Faith: Edited

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter nor Supernatural

Chapter 5

So when you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide My eyes from you; Yes, even though you multiply prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are covered with blood. Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; Remove the evil of your deeds from My sight. Cease to do evil, Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow.

~Isaiah 1:15-17~

London Police Station Interrogation rooms

Ray Strider struggled his way to consciousness after his head took a massive hit from the invisible force of the monster. The cold press of tile bit into his cheek from where it was pressed into the floor.

Tears and snot ran down the sides of his face. He could feel wetness gathering at his brow, most likely blood from where his head hit the floor.

Bile and ash coated his mouth and he fought to keep it down. He felt dirty. Tainted. As if he will never be clean again. A chill had made his way into his body. Into his very bones. Freezing his soul.

A longing. A yearning so deep to bask in that gentle touch. Even if it was only for a moment. He had seen. He had known the truth.

And he yearns for that moment again. Faith had never been a part of his life. He had gone to Sunday school like a good little boy.

But as he got older it became more of a gimmick. Something so monotonous. Done over and over again that it had lost its meaning.

After being on the force for five years and seeing so much bad in the world while on duty. He had stopped believing in Heaven and Hell.

Especially after his wife revealed that she was a squib and magic was real. Why believe in something you can't see when you have something that is proven and real right in front of you. Obviously, he had missed something.

In all his years he had never even imagined that demons could be real. He should have known when he found out magic was real that there was a very real chance that other beliefs were real too.

He had been possessed. Pain, unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had suffered. It had only been a couple of hours, but it felt infinitely more. Like a lifetime had gone by.

A spectator in his own body. Frozen, a chill surrounding him until it burned and he could feel his skin peeling off of muscle and bone.

The image that had stared at him in the mirror was grotesque. Rotted, eyeless, and decaying flesh drooping down the sides of his skull.

Desolation had filled him. He had given up hope. Only staring horrified as his body was used as a homicidal puppet. When his hand closed around that poor child's neck, his soul was filled with despair and he screamed in agony.

Children were precious and here this monster was going to do the unforgivable using his body. Then the child looked up and he had seen.

He had been bathed in warmth. His soul thawing and the monster falling away like ashes as he expelled the devil from his mouth.

He had watched in fascinated disbelief as the ashes boiled then turned to embers as the fell out of his throat. Tasting something foul. Bile soon followed. Tears mixing with the pile.

Then the warmth disappeared. He had glanced up in awe and disappointment. For how was he to ever get warm without his presence? Then that red-eyed monster took him.

Slamming him into the floor, he only blacked out for a moment.

Enough time to see that monster kissing the child and them disappearing. Strider twitched his fingers as he tried to get up. His captain lay across from him. He could see his prone form by the door.

Unmoving. There was a figure there. His body was swathed in a magenta robe. A wizard then.

He moved his head a bit to see the rest of him. The man was old, a long white beard tucked into a belt around his hips. His hair was disheveled and his expression held between grim and disbelief. He was familiar.

His wife must have described him or shown him a picture. Dumbly something or other.

The wizard's eyes swept over Strider and the rest of the rooms unconscious occupants calculatingly. Then he waved his wand over them and quietly mumbled Obliviate.

A strange feeling came over Strider as he watched the man turn on his heel and disappear. His mind was fading. The last hours blurring together until a sudden blaze of warmth burned away the feeling.

Cascading over his limbs. A soothing melody sung in the air. Thawing his body and filling him with joy. He could feel it. Imagine it as if he was right there with him.

His gentle touch. Drops of something wet fell onto his head. Tears fell down his cheeks as he rested his head against the tile and let the soft musical trills soothe him to oblivion.

Daily Profit

Massacre at Privet Drive. Dumbledore Lies?

Our Missing Savior, Kidnapped?

By Andy Smudgley

Today, dear readers, I bring you grave news. At exactly 8:27 am the alarms at the Department of Mysteries went off. Stating that there was a massive magical fluctuation at the location of Privet Drive.

As per procedure the team of obliviators were sent out only to return with bewildering and alarming news. They could not get into the neighborhood of Privet Drive. At that time our beloved ministry did not understand the gravity of the situation.

