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The Tainted Blood of the Father	By : StarLightMassacre Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 7278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or Supernatural; all rights go to J. K. Rowling and Eric Kripke respectively. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.

Chapter List
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- 2
Author: StarLight Massacre
Title: The Tainted Blood of the Father
Rating: M
Warning: Mentions of child abuse and neglect. Explicit injuries. Vulgar language. Mentions of sex. Violence. Mentions of past deaths.
Pairing: N/A
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or Supernatural; all rights go to J. K. Rowling and Eric Kripke respectively. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.
Summary: Harry has broken away from his chains after the Dursleys go too far. A simple desire to make a withdrawal from Gringotts leads to something much larger and exposes more than he ever knew about himself. A rushed, impulsive trip to America changes his entire life as he might have just found himself a true family to call his own.
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The Tainted Blood of the Father
Chapter One – Break Away
Harry was just fourteen when everything went really wrong. His mind was anguished from the events that had taken place in the graveyard with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It tortured him night and day, he couldn’t forget, because he couldn’t unsee what had happened that night, he couldn’t forget the utter horror of witnessing the death of Cedric Diggory. Not when he had been the one to insist that they take the cup together in the first place. It should have been just him touching that cup, it should have been him. ‘Kill the spare’ echoed through his mind in a high, cold whisper and he shivered in fear and revulsion. Goose bumps broke out all over his body and the hand holding the cleaner soaked cloth quivered.
He could barely stay asleep for a handful of hours before he was awake again due to nightmares and if he didn’t wake himself up, then he was beaten awake by his Uncle because he was screaming in his sleep. That was happening more and more often these days too and he often had a bruised face, a split lip or a black eye because of it. His Uncle, in his disturbed sleep addled state, aimed for his face and head as his body was usually writhing or thrashing with his nightmares.
He had been sent straight back to the Dursleys after the school term had ended, after he’d seen Cedric murdered in front of him, despite him begging to be sent anywhere else. He’d all but pleaded to stay anywhere other than at Privet Drive, but no one had listened to him, no one ever listened to him. So he’d been sent back to these vile, cruel people to be beaten, starved and locked away from the human contact that he so desperately needed at the moment. He needed someone to care for him, he needed someone to help him, he’d all but asked for that when he’d begged not to come here this summer and he had been rejected once again. He should have known that it was too much to ask for. No one cared. No one wanted to care about him, they all just forgot about him as soon as he wasn’t there. He hadn’t had a single letter from Ron or Hermione, not even Sirius. They didn’t even care enough about him to make sure that he was dealing alright after the end of the last term. He wasn’t dealing with it at all.
His friends weren’t sending him any letters at all, but that wasn’t the worst of it, no, because they weren’t even responding to the letters that he was sending to them as often as he could with Hedwig and he felt like he was going out of his mind with the overwhelming sense of abandonment, the cruel loss of their support coupled with the torment that he suffered with every single night. It was even affecting him when he was awake now and he walked around like a mindless zombie most of the time. Things couldn’t carry on like this, he wasn’t going to last.
He wasn’t being fed, he wasn’t getting any sleep and he was being kicked around and punched when he was dragged out of his small prison to do a list of daily chores for Petunia that was longer than his arm. Even she had taken to slapping him across the face whenever he stumbled due to the weakness in his knees which was caused by lack of food and exhaustion. If they’d just feed him more than meagre crumbs then he wouldn’t be so weak and he wouldn’t stumble around like he was drunk on vintage Firewhiskey.
But not only was she slapping him at every opportunity, she’d also taken a swing at him with the frying pan, yet again, when he’d gotten lost in his grief and a side plate had slipped through his shaky fingers to smash on the kitchen floor. He still had the cuts on his fingers from picking up the sharp shards of china as quickly as he could with Petunia towering above him shouting abuse at him about how useless and stupid he was and how he was ‘going to get what was coming to him’ for smashing one of her favourite, valuable, plates.
He longed to go up to his room, take Gryffindor’s sword out of his trunk and stab her right through the head with it, he wanted to stab all of the Dursleys with it, but he didn’t. Killing them wasn’t the answer, he knew that and they’d just love it if he was thrown into prison for life, so the sword stayed locked up in his school trunk. That didn’t stop him from imagining it though…or fantasising about actually doing it.
He knew that strictly speaking he wasn’t even supposed to have the sword, but when he’d touched it, pulled it out of the hat and swung it around before stabbing it through the basilisk’s open mouth, he’d had an overwhelming sense of ‘mine’, that this sword was his and his alone and that he should keep it and so he’d kept it, unable to fight his longing for it, his need to have it for his own.
He’d told Dumbledore that the sword had been wedged into the basilisk’s skull and that he’d been unable to pull it out again, that he hadn’t cared about some dirty, old sword in that moment, only about getting Ginny, and himself, out of the chamber and to safety.
He was sure that his hoarding tendencies came from the Dursleys and their lifelong abuse of him. He’d had to scavenge for everything he had, hell he kept food under a loose floorboard in his bedroom just so he wouldn’t starve to death when they locked him up for days on end. But when he’d been younger, he had also taken and hidden small toys that Dudley had either broken or forgotten about so that he could have something to play with when he was locked up in his cupboard and now that he was older, he was still hoarding things, but his attentions had drifted towards more useful, unusual things rather than the childish want of having just one toy to call his own.
Before he’d left the school at the end his second year, he’d snuck back down to the chamber under his invisibility cloak and he’d retrieved the sword he’d left down there to collect at a later date. He’d also picked up the eight inch, gently curved basilisk fang that had snapped off and gone into his arm. It had been physically impossible for him to leave it once he’d seen it, his mind had grated at the very thought of not picking it up, of not taking it with him when no one else would ever miss it. He’d tried to walk past it, back out to the entrance of the chamber, but his eyes had gravitated towards the fang, lying on the damp, stone floor and it was almost a physical compulsion that had had him bending down to pick it up, to take it with him because it was his. As always with these little trinkets, he’d been unable to leave it behind once he’d seen it.
