The next morning, the owl was there again, waiting on the windowsill and shifting from clawed foot to foot with something like impatience. It sent Sam a look when he finally opened the window, something translating roughly to 'about freakin' time, I've been here all night.'
"Sorry," Sam said, stepping aside so the bird could fly past him and reclaim its spot on tops of the chair. Dean was awake pretty much instantly at the sound, hand already reaching under his pillow towards the gun stashed there.
The bird gave him a disdainful look and he retracted his hand.
"Dude," he said, bleary with sleep, "did you just apologize to the bird?"
Sam and the owl both looked up from where Sam was untying the sheaf of papers from the owl's leg to shoot him twin bitchfaces, and he quieted down, an impressive feat for anyone.
Sam unfolded and shuffled through the papers, summarizing them aloud as he skimmed over them. "Some more information about the school and what we'll be doing... essentially, we're teaching these kids how to defend themselves against ghosts, werewolves, vampires, curses, and other stuff."
"So... what we usually do, except we have to play babysitter," Dean complained from the bed and was eighty percent sure he earned himself an eye roll from the snowy white and grey owl. He wondered suddenly if it was an actual owl, or some sort of familiar or shifter. You never knew, with witches. Fucking witches.
"And we get paid," Sam reminded him mildly. "They're paying us in gold, Dean."
Dean immediately shot up into a sitting position, banging his head against the bed frame and cursing loudly. Sam snickered with laughter. "Gold?"
"Gold," Sam confirmed, plucking a coin out of the package and flipping it over to him. He snatched it out of the air and examined it closely under the light of the lamp while Sam continued to talk over him.
"There's this evil wizard called Voldemort they want us to focus on- helping the kids train to fight him."
"The fuck is with these names? Dumbledore, Voldemort..."
Sam shrugged. "They want us to be there for a few days before term starts to get settled in, so they sent this." He paused to hold up a necklace that had been tucked in with the letter and dangled it from his hand so his brother could see.
"A necklace?"
"It's called a Portkey," Sam read out. "At noon on Saturday- so two days from now- he should be all packed and put a hand on it and it'll take us to the school."
"No way!" Dean protested. "That could have a nasty curse on it, dude! No way."
"Sure, Dean, let's just take a plane," Sam offered with a mischievous grin as Dean immediately backpedaled.
"You know what? Let's go with the weird magic necklace."
~o~
Come noon on Sunday, the boys were standing together in the middle of the bunker, each holding their suitcases (and it was a good thing that they'd been raised to pack in a hurry and not need much) in one hand and the necklace chain in the other. The clock ticked over to twelves and Dean felt a fish hook tug behind his intestines, an altogether unpleasant sensation to put it very, very mildly, and then the two of them were sprawled on the ground outside of a towering castle.
Sam let out a feeble groan that more or less articulated Dean's thoughts as he lay there.
There was the three-tap clicking sound of boots and a cane on cobblestone, and Dean craned his head backwards to see a severe-looking woman wearing a long black robe and an honest-to-god pointy witches' hat. He didn't think actual witches had worn those since the Dark Ages.
"You must be our new Defense teachers," she said with a stiff and proper British accent as the two Winchesters slowly picked themselves up off the ground, eying her suspiciously. "I'm Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. I teach Transfiguration. It's a pleasure to meet you."
She waited politely until they were both fully on their feet, Dean's hand resting on the gun on his hip, before swiveling on her heel with her cloak billowing out dramatically behind her in a move that just had to be practiced and leading them indoors.
After sharing an uncertain glance, the two hunters followed.
~o~
The school was like a maze, and quite a few moving portraits were threatened before Professor McGonagall confiscated the gun and informed them with some degree of exasperation that magical paintings did move, and they were not in any form dangerous.
This did not stop Dean from watching them out of the corner of his eye as they resumed their long walk through the halls. Nor did it stop him from filling Peeves with rock salt when the poltergeist tried to sneak up behind him- the operative word, of course, being tried. McGonagall seemed fine with that, although she did make them promise not to shoot any of the other ghosts that they may come across.
"I understand you're used to dealing with the uncivilized and rage-driven ghosts of muggles," she said. "Ours are kept largely sane after death by magic."
Dean muttered something about the use of the word 'largely,' but reluctantly promised. Sam followed his lead, though he'd been surveying the castle with more curiosity than suspicion. McGonagall also seemed to take notice of this, and muttered something about raven claws before they came to an abrupt halt in front of a gargoyle statue that reminded Dean of a living stone gorgon that he and Dad had hunted while Sam was at Stanford. It hadn't been an easy hunt.
"Chocolate frogs," the professor sounded out clearly, although the expression on her face was something closer to bemused and fond exasperation. The statue swung inwards to reveal a small winding staircase, which the Winchesters hesitantly trailed their escort up as she climbed.
Sitting behind a desk at the top of the stairs in a simultaneously roomy and cozy office was Gandalf the Purple reading a very thick tome embossed with a few vaguely familiar symbols, and Dean was about to address him as such when Sam drove an elbow into his ribs, evidently sensing that his brother was about to say something rude and inappropriate.
Little brothers sucked sometimes.
McGonagall cleared her throat to catch Gay Santa's attention although Dean was certain the guy had heard them come in, and he looked up from his book with a friendly smile and twinkling eyes. "Why hello," he said. "You must be the Winchesters? I'm Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Would you like a lemon drop?" he offered politely, gesturing to the bowl on his desk as McGonagall quietly excused herself.
"Don't mind if I do," Dean said, grabbing a handful of candy before sitting down. He could practically feel Sam's bitchface scorching his neck, but his little brother took a seat next to him anyways. Sam was practically broadcasting 'I'm so sorry for this one, he's not my fault, I swear' so hard it was probably being picked up by satellite antennae on the other side of the world.
"It's a pleasure to meet you boys, and it would be my honor to be the first to welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbly-whatever said. "All the relevant information should have been sent by owl. The bird is a gift and you may keep her," he added absently. "You'll need her to send and receive letters and news."
Sam immediately started questioning Dumbledore on the differences between being born with magic and trading demons for it ('so it's not always inherited, but sometimes?') in true geek-boy fashion, while Dean injected with more to-the-point inquiries ('if they're evil do they die like humans?') and steadily worked his way through the entire bowl of lemon drops.
By the time both boys had exhausted their questions (and Dumbledore's candy supply, something widely thought to be impossible) and were (more or less) satisfied with the answers they had received, McGonagall reappeared to lead them to their quarters.