(5/31/2018) You know, when you start a chapter without having a plan you sort of build your own writer's block. Good job, me.

Anyways, where'd all you followers come from? 0_o I don't think I've gotten three digits so quickly in, like, ever.

Thank you Lovingh3art, Samuel William Winchester, 1968, booklifeforlife, ngregory763, Kat A. Coop, SiSiren, and Dreamfeathers (Crowley's coming! Don't worry!) for the reviews! And all you favoriters and followers get sugar quills!

"Lumos. Sam jumped when the tip of his wand lit up. "Holy shit."

Professor Flitwick chuckled and applauded. "Yes, I suppose that your first spell is always the most surprising. Now try: Nox."

"Nox." The light extinguished. "Awesome."

Filius allowed the young man to ignite and extinguish his wand several more times before moving on. "Next, let us try the Repairing Charm."

As the evening progressed, Professor Flitwick found himself genuinely enjoying Sam Winchester's company. He was easy to talk to, patient, and most importantly, from the perspective of a teacher, eager to learn. The spoken charms came easily to the man, which was a change; most of the children that came through Flitwick's class found pronunciation their biggest barrier to success. In contrast, the accompanying gestures were a bit of a challenge. Sam treated his poor wand as if it were a dagger and many of his movements were too stiff or sharp to make the spells work properly. Still, Mr. Winchester persevered and promised to practice those charms whose effects eluded him.

For the most part the evening progressed smoothly. In light of the upcoming conflict, Filius impulsively decided he should begin to teach the young man how to defend himself. "Do you feel up to one more?"

Sam, who had been floating a feather up and down, quickly nodded. "Yeah, yeah! Sure."

"Let us try the shield charm: Protego. It can be a difficult spell for beginners, but I believe you and your brother might find it quite useful." Flitwick demonstrated the incantation and had the young man repeat it several times to ensure correct pronunciation. "Now, Mr. Winchester, cast the Incendio charm at me."

"What?" Sam asked, taken aback at the request. "No way!"

Flitwick chuckled. "Don't worry about me! I'll be perfectly fine." He thumbed his own chest proudly. "I was a dueling champion in my youth! A beginner such as yourself shan't be able to penetrate my shield."

Doubtfully, Sam held his wand out at the wizard and cast the spell. The smaller man expertly parried the effects, the flames dissipating before an invisible barrier. Afterwards, Flitwick slowly repeated the wand movement he'd used and gave the new professor a few minutes to practice. "Are you ready to give it a try?"

"Um, sure."

Sam braced himself as Flitwick called, "Confundo!"

"Protego!"

The spell rebounded, striking the other professor in the head. At first, Flitwick was merely proud that Sam had accomplished such a difficult spell on his first try. Then the Charms Master felt a great heat rise up on his back. Screams of pain and fury filled the air. Panicked and frightened, Filius realized that he was no longer looking at the classroom he'd so lovingly occupied for the past few decades.

He was looking at the inside of a cage.

…And he knew, he just knew, that untold horrors were about to visited upon him.

"Professor? *Professor?*Shit!"

Flitwick started at the obscenity, his indignation apparently serving to jostle his thinking back to normal, and the nightmarish vision disappeared as quickly as it had come. Much to his consternation he realized that he was now curled up on his classroom floor, shaking, wretched with terror-induced nausea. "Oh dear."

"Are you all right?" Sam asked worriedly. "I'm sorry! I don't know what happened. What did I do wrong?"

"I'm not certain." With quivering arms Filius pushed himself up to a sitting position. "I think we should end things there for tonight. Would you kindly bring me to Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course! No problem."

Flitwick found his footing unsteady and, after reassuring Sam that he didn't mind, allowed the far taller man to cradle him in his arms. The veteran professor gave his guilt-ridden colleague further certainties that he would be all right and not to worry so much. Besides, Mr. Winchester was not going to be allowed to use this incident as an excuse to skip these lessons, no sir!

