CHAPTER ONE
DEAN'S LETTER
Dean Winchester woke early on the morning of January twenty-fourth, his birthday, and felt a jolt of excitement unlike any he'd ever experienced before.
Today was his eleventh birthday.
Sitting up, Dean pushed his flannel blankets off and swung his legs out, his feet coming to rest upon the rug at the side of the bed. For a moment, the eleven-year old wiggled his toes into the thick, soft fabric of the rug before standing up, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking under his weight.
Rocking back onto his heels, Dean surveyed his bedroom, trying to decide if it looked different now that he was eleven. Above the head of his bed, attached to the wall with Spello-tape was a poster with moving pictures of his favourite Quidditch team, the Falmouth Falcons, with their motto, "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads," written in black block letters at the bottom of the poster. A toy broomstick, with a spell to only allow it to rise about a foot and a half off the ground leaned against his wardrobe, gathering dust. The cards from Chocolate Frogs lay strewn all over the top of a shelf filled with books Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd read. A window across from his bed showed a perfect view of the quaint thatch-roofed houses along the snow-covered street, only a minute's walking distance from the shops that served the village and surrounding area.
The boy's green-eyed gaze took in the familiar items that filled his room, offering a sense of comfort and security, and decided that even though he was eleven, he felt no different than he had the day before.
Stomach grumbling suddenly, Dean realized he was hungry and headed towards the doorway, eager for breakfast.
Easing his bedroom door open, the boy peered down the hallway to see that his brother was still asleep; his door closed tightly.
Deciding to let his brother sleep a little longer, Dean left his bedroom door ajar and walked as quietly as possible down the hallway towards the staircase.
Making his way slowly down the steep set of steps, the eleven-year old peered curiously into the kitchen.
The kitchen was the warmest room in the cottage; a large wood-burning stove squatted in the center of the room, used for both cooking and heating, with an old wooden table, scratched and pitted from years of abuse, sat a few feet away from the stove. On the tabletop, where Dean usually sat, was a small pile of gifts wrapped in bright paper and an envelope made of creamy, white paper.
The eleven-year old jumped over the last few steps and landed heavily on the first floor, the boards groaning in protest. Dean barely noticed the noise he'd made as his gaze as locked on the envelope and the letter that was surely inside.
Not bothering to sit down, the boy picked up the letter and brought it close to his face, examining the circle of wax the colour of red wine sealing the envelope shut. Turning the piece of mail over, Dean read the address written in dark green ink on the front of the envelope:
Mr. Dean Winchester
Second Bedroom to the Right
19 Pilfer Avenue
Hogsmeade Village
Nairn
Fingers shaking, Dean carefully peeled open the envelope and eased the two sheets of paper out, moving with gentle precision as though afraid to tear the pages.
Taking a deep breath, the boy read the letter addressed to him out loud, "Dear Mr. Winchester, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September-"
The sound of heavy footsteps startled the boy and he looked up at the staircase to see his father already halfway down the steps.
"Dad," Dean said, surprised, "I thought you were at work."
John shook his head, "I asked for the day off so I could spend some time with you boys for your birthday."
The eleven-year old nodded and smiled, raising the papers in his hand.
"I got my letter!" he announced, unable to hide his excitement, "I'm going to Hogwarts!"
John smiled and moved the rest of the way to the main floor of the cottage. As he walked into the kitchen he paused, opened the door to the stove and shoved two pieces of cordwood inside before closing and locking it.
"What would you like for breakfast?" he asked his eldest son, coming to stand behind Dean and put his large, calloused hands on the boy's shoulders, giving an affectionate squeeze.
"Bacon and eggs?" Dean asked and John chuckled, "How did I know you were going to say that?"
The boy shrugged and returned his gaze to his acceptance letter as his father took out two cast-iron frying pans and sat them on top of the stove.
"Can we go and get my supplies today?" Dean asked, biting his lip, "You have the day off."
"We'll see, all right," John told him and Dean nodded in understanding.
"Would you go wake Sam up?" the eldest Winchester asked, "And then you can open your presents."
"Okay," Dean said and set his letter down on the table, carefully, and headed upstairs to get his younger sibling.
The eleven-year old crept down the hallway towards his brother's bedroom and eased the door open, peeking in at the sleeping seven-year old.
Sam lay cocooned in his blankets; a worn blue fabric teddy bear clenched to his chest even though their father insisted the boy was too old to sleep with stuffed animals. The younger boy's room looked very much like his brother's, but for the well-loved books on the shelf, a set of wizard's chess on the floor by the window, and a poster of "Newt" Scamander alongside a black and white Hippogriff instead of a Quidditch team over the head of the bed.
Dean crouched down and crept across the floor silently until he reached his sibling's bed. Pausing for a moment, listening to Sam's light breathing, Dean smirked as he reached out and carded a hand through his brother's chestnut locks.
"D'n?" the seven-year old muttered, eyes opening halfway.
"Hey Squirt," Dean smiled, "Wakey-wakey Eggs n'Backey."
The little boy giggled and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Guess who's here?" Dean asked and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
Sam frowned, "Ms. Gibbons?"