It had looked so innocent when he’d picked it up, just a harmless fang now that it was detached from the giant snake, but his blood was still on the very tip and it was huge and thick in his small hand. It was a thrill just to touch it, he wanted to possess it, it was his after all.
He’d been careful to wrap the fang up in strips of fabric that he’d ripped off of one of his old shirts that had been too holey to wear and he’d taken even more precaution as he’d then put the wrapped fang into a warded box a few weeks later. He’d gone to Diagon Alley in the summer before his third year and found the strange, powerful little box in Knockturn Alley when he’d gone to find something, anything, that could possibly contain the incredibly venomous fang. Not that he’d be telling anyone that he’d gone down there several times already to look for unusual items, of course. They might have gotten it into their heads to try and stop him from going down the Alley in future, or even worse, they might have tried to take the objects that he’d already bought and owned from him. He wouldn’t let anyone take his possessions from him. They were his.
He was drawn to rare and uncommon items, he wanted to own them. He wanted them so badly that he couldn’t help just…taking them. That was the conditioned hoarder in him rearing its head. He needed to have them, it was the same need that had had him keeping the sword for himself instead of handing it over and picking up the basilisk fang on a whim, just because he’d seen it, because he’d wanted to own it.
For even more added precaution for keeping the venomous fang in his possession, because he was a little paranoid after having had the fang in his arm and the basilisk’s venom rush through his blood, before he’d left for the summer at the end of his third year he’d asked Fawkes to cry into several vials for him when Dumbledore had left him alone in his office for an hour after Sirius’ escape. The several vials of pearly tears he had were so valuable that each one on its own would be considered priceless, but Harry didn’t want to sell them, perhaps why Fawkes had freely given his tears to him in the first place. Fawkes had then burst into flames and turned into a featherless newborn right before his eyes. Harry had scooped up some of the ashes as well when the newborn Fawkes had nudged some of it towards him and he had taken a tail feather too before he sat cradling the baby Phoenix on his lap until Dumbledore had come back from dealing with the Heads of Houses and the Minister for Magic, Harry had timed his moment to strike perfectly.
He’d sat and talked to Dumbledore about not wanting to go back to the Dursleys, of wanting to be with Sirius, but still he had been sent back with a careless wave of an old, withered hand and a sighed, ‘you need to go to your blood relatives, Harry’. That had been last year and this year, he was still being sent back to the Dursleys, year after year as the abuses only got worse. He’d only been back for a week and he was already starving, exhausted and various shades of black and blue.
He had withdrawn from nearly everyone at the end of the last year, what he’d seen in the Graveyard was too much for him to handle, he hadn’t wanted any company and he hadn’t gotten any either and now that he needed a bit of comfort, he was cruelly cut off and his friends weren’t even answering his letters. He’d had enough.
He scrubbed at the spotless fridge harder, his arm aching as he hadn’t had anything to eat at all yesterday and he hadn’t had been allowed to have breakfast today either. The last time he’d eaten had been the day before yesterday and only then it had been a tin of cold soup in the evening. Today he’d been told that he could only have lunch, a slice of dry, white bread, if he finished exactly half of his exceedingly long chore list before midday. Half of the chores on the list were a waste of time, as Petunia was fighting to find things for him to do, the damn fridge had been spotless when he’d started cleaning it, this was just a waste of time and precious energy as he buffered the inside of the door viciously with the cloth to combat invisible grime and germs.
“You missed a spot, freak.”
Harry’s entire body tensed as he heard his cousin, Dudley’s, voice. He hated Dudley with a passion and he listened intently as the vile man collapsed into a chair at the table behind him, panting from the momentous exertion that walking down the stairs to the kitchen from his bedroom had taken on him.
He tried to ignore the disgusting sounds of Dudley eating the plate of cupcakes that had been a centrepiece on the kitchen table, but he still felt queasy. He hadn’t eaten anything and now, he thought that if he by some miracle got half of the chore list done and was actually given his promised slice of bread, then he’d vomit.
How anyone could wake up at ten in the morning and have twenty-four cupcakes for breakfast was completely beyond his comprehension. He’d sell his soul for a piece of warm, buttery toast or a few spoons of milky cereal, all he had under his floorboard was chocolate, but his body was craving savoury things. He needed fibre, vegetables and salty things, all chocolate could offer him was sugar, but at least it kept him alive.
“Duddums, do you have everything you need?”
Harry’s shoulders hunched as Petunia came into the kitchen and fussed about her twenty-five year old son. It was disgusting and ridiculous that Petunia still waited on Dudley hand and foot and treated him like he was still a small child who couldn’t do anything for himself.
“I need some crisps.” Dudley demanded piggishly.
“Boy, get the crisps for Dudley from the cupboard.”
Harry let his arm drop from where he was furiously cleaning an already clean fridge and he went to the adjacent counter and opened the top cupboard. Petunia knew that he was too short to reach the crisps in the top and he knew that she wouldn’t accept him climbing the clean counters to get them. As usual, he was set up to fail before he’d even started.
“Hurry up, freak!” Dudley shouted at him. “Stop standing there and get me my crisps!”
“I can’t reach them.” He said calmly.
“Stop complaining and get me my crisps!” Dudley shouted at him, going red in the face, just like his disgusting Father did.
Clenching his jaw, Harry did the only thing that he could do in this situation, he dragged a chair over to the cupboard and stood on it to get the large bag of crisps down from the top of the cupboard. Before he could step down, however, he’d been viciously shoved off of the chair and he fell hard onto the edge of the countertop and then to the floor, screaming from the agony it caused him. He thought that he might have broken several ribs from hitting the counter as he had.
“Shut up, boy!” Petunia hissed furiously at him. “The neighbours will hear you!”
Harry bit his bottom lip and worked it between his teeth as he tried not to scream or shout out as Dudley sniggered at him from the table, where he’d sat back down after shoving him from the chair. Of course Petunia would shout at him for screaming in pain when it had been her fat, stupid son who’d caused the pain in the first place, as she’d just stood there and watched, he should add.