As they sped through the halls Filius pondered. The Confundus charm should have merely dazed him, maybe even caused him to act out of character, but he had never heard of it inflicting the caster's memories upon the target. Granted, it had had the additional complication of having rebounded off of a Shield Charm, but Flitwick had a growing suspicion that the occurrence was bound to whatever was unique about Sam Winchester. Until that mystery could be solved, Filius would have to be a little more careful when deciding what to teach the young man.

The second week of classes, during which the Winchesters began their unit on poltergeists and aggressive ghosts, saw the beginning of what Umbridge was calling "Curricular Quality Inspections." The DADA class wasn't set for its trial until the following week (during the fifth-year's class, coincidentally), but speculation ran rampant over how it would go. Flitwick's Charms class had gone calmly and Trelawney's Divination class much less so (the rumors had it that she was slated for termination).

The only other teacher to be observed so far was McGonagall whose Transfiguration class went badly… for Umbridge. The professor's absolutely savage, "I can hardly wait," in response to the upcoming delivery of her inspection results was a phrase being fondly repeated around the school.

The day of the highly anticipated DADA inspection dawned. Professors' Sam and Dean's previous week's lesson had been quite the revelation. Apparently Muggle ghosts, in contrast to those of witches or wizards, progressively became aggressive to the point of homicide, their minds warping from anger and frustration. That initial class had been about defense: salt and iron and the various ways that they could be utilized. The first through fourth-years learned to make salt circles. The fifth through seventh-years were also allowed to make shotgun rounds.

The inspection week's lesson was to include demonstrations. Professor Dean had somehow cajoled the house ghosts into participating (Ginny had said seeing the Bloody Baron when she walked in was daunting in and of itself) which is why a rather resigned, phlegmatic Nearly Headless Nick was standing in front of the chalkboard. Professor Sam was talking quietly with the spirit while Professor Dean eyed the students filing in. Once the door closed, the latter clapped his hands once everyone had been seated. "All right, we ready?"

The door creaked open. "Hem, hem."

"Yeah?"

"You got my notice regarding today's inspection, Professor Winchester?"

"Yeah. And?"

"You realize that my analysis will determine whether or not you will continue to teach in this school."

"So? You're the one who showed up late. Can I start the frigging class now?"

Umbridge's mouth opened and closed indignantly at Professor Dean's irritated response. Obviously she was expecting either the abject fear shown by Professor Trelawney or the professionalism of Professor Flitwick. Her gaping expression had Harry and Ron exchanging delighted glances. This was already shaping up to be as good as McGonagall's inspection.

Professor Sam cleared his throat. "Today we'll be putting a few of the defensive techniques we learned last week into play. Sir Nicholas will be helping us in our demonstration. Can anyone tell me what you'll have to remember if you ever encounter a Muggle ghost?"

Hermione raised her hand amidst Umbridge's second "*hem, hem*" (dutifully ignored). "That they'll most likely attack."

"Five points to Gryffindor." ("hem, HEM.") Professor Sam turned to his brother. "You hear something?"

"Nope."

A couple of students snickered quietly as Umbridge fumed. "All right," Sam continued, "who can tell me how to shield themselves from an attack?"

Both Hermione and a Ravenclaw girl raised their hands. The professor called on the Ravenclaw. "Salt."

"Five points to Ravenclaw," said Professor Sam proudly as Professor Dean began shaking a bag of salt onto the floor. "The shape isn't what matters. As long as you can be enclosed inside the stuff you'll be fine."

"Excuse me, professors," Umbridge said, her high-pitched voice ringing off the stone. "But could you please explain to me why you are teaching your students about Muggle ghosts? There are no such things."

"Dude," Professor Dean said, "I think I'm hearing that squeaky sound again."

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we should ask Filch to come check the pipes."

More than a few students were turning red from having to keep in their glee. "Anyways," said Professor Sam as he stepped into the salt circle, "Sir Nicholas, could you try and touch me?"