Dean snorted laugher; Temple Gibbons, or as the boys referred to her, Ms. Gibbons, lived in 21 Pilfer Avenue- right beside the Winchesters- and had been the brothers' sitter when they were too young to be left on their own. Although the boys adored the elderly witch, considering her to be a grandmother figure, she had a bad habit of trying to force magic from the brothers, insisting that that was how her family had discovered her powers. Some of the witch's tactics were harmless, such as when she would suddenly appear behind one boy and scare the living daylights out of him, but others were more… questionable in nature. John and the boys knew Ms. Gibbons would never do anything to intentionally harm them but eventually the father had had to suggest that Dean was old enough to look after his brother and himself while he was away.
"No, Nerd," Dean smiled, "Dad got the day off!"
Sam's eyes brightened instantly, "Dad's here?"
His older brother nodded and moved out of the way as Sam moved to the edge of the bed.
"Did you get it?" the seven-year old asked, eyeing his brother curiously.
Dean knew exactly what his little brother was talking about, he couldn't help the anticipation that had been with him for weeks as his eleventh birthday approached, telling Sam he was sure to get his letter.
Dean of course, had already displayed magical tendencies or 'accidental' magic all witches and wizards displayed in their youth, for years before his eleventh birthday. From making it rain inside when he was sorely grieved after hearing his favourite Quidditch team had lost the World Cup to turning an unappetizing meal of liver and onions into strawberry pie, it was clear from a young age that Dean would grow up to be a powerful wizard.
"I did," the older brother said, "I'll be going to Hogwarts in September."
Sam nodded and slid off the bed, saying nothing more about the letter.
Dean frowned as he followed his brother down the hallway.
His sibling, already seven-years old had failed to show any magical ability at all- despite Ms. Gibbons' attempts to push the magic out of the boy- and although Dean and John both insisted Sam was just a late bloomer, the older brother was worried that his sibling might not be a wizard at all. He had heard that sometimes the children of wizards and witches were born with no magic, and were essentially muggles. They were never outcasts, exactly, but it couldn't be easy for them to live in a world where everyone else had the fantastic, amazing ability to perform spells and charms in the blink of an eye and they couldn't. Dean supposed some of them just lived quiet, nondescript lives, not discriminated against but kind of pitied for their lack of magic, or else they relocated to the muggle world where at least they seemed like everybody else.
Don't worry, Sammy, Dean thought; you'll get there, you'll see. Just be patient.
Almost stepping on his sibling's heels as he followed his brother, the smell of frying bacon and eggs, brewing coffee and hot cocoa making Dean's stomach growl again and his mouth water with longing.
Dean took his seat at the table, directly across from his sibling and turned to look at his father who was poking at the sizzling bacon with a fork.
"Ready?" John asked and set the utensil aside, and sat on the edge of the table beside his eldest son.
Dean reached out and picked up the first gift, a sphere-shaped object a little bigger than a golf ball, wrapped in gold paper with a red ribbon.
The eleven-year old pulled off the ribbon and tore open the paper to reveal a clear glass ball with a pale white smoke floating inside.
"A Remembrall," Dean said, "Who got me this?"
Sam giggled and put a hand over his mouth.
Dean looked at him, "You did?"
The seven-year old nodded, smiling from behind his hand, "You always forget stuff. So it'll help you remember."
"I do not always forget," Dean grumbled, but he was really quite pleased with the gift, certain it would be useful in September.
"Open your next present," John interrupted, "It's from me."
The eleven-year old set the Remembrall on the table- the grey cloud turning a dark red- and picked up his second gift; this one thin and rectangular.
Dean's eyebrows knitted together in confusion for a moment and then he realized what he was holding: two tickets to go to a Quidditch game; not only that, the two teams were the Falcons against the Kenmare Kestrels.
"Thanks Dad," Dean stood up and gave his father a tight hug before sitting back down.
The last gift was the largest and was wrapped in metallic rose-coloured paper with a silver bow on top.
"Ms. Gibbons?" Dean asked, even though he knew the answer and John nodded, "She brought it over last night after you two were in bed."
The eleven-year old tore open the paper to reveal a clutch of sweets from Honeydukes. Ms. Temple Gibbons had packaged all the treats in clear cellophane and Dean could see a wide selection: cauldron cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, treacle fudge, Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans, and pink coconut ice.
"You be sure to thank her next time you see her," John told his son, "And you're not going to eat all that in one sitting."
"Now set all that aside, breakfast's almost ready," the father instructed and stood, taking three plates from one of the cupboards that bordered the kitchen.
Dean shoved his birthday presents to the far end of the table and took the plate his father passed him, handing it in turn to his brother.
Once all three Winchesters were seated, they ate their breakfast without another word.
SPN
John gathered the plates and silverware once breakfast was finished, contemplating another mug of coffee when he turned to the table after setting the dishes beside the sink to be washed later.
Dean and Sam were right behind him, staring up wide-eyed expressions of hopefulness.
"Can we go get my school things now?" Dean asked.
John sighed, "I don't know, Dean, I'm tired today."
"Please Dad," the eleven-year old begged; "If we go now, you won't have to do it later."
"I have to get a Portkey," John told him, reminding his son how travelling within the wizarding world was not easy for him.
