Note : For the sake of this story the Harry Potter books (and movies) do not exist..

This story begins during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and between Supernatural episodes 8.13 and 8.14.

2012, United States

The leviathan have been defeated. Dean Winchester and Castiel were blown into Purgatory by the death of Dick Roman. After a year, Dean escaped with the aid of the vampire, Benny. Only recently have they discovered that Castiel has also been pulled from the realm of monsters, but the Winchesters have no idea by whom and for what reason.

Crowley searches desperately for the angel tablet aided, unwillingly, by the demon known only as Meg. They believe they are closing in on its location, but Meg continues to lie in order to delay her inevitable execution. Sometimes while the knife slides across her skin she laughs. The place they're looking for is, in fact, beneath the ground in the land of Crowley's birth, a bit of irony that never fails to amuse her.

The demons have half of the demon tablet, but without the Prophet it has become little more than a fancifully carved rock. The other half is firmly in the hands of the Winchesters and said Prophet, Kevin Tran. The three now reside in the formerly abandoned Men of Letters bunker, a lodge granted by their late, anachronistic paternal grandfather. They work to translate a specific part: one that tells how to close the gates of Hell… forever.

2012, Great Britain

Voldemort has returned, but no one will believe it.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has found that fact maddening. He spent the first part of summer with the Dursleys, as usual, keeping a tense watch for signs that You-Know-Who had begun his campaign of terror.

The completely unexpected arrival of dementors changed everything. He was forced to break the Statute of Secrecy in order to save his loathsome cousin, an error which the Ministry of Magic appeared to take very seriously. Luckily for Harry, a large man (pure muscle, unlike the corpulence that was Uncle Vernon) with short black hair showed up on his doorstep that evening, a man who introduced himself as Mr. Ketch. The stranger quickly impressed upon the Dursleys his need for their absolute cooperation. Should they not comply… Mr. Ketch hadn't said much more but his smile and cold eyes conveyed everything.

Harry was driven to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the ancient, hidden abode of the House of Black, and he spent the rest of the summer with his true family. Although he arrived angry and frustrated over being isolated from both the general magical community and the newly reformed Order of the Phoenix, living with his friends and his godfather had been wonderful. His trial had ended without incident and with school just around the corner things were definitely looking up.

Dean didn't know how the hell the owl got into the bunker, but there it was.

He'd woken up that morning fully intending on whiling the hours away having a cup or two of coffee and perusing his laptop. The hunter brewed his drink in their kitchen ("their"! The Winchesters had a kitchen and it was actually theirs!) before heading into the library.

At first Dean didn't even notice the bird. He plunked down his computer and his mug, wondered when Sam had ordered from a taxidermist (and had gotten an owl of all things), then did a double take when the supposedly stuffed animal blinked.

At that point the hunter froze, nonplussed, and a yawning Sam strolled into the room. "Did you make enough coffee for me?" He came to an astonished halt at seeing the large, tawny predator perched nonchalantly on the back of a chair. "What is that?"

"A bird."

"No shit, Dean," Sam said flatly. "Why is there a bird in here?"

"Fuck if I know."

As if in answer to their question, the owl tapped its claws on an envelope it was clutching against the chair back. Dean edged forward until he was just in arm's reach before yanking the paper away. The owl hooted indignantly.

Sam lifted his eyebrows at the wax seal and thick vellum. Then he noticed the address. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Men of Letters Bunker. Lebanon, Kansas, United States. How the hell…?"

Dean ripped open the letter. "Dunno." Silence descended as Dean read through the letter with his brother peering over his shoulder. After they were finished they spent several seconds looking back and forth disbelievingly between the owl and the heavily ornamented script. "You're shitting me," Dean finally said.

The owl blinked.

"They want us to teach? Kids?"

The owl hooted.

"Since when has there been a 'Magical Congress of the United States'?" Sam asked incredulously. "And they know about us?"

The owl preened.

"'Please send your reply via owl post'." The bird hooted again. "I guess that means him. Are we, you know, actually going to do this?"

"Do you want to?" asked Dean. "I mean, a whole school full of witches? Since when does that sound like a good thing?"

Sam shrugged. "I say we go check it out at least. We got a week or so before the actual term starts." When his brother didn't reply, the hunter realized that the other man was occupied. "Dean, are you having a staring contest with the owl?"

"It was staring at me! I'm telling you, dude, the bird knows what we're saying. I say we get the silver. Might be a freaking shapeshifter or something." The owl puffed its feathers up and let out an angry warble. "Screw you, too, bird-brain," Dean snapped.

