Author's Note: Happy reading!
Chapter Nine: Umbrage at Umbridge...
Staff Quarters, Hogwarts, Scotland
The nerve of those two was infuriating, fumed Umbridge as she walked to her room. She had known that going into this job would be difficult, especially with Potter, that lying no-good brat; but at least he was a student – she had immediate authority over him. The Winchesters though were a completely different case...
Both were confident, smart and with a slick tongue to go with it. In Umbridge's mind, Dean was going to be the worse of the two – an older version of the dratted Weasley twins (how was Percy even related to them?). Sam was different though, he was more...dark, haunted, though Dean was not unlike his brother at times. They had a secret, a secret she needed to find out.
Of course she had resources on getting information on the Winchesters. So nothing had turned up on them in the wizarding world, but who knew about the Muggle world...the possibilities were endless. And she knew who she could go to find that info...
She entered her room, and stared into her mirror. Brown eyes stared back at her. She sighed – the Winchesters were a lost cause; Dean had made a definite statement about where his loyalties lay, and she had a theory that Sam would always stick with his sibling, no matter what...
Oh well, it didn't matter! Umbridge smiled showing wide flat white teeth...soon she would be in control...and she couldn't wait!
Great Hall, Hogwarts, Scotland
Sam strolled into the Great Hall the next morning, his black robe just hanging off his back, revealing a blue shirt, dark brown strands of hair hanging over his eyes. If he looked tired, it was nothing to how he felt inside. Once again he had been trapped in an abyss of nightmares, the Demon being the main star of them.
"Professor Winchester!" called a female's voice from the Gryffindor table. He flicked his gaze and saw Claire Weiss from yesterday's class with the rest of her friends. He approached them.
"Yes Claire?" he said in a half-yawn.
"You okay?" piped out Talani's voice, the dark girl, twisting her ponytail into a bun.
"Peachy..." said Sam, "So what do you want?" Claire went onto tell him, but Sam found his attention being drawn away to the other end of the table, to three familiar heads that were all bent low. Looks like trouble, he thought as Harry, Hermione and Ron whispered amongst each other.
"Professor?"
Sam blinked, staring back to Claire, "Sorry...what were you saying?"
"Oh, just that I wanted to know where did you live when you weren't practising magic?"
What? But then Sam remembered from yesterday's class "when I left school I spent a lot of time with Muggles, living a magic free lifestyle, so –". Sam decided to tell the truth, after all it couldn't hurt, could it?
"Stanford University in America," shrugged Sam, it was a half truth, since his hunting was pretty much the equivalent to a wizard's magic school.
"How come you left?" inquired Claire, quickly.
Sam frowned, what the hell was with these girls? Though he guessed he too had been rather inquisitive when he was younger, still was... but still... "My brother needed help with work," he shrugged, "Now if you will excuse me ladies,"
They all said goodbye and he made his way over to the three conspirators. They were still hunched over what looked like a paper, muttering in low voices. He snuck up behind them, a small grin appearing on his face as the three teens failed to notice him.
"What going on here?" he asked softly. Suddenly the trio all jumped, looking up sharply but then sighing in relief as they saw it was Sam.
"Nothing, just reading the paper," said Hermione briskly. Sam smirked, as he studied her for a moment, "You can't con a con-artist Hermione. So what's the problem?"
"Just Umbridge – her classes are a joke," Ron replied.
Sam chuckled, "Bet they are,"
"Do you reckon Dumbledore knows? I really don't see how we can pass our OWL's with her as a teacher,"
"What do you mean?"
"She's not letting us do magic," growled Harry, tearing apart a piece of toast with his hands.
Hermione nodded and expanded, "It's ridiculous, I mean part of OWL is practical, how can we perform a spell perfectly in exam conditions if we've never done it before? I mean, does Dumbledore even know what's going on?"
Sam stared at Hermione for a few moments, "Yeah, he must." He briefly looked up at the staff table to see if Dumbledore was there, but instead found a pair of large brown eyes belonging to Umbridge watching him closely, "Listen, I gotta go, just stay out of trouble,"
Harry laughed hollowly, "Yeah, right, got any advice for my detention?"
"Try asking Dean," responded Sam truthfully, thinking of the amount of times his brother had gotten detentions back in their school days, "Though, just keep a level head and stay on guard."
"Thanks Sam,"
"No problem," he walked off towards the staff table and took a seat next to Flitwick who was busy making his bacon do back flips. Piling his plate with toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and pouring himself a large cup of coffee, he began to eat.