"Where is it?" Dean asked, "Who has one?"
"Dumbledore," John began but his son interrupted, "We'll go with you, right Sammy? Can we, Dad? Can we go with you while you get the Portkey?"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" the father asked, one dark eyebrow raised at his sons.
Dean shook his head, elbowed his sibling in the ribs and Sam shook his head as well.
John sighed; he had to appreciate Dean's eagerness to go buy school supplies as very little- other than Quidditch, of course- seemed to excite the boy.
He smiled, "All right, but you both need to be on your best behaviour, you hear me?"
Both of his sons affirmed that they heard him.
"Good," John said, "Let's head out now then."
Making his way to the front door of the cottage, John paused to pull on his boots and jacket, a toque and gloves. He waited patiently as his sons dressed, making sure they had scarves and hats and mittens so they wouldn't get cold on the walk to Hogwarts.
Ushering his sons out the front door, John locked up- though there really was no need, no one would want anything he had- and faced his boys.
"You have your letter, Dean?" he asked and the eleven-year old nodded importantly.
John started off down the narrow garden path and out through the gate that only came up to his knees.
The houses on the street looked like they had been cut out from a Christmas card. Each one was coated in a thick blanket of snow and many still had evergreen wreaths on their doors. A sweet scent of mulling spices filled the air and the atmosphere was festive, despite Christmas being over a month ago. John knew that many people in the village would keep the decorations up until the snow had melted.
The road was wide and well travelled. Since there were no cars and only the occasional horse-drawn carriage for those who were romantic enough to ride one, the Winchesters could walk at their own pace without fear of being run down.
John smiled at the sight of a snow shovel working all by itself in a neighbour's yard, charmed to do the chore independently of a witch or wizard.
His sons were in a happy, playful mood, pausing every few feet to make snowballs and run ahead of one another, laughing and teasing.
The small family left the residential area of the village and began moving past the shops and pubs.
As they passed the Three Broomsticks Inn, its proprietor, Madame Rosmerta leaned out the door and called to the father, "Fancy coming in for a butter beer? Or something stronger, John Winchester?"
The father shook his head and gestured to his sons, their faces plastered to the window of Zonko's Joke Shop across the street, "It's Dean's birthday today. We're going to get him his school supplies."
The buxom blonde witch grinned, "Eleven already! My, it seems as though just yesterday he was a tyke!"
John smiled back but continued on his way, catching up his sons and peeling them away from the shop window.
W
The walk to Hogwarts took thirty minutes, usually it took John twenty but with his sons, it lengthened the journey. Not that he minded, he had the day off and it was his eldest's birthday after all.
Once they left Hogsmeade village, the open, snow-draped hills and valleys of the Scottish Highlands surrounded the family. It was eerily quiet, with only the wailing of the wind for company, and John was glad his boys had never had to walk this road on their own. They both knew to stay in the village whenever he was away though he himself felt far safer walking this stretch of land than if he had been in the muggle world.
An enormous stonework wall surrounded Hogwarts, with a wrought-iron gate flanked by pillars atop which sat winged boars.
Inside the grounds, a few yards from the entrance gate stood a small guardhouse. A narrow chimney sticking out from the roof of the guardhouse belched black smoke. Although it appeared occupied, no one could be seen within the guardhouse but the gates opened up to admit the Winchesters without a sound.
John stepped through the gates as he had done a hundred times before, his sons waiting for him to proceed before they followed.
Following the path up to the school, the Winchesters passed the Black Lake and Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest and Rubeus Hagrid's hut behind them and to their right.
Dean stared wide-eyed at the school, clearly trying to imagine what his life would be like in September. John smiled. The boys had only been inside the school a handful of times and it seemed as though every time they visited it was as though they were seeing it for the first time.
The father guessed he had been the same way, at first, now though, he knew the school like the back of his hand, every nook and cranny. Of course Hogwart's hadn't given up all of its secrets, but John felt as though he knew the school well enough that he wouldn't get lost if the staircases decided to be playful and tried dumping him on some remote landing.
Taking the wide limestone steps up to the front doors of the school, John paused, allowing his boys to catch their breath.
After a moment, the father pushed open the tall wooden doors and stepped into the front entryway.
With a cavernous roof, the entry hall loomed over anyone walking through it, the only decoration were four large hourglasses sitting along one wall, each holding coloured gems representing the colours of the four Houses: red for Gryffindor, green for Slytherin, blue for Ravenclaw and yellow for Hufflepuff.
John walked quickly past the display, having seen it every day when he arrived for work and every evening before he left for home, and called to his sons to hurry.
Breakfast for the students had commenced and the hallways were quiet, leaving only a few stragglers and ghosts to roam the corridors, no one paying attention to the Winchesters.
John strode on ahead, his sons jogging to keep up with his pace as he moved along the hallways and staircases with a confidence born of spending a great deal of time in them. After ten minutes, the family arrived at the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office: a spiral staircase with a gargoyle at the top, hiding and guarding the Headmaster's door. The eldest Winchester remained in the lead as the family made its way up the staircase, the walls claustrophobically close, and paused to stand in front of the statue leering down at them as though it were alive.