Nearly Headless Nick sighed and slowly pushed his arm out at Sam. The ghost's hand halted as if it had hit a wall. When he followed it up with a more forceful strike, the invisible barrier still repelled him. Sir Nicholas shook his hand out as Professor Dean kneeled down. "Only takes a little bit for it to fail, though," he said as he drew a small line through the salt. This time the spirit sent Sam flying. He hit the floor before sliding into the nearest wall.

A few of the more unsavory students (and Umbridge) cracked grins. "My word!" Sir Nicholas exclaimed worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Professor Sam groaned as he picked himself up. "I'm fine." He brushed dust from his back and asked, "You ready for the next part?"

The ghost sighed. "Anything to further the children's education I suppose."

Sir Nicholas braced himself as Professor Dean hefted a crowbar. He swung it through the Gryffindor spirit who let out a yelp, the point of contact on his body lighting up as if he'd been burned, and dissipated. After a few moments, Sir Nicholas returned, his ethereal form spasming twice before stabilizing. "Highly unpleasant," he groused.

"Anything with iron works," Professor Dean said. "But it ain't permanent." He held up one of the shotgun rounds they had learned to fill. "Remember these?" The class nodded. Dean loaded up a double barrel. Sir Nicholas braced himself again as most of the students plugged their ears. One deafening boom later and the ghost had been dispersed.

"Still not permanent," Professor Sam said as the spirit reformed, grumbling, at the other end of the room. "Homework: the ghosts in the castle are allowing you for this week only to test both salt and iron against them. Try both techniques and write a foot of parchment on the results. I've, um, been asked to tell you not to bother either the Bloody Baron or the Grey Lady unless you belong to their houses."

"Extra credit if you get Peeves," Dean added mischievously.

"Hem, hem."

The shorter professor sighed and used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He exchanged a look with his brother and hefted the shotgun. "No, Dean."

"I'm sorry professors," said Umbridge, the emphasis on their title clearly meant to indicate her disdain, "but this series of lessons is quite aggressive for young children. I'm at a loss to explain why you think it's necessary to have them learn to defend themselves."

"What?" Professor Sam asked, bemused, at the same time that Professor Dean asked, "Are you fuc—frigging kidding me?"

"This is an educational institution, not real life. Surely you don't suppose a threat will come flying in through the window?" When both professors deigned to answer, Umbridge stood up and walked down the center aisle. "I am a Ministry trained educational expert," she announced, causing both men's eyebrows to shoot skywards. "Wizards far older and with far more training than either of you had designed a theory-based curriculum that was supposed to be implemented by none other than myself. This so-called defensive lesson is highly inappropriate!"

"Knew something had changed!" Hermione whispered to Harry. When he didn't respond, she took a closer look at him. She was alarmed to see the telltale signs of an impending explosion, same as those he'd exhibited back at Grimmauld Place. "Harry," Hermione hissed. " Harry, no!"

Professor Sam had folded his arms and was glowering down at Umbridge. The man loomed over a foot in height over her, even with her heels, making Umbridge's attempts to look imposing look ridiculous. "Dumbledore told us what to do and what the kids need to know," growled Professor Sam. "There's a lot of crap out there they'll need to deal with and pretending it ain't there won't make it go away!"

"Ministry-approved curriculum states that the children require only theoretical lessons on defense!" Umbridge turned towards the students and gave them a sickening sweet smile. Her tone transformed from righteous to something more suitable to soothing a class of preschoolers. "If you understand those, then you shall be prepared for any so-called threats that may be waiting for you."

"So-called threats?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Are you telling me—"

"Students who wish to speak should raise their hands."