“Get up the stairs you useless freak!” Petunia demanded furiously as she gave him a solid kick with her disgusting peach leather loafers, making Dudley snigger even more.
Harry didn’t think he could move, but after another kick that caught his chin, making him bite clean through his lip, he forced himself to sit up and, not caring about the humiliation or the lack of dignity, he crawled slowly, painfully, out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Dudley’s cruel laughs and taunts.
He made it to his bedroom and he hauled himself onto his small, ratty bed and he curled up and he cried as silently as he could into his filthy pillow that didn’t even have a pillowcase.
He heard someone stomp up the stairs a few minutes after he’d crawled into bed and they locked him in without saying a word. He just buried his face back into his pillow and he cried harder and for longer, until he gave himself a throbbing headache.
He’d had enough, he couldn’t put up with this any longer. He had to get away or there was the very real possibility of him being seriously injured or even killed. He had to get away no matter what anyone else said or thought, he could not stay here, not even for another day longer.
He hobbled over to his battered desk and he broke Hedwig out of her dirty cage by bending and then breaking off the thin metal bars before squeezing her very carefully through the larger, wider spaced bars on his window and letting her go so that she could fly free. He didn’t know where he was going or how long he’d be, so it was better for her if she could fly to where he ended up instead of him carrying her in her filthy cage through the Muggle world.
He packed up all his things into his trunk and he sat on his bed with it, slowly massaging his throbbing ribs to try and make them feel less painful, it didn’t work and he silently fumed and cursed at Dudley for being a foul, evil bastard.
He waited for an hour and forty minutes until Petunia came by with his afternoon glass of water. He had missed lunch and once again, he hadn’t been fed. He didn’t know why he expected anything different, he’d gone for days without being fed a single morsel before and he knew from experience that just because he’d been hurt or beaten, didn’t mean he’d get any food.
Petunia usually just shoved the water through the cat flap at the bottom of his door, but when he heard her on the landing outside his door he asked quietly and softly if he could go to the bathroom to clean himself up.
Grumbling and complaining about pandering to him, she ‘graciously’ allowed him out, but he barged right past her when she opened the locks on his door, almost hitting her with his trunk as he did so, ignoring her shrieks as he agilely ducked the glass of water that was thrown at his head. He smiled grimly as it smashed against the wall, destroying a framed picture of an ugly baby Dudley in the process.
“You useless freak! Get back here and get back in your room or Vernon will hear of this!” She screeched after him in anger, using the age old threat of getting Vernon to beat him when he got in from work.
He clattered down the stairs, ignoring her threats and the promise of a beating later. He didn’t care any longer as he dragged his trunk clumsily behind him, banging the wall and scraping the wallpaper as he reached the bottom of the staircase.
He yanked the front door open and the last thing he saw as he slammed it closed again was Dudley’s surprised, food smeared face still sat at the kitchen table and unable to move his bulk to give chase to him as he’d once done when they were both younger.
He threw his wand arm out at the curb, as he’d done by accident two summers ago, and, with a massive bang and the sudden, heart pounding appearance that still took him by complete surprise, he quickly climbed onto the purple, triple decked Knight Bus before any of the neighbours could see him or Petunia could come after him and drag him back into the house by his hair, as she’d done several times before when he hadn’t been quick enough to fully escape.
He shoved ten sickles into the conductor’s hand, asking to be taken to Diagon Alley before Stan Shunpike could even ask, forestalling any conversation as he sat in an armchair near the back. He averted his gaze, letting Stan know without words that he was in absolutely no mood to talk. It didn’t stop the clueless man from trying to wheedle answers from him regardless and sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong with invasive questions.
“Why ‘choo all bruised up, ‘Arry?”
The annoying man asked first and stood waiting for Harry to answer, but when it became clear that he wouldn’t answer, he tried again.
“Why ‘choo running away for?”
But as Harry refused to answer any questions or be drawn into any semblance of a conversation, Stan soon gave up and went back to the front of the bus with Ernie without any answers to his curious, nosy questions.
Harry was jolted around as the bus moved, biting his lip as the painful lurches caused spikes of agony throughout his body, most particularly his ribs, and rattled his aching brain in his pounding head. The sudden stops as the bus either let someone off or picked someone up sent him crashing to the floor in a heap of pain as he stifled cries and gasps of agony.
Once again, he picked himself up off of the floor and crawled back into the armchair, curling up around his already battered and bruised body. He hated the Knight Bus, it was one of the worst ways possible to travel and that was saying a lot when he hated Portkeys and Floo travel as well. The only form of magical transportation that he actually liked was flying, but despite having his Firebolt with him, his ribs and head hurt far too much to fly all the way to London and he had no way to attach his trunk to his broom. It had to be the Knight Bus if he wanted to get the hell away from the Dursleys and he did, more than anything, even if it meant enduring this agony for a while longer.
Once arrived at Diagon Alley, after many stops all over the country before his, Harry stumbled his way through The Leaky Cauldron with his bulky trunk in tow and he went straight out onto the cobble stones of Diagon Alley before he made his way straight to Gringotts bank, still exhausted, still in need of something to eat and now in more pain than ever, but he had no idea how long it would take Dumbledore to find out that he was missing from the Dursleys, so he was going to grab some money and buy some things that he wanted first. If he found just one item that he liked that settled his hoarding urges, then it would have been worth it.
He’d grown a real taste for the obscure, like the warded box that he’d put the basilisk fang into and his possessive feelings over Gryffindor’s sword. Not to mention the tears, ash and tail feather he’d collected from Fawkes. He liked obscure things that no one else was likely to have. They were his and he needed to have them. Just running the items he already had through his fingers made him feel better and he did wonder if it was some sort of coping mechanism he used to try and make sense of everything that went on in his life. He seemed to touch them more often when he was stressed or in pain. Even now he wanted to touch one of them, he was thinking about those items and buying new ones, just to comfort himself, because his inanimate objects had comforted him more than any one person ever had, because people didn’t care about him.