"You look like hell," came Dean's voice as the older hunter pulled up a seat beside him.
"Yeah, whatever," said Sam grinning at his brother.
"No Sam, I am not kidding. This is crazy – you need sleep...maybe Dumbledore has a potion –"
"– I'm not taking any potions,"
"C'mon, it's not like it's a drug, well not an illegal one..."
"No Dean," Sam rubbed his eyes, "I'm fine, besides it's not like you need me on alert since we're not hunting,"
"And I thought you were the smart one..." muttered Dean, rolling his eyes.
"What?"
"Dark wizard on the loose, not to mention all these ghosts floating around; and what about these students?" said Dean, throwing up his arms to exaggerate his point.
"Huh?"
"Like you haven't noticed Sam. Now, I like women noticing me as much as the next guy, but ones half our age?!"
Sam chuckled softly; nodding his head in agreement, "True...well I guess it couldn't hurt..." he pushed his hair out of his face. He sighed and poured Dean a cup of coffee.
Dean nodded, and took a sip of the coffee. He sighed, placing the cup down, and mumbled something about missing the good old home brew. Sam's eyes began scanning the hall. He raised one eyebrow as he saw a tall dark girl, with long dreadlocks and an extremely determined look on her face, heading straight for Harry, like a shark tracking the smell of blood.
The girl reached Harry, and then she yelled. From what Sam could tell it was something to do with Quidditch. The girl's cheeks were flushed, and she was pointing accusingly at Harry. Sam stood up and was going to go and break it up before it escalated. However, as he rose, he noticed Professor McGonagall streak forward, green robes flapping behind her as she went.
Sam had to admire McGonagall; she inspired fear within her students with her strict appearance and attitude. Her nostrils were flaring slightly as she spoke to the girl and Harry, her voice low and direct. She then left and came up to sit next to Dean.
"What was that all about?" asked Sam.
"Quidditch – these students could start a war over the damn sport,"
"Really, how?" queried Dean.
"Potter's third year for example – numerous jinxes and curses on members of both Gryffindor and Slytherin,"
"Damn," muttered Dean, "Anything really serious?"
"No nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix..." said McGonagall making herself a cup of tea. Soon the bell had rung and everyone was getting up to leave for classes. Sam and Dean slowly stood up and walked off to their classroom.
As they wandered through the corridors, Dean noticed Draco Malfoy and a bunch of older Slytherins bullying that third year from yesterday. What was his name? Oh, yeah, Dave Bletchley! He told Sam to go on ahead, saying he had something he had to do. As he got near, he heard Malfoy sneering at Dave for taking Muggle Studies. Dave was slightly flustered, trying to say he had been forced into taking it, but Dean saw right there under the pressure that Dave was lying.
Dean sighed and quickened his pace, reaching Malfoy and the group. They all froze and stared at Dean.
"What's going on here?" Dean asked in deep voice.
"Nothing, sir," sneered Malfoy, his cold gray eyes glinting maliciously.
"You suck at lying, you know that Malfoy?" said Dean, and then to the rest of the group, "I would advise you all in the future to not bully younger students, or any students for that matter, unless you want to lose a hell of a lot of house points,"
"Yes sir," chorused the group in disgust.
"Great," Dean turned to walk away and then a little smirk appeared, he turned his head and said to Malfoy, "Oh yeah, Malfoy, Saturday morning quarter to eleven, my office; don't be late,"
"What?"
Dean chuckled, "Don't think I was going to let you off that easy – I still haven't forgotten that comment you made to me in the summer."
And without another word he walked away, leaving a pink cheeked Malfoy in his wake.
Claire Weiss didn't like being a sneak, she really didn't. So when Professor Umbridge had come to her earlier on in the morning, she knew it wasn't that cow coming to give her a medal. You could sorta tell after all, the way that woman had approached her as she had entered the Great Hall that morning, that and the fact her parents had warned her against messing with Umbridge.
It had been pretty creepy when that toad had come up to her. Claire found herself instantly regretting leaving her dormitory early for breakfast. She had tried to ignore her, concentrating on the letter her penpal had sent her, but it was futile.
"Hello Claire," Umbridge had said sweetly. Claire glanced up, careful to keep a long curtain of hair between her and Umbridge.
"Yes Professor?"
"You are in Professors Winchesters Muggle Studies class, correct?"
"Um...yeah,"
"Let me guess, your mother told you to take that class?"
