Melding Worlds

"Took you long enough," Ron complained as soon as the door opened. He didn't even bat an eye at the furious frown directed at him.

Hermione examined Harry from head to toe with an appraising eye. "Looking sharp."

"I know." He let them in and stomped off to start the fireplace.

"Oh, he knows," Ron scoffed. "He knows, Hermione." She laughed at her husband while pulling him along to the drawing room.

The lobby of the Ministry had been magically transformed for the night. Guests arrived through the Floo stations, stepping carefully onto the grey marble with their dress shoes and heels. Jazz music floated around sophisticated buffet tables and mingling groups.

Harry was pulled aside almost immediately by a couple of his co-workers. "Thought we should warn you," they whispered excitedly.

"About what?" he asked.

"Robards may have had a little too much to drink."

"Um, alright… Thanks, I guess?"

They smirked amongst themselves, leaving Harry out of their conspiracy. They soon disappeared amidst throngs of Ministry workers.

"Harry!" Hermione flagged him over to the chocolate fountain.

He nearly groaned when he saw the grumpy old woman she was speaking to. He didn't like meeting Hermione's colleagues. They were rather… snooty. But these parties were meant to help with interdepartmental politics. So he forced himself to smile through the grumpy old woman's 'fascinating' description of account encryption. Ron didn't even try to look interested though. Lucky him. Harry envied that. Diplomacy frowned upon yawning in grumpy old women's faces.

"Fascinating," Hermione gushed, much to the men's chagrin. That usually indicated the start of a very long conversation.

The moment Harry heard his name through civil chatter, he looked around hopefully.

His Auror team was gathered in a tight circle and they were waving him down excitedly.

"Let's go," he whispered at Ron.

"Thank Merlin."

Harry said a pleasant goodbye to the grumpy old woman, grabbed his best friend by the elbow, and made a beeline towards more familiar faces. The circle opened up to let the two men in. Someone shoved glasses of wine into their hands. "Drink up." They saw no reason to argue. Once they had had their sips, Harry looked around at the rest of the Aurors, noticing their knowing smirks. He wondered if he should take the bait.

"What?" Ron asked for him. "What's happened?"

"Oh, not much. Not much at all."

Harry pursed his lips. "Very believable."

"Well… We might have heard something about a promotion."

"For who?"

"..."

Ron snorted. "For you, Harry. Why else would they smile like dolts?"

His jaw dropped. "Wh-what?" He hadn't heard any rumours at all. "What? When did you-"

"Just now! We heard Boss talking to the Minister. You could be Head Auror, Harry!"

Before he could stammer some more, he was pulled out of the circle by an insistent hand around his arm. He looked over in bewilderment at Percy who was dragging him to a quiet corner of the hall. "What's going on?"

"It's a mess," Percy muttered irritably. "Have you heard?" He came to a halt once he figured he was far enough away from the other patrons.

"No?"

"Harry."

"… Yes?"

He huffed. "Unbelievable."

"So… how come everyone knows but me?"

"Because your boss can't keep his mouth shut after three glasses of whiskey."

"Oh."

"This is going to be all over the papers tomorrow," Percy grumbled. "How am I supposed to figure this mess out?"

Harry shrugged. He was still digesting the news. Head Auror. Him. He wasn't even thirty yet. Granted he had been working with the Ministry for nearly ten years now, but still…

The whole party was a blur after that. The news had spread like wildfire. He shook more hands than he could remember shaking in his entire life, probably because a few of the hands he shook came back for seconds and thirds. His back was sore from all the thumping. He wouldn't hear the end of this from his friends at work. It was huge news. The Boy-Who-Lived was going to be the youngest Head Auror in the history of the Ministry.

He brushed soot off of his hair as he stepped out of his fireplace, humming a tune under his breath. A promotion in the horizon did wonders to his mood. Head Auror Harry Potter. Had a great ring to it. He flicked the lights on with a lazy swish of his wand.

The doorbell rang at the same time.

He looked over at the clock incredulously. It was two in the morning. "What on Earth?" he muttered under his breath as he made his way to the front door.

Opening it, he frowned at the bright smiles that greeted him.

Two men in button-down shirts, black ties, and creased pants stood before him, a black book held in one hand against their chests.

"Can I help you?" he hesitated.

"Oh no." The men shook their heads eagerly. "But perhaps we can help you."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Do you have time to talk about our Lord and Savior?"

"Hey, Cas." Dean twirled the pencil in his hand. "This goes in your face if you don't stop distracting me."

Castiel figured he could take a pencil in a fight, so he disregarded the threat. "The angels haven't spoken in a while," he said over Dean's frustrated groan. "I find this troubling. Perhaps they have blocked me out. Or maybe something is brewing among the other garrisons."

"We have enough trouble down here," Sam tried to explain. "Have you looked at this lately?" He pointed at the map on the wall where the number of red circles increased every week. "You see a pattern? Because we sure don't. All we know is that the demons are keeping busy."

"Do you need my help?"

"Yes!" Dean blurted out. "Finally! Yes, we need your help. God damn it, man."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You could just ask me, Dean."

"I have been asking you. But you keep running off to London to meet your boyfriend."

"Well, that can't be helped."

Sam cringed when he saw his brother's expression slacken in disbelief. Castiel really shouldn't have said that.

"Can't be helped?" Dean echoed quietly. "It can't be helped?"

"Er…" Castiel realized that he had done something wrong. "Or… it can be helped?" he corrected himself.

"You're chasing after a guy and you're telling me it can't be helped?!" Dean slapped his hands to his face and let out an exasperated growl into them.

His rant was cut short by a knock.

"Let's not say anything else that might give him an aneurism, Cas," Sam said as he got up from his chair and answered the door.

A little girl in blue stood before him, holding in her hands a small white box.

Sam whipped his gun out in the blink of an eye.

Her bright blue eyes shifted to murky black. "Wouldn't hurt a precious thing like me, would you?" she pouted.

"Cas," Sam called out. "Now."

"Crowley says hello." Before Castiel could get there, the demon escaped, black smoke streaming from the girl's mouth. She collapsed to the ground, the box falling open as it dropped on the linoleum.

"What the hell?" Dean breathed while Sam quickly crouched by the girl to revive her.

Castiel stared down at the box.

A crushed hyacinth lay inside.

Dread sank his heart as he staggered up to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The front door was wide open, creaking in the night wind.

Dean started when the angel suddenly reappeared just seconds after disappearing without a word. Something was wrong. He gripped Castiel's arms tight. "What happened?"

"Harry…"