But I digress, they called in the unspeakables to see if they would have more luck. Unfortunately, they did not. Magic, it seemed, had threaded itself into the very air.

It was uncontrollable. Causing the weather to go chaotic. Now it is theorized from the evidence that was found on the 3rd of November that this was the accidental magic of our beloved Savior.

For only one who could defeat You-Know-Who could have that kind of power.

For three days the unspeakables along with muggle authority attempted to get into the neighborhood. However, it wasn't until the third day that the weather finally cleared and the officials both muggle and magical alike were able to move in.

It was soon found to be a blood bath. Every person and animal in the neighborhood had been killed. Eyes burned from their sockets. Among the dead, I am sorry to say exists one of our own. A squib, true. Our own none the less. Arabella Figg, Merlin rest her soul.

Only one survivor was found. A child with uncontrollable black hair, enchanting green eyes, and a lightning bolt-shaped scar upon his forehead. You guessed it, my dear readers.

Harry Potter! Our Savior!

The muggles, unfortunately, got to him first. Our ministry men believed that he would be safe with them for the time being. They were collecting evidence on what transpired there under many enchantments.

What they found, dear readers! Oh, what they found! Abuse!

Yes, you read that right. Our savior, dear readers was abused! It is theorized that Mr. Potter's magic lashed out to protect himself from the people that Dumbledore swore to us would love him!

Dumbledore said he was safe! He said there were wards to protect him! That no harm could come to him! He said no dark creatures or dark affiliated beings could get to him! Well, I am here to tell you today, dear readers, that he LIED!

We trusted him! Not only did the family abuse him but he was attacked by not one but two dark creatures. Spirited away by the second. One has to wonder what else Dumbledore has lied about.

What other secrets has he hidden behind that grandfatherly persona? Well, we were fooled once. But I for one, dear readers, say NO MORE!

I only hope our beloved ministry can find Mr. Potter before it's too late.

London General Hospital

ICU 2nd floor Head Trauma

Rufus Turner groaned as he came to. The scent of the sterilizer and the constant beeping alerting him to his location. He twitched his arm and felt resistance.

The sound of a drip reached his ears as well as the sounds of distress in the distance. Prying his eyes open was a chore in and of itself. Each felt like they had been cemented in thick gorilla glue. Peeling away like the tearing of a band-aide. Hurting like a bitch too.

When dark eyes finally opened to a boringly white checkered bored ceiling, Rufus was ready for a tall one. Sitting up gingerly, being inordinately careful not to jostle anything, he swept his eyes over the room.

A window overlooked the busy street below behind him.

An IV was attached to his arm, a heart monitor attached to his pointer finger. He grimaced and continued his perusal of the room. A TV was in the corner of the ceiling on his left above a door that he assumed led to the hallway.

Another door was directly next to it slightly ajar, revealing a standard hospital bathroom. Complete with guard railings so patients didn't fall.

Thick sheets lay atop him to keep him warm, an ugly brown color. Washed out from many uses no doubt. Rufus didn't want to think about how many people's bodily fluids the sheets had seen.

Carefully moving every part of his body, Rufus took stock of any injuries and was surprised to find only a slight bump on his head. He furrowed his brow in confusion, his fingers tracing over the bump.

Trying to remember what happened to bring him there. When he thought back, all he could recall were blurry shapes. Suddenly, majestic birdsong drifted over his memory, bringing the images into focus.

Demons. He had been nearly killed by that black-eyed bastard, then the child had done something. He could remember gentle fingers caressing his forehead and then warmth had seeped into his bones stealing the pain away.

Shortly after that, he had been bitch slapped by that red-eyed prick. Rufus rubbed his head.

A man in a ridiculous get-up had appeared after that, but he was so out of it by that time he could barely remember any details. Shaking his head to dispel the images, he slid his legs over the side of the bed.

Frowning when he realized he was wearing a paper-thin hospital gown, his ass on display for all to see. His eyes roved over the room in a panic searching desperately for something to cover himself in. Eyes settling on a pair of scrubs neatly folded on the end of his bed.