Claire nodded slowly, her mum had told her to take the class, mentioning something about how all the hot misunderstood boys end up there (Claire suspected that it had something to do with her father being the hot misunderstood boy in that class her mother had mentioned).
"A great woman your mother is, so nice. I hear she's up for a promotion as a Department head?"
"Yeah, she's really worked –"
Umbridge cut Claire off with a small laugh, "I know, hate to see it go to waste, but enough chit chat." she paused, watching Claire like a bird of prey, "Now, could you do me a small favour?"
"Ummm..."
"If you hear anything about the Winchesters, or know anything, could you tell me?"
"Why don't you just ask them yourselves Professor?"
Her grin widened, "You're a smart one, just like your mother..."
Claire swallowed, paling by the second.
"Hey Claire!" called a voice suddenly. Claire shifted her gaze to the doorway and her jaw dropped. It was Dave Bletchley! Of all the people that had to come, it had to be him, of course.
Dave had quickly walked over and greeted Umbridge and then sat next to Claire, asking for homework help. Claire raised an eyebrow but quickly agreed wanting any excuse to get out of this situation.
Umbridge returned the greeting and then left the two students, not before calling back, "Remember Claire!"
Claire paled and nodded and then turned her attention to Dave, "What do you want?"
"I'm just helping," he shrugged, and then he leaned in closely, "What was that about?"
"She wants me to snitch on the Winchesters,"
"Why?" he stroked his chin, "But like you would know anything," glancing at Claire he added, "No offence,"
"None taken,"
"But seriously, better ask the Weasels or that Granger bit –"
"Thin ice Dave, thin ice," muttered Claire.
"Okay Weiss," said Dave, "But still, will you?"
Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"I dunno, she threatened my mum's job,"
"What?" gasped Dave, "What a bitch!"
"Why do you care if I snitch or not?" said Claire suddenly, her eyes narrowing.
"I just... well being a snitch is the worst thing you could do..." he stood up and said softly, "I don't care, but if you do, which you should –"
"Huh?"
"Not important stuff, but little things, so then Umbridge has no need to –"
" – fire my mum?"
"Yeah," he nodded and then turned his heel to leave just as a group of fifth year Slytherins entered the Great Hall. Claire turned back to her letter.
And now she was a snitch, no shit. Claire sighed and left the Great Hall as the bell rung, praying that she could avoid Umbridge for the rest of the day. Despite her attempt, Umbridge did find her after first class.
"Hello Claire,"
"Hi," it was brief and short.
"You remember that little –"
"Yeah,"
"No need to be rude," chuckled Umbridge, a dangerous glint in her eye, "Now you were talking to Professor Winchester at breakfast today? What exactly...?"
"Just asked him about what he did when he was away from magic," said Claire, softly, hating herself as she spoke, "He mentioned a place called Stanford University in America,"
"Thank you," said Umbridge, "Your mother, would be proud,"
And then she walked off leaving Claire standing there, feeling like crap. Claire sighed, and she knew what to do. If you're going to snitch you might as well tell the person who you were snitching about, unless that person was a criminal - but the Winchesters weren't and the worst they could do was detention and docking a few points. She could live with that, she really could.
Heart racing, Claire wondered where one of her professors could be. They could be in the staff room, or in their offices, or teaching a class...Claire froze and swore loudly. She was late for History of Magic. Taking off at top speed she ran through the corridors to class.
It's not like she liked History of Magic but she really didn't want to get a detention, not that Binns would notice...he was probably already boring the class to death. He would be the perfect cure for insomnia, why take potions when a dead guy can bore you to sleep? Now that was a money making plan, smiled Claire as she ran.
Thump
Claire staggered slightly, and blinked in confusion as two hands grabbed her, holding her up. Looking up she saw a pair of hard green eyes, a chiselled chin, short brown hair and all she could think is god, you are so hot...
"Claire?"
She blinked and then gasped. It wasn't some hot older student, but Professor Winchester. Standing back and taking in a deep breath she said, "Yeah...I'm fine,"
"Okay then," shrugged Winchester, he glanced at his watch, "Playing hooky?"
"No..I...you...ahhh..." Claire stuttered, as she felt her face warm. AT that Winchester started to chuckle, and raised his hand as to silence her.
"Don't worry," He glanced down the hall and then said, "See ya around,"
As he turned his heel to walk away, Claire said quickly, "Professor I need to talk to you!"
He turned, and Claire watched as his killer smile and warmth, seem to vanish, as if he knew something bad was going to happen. Speaking softly he asked, "What about?"