"Everlasting Gobstopper," John announced and the gargoyle moved to the side, revealing a wooden door with a brass handle. The father grasped the door handle and pushed inward, the door opening as easily as though it were new though it was centuries old.
John froze when his sons abruptly pushed past him and into the Headmaster's office.
"Dean! Sam!" he snapped when he caught sight of Ablus Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, head bowed as he read from a thick tome.
The elderly wizard looked up at the sound of the father's voice and closed his book, smiling.
Both boys dug their hands into the large bowl of toffees sitting on the Headmaster's desk, cramming the sweets into their mouths.
"Boys," John said in a warning tone as he stepped into the room and closed the door.
Both boys gave their father sheepish expressions and withdrew their hands from the bowl.
Dumbledore chuckled, "No harm done, they're only sweets."
John nodded, "But I raised my sons to have more manners than that."
The elderly wizard chuckled, "Sometimes youthful exuberance can outweigh their momentary loss of manners."
John said nothing, familiar with the sometimes cryptic words of the Headmaster.
"Now, I suppose there is a reason for coming to see me," Albus tented his fingers as he spoke.
"Dean got his letter," John told him, "Though you probably already know that."
Dumbledore nodded and smiled at Dean.
"He wants to go to Diagon Alley today to get his school things," John continued, ignoring the portrait of former headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black giving him a suspicious look from behind Dumbledore, as he always did.
"A fine idea," the wizard agreed, "Never put off tomorrow, what you can do today. A muggle spoke those words I believe, an American president if I'm correct."
John hesitated, not sure if Dumbledore wanted an answer, than offered, "Thomas Jefferson, Headmaster."
The elderly wizard nodded and there was a moment of silence.
"Do you have a Portkey we could use?" the elder Winchester asked finally, the pregnant pause only by the sticky sounds of his sons chewing and the soft cooing of Fawkes the phoenix.
The Headmaster sat back, "I do. Let me just find it for you."
John watched as the wizard began opening drawers in his desk and closing them, seeking out the Portkey. The man could seem at times a bit senile and certainly strange, but John respected the man a great deal and owed him even more. If not for Albus Dumbledore, John wasn't sure where he or his sons would be today.
"Ah," the wizard said, "Here it is."
Pulling a small, item wrapped in a spotted handkerchief from his desk, the Headmaster smiled.
"I knew I had one," he said, "Always good to keep one at hand. This one will take you to Diagon Alley, allow you to stay for exactly two hours before it won't work. Remember that: two hours."
John smiled, knowing that Dumbledore always kept a Portkey around for him, since he couldn't perform magic.
"Thank you, Headmaster," the father said and picked up the small package, slipping it into the pocket of his dark green Military-style jacket.
The elderly wizard nodded ever so slightly, his blue eyes sparkling.
"'Bye Headmaster," Dean said and took hold of his brother's hand.
Sam waved to the elderly wizard as the small family left his office.
SPN
Dean used his free hand to pull the collar of his jacket up against a cold wind that pushed against him as he and his family exited the massive front doors of the school.
They walked back down the neatly shoveled stone pathway that wound across the grounds to the front gates.
Sam walked alongside his sibling, not on the trail as he had earlier but in the snow at the side, lifting his feet as high as he could as he plowed through the cold, white powder.
"Sam," John said, "Your feet are going to get cold."
The seven-year old's shoulders slumped slightly and he moved onto the path behind his father.
"Can we play outside when we get back?" he asked John.
The father nodded, "If its not too late."
Dean held his breath for a moment, watching the white plume of condensation leave his mouth like a billow of dragon's smoke. He could hardly believe that in September- merely eight months- he'd be calling Hogwart's home. The boy smiled, imagining himself playing Quidditch as a Keeper or Seeker, maybe even Team Captain. He wondered what House he'd be placed in. He knew enough about Hogwarts to know that the Sorting Hat chose a student's House based on his or her personality traits.
I hope I get into Gryffindor, Dean thought.
"C'mon Dean, hurry up," John's voice called out and the eleven-year old looked up, not realizing that he was lagging behind his father and brother.
Dean jogged to catch up with his family only to stop again when John paused.
"We should be far enough from the school now," John told them and fished around in his pocket for the Portkey.
"You have your letter?" he asked his eldest son a second time and Dean nodded, feeling the thick paper sticking out of the pocket of his jeans.
John nodded; his dark brown eyes squinted against the cold wind. He withdrew his hand from his pocket, the spotted handkerchief grasped tightly in one fist. Opening his hand, the father unfolded the piece of fabric to reveal the Portkey, careful not to touch the item with his bare hand.
Dean leaned in towards the Portkey and frowned.
"That's it?" he asked as he peered incredulously down at a chewed, dried up wad of gum, now an unpleasant grey colour.
"You know they need to be things no one wants," John told him.
"Yeah, but its not like we're going to the Muggle world," Dean commented, "We're just going to Diagon Alley."
John shrugged, "I'm sure the Headmaster had his reasons for making this a Portkey."
Dean wrinkled his nose but lifted his hand, index finger out so that he could touch the bit of old gum without hindering his brother and father from doing so as well.
As soon as all three Winchesters were touching the Portkey, Dean felt the familiar uncomfortable sensation of a hook grabbing him behind his bellybutton and then his feet left the ground and the world around him began to spin.