He made it to the bank without too much jostling or crowding, his heavy, bulky trunk that he was dragging behind him made this a little easier as no one wanted to get hit by it, and he walked up to a free teller.
“Hello. I’d like to withdraw some money from my vault.” He said quietly as he tried not to show the hideous bruise across the one side of his face.
He failed as the goblin teller stared at the vivid bruise on his cheek and under his chin. He hadn’t thought of his bruises when he’d come out today, he’d just wanted to get the hell away from Privet Drive after the attack in the kitchen. It was only when Stan Shunpike had asked him why he was bruised that he’d remembered that Vernon had smacked him in the face the other day and that not three hours ago he’d been kicked in the chin which had made him bite through his very sore lip. It’s not like he could have done anything about them anyway while he was underage and stuck with the Dursleys as they were Muggles.
“Slinope will take you.” The teller told him after getting over the shock of seeing him with a busted face and Harry was led away by the afore mentioned Slinope, who’d come scuttling over immediately once her name had been called.
They took a different route through the bank to the one that Harry remembered from before his first year at Hogwarts. He frowned as he followed the goblin, even more confused, through a twisting maze of long corridors that had more corridors branching off of it, some of which seemed to end suddenly with a solid stone wall with no visible door in sight. Harry’s ribs had started throbbing with every step as he dragged his heavy trunk behind him and his head pounded the more he walked and he didn’t know how much further he could go when Slinope stopped and opened one of the doors on the main corridor and ushered him inside a random room and he suddenly found himself in an office.
“Why am I here, Slinope? I only wanted to make a withdrawal.” He said, now very confused.
“Now that we finally have you here alone, we’d like to go over your vaults with you and review your personal information.” Slinope told him curtly. “We usually do this with our clients once a year, however you have never responded to our summons, so the bank managers have decided to intercept you.”
“Oh, okay.” He said as he frowned. He still didn’t fully understand what was happening or why.
He sat in a squashy armchair, his trunk at his feet, waiting in the room with Slinope, who was pulling open drawers and pulling out thick folders and piling them up on the desk between them. Harry was a little nervous, but he tried not to let it show as he fiddled with the cuff of his jumper.
Despite it being the beginning of the summer, and actually quite warm out, he had to wear the jumper because of the cuts and bruises on his arms. He really hated the Dursleys and as soon as he could get away from them, he was going to and he wouldn’t ever be going back. He was stuck with them for now, until he worked out what he needed to do to get the hell away from them for good, but he’d had enough, more than enough, and he was not going to be their little slave or their punching bag any more. He was done. He needed to find a way to get away from them forever, once and for all, no matter how long it took him or what he had to do in order to do so.
“Please check that all present information is correct.” Slinope told him, handing over a sheaf of parchment.
Harry read slowly and carefully, noting his first and last name, though he frowned at the two middle names, he hadn’t known that his middle name had been James until he’d gone to Hogwarts, but no one had told that he had two middle names, he’d had no idea that his own middle name was actually John James. He brushed it aside and noted his date of birth, current age, place of birth and parentage…it was the latter that made him pause again as there were four names that were listed, not just the two that he’d been expecting.
“I…Slinope, this says that Lily and James Potter are my parents, but not genetically. What does that mean? Who are these other people and why are they listed as my parents? I don’t know either of them.”
Slinope took the parchment back, looked over it and then went searching in one of the many folders on the desk.
“The Healers of Saint Mungos record that Lily Evans was unable to produce an adequate egg for fertilisation and thus had to use donor eggs and another set of Healers, confirmed with an Auror report, both confirm that James Potter was rendered infertile at the age of twenty by a curse in the line of duty as an Auror, he would have to use donor sperm if he wanted a child. A document from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made a notation that James and Lily Potter, now married, searched for many years for two people who looked similar to them and they came across a couple in America who were willing to help. A John and Mary Winchester. They were Muggles so the Potters needed permission to approach them, which was granted.”
“If they were Muggles, then how am I a wizard?” Harry demanded. He didn’t want to believe this, it couldn’t be true! Why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned it to him before if it was true?!
“The fertilised donor egg was implanted into your Mother’s womb. It was only her eggs that were defective, not her womb, thus the seven months that you spent in her womb nurtured you with magic and altered you very slightly, but just enough for you to have magic of your own.”
“So…so my Mum still birthed me?” He asked.
“She did, on the thirty-first of July, nineteen-ninety-one.”
Harry nodded and twisted his scabbed and grazed fingers together hard. This…this was a culture shock, but something was pounding around at his mind. A burning question that needed to be asked. A potential way out for him in regards to the Dursleys.
“My…my genetic donors, are they still alive?” He asked, not even sure if he had any right to call them that or to ask after them, for all he knew they’d signed away all rights to him and they never wanted to see him, ever.
“John Winchester is still alive. Mary Winchester died before you were even born, in nineteen eighty-three.”
“How did she give an egg if she died eight years before I was born?” Harry demanded furiously.
Slinope glared at him and Harry cowed, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head.
“She gave her egg, her Husband gave his sperm and the samples were kept carefully preserved until a time that your parents chose to use them.” Slinope told him sharply. “A note from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement explains that they chose to wait several years while they explored all avenues of natural conception with specialist Healers and possible reversals of the curse that rendered James Potter infertile before they realised that there was nothing that could be done and they used the samples they had been given to finally have you.”
“Did…did my genetic donors sign away their rights to me?” He asked, unsure what else to call them at this point. What else was he supposed to call them, his other parents? Maybe his biological parents, but then they’d never technically been parents to him, they’d never even laid eyes on him as far as he knew, or at least he knew that Mary Winchester never had, as she’d died eight years before he’d been born. As clinical and distant as it seemed, they were just genetic donors to him and they probably thought the same thing about him, just a genetic baby, nothing to do with them. That was if they even thought of him at all.
