last01standing: ([SGA] Sheppard)
[personal profile] last01standing
Title: Weak Spot
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Incidentally, neither is Supernatural
Author’s Note: This was written for my friend, Erin's ([ profile] pyro_wizzard) birthday which I realize is in three days, but as I'm going out of town tonight, this goes up early. She told me she wanted a crossover between Supernatural and Harry Potter. It was to be a parody narrated by Neville. The result--was crack!fic. Happy birthday, Erin!
Summary:Voldemorts weak spot, as it turns out--rock salt

Weak Spot

When Voldemort said heads would roll, Neville hadn’t thought he meant it literally. Heads were often awkwardly shaped and by all means should not roll well at all.

Harry’s head rolled fantastically. Neville suspected that there was a spell on it. All the other heads stopped rolling after a few seconds, but Harry’s just kept rolling along.

Neville doesn’t know why it surprised him.

Harry’s always been special.

Ron jumped over the tombstone Neville was using for cover, knuckles white from a death grip on his wand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a chipped metal flask. “We’re all going to die,” he said gravely and unscrewed the flask and took a sip.

“You’re kidding me, Ron. In the middle of a battlefield and you’re going to go and get sloshed?”

Ron looked at him oddly and swallowed the whiskey. “Where’s Harry anyway?”

Neville looked at him in surprise. “Harry’s dead. And Hermione, and Ginny, and Seamus… You know this already.”

Ron paled noticeably, swore, muttered, “Why the hell did you tell me that? Defeats the whole purpose of the bloody potion,” took another sip and his face glazed. “Right. What were we talking about?”

Neville snatched the flask from Ron and lead the label etched into the metal. “Memory Represent?” he asked in shock. “You’re taking Memory Represent during a fight with Voldemort?”

“Give it back!” Ron tried and failed to snatch the flask.

Neville shook it and listened to the liquid slosh around in the bottom. “There’s not much left.”

“I’ve had a crappy day,” Ron snapped and then paused and blinked. “I think.”

“Some of the herbs in this stuff are addictive,” Neville commented, reading the label. “I know, I’m a herbologist.”

“Do I look like I care, Longbottom? I‘m an Auror. S’a necessary evil and all that rot. Keeps you from brooding.”

Neville rolled his eyes and pocket the flask.

“Fine,” Ron hissed. “Tell me, Neville, if your not content to just forget, what the hell are we going to do?”

The question rang in Neville’s ears, practically a proclamation of their impending doom.

What are we going to do?

Harry drawing himself up tall. “I’m going to finish this?”

What are we going to do?

Hermione snapped Heroism for Dummies shut and stood up boldly. “Someone’s got to do something!”

What are we going to do?

They shoved Malfoy out of their makeshift shelter with a sign on his back that read ‘peace offering’. “You are all a bunch of sodding bastards and I hate you.”

What are we going to do?

Seamus staring at the destruction with defeat in his eyes. “It’s probably suicide but what the hell... everyone else is doing it.”

Neville was seriously contemplating a hit from the Memory Represent but he decided against it. He turned to peek over the tombstone.

Voldemort was laughing manically, having a grand old time. His eyes were glowing that unearthly red and all around him people were screaming and occasionally in a random flash of green, dying. It didn’t even seem to matter what side they were on. Everyone left with the exception of Ron and Neville was a Death Eater anyway. Voldemort, at this point, was an equal opportunity killer. No one was safe.

“Neville!” Ron hissed again. “What are we going to do?”

Neville sank down against the tomb and absently twirled his wand. “I say we hide until it’s all over.”

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but then Harry’s head rolled by on his right and it snapped back shut. “Brilliant, best plan I’ve heard all night.”

“Can you even remember all night?”

“Good one Nev,” Ron snapped, voice laced with sarcasm, “You get funny as our impending death grows nearer. Can I have my Memory Represent back?”

Neville sighed and handed it over.

“Gryffindors till the end huh, Nev?” Ron said with a bitter smile, unscrewing the cap and raising the flask in toast. “Here’s to dying in ignorance.” He took a sip and tossed it back to Neville. “Where are we again?”

