~The Hard-to-Kill Club~

In Which Harry Wins

I Feel The Blisters
Below The Words;
A Universe Waiting To Explode.
And I Felt The Words Crawl Out Of My Skull,

Don't Bother Pretending I Seem Fine;
I Like That I'm A Mess.

~So-So Suicide, by Finger Eleven

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Location: A Bar; Somewhere Near New York

Time: 1:15 AM EST

"Rough day, Harry?"

Glancing upwards, Harry smiled faintly at the Winchester boys and shrugged his thin shoulders to signify that it had its ups and downs. He sipped at his glass of alcohol, which was of the Wizarding variety, and sighed, "I've had much worse, so no complaints, I guess. You?"

"Same ol', same ol'," Dean drawled while pulling the nearest chair around and sitting in it backwards, his chest braced against the wooden back of the seat. He waved for the waitress to bring him his drinks – a shot of vodka and two glasses of whiskey.

Smiling at the Wizard, Sam plopped down into another chair and stretched his long legs out, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. "So much better than being stuck in the Impala!"

Affronted, Dean shot him a glare and pointed at him with his shot glass. "Watch it! Don't hate on my sweet baby!"

"Your sweet baby," Sam deadpanned with his patented Bitch Face, "is a car, and being stuck in your car – any car, really – for eight hours is too much!"

Seeing his infamous expression, Dean smirked playfully at his little brother, white teeth showing, and simply said, "Whatever, Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam returned the insult without animosity; in fact, his smile brightened with the familiar exchange.

"Prats," Harry chirped, happy to contribute to the conversation – if it could be called that, anyway – and smiled, too.

"Midget," The Winchesters, both of whom were much taller than Harry, returned with ease.

"Barking mad, the both of you," Harry finished and promptly dropped his mouth to the lip of his bottle of Firewhiskey. Savoring the taste of fire burning down his throat, Harry closed his green eyes. A sigh escaped his lips.

A comfortable lull in the conversation presented itself, but Dean, being Dean, could not handle it and promptly began to chatter about their last months. "A ghostly son-of-a-bitch tried to fry me, and I nearly died because of it," Dean boasted with his usual smirk and glow of confidence.

"He did die, though the Reaper –" Sam tried to correct him.

"Demon!" Dean interjected here with his own correction, and without pulling his lips from his drink.

"The DEMON brought him back," Sam clarified with annoyance, and sensing that this conversation had the topic of their eight-hour-drive, Harry hurriedly ordered their second round of drinks. Sam suddenly brightened and smirked at them, puffing his chest out. "I died in a competition between psychics."

"Fucker stabbed him in the back, and I had to go and make a deal with this Crossroads Demon – and kiss her, too, though that part wasn't too bad – to brink his gigantor ass up and back to life," Dean snorted into his gin, and Sam deflated, chest dropping, shoulders hunching, and lips pushing out. He pouted at his big brother. Dean blinked. "...What?"

After finishing his third Firewhiskey, Harry resurfaced from the bottle and put it down in front of him with a soft clink. He would regret this tomorrow, but – "Well, I lived with abusive relatives who beat me, almost to death, until I was eleven. I left for school, but I still had to stay there for the Holidays." The Wizard shrugged off their surprise.

Clearing his throat to hide his sudden discomfort, Dean swayed in his chair and then turned it into a competition. "So? We're Hunters, and have been since – well, almost forever. Lil' Sammy and I are always gettin' beat to Hell and back. Literally," He slurred.

"Dean!" Sam glared at his older brother for being rude, but then slowly nodded in reluctant agreement. He turned back around to face Harry and gently teased, "We are pretty hard to kill – too stubborn to stay dead, I guess. We also have more experience with being killed and brought back to life than you."

Harry deadpanned, "Dean, Sam, I found the Philosopher's Stone at eleven because a crazed Dark Wizard wanted it to resurrect his dead Master, the Dark Lord Voldemort. At twelve, I killed the ancient basilisk sealed in the Chamber of Secrets inside the school. My friends and I saved the life of a wrongly convicted "mass murderer" before I turned thirteen, and before turning fourteen, I competed in (and, yeah, also won) a deadly tournament that I had been forced to participate in."

Sucking in another breath, Harry plunged forward and said, "At fifteen, I joined in with a group of rebels to fight against the recently resurrected Dark Lord Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War, learned how to kill said immortal bastard at sixteen, and then left school at seventeen to kill him for good."

Realizing how farfetched the last bit might sound, Harry amended, "It took a year to find all the hidden bits of his nasty soul, but Ron, 'Mione, and I shattered all of them with the Sword of Gryffindor and the fangs of the basilisk I killed at twelve. We helped in the war, and I battled against Voldemort. Then, I died."

Harry blinked, quickly retracting his steps, and smiled in satisfaction. He spread his arms wide, swayed somewhat in his chair, and drunkenly cheered, "The End~!"

"…You died?" Dean dumbly repeated, finding it hard to process so much information without bias (and with all of the alcohol in his system). So Sam finished his train of thought and tentatively pointed out, "You're here right now."

"Yeah," Harry blandly said, pushing his hand through his unruly black hair and then shrugging his thin shoulders, "but I died first. Turns out, I had collected something – three of these little things called Deathly Hallows – that belonged to Death. So I'm his Master now!"

"Like, Master-Slave?" Dean amusedly asked the little Wizard and, without waiting for an answer, slowly said, "Kinky…" While Sam flushed, glanced to their younger companion (who appeared confused), and hissed, "Dean!" To which Dean hurriedly (and poorly) defended himself with – "What? It is!"

"So…" Ignoring their little brotherly spat, Harry innocently questioned, "…Who's the hardest to kill again, Sam?"

The Winchesters glanced at each other, sighed in defeat, and then tipped their glasses to him.

"You win," Dean and Sam chorused reluctantly.

Harry chirped, "Thank you!"

New Status:

Harry James Potter - Wizard, Lord Potter-Black, The Boy-Who-Lived, The Boy-Who-Conquered, and The President of the Hard-to-Kill-Club

Notes:

Supernatural Seasons One, Two, and Part of Three

Harry Potter Books One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven

***Author's Note***

Hello~! I am pretty sickly, and I have been in bed for days, alternating between rereading (for the umpteenth time) Harry Potter and rewatching Supernatural from the beginning (gotta love Netflix). Thus, The Hard-to-Kill Club is born!Hope you all enjoy the lighthearted silliness for three of the best protagonists ever. :)

Up Next: Guess I'm turning this into a 'three-shot!' Who will win the next round? Sam? Dean?

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

Update = 5 Reviews