Note: Crossover! Harry Potter/Supernatural. Pairing: Castiel/Charlie W. Why? Because when I imagine Charlie, I imagine Jensen Ackles/Dean. Idk why, but I do know.

Ratings: R The third chapter will have gay sex, between two very smexy guys, so there's your warning.

This is a crazy little AU crossover that generally makes no sense. It's just one of those fantastations I've been having. The storyline has been adapted for fanfiction, as my usual fantasy stuff is just to angsty and predictable. I've tried to make it short. This isn't supposed to be a great work of genius, with amazing plot and character portrayals. Take from it what you will. I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any characters thereof.

Chapter One

The dank room smelled acidic, and Professor Novak found himself groaning over the stack of potions assignments he was forced to undertake. Alas, if I could just give those snot-nosed prats detention to do this instead...

Castiel's oft linear mind began to wonder, not for the first time this week. He squeezed his sore kneecap, the left one, and internally sighed. The meetings with Voldemort were not going overtly well. He wasn't as healthy as he was at the start of the war-if he had ever been so was doubtful to begin with.

Harry Potter...

Castiel's mind grimaced as the face of the boy who lived shot through his mind like a heathen bludger, beating down his self-control until it was merely a barbed-wire fence. A poorly made barbed-wire fence. The former angel couldn't imagine why he had been thrown into this world, this world he had hidden from muggles for centuries. He wondered how Dean and Sam were, now that they had successfully seen him stripped of the souls of purgatory.

Castiel had been confused when it had happened. At first, he was sure of himself, sure he would finally see a never-ending death. Alas, he opened his eyes in the discomfort of a very old wiry bed sitting in a desolate, empty house. Alone, he he sat in silence for hours...before they came. The memories...the life. The weary existence of a lone potions master without friends or family. Harry had not entered Hogwarts at that point. Infact, the idea of Voldemort still sitting outside people's houses with his minions was a far off fear or child's nightmare. He threw himself into the work of a wizard. It took a while for the memories of what this life was to settle in, and guide him. When they did, he sometimes couldn't bear them. He missed Sam and Dean, Dean especially. But with the passing of years, and the political role he adopted in the wizardring school, he found his thoughts shifting less and less to them.

The stack of doom towering over Castiel beckoned as his bluest of blue eyes shifted over them. Papers need grading, his scratchy voice groaned in his head. Bending over the dull parchment of Hermione Granger's exceptionally insightful review of dragon liver uses, he buried himself in letters with a large, emerald quill and shimmering red ink.

One Monday morning, while the weather was perfect and every student with any sense of decensy wanted to be outside, bitter Gryffindors clambered into the dungeons.

"Mr. Potter," Novak bitterly cast his eyes over his angry Occlumency student. "five points from your cheek for exploding Weasley's concoction."

"But, sir-"

"Silence, Mr. Potter."

Harry's thin face and round eyes were full of contempt. He no longer bothered hiding his loath from behind his scales. Green eyes glimmering with malice, he muttered, "Yes, sir."

Hermione and Ron squeezed themselves as much as they could into their work, dicing and grinding various plants and animal parts. Today was no different from yesterday, and yesterday would be no different from tomorrow. He would play this insufferable game until God let him die. Until he let them all die. Even if he had to do it alone, hated, miserable, and sad.

"Cassssstiel," Voldemort hissed, his yellow slits of eyes scanning him carefully. "I'm afraid that I've grown weary."

Castiel cleared his throat, "of what, exactly, sir?"

"The end of the school term is at hand, and my plan to lure Harry did not work properly. It makes me believe that I cannot trust you after all."

Castiel wanted to scream, "I'm an angel, of course you couldn't!" He focused his eyes on Voldemort's. "I tried my best, my lord. I'm unaware of how the plan went wrong-"

"You interfered."

Castiel's blood went cold. He had tried for weeks to avoid this...to carry out Dumbledore's plans. However, he wasn't the person that had once filled these black, leather shoes. That man had disappeared into the crevices at the end of time, and his robes were filled with a different man. A different man, with weaknesses he didn't know he even had. Until now.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I have done all I can for you. I am your obedient servant, master."

"Yessss," Voldemort, held up his hand.