Exasperated, Sam wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. "I'm gonna go get a pen and tell them we're thinking about it. You go tell Kevin what's up."

"Think he'll wanna go?"

"Couldn't hurt to ask."

Kevin's answer to leaving the most supernaturally protected place that they knew of was a resounding "No." The young man got more coffee percolating, arranged his papers and their half of the demon tablet on one of the library tables, plugged in his headphones, and refused to acknowledge anything other than his work. When Kevin got in these moods it was best, in the Winchesters' opinion, to make sure there was a variety of easily prepared food available (not just hot dogs) and just let him be.

After learning of the bunker they'd immediately moved Kevin from the dilapidated ship that Garth had provided into one of the Men of Letters' many empty bedrooms. The young man made sure that the necessities of life were readily available before getting back to work. Having half a tablet, however, compounded the already arduous task, but the Prophet was undeterred. The King of Hell had both killed his girlfriend and traumatized his mother. Trapping, perhaps even killing, the bastard was at the very top of Kevin Tran's to-do list.

The owl returned a few hours later. This note heartily invited them to visit the home of Jeffrey and Alice Park of Lebanon, Kansas, where temporary access to the British Floo Network (whatever that was) would be set up for their use. The couple's cell number was also included.

Their arrival point would be the fireplace ("Fireplace?" Dean asked. "Like a freaking secret entrance or something?") of the Leaky Cauldron. At that time a student and his parent would introduce them to their society. If they found the experience to their liking a staff member would join them to explain the position in further detail. This Albus Dumbledore concluded by asking them to come with an open mind and to please leave any hunter paraphernalia at home.

Dean promptly ignored the request, loaded his gun with witch-killing bullets, put a spare clip in his pocket, and announced he was ready to go.

They gave the owl their positive reply, called the Parks, and drove into town. The couple ended up being smack dab in the middle of suburbia with a minivan in the driveway and "Welcome!" imprinted on the mat before their door.

Jeffrey Park, a completely normal looking thirty-something, answered the door. "Sam and Dean Winchester?" he asked in a quiet Cornish accent.

"That's us," Sam replied. Dean merely glowered suspiciously.

"Come on in." The witch stepped aside. "Mind the mess."

A variety of toddler-aged toys were scattered around their living room. From upstairs they could hear the delighted shrieks of whomever they belonged to along with Alice Park's coos. Jeffrey gave a nervous chuckle. "Our Aiden's a handful."

Dean softened immediately; he wasn't about to kill someone with a child in the house, witch or no witch. Sam, however, had noticed that a number of the toys were moving on their own.

A small parade of colorful animals began making their way over his left boot. When he knelt down Sam saw no wires, no battery packs, no antennas. This safari was moving independently of any power source, their smoothly joined limbs articulating just like their real life counterparts.

Sam looked up from and found Jeffrey had blanched. The hunter cleared his throat and attempted to give the man a reassuring smile. "Cute toys."

"Yes, um, well he's not old enough to know how to put them away yet. We're working on it." Jeffrey nervously swallowed. "You lot ready?"

It was obvious that the witch wanted the hunters out of his home, the sooner the better. "Where's this moo… loo… poo thing?" Dean asked.

"Floo," Jeffrey corrected. "Right here."

The brothers stared where he indicated, confused. They watched as Jeffrey walked over to the fireplace, took a pinch of powder from a small cookie jar on the mantle, and tossed it in. Virulently green flames sprung up almost immediately. "Please take a bit of Floo powder," the witch instructed, "toss it in, and clearly state your destination, 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Afterwards just step in."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "You want us to walk into a fire."

"It's quite safe, I assure you."

Hesitantly, Dean stepped forward and put his hand in and around the flames. Nothing. No heat, no scorching, maybe a little tickle, but otherwise nothing. "Okay, not the weirdest thing we've seen but it's up there." The hunter opened the cookie jar, found green powder the same shade as the fire, and tossed a bit in. "The Leaky Cauldron," Dean said, enunciating every syllable with great aplomb, and stepped forward.

Rollercoasters were fun. Carnival rides were fun. This was not. Dean felt himself spinning with nauseating speed, glimpses of other living rooms flashing in front of his eyes. Before he could either scream an obscenity or vomit (he wasn't sure which would take precedence) the whirlwind was done. The elder Winchester landed hard on a stone floor, face first, and was immediately flattened. "I'm gonna throw up," Sam moaned.