Slinope went digging in the folders again before pulling out an official looking certificate.
“No. In the event of your parents’ deaths, they actually agreed to take you in and adopt you as their own.”
Harry’s heart clenched and his eyes teared up. He could have been with the person who had given his sperm just so that he could live and who had actually agreed to take him in. Why the hell had he been sent to the Dursleys when they hated him if he had someone who was not only related to him, but who was technically his biological Father? He wasn’t even genetically related to the Dursleys! Yet Dumbledore had still insisted that he be with his blood relatives when he would have known that he shared absolutely no blood with the Dursleys!
“Why was I given to the Dursleys?” Harry asked softly.
Slinope went searching through the folders again and Harry just managed to catch a glimpse of the header and caught the words Magical Law Enforcement before Slinope started talking again.
“The Department of Magical Law Enforcement searched your house for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Albus Dumbledore insisted that you were safe with familial relatives. The Head of the Department at that time was satisfied that this meant that you were being adequately cared for and that you were with your biological Father in America as per your parents’ wishes.”
Harry’s face fell into despair. He was supposed to be with his biological Father in America? Everyone thought that that was where he was when instead he was with the Dursleys who beat and starved him?
“Where can I find him?” He asked almost desperately.
“We have an address listed in Lawrence, Kansas for him. Here.”
Harry accepted the address with quaking hands and he swallowed. “Can I go to my vault now?”
“I believe that this concludes all of our current business. If you’d like only the one vault, we can transfer all existing vaults to just the main Potter vault.”
Harry frowned. “Okay.” He agreed, not really understanding.
Slinope nodded and pulled a piece of parchment out of the pile and signed it before having Harry sign it and then she sent it off.
“Now, let us go down to your vault, if you’ll hand over your old key, it no longer matches your vault.”
Harry dug out the tiny golden key and handed it over before he picked his trunk up from the floor and followed Slinope back through the winding stone corridor. The walk back through the bank seemed to take less time, Harry didn’t know if it was because it was a shorter route, or if it seemed shorter because his mind was chasing his chaotic thoughts at a mile a minute instead of focusing on how much pain he was in.
They came out of the corridor into the stone caves and the familiar little cart on the track that Harry remembered from all of his other trips to Gringotts. Harry climbed into the little cart, stashing his trunk beside him and he smiled for the first time as they sped at breakneck speed down to the location of his new vault, which was much larger than his old vault.
Slinope waited outside in the corridor for privacy’s sake as Harry hefted his trunk into the new, massive vault to look around at all of the things that he apparently owned. He’d never seen or known about the majority of it. The only vault he’d known about had only contained Galleons. This vault contained not just a mountainous mass of golden coins, but also books, jewellery and most strangely, a knife in an ancient looking, age cracked sheath. Harry looked at it curiously, he played it over in his hands and he squeezed the hilt tightly. He had to have it, it was his after all, it belonged to him and it needed to stay with him. He needed it.
He took his school backpack out of his trunk and he slipped the knife into it along with a large fistful of Galleons. He perused the books, but skipped over most of them as they didn’t catch his interest. The majority of them were books for household maintenance or cooking with magic. He only took a few of the books and he put them into his backpack too, thankful that Hermione had charmed it for him last year as ‘practice’ as it was now twice as large on the inside as it looked from the outside. It was not technically legal, as such extension spells were illegal to cast for personal use without express permission from the Ministry, but it was a very difficult law to enforce as his backpack looked no different on the outside, if someone looked inside it and saw the charm however, he would be in a lot of trouble, as he would never sell out Hermione as the caster of the charm.
The books he’d chosen to take with him seemed interesting enough and some of the spell books might come in handy if he could learn from them, but all the others he discarded. He opened his trunk and emptied it of everything he wanted to take with him and put them into his backpack before leaving the heavy, bulky trunk in his vault. The backpack would be easier to carry around, even if it was heavy.
He jumped over the rest of the books, at least until he found a book with his name on it. He opened it up and on the inside cover were several variations of his name, including Henry, Harold, Hariel, and finally just plain Harry. There were middle names as well which had apparently gone from Charlus, to John, Henry, James and then finally John and James. His last name had always been down as Potter, but there was an elegant note that if Lily and James were to die, then ‘baby boy’ Potter could claim the name Winchester if he so wished when he went to live with his biological parents.
His name really wasn’t Harry James Potter, it was Harry John James Potter and that could change to Winchester as well if he chose to claim his biological Father’s name. He swallowed and turned the page. It was basically a diary of how he had come to be alive. It was all true, it was really true. It wasn’t some elaborate prank set up by the goblins or a Ministry blunder on the paperwork. His parents had written this diary, explaining everything and he really had been a surrogate baby.
He read through the first few pages and it seemed absolutely amazing that he’d been born at all as he read how far and wide his parents had searched for people who had looked like themselves. He took the diary with him too, placing it carefully, almost reverently, into his backpack, almost not wanting to let it out of his sight. He wanted to read, and then re-read, every single page that had been handwritten by both of his parents. It was the only thing he had that had been both of theirs. He had the cloak from his Dad, the Marauders Map that had been his Dad’s, but nothing from his Mother, until now. A deep, previously unknown wound ached to hold on to that physical connection to his Mother. The very first thing he had that she had touched, the need to study the words she’d written with her own hand, to study her handwriting, just to get some sort of connection to her.
“Can I convert some Galleons to British Pounds and American Dollars?” Harry asked Slinope quietly as he came out of the vault closing his backpack on the book with the promise that he’d look at it again as soon as he could. He already had an idea already in his head that he was going to go to America to try and find John Winchester. Anything was better than being forced back to the Dursleys.
“For a conversion fee, of course.”
“I need a passport too, where do I go to do that?”
“You can have that done here as well if you wish, some witches and wizards feel more comfortable having the Ministry handling it, however.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like it to be handled by Gringotts.”
Slinope nodded curtly.
