Impala, heading to a small diner nearby. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hit them as they walked in, and despite the weariness from the night’s events, the three of them sat down for breakfast.
Dean wolfed down his pancakes and bacon, while Sam nursed a mug of coffee. Harry ate lightly, clearly still recovering his strength.
“So,” Dean said after a while, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “where can we drop you off?”
Harry shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Anywhere is fine, really.”
Dean gave him a puzzled look. “Where are you staying?”
Harry leaned back, looking nonchalant. “I carry my home with me.”
Dean blinked. “You carry your—wait, what?”
Harry chuckled, clearly enjoying the confusion. “Tell you what, take me back to the hotel you're in. I’ll show you.”
Curious, Dean agreed, and after breakfast, they headed back to the rundown motel they had checked into earlier. The parking lot was still mostly empty, the air crisp in the early morning light.
Dean led the way to their room, unlocking the door to reveal the small, shabby room inside. Harry followed, pulling out a key of his own—though it looked nothing like the motel room key. He walked over to the empty room next door, inserted his key into the lock, and turned it. The door swung open, revealing not another dingy motel room, but the entrance to what looked like a cozy, spacious home.
“See?” Harry said, stepping aside to give them a better view. Inside was a tidy living room with wooden floors, a fireplace crackling with warmth, and shelves lined with books and magical oddities.
Dean stared, wide-eyed. “That’s... that’s your house?”
Harry nodded. “Yep. It’s enchanted. I can carry it with me wherever I go and summon it wherever I am.”
Dean peeked through the door again, his eyes taking in the impossible sight. Then it hit him. “Wait a second—that’s why you didn’t hear me banging on your door that night?”
Harry chuckled. “Yeah. I was in here the whole time.”
Dean laughed, shaking his head. “That’s... cool. Weird, but cool.”
They lingered for a moment in the doorway, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Dean shifted awkwardly. “So, I guess... see you around?”
Harry nodded, stepping halfway into the doorway. “Yeah. See you around.”
But before he could fully disappear, Sam cut in. “Wait, here.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scribbled something on it before handing it to Harry. “If you ever need us, just call.”
Harry took the paper, glancing at the number written on it, and gave Sam a small smile. “Thanks.” With a flick of his wrist, he snapped his fingers, and a card materialized out of thin air. He handed it to Dean. “Likewise. My number’s on there.”
Dean looked at the card in his hand, clearly impressed. He gave Harry a nod. “Take care of yourself, Potter.”
“You too, Winchester,” Harry said, stepping fully into his magical home and closing the door behind him.
The door shimmered for a moment before fading back into the plain motel room door, as if nothing had ever happened.
Dean stared at the door for a moment longer, then turned to Sam, shaking his head with a grin. “Well, that was... something.”
Sam smirked, tucking the card into his pocket. “Yeah. We meet the weirdest people.”
“Tell me about it,” Dean muttered, already thinking about the firewhiskey waiting for him in the car.