Castiel swallowed. He was intended to kiss the monster's ring. It was not for the first time, but it pained him greatly anyhow. Bending over, letting his eyes adjust to the fleshy, amphibian hand held gently out for him, he lowered his lips to the obscene ring before him. Pain. Horrible agonizing pain stabbed the center of his spine and spread out in tinier veins before bursting with explosion.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

It seemed like hours before Castiel could see again. His jaw was sore from being clamped open in a silent scream, and his limbs were sprawled. Blood dripped from his nose.

"Master, I-"

"You disappoint me, Cassstiel."

Castiel's knees quaked, and although his robes hid it he felt all could see. He had failed. Voldemort held his wand out sadly for him, waiting for the perfect moment of excecution. Castiel felt anger, and for the first time...the vague but comforting company of his wings.

"I think not."

Voldemort sneered, stepped forward, "Avada-!"

swish

Castiel stood alone outside Grimauld Place. The gloomy atmosphere was emphasized by the rolling thunder and lightening. Realizing he was a standing target, he hurried to the door with his wand drawn. There was no telling how long it would be before Death Eaters were waiting outside Black's house to kill him.

"Novak."

Castiel grimaced past the blood caking his face. Sirius Black stood scrutinizing him in the kitchen of his house. "What the hell happened to you, you greasy bastard?"

Castiel scowled. "Voldemort no longer trusts me. He knows I thwarted his attempt to use you to get to Potter."

"So, what, you're not in the club anymore?"

Castiel leered, rolling his eyes, and continued. "I need to stay here until Dumbledore contacts me."

Sirius wasn't happy with the idea of Castiel hogging breathing space. "Hmmm, I don't know. Throwing you outside and letting the nasty Death Eaters deal with you sounds pretty tempting..."

Castiel started to launch into a heated shouting match when Molly Weasley walked in.

"Castiel!" she threw her arms out and hurriedly filled the kitchen with her bustling personality. "What in heavens name are you doing here in the middle of the night? Are you hurt? I'll go get the medical kit-"

"I have my own potions, Molly," Castiel quickly stopped her.

"Voldemort knows about Castiel not being a good little Death Eater. Threw him out of the tree house."

"Silence!"

"Grease fuck!"

"Jackass!"

"Silence, the both of you!"

Castiel straightened, rubbing his hand down his face. He was too tired to put up with members of the Order having pesky theatrics. He just wanted to tell Dumbledore he was done or dead, and lie down. "I'm leaving," he threw his hand down to swing nonchalantly alongside his robes.

Molly's face steered itself for battle, "Oh no you're not-"

"What the hell?"

The three raised their eyebrows.

"Oh, um...sorry, Mum."

"You should be, Charlie Weasley!"

"Professor?"

Castiel dared himself to look up. His stomach lurched and he felt like vomiting, only he figured that would make things much worse. Two familiar, green eyes stared back at him. He pretended that they were longing. Although, they probably were.

He had stayed back, much longer than they had thought he had, when he heard it. He had passed by everyone, bidding them farewell as respectively as he deemed necessary. But he had not acknowledged Charlie Weasley. He never did. He couldn't bring himself to look at him sometimes, merely from the lack of air he would suffer from if he did.

"Why is Charlie so upset?" Potter asked the twins.

"Oh," Fred waved a hand, "he always gets like that-"

"when Novak doesn't look at him." George finished.

"Why would anyone be upset about that?" Potter asked bewildered.

"It seems to be some type of challenge..."

"like Novak only puts down the ones worth challenging-"

"in Charlie's head, anyway."

Potter had nodded, still confused as to why anyone would want Novak to call them names and take points from them all the time.

Castiel's throat felt dry as he cautiously peered at Charlie. It was tempting just to throw a random insult just to make that look go away. But he resisted. He resisted because he couldn't bear to treat someone with those eyes that way...someone with Dean's eyes.

Castiel turned back around and headed for the table. "I'm going to make some tea, I do not want to be disturbed."

"This is my house, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Sirius!"

"Molly!"

Castiel fumed past the dried blood and tea at the three companions before sneaking off to a lone, decrepid room. He would tell Dumbledore the news, and then he would disappear. He just needed to decide where.