Harry nodded back and he started planning to get several things that he’d need to go to America. This needed to be planned with precision and it needed to be done quickly. All it took was for someone to see him and question why he was here alone and then either the Ministry or Dumbledore would take him back to the Dursleys and after the way that he’d left earlier that day, he was not going to get a warm welcome if he went back there this summer. He never wanted to go back to them ever again, they weren’t even related to him.
He hoped that his biological Father accepted him and let him stay, at least for this one summer, even if he didn’t want to take him in permanently or ever want to see him again after this one meeting. He would resort to begging again if he needed to, he just wanted to feel close to someone. He wanted to be close to his parent, even if it was for one measly summer, he could live with that, but he just needed to know that somewhere, there was someone who would care if he died, who would have loved him unconditionally, just for being Harry and no other reason.
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Harry left the bank over an hour later with British pounds, American dollars and Galleons. He’d been given his new key, he’d gotten a valid passport that if checked by a witch or wizard would prove him to be magical and he had his own bank card that was linked directly to his vault, just in case he got stranded anywhere with no money.
He’d thanked Slinope for all the help that he’d been given, making sure to emphasise how much he appreciated the help, before he left the bank and he went shopping for things he thought that he might need for his trip.
He bought books that caught his attention, particularly creature books as he was very interested in them. He went digging in every shop he came across to pick up some things and he bought a dragon handled knife with a wickedly jagged blade, like dragon teeth. The shopkeeper didn’t even care that he was selling a knife to an underaged boy, he just sneered at him from down his bulbous nose and greedily accepted his Galleons.
Harry didn’t go back to the Dursley’s. He’d been with them for just a week, this time last week he’d been in Hogwarts still, but already he felt run down and sick…from just a bloody week in the Dursley’s company. He just wanted to get away from them and he clung to the hope that John Winchester actually wanted to meet with him.
He stayed at the Leaky Cauldron instead of going back to Little Whinging after his full day of shopping and he’d told Tom the barkeeper that he was going to go home tomorrow and could he please have a room for the night because he’d spent more time than he’d planned to in Diagon Alley today.
Hedwig was waiting for him when he opened the door to his room for the night and he smiled. He filled her in on everything he’d learnt and he sat on the bed and read some more of the diary, picking up on his parents’ desperation and desire for a child, just the one so that they could share their love. They’d found many people who looked like them, but very few of them were suitable to be donors and even less were actually interested in donating eggs or sperm. There were just four names for women willing to give their eggs and seven men willing to donate sperm. Then Lily had written about a dream that she’d had about a couple willing to help them and how when she’d woken up, she knew just where to look.
“How can you just have a dream about where to go?” Harry asked aloud. “Even I think that’s strange, why didn’t they question it, Hedwig?”
Hedwig hooted as she settled on his shoulder and picked at the strands of his hair.
“I mean, seriously, a dream? She found these Winchesters in a dream and they both thought it was a good idea to just Apparate over to America and go and meet them? What the hell!”
Hedwig trilled softly and nibbled his ear gently before going back to sorting out his hair as Harry read on incredulously.
His Mother and Father had gone straight to Kansas, America and there they’d found John and Mary with a two year old boy of their own and the young Lily had gushed at how perfect they seemed, just like in her dream. How Mary’s eyes were just like hers, how John had jet black messy hair like James. That they’d even agreed to have contact with the baby born if they decided to use their samples.
His parents, he could tell who was writing what by their handwriting, had agreed to use John and Mary as their donors and the samples had been preserved…for almost an entire decade. It seemed that Mary and John had donated their samples just a year before Mary had died.
His Mother talked endlessly about seeing Mary with the most adorable brown-blond haired little boy named Dean and James talked about watching John helping the same little boy practice something he assumed was a sport called t-ball.
“They really loved them, Hed.” Harry said wistfully. “Especially their little son Dean. They became so close to them and they spent months over in America.”
His parents had fallen completely in love with the small family and everything had been worked out over the next several months and officially and legally signed and Mary and John had promised to take in the baby born if anything at all had happened to James and Lily and his parents had agreed to take in Dean if anything had happened to John and Mary so that the boys could be raised together as brothers.
It tore at Harry’s heart, even if Mary had died, then surely he could have still been raised by John, with his older brother Dean, who would be around twenty-seven depending on when he was born. It was shocking to realise that the little two, three year old that his parents had met and absolutely adored was now nearly thirty and that when his parents had accepted the samples from John and Mary, he could have been just three years younger than Dean instead of twelve years.
Harry sighed. He did, however, understand his parents’ decision to try and find a way of having a baby naturally, even if it meant that he’d never been born. He didn’t hold that against them. Once his parents had finally come to realise that even magic wouldn’t be able to help with Lily’s defective eggs, they’d moved on to trying to find a counter curse for the one that James had received in the field as an Auror.
They’d been unsuccessful with that too and they had finally turned to the donated samples as a last resort and they detailed every single step of the fertilisation and then the implantation of the several fertilised eggs that had survived thus far into Lily’s womb in the diary. He had been the only fertilised egg to survive to the foetus stage of gestation and he’d flourished throughout his Mum’s seven month pregnancy.
“I feel so sorry for them, Hedwig, all they wanted was a baby and they couldn’t have one.” Harry said sadly. “They wanted a baby so badly that they searched for years for a way to have one.”
He read on, through the details of every step of the pregnancy and he smiled as he read about how much they loved him, even before he was born. He wished so hard that they were still alive, the one thing in the world that he wanted, above anything else, was a family and now he might just have one, even if it was just a Father and an older brother. It was still more than he had at the moment and much more than he’d ever dreamed of.
There were two contact numbers in the back of the book and Harry stared at them longingly. Tomorrow he needed to buy a mobile phone and a plane ticket…he stopped at that, would he even be allowed to buy a ticket without an adult? He swallowed. Perhaps he could order one online, he’d always been jealous that Dudley had the latest phones and laptops, if he ordered the ticket online, paid for it with his new bank card, then surely they couldn’t reject him after he’d already bought it?