"Well, don't do it on me!"

Sam slowly rolled off of his brother's back as a woman's voice greeted, "Good afternoon."

The pair looked up and found a lithe, blonde woman in a pantsuit and pearls, her hair done up in a tight bun. She gave them a tight smile and, in an extraordinarily aristocratic tone, said, "My name is Lady Bevell. This is my son, Jasper." A boy at her side nodded in acknowledgement. "Professor Dumbledore has requested that I introduce you to the magical world and to inform him afterwards about your decision."

"Uh, great," Sam said as the brothers picked themselves off the floor. "Why you?"

"You a witch?" Dean demanded.

"No," she replied. "My son is. And they prefer the term 'wizard' for males."

"Even magic people got PC issues."

Lady Bevell ignored both Sam's question and Dean's levity. "If you would, please." She lead the way from the dimly lit tavern to the back exit.

The Winchesters had just enough time to register an old fashioned decor, the lack of patrons, and the presence of the aged proprietor before they were outside. "My son is what they call 'Muggle-born'," continued Lady Bevell. "I have graciously taken Professor Dumbledore's advice and will be allowing him to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the institution where you two may be teaching."

"What's a 'Muggle'?" Sam wondered.

"A person without magic." The woman gestured forward. "Beyond this wall is Diagon Alley. Tom shall let us in."

As the Winchesters peered at the stones (hoping to find the secret lever or button or whatever it might be), Lady Bevell called for the bartender. The man shuffled out, a polished stick in one hand. Tom gave them all amicable smiles before peering at the wall. After a few moments the bartender tapped on a brick.

It wriggled for a moment. From the point of contact a small hole opened, one which swiftly became larger and larger until the street beyond was in view. Sam and Dean stepped forward, mouths open, as they beheld the sight before them.

The so-called "alley" was, in fact, a good sized avenue lined with shops that catered to every sort of magical paraphernalia imaginable. As the Winchesters followed Lady Bevell along the cobblestone proad they saw stores for wands, robes, books, cauldrons, and spell ingredients. There were also ones for owls, assorted pets ("Familiars?" Sam asked his brother, who shrugged), quills, and parchment. Over there was Quality Quidditch Supplies which had a group of teenagers at its window drooling over brooms of all things. A few doors down was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor where a score of witches and wizards, young and old, were enjoying ludicrously colored treats.

And the people! Most wore cloaks and robes over Medieval sort of clothing while others, particularly the young, wore tops and bottoms that could have come from any standard department store. Some were dressed like Lady Bevell but with some sort of witchy addition; cloaks, pointed hats, jewels that were just this side of old fashioned. A tall, haughty gentleman in a black suit (that rivaled those sported by the King of Hell) had a cloak around his shoulders and a cat on his head.

The multiculturalism was expected; the appearance of non-human creatures was not. Dean nearly collided with what he assumed was a walking pile of boxes and ended up being a tiny, large-eared something or other wearing a fancy towel. It quite clearly told him, "Pinkly is sorry, sir!" before hurrying after a woman who admonished the thing for falling behind.

"Did you—" Dean tried to ask the others. He discovered had moved on without him, eventually finding them waiting on the steps of the tallest building around, Gringott's Bank. Apparently he'd been staring at the Pinkly-thing for longer than he thought.

The hunter hurried over and Lady Bevell announced that they needed to exchange their money for wizard's currency. "I've only got dollars," Sam said, chagrined. "We didn't even think of getting euros or pounds."

"Not to worry," she replied. "I'm quite certain the goblins will be able to accommodate you."

"Did she say goblins?" Dean asked as they walked inside. "Oh."

The "goblins" apparently ran the bank. Everywhere they looked there were short, pointy-eared creatures with black eyes and unfriendly faces sporting either collared shirts and vests or smart, albeit old fashioned, business suits. They were tending to the financial needs of the magical populace; sitting at teller windows, stamping books, counting piles of coin. A few were weighing precious gems. One was telling the witch in front of him that in no uncertain terms would the Gringotts staff keep track of living creatures in her vault, no matter how rare or valuable.

The Winchesters, struck mute by the sight, let Lady Bevell lead the way to a goblin who sat under a sign stating "Muggle Currency Exchange". From her purse she withdrew a stack of euros and placed them on the counter. "I trust the exchange rate continues to follow market values."

"Of course, Lady Bevell," the goblin replied tartly. "Never let it be said that we goblins cheat our clientele."

"Very good."