The class was running long, the bell having rung while Umbridge had been speaking, and both of the actual DADA professors appeared to be nonplussed by the sudden takeover of their lesson, but none of the students wanted to miss whatever was about to happen. Some, like Hermione and Parvati, believed the Winchesters' lessons were necessary and wanted to see if they'd suddenly have to deal with an abrupt change in content. Others, like Malfoy, wanted to know whether or not Umbridge was strong enough to support or if she was merely a pink bag of hot air. The rest were there for the spectacle.

Hermione's hand shot up. When Umbridge nodded her head, the girl asked, "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive techniques?"

"Do you expect to be attacked during class?"

"No, but—"

"As I have said: knowledge itself will become your defense. Therefore, practice is unnecessary."

"Is she for real?" Professor Dean muttered just loud enough for the room to hear. "That's a load of—umph!" He cut off when his brother slammed an elbow into his side.

"What good is theory in the real world?" Harry asked angrily, his hand thrust upwards.

"Again," Umbridge said quietly, "this is school, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter. Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Several of the students gasped at the name. Neville even slipped off his stool. For the first time since she'd begun speaking to the children, Umbridge lost her faux attempt to be charming. "Let me make this perfectly clear. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead," Potter inserted, his belligerence catching the attention of Professor Sam, "but, yeah, he's returned!"

Umbridge plowed on. "What rumors you may have heard are of no consequence. Everything that has been told to you is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" Harry stood up amidst both Hermione's and Professor Sam's vain gestures to urge him to silence. "I saw him. I fought him!"

"Detention, Potter!" Umbridge sang. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office." She drew a deep breath and gazed about the room. "I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend."

Harry hadn't sat back down. His fists clenched and despite Hermione's repeat of, "Harry, no!" and Professor Sam's vigorous head shaking (Professor Dean was eyeing Umbridge as if he were deciding which protruding body part to chop off first), he uttered, with great emotion, "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

As the class fell completely silent, the pink-clad monstrosity lifted her chin, her eyes narrowed. "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

"It was murder." Professor Sam sighed audibly at Harry's proclamation. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."

Umbridge gave the boy a malicious grin before whirling around. "Parchment and quill."

"What?" asked a bewildered Professor Dean. When she held a hand out, he rolled his eyes. Professor Sam grabbed the first ones he could see off of the instructor's desk. He slapped them into the woman's hand so forcefully the top of the quill snapped off.

Umbridge spent a few moments writing before rolling up the parchment and gesturing for Harry to approach. She gave it to him and instructed, "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear."

Harry Potter marched off without acknowledging the stares of his fellow classmates. The door slammed shut behind him. "Now!" Umbridge said, radiant with satisfaction as she strode after Potter. The woman stopped at the edge of the enormous mandala on the ceiling and spun back around towards the DADA professors. "We shall see what Professor Dumbledore has to say about your so-called curricu—"

Another tremendous explosion filled the air. Umbridge flew off of her feet and crashed into the door. The impact knocked her unconscious, but other than the front of her pink cardigan (which was now shredded) she appeared unharmed. "DEAN!" shouted Professor Sam censoriously.

"What?" his brother asked, the man's attempt to look innocent spoiled by the smoke drifting out of the shotgun in his hands. "She stopped at the devil's trap. Thought she might be a demon. Oh, class dismissed!" Professor Dean added.

The students hurried out while stepping around or over the prone Head of Curriculum. No one helped her.

Umbridge, of course, was absolutely livid and demanded that Dumbledore sack the two professors at once. An attack on a ministry official was grounds for imprisonment in Azkaban, in her opinion. The problem with her story, however, was that not a single student would corroborate the events. Some were appalled at her dismissive behavior towards Potter's allegations. Others were disinclined to support someone who obviously wanted to deny them a proper Defense Against the Dark Arts education. The few who were contemplating an alliance with the woman were, at the same time, unwilling to get on the bad side of a gun-toting maniac. As a result, the Winchesters remained at their post and Umbridge was forced to look into more circuitous routes in order to get her way.