His mind was racing and it was almost five in the morning before he finally fell asleep, where nightmares plagued him and he tossed and turned fitfully before darting awake in the grip of panic at nine in the morning. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping so late before, but then he rarely stayed awake so late, so he understood. It wasn’t like he had his Aunt hammering on his door to start breakfast and there was no threat of Vernon beating him black and blue again, but he needed to get moving, just in case Dumbledore realised that he was missing from the Dursleys and came here to look for him. He couldn’t go back now that he knew the truth. He couldn’t go back now that he knew that he wasn’t even blood related to the Dursleys.
He looked at the sickly bruises as he changed and his temper flared. He hated that Vernon beat him as he saw fit, that Petunia treated him as slave and a moving target to swing a frying pan at or for her to slap and claw at with her manicured false nails and that Dudley, who was eleven years older than him, was allowed to do as he pleased to him. Most of the little cuts he had were from Dudley pushing him through a thorn bush and onto a patch of gravel. He hated all three of them, he hoped that his Father and brother were better than the Dursleys, that they treated him better, he begged that they were. He didn’t know what he’d do if they were the same or somehow even worse than the Dursleys.
He dressed carefully, layering up to hide as many of his bruises as he could, covering up his arms completely with one of his numerous long sleeved jumpers that had been Dudley’s about two decades ago. He had sent Hedwig off already with a furiously quilled letter to Sirius, he wanted to know why he’d never been told about the Winchesters when Sirius was his Father’s best friend. He’d never even been told his own name! He felt that Sirius should have told him these things.
He took his stuff and he made sure that he had everything from the room before he slung his backpack over his good shoulder and he made his way down the rickety stairs and out into the bar area.
“Mister Potter, do you want some breakfast?” Tom asked eagerly as soon as he saw him, alerting everyone within hearing distance, which was actually quite a few people, to his presence as they all snapped their necks to turn to stare at him.
“No.” Harry shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks. I need to get going.”
“Are you certain?” Tom asked, sounding a bit disappointed.
Harry nodded. “Yes thanks, I hadn’t meant to stay overnight. I’ll be fine for a few hours until I get back.”
How could anyone expect him to eat breakfast with half the pub staring at him, watching his every move as he tried to eat some breakfast? No, he couldn’t, he’d likely choke, so he rushed back out into the Muggle world as quickly as he could and he set about finding a technology shop. It wasn’t that difficult as he was in London. He did get some strange looks for being as young as he was, and likely because he was wearing what amounted to rags and a very overlarge, baggy jumper in the middle of summer, and he was very aware that he looked younger than he actually was due to his short height, but he made do as best as he could as he asked politely for help in picking out what he needed.
He managed to buy a laptop and a phone by exclaiming happily, and loudly, that his parents had given him money for his birthday so that he could buy the laptop and phone that he wanted. He just about managed to trick the staff at the shop into getting what he wanted.
He carried his new purchases to, near enough next door, into a café and he sat down at the counter bar to set up the laptop, reading the instructions and finding it all really simple and straight forward. He had it all sorted in half an hour as he sipped on his tea.
He’d connected to the coffee shop’s Wi-Fi with the help of the older teenager behind the counter, who was very happy to help him and top up his tea for him free of charge. Harry managed to navigate the pages by himself and he bought a ticket to Kansas City, the closest airport that he could get to Lawrence, and all he had to do was pick it up just before he boarded the plane, which left in four hours including the hour it would take him to get a taxi from Charing Cross road to Heathrow airport. He’d bought the ticket under the name of Lily Winchester with his new bank card. If anyone looked, they wouldn’t recognise the name or link it to him. He was planning on confunding the airport staff, just a little, to make them think that his passport matched the name on his ticket. He was glad that Hermione had done so much extra work for Charms and that he’d paid attention to her when she did do all of that extra work as well as using him and Ron for practice.
He used his new phone to call the numbers in the back of the book. The first was a bust, the number was disconnected, but with the second number he got a voicemail and he heard his Father’s voice for the first time. It was really rough and gruff and Harry wondered if perhaps this was a mistake.
John had given another number in the recording, one for his brother Dean, but it said to only call him if it was an emergency. Harry doubted that this could be classed as an emergency. Harry dialled his Father’s number again and wrote the other number down regardless, just in case.
He was quivering as he climbed into a taxi and started the hour long journey to the airport. He was overall very glad that he’d gone a bit earlier as it took ages for the taxi to navigate the traffic, but he did arrive in time to collect his ticket, which he said was in his Mother’s name when the worker questioned the female name, but a quick, subtle wave of his wand by his hip confused the woman into nodding as if Harry’s explanation was valid before she handed over the ticket and wished him a safe flight.
He managed to get through all the security checkpoints with no problems thanks to some more subtly cast spells, seeing as he wasn’t entirely sure what the scanners would show if he put his magically enlarged backpack through it, especially as he was carrying two knives with him.
The first thing he did on the other side of the security check points was buy several bottles of water for his flight before he made his way over to board the plane, the stewardess looked at him strangely and Harry’s guts clenched. He couldn’t have her suspicious just in case she took him off the plane, questioned him or worse, brought the attention of the police to him, so he started rambling nervously.
“I’m so nervous, this is my first time on a plane. Mum just dropped me off, I’m going to see my Dad for the first time in ages, he lives in America now. Is…is flying really so bad?”
The soft smile the stewardess gave him then had Harry congratulating himself on his lie. The woman had been concerned about him being on his own while being so young.
“It’ll be alright, sweetie, I promise. Let me show you to your seat and get you strapped in.” She didn’t even check the name on the ticket, just the seat number as she led him further down the plane and got him settled.
Harry thanked her and once he was settled down and strapped in he dug in his backpack for a book to read to take his mind off of his fear. He liked flying, but this…being in what equated to a metal box, was definitely a far cry from being on a broom. The highest he had ever flown before was a few hundred feet, the aeroplane was going to go up to thirty-five thousand and it didn’t help that he was going to another country, he had no idea where he was going or how he’d be received when he got there or even if his biological Father even wanted him. He was so far out of his comfort zone right now that he couldn’t even feel it anymore.