Neville didn’t answer, instead tilting his head back and bringing it to his lips to drink the last of the Memory Represent. The flask was empty. He leveled his head and glared at Ron. “You selfish bloody bastard.” He took a deep breath and prepared to tell Ron every single disturbing detail of tonight’s fight because Ron shouldn’t be allowed to forget the whole thing unless Neville could as well.

But before he could start, there was a loud crack, so utterly different from the usual quiet hum of magic that Neville’s heart nearly stopped.

“Did you hit it?” a voice asked breathlessly.

“Think so, Sammy,” a different voice answered.

The accents were American, Neville noted as he peered around the tombstone. There were two of them. A tall guy with shaggy brown hair and a shorter one who was carrying the gun. They were both wearing muggle clothing. They bent down to examine something. Shaggy Hair turns to the Gun Toater. “Dean, I think its human.”

“You’re kidding, Sammy. Red eyes, snake slit nose? Killed by rock salt? What kind of a human does that?”

“He could have been possessed.”

“Sam, he has no nose!”

Neville scrambled out from behind the grave, Ron following close behind. “You killed him,” Ron said in amazement, “you killed him.”

The shorter one, Dean, raised his hands defensively. “Look, it was dark, we saw the glowing eyes and assumed minion from hell not psychopath with creepy contacts.” He flinched as Sam kicked him. “Come on! I wasn’t even using bullets. What kind of a freak dies because of rock salt?”

Ron, an unreadable expression on his face, stepped forward and hugged Dean tightly.

Sam shook his head and laughed. Neville watched the whole thing feeling slightly detached. The remaining Death Eaters had apparated when the gun went off, and they were alone in a field of death.

The entire scene was surreal, right up until Voldemort’s body jerked upwards, eyes open and glowing red. Dean pushed Ron off of him and put another two rounds of salt into his head. “That’s it Sam, you got the lighter fluid? It’s just a reanimated corpse, we can get rid of it.”

“You can?” Neville asked in surprise.

Dean gave him a cocky grin. “Piece of cake.”

Ron looked at him in awe. “I think I love you.”

Sam was rooting around in his bag he shoved a box of salt into Neville’s hands. “What’s this for?”

“Pour it on the snake guy,” Sam said distractedly, finally pulling a bottle of lighter fluid from his bag.

Neville followed the orders, pouring the entire contents of the box onto Voldemort’s body. “We’ve been trying to get rid of him for ages,” he said softly, not to anyone in particular. “It shouldn’t be this easy.”

Sam spayed lighter fluid over the body and Dean started talking, staring at Ron like he just wanted him to quit the hero worship. “Salt and burn, standard solution.” He took a step back out of Ron’s reach and struck a match. “They can’t come back if you burn the body.”

Dean tossed the match onto the corpse and Neville smiled as the flames consumed the corpse. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Sam and Dean exchanged an awkward glance and Sam turned to Neville seriously. “We were actually tracking something else. Tell me, have you heard of a fire involving a Dursley family?”

“Dursley,” Neville muttered, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Harry’s folks!” Ron said, suddenly and Neville could only imagine the fight with the Memory Represent that allowed him that recollection. Harry’d gone to the wedding and from what Neville heard, it got nasty. “His cousin just got married. He’s got a little girl.”

“Six months old?” Sam asked and there’s panic in his voice.

“Around that,” Ron replied. “Why?”

They look at each other again and Dean said, “Well I had a great time killing your monster-demon-nemesis thing, but, uh, we got bigger fish to fry so, catch you later.”

They ran off and a minute later, Neville could barely hear their muttered conversation. “Christ Sam, you told me this was supposed to be the ceiling demon. Step it up vision boy. We didn’t come to England to kill a snake monster.”

Then there was the rumbling of a car’s engine and slamming doors and Neville suddenly had the ridiculous picture of them driving the car over the Atlantic Ocean, which of course was madness. They had probably come in one of those muggle flying machines. He smiled a little at the thought. Ron looked at him oddly. “Nev?”

“Yes, Ron?”

“Did a couple of muggles just kill the most powerful wizard in history?”

“Think so.”

Ron shrugged. “What to we do now then? I reckon there ought to be a party or something.”

“Or we could go to the Dursleys and figure out what’s got them so worried.”

Ron nodded. “Your plan’s much better.”

And they were off.