The question spoke volumes, and for a second it was like he could see into her soul, as if he knew everything about her. Her face started to go red (well redder) and heat up, "Well...ummm...you see Professor Umbridge, she..."
"What did she do?"
"She was asking questions about you," said Claire blankly, not looking her teacher in the eye, "She asked me to snitch, and I sorta –"
"What did you tell her?"
"Well I found out that, well your brother went to a place called Stanford and I told her, and I'm really sorry but she was blackmailing me and..." said Claire in one breath. So far her little confession hadn't gotten any reaction from her teacher, which kind of freaked her out. What was he thinking?
"Thanks Claire,' he said shortly.
"You're not mad or...?"
"Get to class," he said briefly and then with a smile, "Listen, I'm not happy you snitched but..."
He shrugged and started to walk away, leaving Claire standing there as confused as ever. He didn't care? No way, she could tell from his eyes that he did, he really did care. Shaking herself, she walked to class, telling herself that whatever was going on wasn't her business, and her little brief as a snitch soon left her mind as she was bored to tears by Binns.
Umbridge smiled to herself, that had been easy, and now she had something she could go on. She headed to her office and immediately summoned Dawlish through the Floo Network. She liked Dawlish, he was dedicated to the Ministry, a great Auror, always ready to prove his worth to the worth to the community – the list was endless.
"Yes Ma'm," he said, his head bobbing around in the fireplace.
"I want you to find some information, on a Samuel Winchester. Specifically look in a place called Stanford University in America," ordered Umbridge.
"I've never heard –"
"I believe it's a Muggle school of some sort, just look, understand?"
"Yes Ma'am," and he vanished. Umbridge smiled smugly, this was fun...
The next few days passed smoothly for the Winchesters. It didn't take them long to get into the routine of the school – though both of them found themselves longing for the open road, the adrenaline rush that can only come with hunting, and their old life.
Not that they didn't enjoy teaching the kids, but could they really survive an entire year of it? Though, as Sam was quick to point out, as soon as the Voldemort issue was sorted they could head back to America, to which Dean responded that that could take forever.
They were on their guard against Umbridge ever since they had learnt that she was checking upon them. They could only imagine what would happen if she uncovered the skeletons in their closets. Their main hope was that she wouldn't find anything because of her inability to use Muggle technology which would hamper her searching, at least for a while.
One evening Sam found himself wandering the empty halls of the large ancient castle, contemplating his dreams. He had only just gotten a Dreamless potion off Snape today (he had a theory that Dumbledore may have told Snape to have one ready for him) and couldn't decide if he wanted it. Would it stop the visions? Did he really want to stop them? They were useful after all; they helped him save lives...well sorta. Staring at the potion he sighed, he wasn't going to use it. He emptied the contents onto the ground, smirking slightly as he thought about Filch cleaning it up later.
Suddenly, as he was passing the DADA area of the school, he saw Umbridge's office door swing open and Harry left the room, his left hand massaging his right, breathing slowly. Sam took a few long strides and caught up with the Boy Who Lived. Harry stopped, knowing he was being followed.
"Hey, Potter," said Sam softly, aware that Umbridge could be eavesdropping. He proceeded to walk forward, Harry following him.
"Hey, Sam, what are you doing?"
"Walking. So how was detention?" asked Sam, observing Harry's right hand. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with it, though Sam knew better.
"Fine, it's just writing lines," shrugged Harry, letting his hands hang by his side, not looking Sam in eye. Sam sighed – he knew Harry was lying to him. He observed the Boy Who Lived for a moment and soon his sharp eyes picked up red marks on the hand. He frowned.
"Harry let me see your hand," he ordered sharply. Harry slowly lifted up his hand, and Sam gasped, the kid's hand had been cut and was bleeding, the words I must not tell lies etched in it. Harry shifted his feet and pulled it back down quickly. Sam's eyes narrowed and he glanced back down the hall way to where Umbridge's office was.
"Bitch," he swore, "Harry, is this what you meant by lines? Her carving words into your hand"
"I..." he said uncomfortably, "But it's the quill, when I write it uses my blood as ink...I think..."
Sam frowned. What the hell was wrong with that woman making students write with a quill that was obviously cursed? He didn't know if that was illegal in the magical world, but he guessed it was, after all, doesn't that fall under abuse? How could Dumbledore just let this happen? There was little doubt wizards were dangerous...
