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The PotterNatural Adventures

Summary:

Some wars require three sets of heroes to stop them. The real catch isn't who the criminal is, Sherlock will argue that it's been fairly obvious since the beginning (as Dean snorts, of course). It is the cost at which the end comes. And what it personally means to one Harry Potter.

Notes:

Canonically, Dean was born in 1979, Harry in 1980 and Sam in 1983. But for this fic, I've chosen their ages as:

Sam- 29
Dean- 33
Harry and Co.- 24
John- 40
Sherlock- 42

Until the three sets of stories converge, each chapter will narrate the events happening with each pair/trio. The chapters covering Sherlock and John will have a formal tone, keeping in view the format in which the original stories were written.

Seven years have elapsed since Sam joined hunting and I don't know how many seasons are covered in the show in that time. So Cas is present but the setting of this story with respect to the show's timeline remains vague.

Sherlock is set post season 4 of BBC. So there's no Moriarty.

I ship the Baker street boys and the three Winchesters as brothers and friends, so Johnlock and Destiel do not happen. Sorry not sorry :)

This work is only for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters nor do I make money from this work. Harry Potter and Co. belong to JK Rowling and WB. Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and CW. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.

Chapter Text

Houston, Texas.

Sam Winchester jerked awake to the sound of something heavy falling on the floor. He peered into the darkness of his room. The shadows all looked much the same as the day before. Whoever it was who had stolen inside was either a figment of his imagination or hid remarkably well in a small chamber that was rapidly getting bathed in the rays of dawn filtering through the windows. From his experience, though, Sam knew that the probability of the latter was impossibly high. He quietly reached under his pillow for his revolver, rolled onto the other side of the bed and assumed an attacking stance with his weapon aimed in the direction the sound came from. Before the room could fully light up and give the intruder the advantage of surprise. The sight that met his eyes, however, took his breath away.

On the floor, in the narrow gap in between the two beds, lay the prone figure of a dark blond man covered in plaid whom he would recognise anywhere.

‘Shit! Dean!’ Sam immediately dropped his gun and shuffled to crouch next to his brother, gently turning him to get a proper look at his face.

Dean looked unconscious but relatively uninjured, if one didn’t count the gash on his left cheek that ran from the corner of his eye to his mouth. Sam didn’t think it was deep but it looked red, angry and was bleeding profusely. He hoped it didn’t scar, at least for Dean’s sake.

Sam looked around and called, ‘Cas?’

Almost immediately Cas appeared before him as if he had been waiting for Sam to call him. He swayed slightly clutching his abdomen and Sam guided him to the foot of his bed and propped him up on pillows. He then gently attended to Dean’s cut before settling him into a sitting position on the floor, leaning his head against his bed, next to Cas’ bouncing knee. Turning enquiring eyes on Cas, he crossed his arms across his chest and waited for him to say something.

‘The ghost of Canton has been put to rest,’ Cas said between heavy, deep breaths.

Sam kept looking at him, the scathing look in his eyes informing Cas how stupid his attempt at explanation had been.

‘What?’ Cas asked wearily.

‘Nothing,’ Sam shrugged nonchalantly, ‘just having a hard time understanding how two seasoned hunters got winded just putting a ghost down. Because in the seven years that Dean has been in this field, this is his first time with a ghost, right?’

‘Now, Sammy,’ Dean said groggily, ‘I’d love to have explored that possibility had the ghost not been that of a 70 year old man.’ He stretched his arms and smirked at both of them.

Cas looked amused. Sam didn’t. He turned his glare onto Dean who pushed himself off the floor, ignoring his younger brother and walking towards the bathroom. Sam, who was growing agitated by the minute, couldn’t control himself any longer.

‘You both disappear for ten days, turn up bruised and bleeding and all I get is “the ghost is dead?”’

‘Sit down, Sammy there’s a lot you need to know,’ Dean said closing the door behind him and holding out a glass of water to Cas who gulped down the cool liquid gratefully.

Sam rolled his eyes and brought out an ice pack from their cooler. Dean pressed it against his cheek and exhaled heavily.

‘Begin,’ Sam ordered.