He heard his brother cry out with fright- Sam always forgot what travelling by Portkey was like- and hoped that his brother wouldn't get sick this time… and then his feet hit solid ground.
Dean drew his hand away from the Portkey and staggered back, dizzy for a moment, jostled by a crowd of witches and wizards as the moved past him.
As the feeling of confusion passed, Dean was able to focus on his surroundings. Witches and wizards of all ages, in clothing that ranged from robes to dresses, jeans and jumpers, pressed in around them, heading to and fro as they went about their shopping.
Dean startled slightly as a small, cool hand gripped his own and he peered down to see his little brother staring up at him, hazel eyes wide, face pale and mouth trembling slightly.
"C'mere, Sammy," Dean murmured and reached down, picking his brother up, grateful that his brother was small for his age or else he wouldn't have been able to do so.
"You boys all right?" John asked as he put the Portkey back into his pocket.
Dean nodded even as his brother rested his head against his shoulder.
"Sam?" John asked.
"'M'okay," the seven-year old muttered.
"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean murmured to him, "You'll feel better in a few minutes."
"All right," John said, "We have two hours to get your shopping done before the Portkey stops working."
"Can we get my wand first?" Dean asked John, catching sight of Ollivander's wand shop just down the street.
John nodded, "We need to stop at Gringotts first though."
"Okay," Dean agreed and followed his father as he started towards the large, white, narrow building in front of them.
SPN
Dean had been right. Within about five minutes or so, the sick feeling disappeared and Sam insisted he was fine to walk on his own. He held tightly to his brother's hand however, as it was easy to become separated in the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.
Sam had to walk quickly to keep up with his brother, his boots thudding against the cobblestone walkway.
He had to take large steps, like the ones he'd practiced in the snow, to make it up the marble stairs of Gringotts bank. He followed his father and brother as John pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was warm inside the bank, and damp, with the sounds of high-pitched goblin voices and the metallic clank of coins on coins. The entire room was built of creamy white marble, polished to a high shine, with candle-burning chandeliers to give light.
John paused in the foyer, searching his pockets for the two keys he would need. Once he found them, he continued toward the long desk that ran around the large atrium, punctuated by openings that led to where the vaults were.
Sam, too short to see over the high desk, listened as his father greeted the goblin bank teller and explained that he wanted to take money out of vaults eight hundred twenty-two and nine hundred seventy-six.
"Follow me," the goblin instructed and Sam followed his father and brother through the pathway that cut through the desk and allowed wizards and witches to access their money.
Behind the desk were tunnels leading deep underground, where wizard and witches money was kept, and the tunnels were cool but still damp, with stalagmites and stalactites and rough-hewn walls. A narrow track, similar to one on which a train would run, ended at the entrance of every tunnel.
The goblin stopped just in front of this track, forcing the Winchesters to pause behind him. Clearing his throat, the creature raised a small brass whistle to his lips and blew one short, sharp note. Moments later, a vehicle that looked like a coal cart came rattling up the track and stopped in front of them.
Sam knew that although the cart didn't look big enough for all of them to ride in, looks were deceiving.
The goblin motioned to the family to climb into the cart and they did so obediently, Sam squeezed in beside his brother with John wedged in behind them. The goblin positioned itself at the front of the cart and as soon as he took his seat, the cart shot off down the winding track like a rocket so fast Sam's hair blew back from his face and water leaked from his eyes.
Sam might not have liked travelling by Portkey but he loved the hairpin turns and insane speed of the carts. To him, it seemed as though this would be what riding a rollercoaster would be like, only better.
Unable to contain his excitement, the seven-year old raised his hands over his head and let out a whoop.
The goblin steering the cart peered over his shoulder at the boy with a disapproving glance but Sam didn't care.
Suddenly the cart jerked to a halt in front of a vault with a heavy metal door and a plaque about it reading: 822
"Vault eight hundred and twenty-two," the goblin announced and hopped off the cart, waiting for the humans to exit the vehicle, before pulling out the key John had given him and unlocking the door.
The elder Winchester pushed open the door and stepped inside, while both Sam and Dean peered into the vault from the doorway but not entering.
This vault had belonged to the boys' paternal grandfather, Henry Winchester, and now belonged to John.
Sam and Dean waited patiently as their father collected some gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts from the vault, the younger watching a couple of carts speeding past as the witches or wizards aboard headed to their own vaults.
Once John had gathered what he needed he exited the vault and the goblin closed the door and locked it. Climbing into the cart again, it took only for a moment for the vehicle to start again on its journey further into the mines.
"Maybe we'll see the dragon," Dean whispered in Sam's ear.
The seven-year old looked up sharply at his brother and Dean chuckled. In all the times they had been in Gringotts previously, they hadn't even seen as much as a scale to know for certain if there really was a dragon guarding the vaults or not.
The cart rattled around a corner and began rolling towards the way they had come for about a half-dozen feet before it again ground to a halt in front of a second vault.
"Vault nine hundred and seventy-six," the goblin announced and the Winchesters once again exited the vehicle.