"When I'm through with her..." said Sam under bated breath, turning on his heel to go to her office. Harry's hand grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling him back.
"Don't! I don't want her to know she's gotten to me!" cried out Harry.
"What?"
"Seriously Sam, don't. If you say anything she'll probably find some way to get you in trouble, and when it comes down to it, it'll be her word against yours and mine," Harry desperately tried to explain. Sam froze, he was right. He already knew that Umbridge was Ministry material, hated Harry, and that she was interested in the Winchester's background. And if she did find out the truth about he and his brother, it would definitely be her word. Aggravating her would probably just fuel her desire to control Hogwarts and dig into their pasts even more.
"I get your point..." said Sam slowly, but then he froze. He couldn't just do nothing, not even to save his own skin. Umbridge shouldn't be carving sentences into one of the student's hands, that was just sick...
Sam wondered why she was doing that. If she was caught, surely she'd be in trouble? What was the point of her losing her job for the sake of torturing a couple of students? Unless she thought her victims wouldn't tell another staff member. But no one could trust that, no way she could incite that much fear, could she? Of course, Harry could be the only one, and considering it was the first week that was probably the case. But still, it was wrong, and wouldn't she get into trouble if the authorities found out? Hell, who knew how the legal system worked in the magical world.
Harry ran his left hand through his hair and sighed, "Sam, please. I'm going to have to face Voldemort one day, and if I can't face one teacher by myself then I'm stuffed,"
"Harry, I can't..." stammered Sam. He looked away, his mind racing. Max Miller came to mind, hadn't he been abused and no one had stopped it, even though people knew. And now Max was pushing up daisies because he sought revenge on the people that had done him wrong. Sam sighed, though he doubted Harry would become another Max Miller, it troubled him.
"Please Sam," pleaded Harry breaking through Sam's train of thought.
"I'll think about it," sighed Sam. Harry nodded his head in thanks, a faint smile on his lips. Sam nodded and continued back to his quarters. As he walked, Dean came to mind. Should he tell Dean about Umbridge? He decided against telling his brother, until he had some sort of understanding of the legal system, no point bringing light to something that could be a loose end and probably make Dean start a vendetta against her on behalf of the students. They had enough problems as it was.
Great Hall, Hogwarts, Scotland
The weekend had finally arrived and the Winchesters were eternally grateful, as were the rest of the student and staff body. Sam was planning to head down to Hogsmeade with Professor Flitwick and Sprout for the day and get a taste of the wizarding village and then maybe later head over to the library to try and find a solution to those god damn gargoyles, whilst Dean had a detention with Malfoy.
Dean headed down to breakfast that morning feeling rather happy with how the week had gone. As he sat down and began to eat his ear twitched as he heard McGonagall say, "Crap."
Dean looked quickly up from his coffee, and stared McGonagall in slight shock. That was one of the few words he would have expected from her, she seemed too...proper for swearing. He sighed and got up, walking over to her.
"What's the matter?" he asked quietly. McGonagall looked up and pointed indignantly at the Daily Prophet before her. Dean squinted his eyes and quickly read the tiny article. It was titled, TRESPASS AT THE MINISTRY. It was about a guy called Sturgis Podmore who had broken into the Ministry of Magic and had tried to break though a top security door and was now being sentenced to Azkaban prison. Dean frowned, he knew that name but from –
"He was an Order member," said McGonagall in a hushed voice.
"Crap,"
"Exactly."
Dean reread the article, shaking his head in disbelief. He could tell from McGonagall that she really had no idea what Sturgis had been doing. His mind instantly scrambled over the possibilities of a set up, like a shape shifter, or maybe even a mind control type thing - or maybe Sturgis had just really wanted to steal something.
"You have any idea what he was doing?" asked Dean quickly.
"He was on duty," said McGonagall, dabbing her eyes. Dean nodded, so he had been on duty but obviously not doing what he was supposed to be doing. Unless...
"And part of his duty was to break into the Ministry?"
"Not here Dean," said McGonagall curtly, glancing around, making sure that they weren't being overheard. Dean mentally kicked himself and gave a quick scope of the Great Hall. His eyes zeroed on Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were all bent down reading something. Dean pointed them out to his colleague and said dryly, "We're not the only ones,"
"Doesn't surprise me," chuckled McGonagall, "Those three are trouble,"
"Whose trouble?" came a familiar voice from behind. Sam bent down as Dean gestured to the article, "Read."
Sam frowned as he read, "Crap!"