His book worked to take his mind off of everything, he’d always been interested in magical creatures of all kinds, though perhaps not Hagrid’s idea of them, but when he’d seen the books on American specific creatures in Flourish and Blotts, he’d decided to get several of them to see if there were any differences. There were so many that Harry became utterly absorbed in his book as he made notes in the dragonhide notebook that he’d also bought in Diagon Alley from Scribbulus Writing Implements.
It seemed that most of the creatures in America were violent and bloodthirsty, the book theorised that it was because of the unstable, ambient magic of America, they even had a form of Dementor that fed mostly from children! The book went on to describe Muggle witches who sold their souls to get magic and then used that magic for personal gain or even to kill other people. Harry was completely horrified by it all. Even the werewolves were different in America and the wolfsbane potion apparently had no effect on them. Again the book theorised that it was because they were Muggle werewolves, not magical and so the potion didn’t work.
The twelve hour flight was over in a flash for Harry as he read through the creature books he’d bought, stopping only to decline the offer of food from a stewardess as he barely forced his gaze away from the book long enough to take in what she was asking him. He didn’t want food at the moment anyway, his stomach was still in knots over what he was doing and he just wanted to read to take his mind off of what would happen when he finally landed.
The books were completely amazing, though! He could definitely understand Hermione’s love for books, but his topic spectrum was definitely much smaller than hers, he only had a few subjects that he actually had an interest in where Hermione would read anything and everything if it was written down for her.
Harry stepped off of the plane yawning, he hadn’t slept once during the twelve hour flight and he had been awake since he’d woken up at nine in the morning. Though it was strange to have gotten on a plane at four in the afternoon, had a twelve hour flight and then, when he’d gotten off the plane, it was ten at night.
Harry, pumped up on adrenaline and the excitement of finding himself in America, so close to his blood family, took a taxi all the way to Lawrence, but, fortunately, by the time that he made it there, his adrenaline had worn off and he was so tired that he could barely walk in a straight line.
He booked himself into the nearest hotel that he could find and he could barely keep his eyes open when he saw the clean, white linen bed. He couldn’t do anything at the moment with it being so late anyway.
He showered quickly and dabbed at the livid bruises and the scabbed over cuts he had before he dressed in his pyjamas and climbed under the soft covers. He was nervous about tomorrow, but he had come all this way, he wasn’t going to back out now. Not when he was so close.
He was so exhausted that he fell asleep quickly, he hoped that Hedwig, who’d taken a furiously written letter to Sirius before he’d left The Leaky Cauldron, would be back with a reply soon. He wanted to know why he had never been told about the Winchesters, about his own parentage or even about his own name. In his mind, there was no excuse for not telling him that he had been a surrogate baby and that he had a living Father and brother in America. No excuse at all.
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Dean Winchester watched closely as his brother’s face pulled into a frown as he listened to someone talk on his cell. They’d just been packing up their stuff from the latest motel they’d been staying in, having finished up their latest hunt, when Jenny, a woman who they’d saved from a poltergeist that had been inhabiting their old home in Lawrence, had called Sam.
“What is it, another poltergeist?” Dean asked impatiently when Sam finally said goodbye and flipped the phone shut.
“No…I, Jenny said that a kid came around asking after Dad. He’d been given our old address and he went looking for Dad there.”
“What? How old was he?” Dean demanded as he stopped stuffing his clothes haphazardly into his duffel to stare at Sam.
“Jenny didn’t ask, but said he looked about twelve, maybe thirteen. He was on his own.”
“What are you thinking, demon maybe?” Dean suggested.
“Maybe, but wouldn’t a demon know that we weren’t in that house anymore? We haven’t been there in twenty-three years, Dean. Why would a kid be looking for Dad?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Sammy. Maybe he saved the kid or his family or something.”
“Jenny gave him your number.”
“Mine, why didn’t she give him yours?”
“Because he knew that you were John’s son, but he didn’t know about me.” Sam answered with a wry smile. “Jenny said he seemed confused when she mentioned that I was your brother.”
“Now that’s just strange.”
“Do you think we should call Dad?”
“Yeah. Yeah, let me call him.” Dean answered as he opened his own cell and dialled John Winchester. Their Dad was better at answering his phone, at least to the two of them, after their almost fatal crash last year when Dean had very nearly died.
“What is it, Dean?” The gruff, tired voice of John Winchester answered after the fourth ring.
“Nothing much, Dad, it’s just Sammy got a call from one of the people we helped last year, the one who is living in our old house. A kid went there today, asking for you.”
“Name?”
Dean looked to Sam. “Did Jenny give you a name?”
“Harry.” Sam answered with a nod.
“Harry.” Dean repeated. “Is he the kid of someone you helped before or…?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell. It could be a demon.”
“I thought the same, but Sammy said that the demons would know that we aren’t living there anymore.”
“They could be trying to draw us out. Are you on a hunt?”
“No, we just finished one.”
“Get to Bobby’s. I’ll meet you there.”
John hung up and Dean shut off his phone and sighed. “Finish packing up, Sammy. We’re meeting Dad at Bobby’s.”
“Does he know who it might be?”
“No, but he’s thinking it’s a demon trying to draw us out.”
Sam nodded as he packed up his stuff and shut down his laptop. Dean sighed again and did the same, he’d really had enough of demons.
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A/N: Hi, lovelies. This is my newest fic, I know I have far too many of them currently, but I hope to finish off two of them very soon so I’ve decided to add a new fic and this is the one that won out in the end over the new Avengers crossover.
This fic currently has several chapters already written, but I have several other fics I need to write for and update too and very limited time in which to do it in, so don’t expect too much from me, but I will do what I can.
But I’d love to hear from you all, about what you think of the first chapter of this new crossover. Please let me know and put me out of my misery please, lovelies!
StarLight Massacre. X
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The Tainted Blood of the Father