This vault, though not as old as the previous one, still stood the test of time and held the wealth of a long-standing wizarding family. This vault had belonged to Mary before her untimely death and had served her family for many generations.
The goblin opened the door to the vault belonging to the Campbell family, and once again, John stepped inside.
Sam yawned widely as he and Dean waited for their father to finish. Despite the fact that John could access the money in both vaults, he could not create a vault of his own and add the currency of both families into one vault in his name because he himself was not a wizard. That bit of discrimination irritated him but it was a small price to pay and he tried not to worry about the unreasonable rules the goblins insisted on upholding.
Satisfied with the money he had gathered, John stepped out of the vault and the goblin closed and locked the door before handing over the keys to both vaults to the human.
The journey back to the atrium was quick and uneventful. The boys leapt from the cart and ran towards the front doors of the bank, eager to walk Diagon Alley and forcing their father to hurry after them.
"Sam, take your brother's hand," John instructed and the younger boy did as he was told, gripping his sibling's fingers tightly, knowing the crowd that awaited them as soon as they stepped outside.
Shoving the heavy doors open, John allowed his sons to go ahead of him and followed them down the marble steps and onto the street.
"Can we go to Ollivander's now?" Dean asked, raising his voice to be heard about the sound of talking and laughing of the witches and wizards surrounding them.
John nodded and nearly walked on his sons' heels as he struggled to keep up with them in the crowded streets.
The wand shop looked ancient and derelict. It's windows were so thickly coated in dust that no one could see through them, the sign above the door which simply read Ollivander's looked as though it had been painted over and over for years, whenever the previous coat became dull and flaky.
Dean stepped into the shop first, dragging his younger brother along after him.
The first thing Sam noticed about the shop was that it was dark, very quiet and full of dust. The seven-year old put the sleeve of his coat up to his nose to keep from sneezing. The store was filled with rows upon rows of shelves of wands, the aisles between them so narrow that one had to turn to the side to make his or her way through.
Curious, the seven-year old reached out for a wand box, before his father spoke his name, warning him not to touch.
SPN
Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered around the shop as Dean approached a high, wooden desk at the back of the room.
"Hello?" Dean asked, "Is anyone there?"
An elderly wizard with frizzy white hair appeared from behind the desk, almost as though he were a ghost, and peered down at the eleven-year old.
"Dean Winchester," the man said in a slightly raspy tone.
"Yeah," the boy nodded, feeling nervous. He relaxed a bit when he felt his father put a hand on his shoulder.
"Here to get your first wand, eh?" Mr. Ollivander asked and Dean nodded in agreement, "Yes sir."
"Hmmm," the wizard put one grimy forefinger against his bottom lip as he thought, "This is your father, it is not?"
"John Winchester," the boy's father answered.
Ollivander didn't look surprised, "Son of Henry Winchester, am I right?"
"That's right," John told him.
"And your late wife is Mary, from the Campbell clan," the wizard continued, this time not asking a question but speaking matter-of-factly.
John nodded.
"Well, let's see what we can get your son," Ollivander clapped both hands together and turned around, squinting at the collection of wands behind his desk.
After a moment he turned around with a velvet-covered box in one hand. With his free hand he opened the box and pulled out a thin, tan-coloured wand.
"Beech wood, ten inches, flexible, core of unicorn hair," Ollivander said as he handed the wand to Dean.
The boy stared at the wand for a moment before he raised it up and brought it down in an overdramatic motion. The papers on Mr. Ollivander's desk burst into flames.
"Not that one, I think," the wizard quickly put out the fire with his own wand before reaching down and taking the beech wood wand from Dean.
"Let's try another one, shall we?"
SPN
Sam was only partially aware of the dialogue going on between his brother and Mr. Ollivander.
Instead, he walked carefully among the shelves, remembering not to touch anything as he waited for his brother to be finished picking his wand.
Slowly Sam made his way to the front of the store. Glancing over his shoulder he saw his father and brother still standing in front of Mr. Ollivander's desk.
Sighing, the seven-year old used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the grime from a pane of glass in the window and he peered outside.
W
Neither Dean nor John noticed that Sam was no longer at their side. The seven-year old walked slowly towards the front door, his gait stiff and his entire body shaking. Sam pushed the door open and stepped out into the street.
The boy paused for only a second or two, not even turning his head to see which direction he wished to go. He stepped out into the crowd of witches and wizards, walking past them as though they didn't exist. The people surrounding the seven-year old took no notice of him. No one noticed the lone child walking purposefully down the street, never stopping to go into a shop, his hazel eyes wide, pupils blown so wide they appeared to turn the iris black; his face pale as chalk and drawn; his mouth forming a straight line of indifference.
W
Sam was terrified.
He didn't know where he was but it certainly wasn't Diagon Alley… or at least not anymore.
The tall, looming buildings stood broken and burned underneath a sky thick with stranger green clouds. Chunks of stone and mortar lay in piles of rubble at the base of the shops; windows had been smashed, the glass shining among the debris. Black, greasy streaks of soot darkened the stones around the shattered windows, telling of flames that had ravaged the ancient stonework.
The cobblestone streets were slick with blood, flies and carrion crows delighting in the gore. A constant droning buzzing, punctuated by the harsh cackle of the large black birds were the only sounds to be heard.