"Indeed," said McGonagall dismissively, "Listen I have to go and speak to the Headmaster. I'll see you around,"
She stood up promptly and left the Winchesters. Dean glanced at Sam, guessing what his brother was thinking about it. Dean commented that they should head outside to talk and Sam agreed. Both grabbing a piece of toast, they exited the Great Hall. The two brothers discussed their theories, both of them agreeing on some sort of mind control.
"So what are you planning for Malfoy's detention?" asked Sam in an effort to change the subject.
"Cleaning the guns – don't worry," he added at Sam's shocked expression, "I'll make sure he does a good job of it,"
"No, that's not what I was worried about. How are you going to explain to Malfoy that you have a trunk full of guns?"
"Simple – we are using the guns as a prop in one of our classes," shrugged Dean.
"You're not serious," gasped Sam, cocking an eyebrow.
"Well, think about it Sam – these kids have got to learn what a gun is so if they are ever faced with one they know what it means, and don't do something stupid - gun safety should be taught"
Sam sighed and got up, muttering the phrase, 'have fun,' before leaving. Dean smiled, and went down to Hagrid's hut, where the Impala was being kept. The wind teased with his robes (surprisingly enough they weren't that bad they were pretty much like a coat), but Dean didn't mind – it felt great to be out of the castle. He heard yelling from his left and saw a bunch of student's flying at the Quidditch Pitch. Judging from the maroon robes, he knew they were Gryffindor's. He stood there for a moment, watching as they ducked and dived.
"I really have to try that," muttered Dean, the amusement clear in his voice. It looked great! The ability to fly, to escape the real world, for those brief moments would be fantastic. Dean watched for a few more minutes, but then mentally kicked himself. He had to move.
He continued on his way to the Impala. Murmuring a quick hello to his beloved car, he opened the boot and packed the guns into a bag. Dean then hauled the guns up to the castle. He got to his office and surveyed it for a moment.
It was a plain room, a filing cabinet in the corner, a simple desk and chair, another two chairs, one window allowing a trail of sunlight to enter.
"I really should have decorated," said Dean dryly and then began to line up the guns on his desk. There was a sharp knock on the door. Dean took a seat at his desk and called out, "Come in,"
Draco Malfoy entered the room, blonde hair falling over his gray eyes. Dean had to admit that the teen looked rather similar to Sam – both were tall and had a sharp featured face. Also without the grease to hold up Malfoy's hair, it resembled Sam's messy mop.
"So what do you want me to do sir?" asked Malfoy bitterly.
"Clean these," said Dean, gesturing to the guns. He watched as Malfoy's eyes scanned the table before him. The poor kid looked so confused, almost as confused as Dean had been when they had gone up against the Trickster (this was before Bobby had told them what it was). As Dean watched Malfoy take it in he began to regret his idea. Probably wasn't the best idea to show that he had a collection of firearms, especially when Umbridge was digging around. Not that there were many, about four handguns, a rifle, and a Winchester shotgun. In some ways it made Dean depressed, as he thought of all the weapons he had back in America...
"Don't worry," chuckled Dean, "I'll help, since I bet you won't do it properly."
"What are they exactly?"
"You're kidding me?" said Dean with a laugh, and at Malfoy's expression he sobered up and said, "Jesus Christ, they're guns."
"Guns?" repeated Malfoy, paling a bit. Dean quickly assumed from the widening eyes, and the slight shake in his voice that he knew what guns were, even if he didn't know what they looked like.
"You know what they are?"
"Metal wands that Muggles use to kill each other with," said Malfoy in a rushed breath, looking between the guns and Dean's hand that was just resting on his gun.
Cocking an eyebrow, Dean commented dryly, "Interesting description..."
"Um...why do you have guns?"
"Gun safety for one of my classes," lied Dean, with a small shrug, "So should we get started?"
"Okay," said Malfoy shortly. Dean flashed a grin and gestured for Malfoy to sit down. He then picked up a Desert Eagle, weighing it up in his hands for a moment. He then handed it over to Malfoy and began to teach the young wizard how to clean it.
It was strangely calming, as the smell of gun oil lingered in the air, reminding Dean of his dad back in the good old days, when Sam wasn't rebelling about hunting, Dad had slowed down with the hunting, and had been teaching his sons basic weaponry and fighting, amongst other things. Everything had been working out for the Winchesters back then.