The brothers' eyes bulged as the creature began counting out piles of gold and silver. Once the goblin was done, he swept the entire thing into a leather pouch and handed it over.

Lady Bevell stepped back and the Winchesters took her place. "Name?" the goblin demanded, a quill poised above his ledger.

"Uh," Sam stuttered, "Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Please place your currency upon the table."

The creature's rude tone belied the politeness of his words. Dean bristled, but Sam pulled his money clip and put forty dollars down. Without further ado, the goblin pulled up more stacks of gold and silver and counted them out. Sam received considerably less than Lady Bevell (who had put down the equivalent of a few hundred dollars) but it was still a nice stack. The younger Winchester received a similar, albeit smaller, pouch.

The goblin cleared his throat. "What?" Dean snapped.

"I'm not paying for your souvenirs," Sam said.

"Fine." His brother slapped down the same amount and received an identical pouch. "That it?"

"Unless you would like to open an account," the goblin replied. "Please be aware that we require a minimum of twenty galleons to excavate a vault for use."

Dean didn't know what galleons were, but he was certain that he didn't have twenty of them. "No thanks."

Back on the street, Lady Bevell informed them that her son needed a wand. "I have been told that it is necessary for his… studies."

"Lead the way," Sam said genially.

They ended up in a cramped shop called "Ollivander's." A few tables and chairs sat near the windows, but the rest of the store was covered from floor to ceiling with thin, rectangular boxes, all precariously stacked in haphazardly constructed shelves. If there was rhyme or reason to how they were organized it wasn't readily ascertainable.

As Dean reached a hand out to try and open one of the mystery containers, a voice uttered, "Good afternoon."

All of them jumped. In the middle of the shop (where certainly nothing had been before) now stood a wispy-haired old man, his piercing gaze taking all of them in turn. "I assume it is this young gentleman who is here for a wand selection?" he asked Jasper.

The boy, who had until then remained silent, quietly replied, "Yes, sir."

"Very well." They watched the proprietor, presumably Ollivander, look here and there, the mysterious filing system apparently completely comprehensible to him. Eventually he slid a box from the middle of a stack. Surprisingly, nothing fell. "Maple and dragon heartstring, ten inches, very supple." He revealed the wand and held it out to the boy. "Go on, then," Ollivander urged. "Give it a whirl."

With shaking fingers, Jasper picked up the wand. Ollivander snatched it away a second later and grabbed another box (again without toppling his stock). "Unicorn hair and ebony, quite hardy, eight inches."

This time when Jasper picked up the wand it shot out of his hands and embedded into the shelf right next to Dean's head. "Holy shit!"

"No, no, not that one," Ollivander said thoughtfully, unperturbed by his guest's near death experience.

Lady Bevell, finally looking more bewildered than arrogant, watched the shopkeeper and her son try wand after wand after wand. Bored with the proceedings, Dean started poking at some of the more easily accessible boxes. He opened one up and cautiously wrapped his hand around its contents. Nothing happened, thankfully, meaning he could examine it at his leisure.

It was long and smooth, one end carved thicker than the other, with a tiny hilt apparently meant to indicate where it should be held. But while it was obvious that it had been constructed with care, the wood polished to a beautiful shine, it didn't seem to be anything extraordinary. Dean even flicked it up and down in an attempt to cause some sort of reaction.

Sam, who had been watching Jasper's selection, fascinated, finally noticed what his brother was doing. He snatched the wand away. "Stop messing with—"

To his great surprise a force of some sort erupted from the wand's tip and knocked over the stack of boxes that had piled up between Ollivander and Jasper. Everyone froze to stare at the culprit who, in turn, dropped the wand as if it burned.

"Well," Ollivander said, his voice laced with dark delight, "it appears that we have two wands that require choosing today."

Author's Note : Hello! I shouldn't be starting another fic but I really wanted to. So thbbt.

I realize the premise isn't anything new. The thing is, the fics that I adore that are following this formula seem to be in hiatus. Rather than irritate the authors with constant pleas to update I'm throwing my name into the goblet.

Story Notes : Lady Bevell's son was a) younger in the show and b) nameless, but I figured… meh.

The Potter timeline has been moved up to coincide with the Supernatural universe. Therefore:

Harry was born in 1997.

The Potters died (and Voldemort defeated) in 1998.

Harry began attending Hogwarts in 2008. The current school year is 2012–2013.

All muggle technology has also been updated.

Anyways, thanks for reading! Hope you stick around!