The denizens of this charred, wounded world glided past Sam as silently as shadows. Draped in cloaks of tattered, cloth that may have once been robes, the figures stared at the child through eyeless sockets in skeletal faces devoid of skin.
The seven-year old cringed away from the grotesque creatures, tears of fear welling up in his eyes but he remained as silent as the phantoms themselves, terrified that any noise he made would draw their attention.
The boy's gaze darted around the ruined street, desperately seeking a familiar face or welcoming shelter.
SPN
"Try this one," Mr. Ollivander offered Dean another wand, "Applewood, dragon heartstring, eleven inches, inflexible."
SPN
Sam moved further and further away from his father and brother, his disorientation and fear growing.
The boy froze where he stood, staring ahead of himself. There, in the middle of the blood-soaked was another human, a wizard, by the look of him. Clad in a deep blue robe it was nearly black, the wizard smiled at Sam and held out a hand towards him. Despite being warned about going with strangers, the man was the only friendly face the seven-year old had seen in this disturbing world. What made Sam hesitate however was that, despite the man's encouraging smile, his yellow eyes held no warmth in them.
The boy stood where he was, uncertain of what to do.
The strange man took a step forward, towards Sam and suddenly the boy's eyes widened with fear and he was running away, trying to get as far away from the man as he could.
Sam closed his eyes to try and get the vision out of his mind; the man's open hand had been filled with blood. The boy sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, narrowly colliding with the eerie skeletal creatures that lived in this world more than once. Lungs burning, Sam ran blindly down the street, wishing only for this nightmare to end.
SPN
"Hmm," Ollivander hummed, "Difficult one, aren't you? Well, never fear, I have a wand for you."
The wizard bent down behind his desk and rummaged around for a moment, pushing boxes of wands away as he sought a particular one.
"Ah!" he announced and straightened, holding a box covered in leather.
"This is your wand," Mr. Ollivander told Dean matter-of-factly, "It is made from rowan- one of the most reliable wandwoods, you know- with a core of dragon heartstring, twelve inches long, sturdy and able to stand some wear and tear."
Dean took the offered wand and instantly felt warmth beneath his fingers, something he hadn't experienced when handling the other wands. Curiously, Dean waved the wand in the air and was surprised and pleased when fat, multi-coloured bubbles emerged from the tip, floating happily in the air for a moment before bursting with a shower of silver sparkles.
"Cool," Dean smiled at his Dad.
John smiled back and paid Mr. Ollivander, who looked quite satisfied with himself.
"Hey Sammy!" Dean turned around, eager to show off his new wand to his little brother, "Look at this…"
The boy's words died even as he said them. Peering around the shop, it was clear his brother was not inside.
"Sammy?" Dean called, moving towards the door.
"Sam?" his father called, frowning.
Peering back at the shop owner, John asked the wizard if he'd seen Sam leave. Mr. Ollivander shook his head, "I am sure your son is fine. Diagon is almost as safe as Hogwarts itself."
The wizard's words did nothing to comfort the father and he hurried outside, searching the crowd of shoppers frantically for sight of his youngest son.
"SAM!"
SPN
Sam had no clue where he was. He stared around at the unfamiliar faces of the witches and wizards around him. Panicking, he didn't stop running even as the expressions of shoppers he collided with turned from irritated to concerned.
He had to find his Dad and brother.
Wheezing, the boy was unable to call out for his family members. Now scared that he was lost in Diagon Alley, the child's tears finally came, streaming down his face and blurring his vision.
SPN
"SAM!" John shouted, trying not to panic.
"Sammy!" Dean called just as frantically.
"Where could he have gone?" John muttered to himself out loud.
Dean, thinking, peered up at his father, "Maybe he went into one of the shops."
The eldest Winchester nodded; although Sam was now seven-years old, he did like to wander and it was likely he had seen something in a shop window that had grabbed his attention, going to investigate without thinking of telling them.
John took a deep breath, "Okay, we'll look in the stores around here, he can't have gone far. You stay with me. I don't need to lose you too."
Dean nodded and followed his father into what appeared to be a junk shop selling broken wands, lopsided scales and cracked cauldrons, directly across the street from Ollivander's.
SPN
Sam hurried down the street, unable to see where he was going and ran headlong into a wizard stepping out of the Apothecary.
Startled, Sam fell, landing heavily on his backside and stared up at the person he had just collided with, his heart skipping a beat with fear, believing one of the creatures had followed him out of his nightmare.
The boy's fear waned as he realized that the figure towering over him was not one of the eyeless monsters but a wizard, clad in black robes, with dark, cold eyes, a sallow face and long black hair.
Sam stood slowly, wincing in pain, and tried to apologize.
"I'm… I'm… s-s-" he stammered, trying to catch his breath.
The wizard peered down his long, hooked nose at him.
"What, boy? Spit it out!" the man demanded and Sam felt his eyes well with tears again.
"I… I want my Daddy!" Sam cried, confused and terrified.
The wizard bent down closer to the seven-year old.
"Stop crying!" the man snapped and Sam hiccupped, shocked into cessation.
"You're Winchester's boy," the man said and Sam nodded.