Malfoy was fairly good at cleaning guns for a first timer, picking it up quickly, though he did grumble a bit as he worked. Dean made sure he watched carefully though, just to make sure he did it properly. There is nothing worse than having a gun that doesn't work. Though it wasn't like these guns really needed a clean, still no harm...
"Professor?"
Dean blinked, and nodded, kicking himself for letting his mind drift.
"Yeah?"
"Am I seriously just going to clean guns?"
"And write lines," added Dean, smirking.
"Yeah, well, is that all I'm going to do?" asked Malfoy stiffly, placing the gun down on the table. He glanced out the window to the grounds in a wistful way. Dean followed Malfoy's gaze and admired the view of the Hogwart's ground. The lake sparkled a delightful shade of blue and the sky was clear except for a few wispy clouds.
Dean looked over to Malfoy and observed him for a moment. Dean sighed and asked, "Well if you want you can talk about why you were being so hard on Bletchely?"
Malfoy flushed and he spat out, "Why do you care so much about that blood traitor anyway?"
"Blood traitor?" coughed Dean. Wow, this kid is quick to judge he thought. But it didn't really surprise Dean that much, when he thought of himself. He too made quick judgements on the supernatural, unlike Sam who thought to look from the other side of the playing field.
"Yeah, he's just like those dumbass Gryffindors and all their –"
"So you really hate the Gryffindors?" interrupted Dean, quickly.
"I...ummm..." stuttered Malfoy before he said in a stronger tone, "Yeah, I hate them,"
Dean nodded, green eyes narrowing, picking apart Malfoy's sentence. The kid had been thrown off by the directness of the question; that much was obvious. There was no doubt that Malfoy didn't like Gryffindor's but he didn't hate them. Dean knew hate, he knew it a bit too well. Just one glance at this fifteen year old told Dean that Malfoy didn't really hate them. He stared Malfoy straight in the eye, green to gray eyes and asked, "Tell me why."
"You wouldn't get it," shrugged Malfoy turning back to cleaning the guns.
"Try me," said Dean, careful not to smile, not to lose this little mind game. Malfoy nodded and drew in a deep long breath before beginning.
"Okay. Firstly, they are always winning stuff. Like in my first year – they won the House Cup because of some last minute point giving by Dumbledore when it should have been Slytherin – and then that happened again the next year, and the next," he paused, taking another breath. Dean sighed; no wonder there was such an intense rivalry between the two houses. Malfoy then went on, "Instead of getting punished and taking points away they get last minute points handed out or a special reward. And Gryffindor always treat us Slytherins badly, as does the rest of the school,"
"And you don't treat them badly?"
"Well...I guess...but they always get the impression that we're evil! We aren't, just because..." Malfoy stopped, shifting slightly in his seat. There was an awkward silence in which Malfoy contemplated what he had just said.
Dean watched the young man and deadpanned, "You bully Muggle born students Malfoy. No shit, most of the student body hate Slytherin's, especially since most of the students are probably Muggle borns or related to one – hell even you are, if you're human that is,"
"I'm not related in anyway to those –" he froze in midsentence. At that Dean had to smile.
"Gotcha," he said almost playfully, "But seriously what's your problem with Muggles?"
"My father, well he's very opinionated, let's just say," Malfoy paused, looking away and turning his attention to the gun he was cleaning, "But it's not like you care, you're on the Gryffindor's side I bet,"
"No, not really," replied Dean lying through his teeth, "I don't really care. To be honest I once would have, saw the world in black and white, but certain things have made me see the grey. Though I don't reckon its right to be abusive to Muggles,"
"Well, that's your opinion" said Malfoy bluntly. Dean shrugged, he had tried to get Malfoy to think about his prejudice (which he was kind of surprised since that hadn't been his intention in the first place), and although he hadn't changed them, hopefully he'd think about things later. The lunch bell then chimed loudly through the castle. Dean glanced at his watch – it was one o'clock. Standing up and beginning to pack the weapons away with Malfoy (surprisingly) following suit, he quickly waved off the young wizard, "Listen, its lunch, we're pretty much done. Go have lunch, detention is over,"
"Great," said Malfoy shortly, heading towards the door. Just as his fingers brushed against the door knob, he turned back as to say something, but then he shrugged and left.
Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts, Scotland
"And I thought you were heading down to Hogsmeade today," chuckled Dean after lunch as he sat next to his brother. They were in library surrounded by a pile of books, that the younger Winchester had no doubt scavenged from the shelves. Sam looked up from the large thick volume he was reading and shrugged, before turning back to it. Taking a glance at the page Sam was reading, he gaped like a stunned mullet. It was entirely written in Latin complete with diagrams and disgusting pictures of people dying.