 

Sam sat as still as a statue, his slack jaw conveying to the other two everything he thought about their adventure. Or more precisely, what they found out. Dean was almost entertaining the idea of a watery arousal when Sam himself recovered and cleared his throat.

‘How are you so sure about this?’ Sam asked Cas who was very busily operating the controls of a gaming console.

‘Because I was told so,’ Cas replied, his voice that same monotonous baritone as ever.

‘Quit speaking in riddles, Cas,’ Sam huffed, exasperated.

‘It wasn’t one.’ Cas looked at Sam thoroughly confused. ‘It is like I said, the ghost was under someone else’s power. There was nothing tying it to the mortal world, we could not even find his bones. I doubt burning them would have even worked.’

‘And you suspect it’s not just the ghost but several of these other strange happenings too.’ Sam pointed to the newspaper clippings he had collected over the ten days that Dean and Cas were on the hunt. ‘You think all are because of the same..’ he struggled to find a suitable word.

‘Yes,’ Dean said, ‘Cas believes all these small seemingly independent events have a common major cause.’

‘But they’re all different!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘None of the seven incidents I’ve picked as the most severe are because of the same supernatural creature. I mean, I’m almost sure we’re dealing with a wraith in Michigan and a siren in Colorado. My guess is, the remaining five are different too.’

‘And your guess would be correct,’ Cas said, standing up. ‘Someone succeeded in releasing the dark creatures onto us in a very unconventional way.’ He walked over to Sam, scooped some of the newspaper cuttings up and blew them onto his face like confetti.

‘What was that for?’ Sam scowled, scrambling to rearrange them once again.

‘For distracting me from the game by chattering on about this and making me lose the race,’ Cas replied, flipping his wrist.

‘You’re a total child, you know that? I’ve grouped them all according to dates, locations, number of victims and potential causes and I have to redo everything now. Do you know how tedious that is?’

‘You would do it nevertheless,’ Cas retorted and stared at the coffee table. The mess immediately sorted itself into neat piles.

‘What Cas meant was that,’ Dean said from where he was standing by the window and gazing intently beyond it, ‘something dark is about to happen. Dark and dangerous.’

‘Yeah, but Dean, we’ve been dealing with that kind for seven years. We are professionals,’ Sam said slowly, realising there was subtext to his statement but not understanding what it was.

‘I’m worried this could be beyond us, Sammy,’ Dean sighed and looked up. ‘We couldn’t kill the ghost. It just exploded out of existence right in front of our eyes. And when we came to, we were covered in bruises. Cas had a tough time zapping us back.’

Sam locked eyes with Dean and said, ‘It’s bad and we don’t know how bad it is.’

‘Yes,’ Cas replied and Dean nodded.

‘Excellent,’ Sam said, getting up from his seat. ‘We’ve faced the Apocalypse, Demons and Angels just so we could watch the world get torn down because of another supernatural entity. Is it just me or is our luck really rotten?’

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Cas and Dean abandoned their respective games and windows and sat at the table opposite Sam and began to go through the articles he had accumulated. Sam could tell it would end up being a futile, tiresome exercise because none of them knew what exactly they were looking for. Regardless, he refused to sit still and ploughed on determinedly. He loved research when he had the basic groundwork formulated and laid out. Starting from the scratch was always a sure shot way to ensure oneself of a massive migraine. He dismissed the distracting thoughts to the back of his mind as he immersed himself fully into his work. At long last, Dean rested his head in his hands and pushed back the air from his forehead.

‘I need some air,’ he said and left the room only to return ten minutes later, white faced and panting.

After all they’ve seen and been through, there was very little that could fluster Dean and yet here he was shaking like a leaf.

‘Dean..’ Sam began.

‘It’s not just bad, it’s big too,’ he said without preamble.

Cas pulled out Dean’s earlier chair for him and pushed him into it. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, his face pinched tight and voice full of concern.

Dean threw a newspaper onto the table and opened it to the international section. He turned it around for the others to see and pointed at an article. ‘It’s happening everywhere in the world. Seven mysterious cases in London, all of which started way before our ghost decided to dance on our heads. I think we've found the epicentre of the hurricane.’