"Where is he?" the man asked, dark eyes boring into Sam's tear and snot-streaked face. Sam began to calm down somewhat. If this wizard knew his Dad, than he must be a friend.
"I don't… I don't know…" the boy stammered, "I was scared and… I ran…"
The wizard bent down so that he was almost eye-level with the child, "Why were you running?"
"I… I saw monsters," the boy whispered, his hazel eyes fearful, unable to explain what he had witnessed any other way.
"There are no monsters here, boy," the man replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
"But I saw them," Sam insisted, "They were tall and had no eyes."
The child lifted his hands and pulled down on his lower eyelids, "And they had no skin."
The man frowned deeply, "Is that all?"
Sam shook his head, "There was a man, a scary man. He was smiling but his hand was cut up, there was blood on it."
The wizard straightened up and looked around, "Your father will be missing you."
"But I don't know where he is," Sam muttered sadly.
"Do you know where you were before you saw these monsters?" the man asked and Sam nodded, telling him he had been in the wand shop.
"Do you know where that is?" the seven-year old asked and the man gave a smirk.
"Yes," he told the boy, "Come with me and I'll find your father for you."
Sam didn't need to be told twice, he quickly followed behind the wizard. He automatically reached out for the man's hand- remembering he was supposed to do so in such a crowded place- but stopped when the adult moved it out of way.
The boy trotted along behind the wizard, following obediently; glad he had run into him. The man knew his Daddy and Sam was sure he'd be able to find him and Dean.
They were halfway to where Ollivander's wand shop was when the wizard stopped in the middle of the street. Sam nearly bumped into him for a second time and peered up at the man curiously.
"Why did we stop?" he asked the wizard but he didn't appear to be listening. Instead, he was scanning the crowd, his height giving him an advantage over the child.
Sam sniffed and wiped his nose across the sleeve of his jacket, inching closer to him.
"SAM!" A voice called out over the sounds of the crowd and the boy looked up quickly.
"DAD!" he cried out, "DEAN!"
"SAM!" the voice called again, closer this time and relief washed over the child.
"DAD!" Sam answered "DEAN!"
The boy smiled when he spotted his father making his way towards his from just down the street, his brother right behind him.
Sam was suddenly scooped up in his father's arms, hugged fiercely, John's bearded face pressed tightly against his cheek.
Pulling back, Sam's father peered at him, "Where were you? Why did you leave the shop? Dean and I were worried."
Sam, recalling his terrifying vision, blanched, "There were monsters, Daddy, they were everywhere!"
John frowned and hugged Sam once again. Then, spotting the wizard set his son down. Dean grabbed Sam and embraced him just as tightly as their father had.
"Professor," John said, "Thank you for staying with Sam."
The teacher gave the elder Winchester a haughty look; "You'd do well to keep an eye on your children."
The father didn't reply to the remark and instead gave a small smile, "I'm just glad you found him."
The wizard returned the expression, coldly, and turned on his heel, melting through the crowd without another word.
Sam watched the man walk away, fascinated and fearful at the same time, his hand gripping Dean's as tightly as possible.
"Who was that Dad?" Dean asked.
Although John worked at Hogwarts, the boys only knew a handful of teachers there and they had never seen that professor before.
"Professor Snape," John said, "He's the Head of Slytherin House."
"Can we get the rest of my things?" Dean asked and the boys' father nodded, "Yeah, let's go do that."
SPN
The remainder of their visit to Diagon Alley was uneventful. Sam remained so close to his father and brother he may as been glued to them as they went from store to store, purchasing quills, ink and parchment, school robes, a set of scales and a cauldron, telescope, crystal phials, and textbooks.
After stopping for a treat at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the small family moved to a quiet area- right outside a stall selling charms to ward off the 'evil eye'- and John pulled out the Portkey.
All three Winchesters laid a finger against the chewed up bit of gum and once again experienced the tugging sensation behind the bellybutton and the world sliding away beneath their feet before landing in the snow on the grounds of Hogwarts.
Returning the Portkey to his pocket, John led the way out past the entry gates and down the road towards Hogsmeade Village.
"Can we play outside when we get home?" Dean asked carrying a bag full of textbooks and equipment for Potions class.
"I don't see why not," John replied, his tone distracted.
Dean and Sam grinned, picking up their pace, the older sibling chasing the younger, eliciting a series of happy shrieks and giggles from the smaller child.
John smiled but his thoughts were on other things. Sam may have forgotten about telling his father he had seen monsters but John couldn't forget.
SPN
Later that evening, when the sky was dark and the cold had started to seep into the cottage, Sam lay on his belly in front of the stove, chin propped up on the heels of his hands, dreaming about the day when he would get his letter to go to Hogwarts, his disturbing visions earlier in the day shoved far to the back of his mind.
Author's Note:
I've had this idea of crossing Harry Potter and Supernatural for a while. I've read some crossovers of the two 'verses and was interested, deciding that I would try it out for myself one day. And I guess today is that day.
I know that this first chapter may be confusing and will certainly raise some questions. Never fear, they will be revealed in time; be patient. It's not so much fun for a story to tell all its secrets at once.
Please be kind and leave a comment if you enjoyed this first chapter.