School rolled on uneventfully for the next several weeks. The brothers settled into a routine: classes during the week, Sam taking lessons at night from Flitwick, regular check-ins to Kevin, and repeated, futile attempts to get ahold of Castiel.

Their angelic friend's continued silence worried them both; since returning from Purgatory the seraph had been acting decidedly odd. It was possible that his extensive stay in that realm being endlessly hunted by its denizens had changed him in unknown ways. It was also possible that Castiel was either mentally or physically ill. The former could be blowback from when the angel had taken on Sam's Cage-induced madness; the latter might be why blood had dripped from Castiel's eyes after he'd dispatched the supposedly compromised Samandriel. Whatever the reason, the brothers hoped that their friend would reappear soon and bring an end their worrying speculation.

Then, a week and a half before Halloween, Kevin finally made a breakthrough, and unwittingly pushed both the Winchesters and the Order of the Phoenix towards a war that would inflict previously unimaginable devastation.

"Got it I got it I got it, listen, closing the Hall of Greats—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, Kevin, slow down. You've got what now?"

"I know how to close the Gates to Hell!" the boy exclaimed after taking a deep, semi-calming breath. "I got it translated. It's-It's the first step, I can start getting my life back, my mom can stop crying every time I talk to her and-and-and I can stop living underground like a freaking rat because every demon on Earth wants to peel my face off…"

Dean struggled not to grimace as Kevin continued rambling. Isolation wasn't doing the boy any favors. "Okay, okay. Take a breather. What is it?"

"Hold on." A rather novel view of the bunker ceiling filled the screen for a minute as Kevin shuffled through his papers. Dean fleetingly wondered how the Men of Letters managed to keep the place free of cobwebs. Must have been some kind of spell.

"Hey," Sam said quietly as he entered the Muggle Lab (which contained the WiFi and computer access McGonagall had promised). "How's he doing?"

"He needs to cut down on the meth, but otherwise he's fine."

"I heard that," Kevin snapped as he picked his phone back up. "It's a set of Trials. Tablet says, 'Whosoever chooses to undertake these tasks should fear not danger, nor death, nor…'" The boy squinted back and forth a bit between the demon tablet and his notebook. "A word I think means getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity."

"Good times," Dean commented flatly.

"I've only been able to crack one of the tests so far, and it's gross. You've got to kill a hound of hell and bathe in its blood."

"Awesome."

"Hey, Kev?" Sam asked. "Can you hold on a sec?"

"I guess," Kevin replied sullenly.

Sam hit the mute button on the screen and dragged his brother away from the camera. "Look, I don't think leaving him alone in the bunker was a good idea."

"He's the one that didn't wanna come," Dean recalled.

"He's, what, nineteen? Twenty at most. The Seventh Years here are around his age. It'd do him good to be around other kids, even if they're magical."

Dean walked back to the computer and found the screen once again displaying the bunker ceiling. "Kev. Hey, Kev. KEVIN!"

The picture jostled as the phone fell to the floor. Judging by the subsequent small and large thumps, Kevin and a good number of his materials had followed it. "Huh? Wha? Who?"

"Dude, did you fall asleep?"

"Maybe."

"I'm swinging by the bunker. You can give me more details when I get there."

"Fine." The call ended.

"How're you going to convince him to come?" asked Sam.

Dean ticked a few points off his fingers. "One, bet you he's never been out of the country. Two, I ain't giving him a choice. And three, Hermione Granger."

"What? Dude! No!"

Confused, Dean threw his arms out. "What?"

"You're not playing Love Connection with Kevin and a sixteen-year-old!"

The elder brother rolled his eyes. "No, you dumbass, kid needs a friend. Mr. Advanced Placement and the smartest witch in the school? Probably bond right away over something nerdy like books."

"Oh." Chagrined, Sam added, "Not a bad idea."

"And if hits that, she's legal here."

"Damnit, Dean!"

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode "Trial and Error" (SPN 8.14).