Slipping them on he stood, shivering slightly when his bare feet came in to contact with the cold floor. Shuffling to the door he peered out into the hall, noting the frenzied hospital staff.

Though with what had happened that day or November 3rd anyway, he wasn't sure how long he had been out, he wasn't surprised.

Taking a breath, he walked confidently up to the nurses' station. Or as confident as one can be in a hospital gown and scrubs. Clearing his throat to gather the attention of a pretty brunette, he inquired where the other men he was with had been put.

Pointing to the hallway to his right. She informed him they were at the end of the hall.

Her attention was called back to the other end of the phone conversation she was having. Making a vague shooing gesture with her hand in the direction he was to go, Rufus started walking.

Coming up to a door at the end of the hall, he peered inside to see the man the black-eyed demon-possessed.

He was awake and talking rapidly to Captain Bandello who was sitting in a chair to his right. Bobby and Jim were standing on his other side expressions grim.

Opening the door, he heard the tail end of the conversation as he walked in. Shutting the door behind him.

"…I am telling you it wasn't me, Captain! I would never harm a child like that, or hurt you in any way!" Strider pleaded.

"Oh, so you expect me to believe it was your evil twin brother perhaps?" Bandello asked sardonically.

"What? No!" Strider protested.

"It was a demon," Rufus said quietly as he joined them. Pulling up a seat and plopping down with a sigh. Bandello did a strange impression of a fish.

"They possess you, wear you like you're the next Prada, and fight over your meat suit like a pack of wild hyenas once they've caught you. Strider should count himself lucky. We all should. Not many who go against hellspawn survive." He continued.

Bobby and Jim made sounds of agreement. Giving him nods in acknowledgment. Jim crossing himself silently.

"D-Demon. That couldn't…" Bandello denied.

"Yes, demon. The sooner you get that in your thick skull, the sooner we can get ta lookin for the kid, ya idjit!" Bobby raged.

His eyes simmering in anger. Never had he felt so useless aside from the time his wife died.

"That red-eyed bastard took him. I for one am not going to rest until that boy is safe from t-that monster." He choked out. His eyes tearing a bit.

Rufus reached over to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. Jim placing his left hand on Bobby's shoulder. He couldn't believe he had failed a child. He was right there, he could have done something. Anything. He failed him. They all had.

"How do we even begin to look for a demon? Where do we even start?" Jim wondered aloud. Bandello only shook his head. Strider's eyes got a determined gleam in them.

"The magicals might know." Rufus, Bobby, and Jim stiffened.

"Magicals. You want us to enlist the help of deal witches?!" Jim nearly shouted in outrage. "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live!"

"Deal witches?" Questioned Bandello.

"People who sell their souls to demons for magic," Rufus replied grimly. Bandello shot Strider a look of disbelief. Strider shook his head in denial.

"No! Not deal witches. Wizards and witches who were born with magic." Strider exclaimed.

"Wait, you mean like wand waving, hat-wearing broom riding, wizards? Like out of a fantasy book?" Bobby asked incredulously. Strider nodded his head.

"Yes! Natural born magic users." Strider agreed.

"They're real?" Rufus asked stupidly. All of their expressions in shock, mouths gaping.

"Yes. Didn't you see that man wearing a robe, wave around a stick back at the precinct? He was trying to erase our memories of what happened. But obviously, it didn't work. Whatever the kid did to us when he healed us must have protected us from the man's magic." Strider explained.

"Why would he be trying to erase our memories in the first place?" Bandello inquired.

"Because of the Statute of Secrecy. The child is magical. He saved me from the thing that was inside of me and what happened on Privet Drive was certainly magical. Magical society keeps separate from the non-magical world. Anytime magic is revealed to non-magicals, a team is sent out to alter the memories. This, as I have been told, is to prevent the witch trials from happening all over again." Strider revealed.

Rubbing his chin in thought, Pastor Jim opened his mouth to ask, "How do you know all this anyway?"

"My wife is a squib." At their confused looks strider elaborated. "Someone born from two magical parents who has magic but can't use it themselves." Understanding dawned on their faces.

"Oh. Well. Then that is where we will start looking. Now, how does one find a secret society that its people don't want us to be finding?" Asked Bandello.