"What the hell?"
"Exorcisms..." yawned Sam, casting his gaze to Dean. He pushed the book away and stretched, "You can read Latin,"
"I know..." blushed Dean, "But I'm not fluent for Christ's sake," taken in his brother's appearance, the bags under his eyes, the four o'clock shadow, and the pale complexion, he critically asked, "You even eaten?"
"I'll eat at lunch,"
"It's three Sam, three,"
"What..." said Sam, visibly confused. He glanced at his watch, eyes widening. Dean sighed, his brother was just like John had been when they were growing up, obsessive, plagued with nightmares, and yet he had thought Sam had gotten over it - it had been a year since Jess' death after all. Then again the realization of this entire world; was probably a strong incentive to dive back into obsession.
Glancing back at the pile of books, he asked casually, "What have you been doing all day?"
"Decoding this, looking for information for our gargoyle problem...looking for books on Demon's, which are surprisingly rare to find in this library,"
Dean snorted, "You're kidding, but this place is massive,"
"I know," smiled Sam, "A nerd's dream, so maybe there is something, I mean it's not like I've combed through this whole place - too big, it would take ages,"
"No shit, but nothing?"
"In the Restricted Section yes...but like I said haven't looked through everywhere,"
"You want help?"
"Sure," deadpanned Sam, turning back to his book. Dean pulled a book towards him and opened it. It was called Phantoms of Hell. To his relief it wasn't in Latin.
"So got anything from that book?" asked Dean.
"Yeah, this ritual says it can kill demons but it's only been used once, like seven hundred years ago or something,"
"What does it say?" said Dean quickly.
"It needs sacrifices, thirteen new born babies, all born on a full moon, the same full moon, among other things,"
Dean paled, that was wrong, so wrong.
"No wonder it's only been used once, that's sick,"
"Uh huh," agreed Sam and then he added, "and all the other ones I've read are just exorcisms for various types of demons like water and so forth,"
Dean nodded. It looked like most of the information they would find here would be stuff they could get off Bobby or any other hunter, then again who knew. He began reading and as silence desceneded around him, he was forcibly reminded of studying for exams, "I feel like I'm at school again,"
"You are, technically," chuckled Sam. Dean grunted and Sam expanded, "So how was detention?"
"Great," deadpanned Dean, then in a lighter tone, "He's not a bad kid...just, well , he's influenced. If he had been brought up differently..."
"Everyone is influenced Dean, you of all people know what happens when circumstances are changed, everything happens for a reason, it's fate," muttered Sam. Dean glared at his brother – for the last comment.
"Since when did you become a shrink, and besides, fate is crap, anyone can change their destiny,"
"One could argue that it's the person's destiny to change their destiny, thus making the first –"
Dean cut in, "What the hell, Sam?"
"I read it in a book,"
"Here?"
"Yeah, it was about Seers and fortune telling so I thought, if anything could help with my visions..." said Sam slowly, gesturing to a yet another thick book, though it looked more recent then the one Sam was currently reading.
Dean quickly glanced through the book. It sounded and probably was a load of bullshit. Going on about how destiny and fate are one, and to foresee is to change or not, but fate decides that and so forth, which then means it was your destiny to change an event that was already going to be changed and yada yada. It was enough to make Dean's head blow up. Oh how he would love to burn that book...
Whistling low, he mentioned softly, "Just take some dreamless sleep potions Sam,"
Sam's eyebrows knitted together, "But what if I take the potion and then I miss something..."
"You need sleep and besides, aren't visions and dreams different?"
"They started out as dreams," reminded Sam. Dean snorted, deciding it was his turn to dish out some sage words, "They were never dreams but visions you just happened to have while you were asleep, so take the potion,"
"Okay," muttered Sam. Dean, mentally smiled, though he did realise he would have to monitor if his brother held to his word or not. Turning back to his book, he began to read. For the next hour he lost himself in his reading. He would have to rethink his earlier assumption on this information being useless. Looking at his watch he decided that he might head back to his room for a shower. As he thought about the beautiful high pressure shower (which are so hard to get when you stay in one star hotels), it reminded him of the painful fact of facing the gargoyles...
Raising an eyebrow he asked Sam, "So what about the gargoyles?"
At that Sam chuckled, "Well technically they are just architectural features originating in France. Pretty much they are a fancy way to have a water spout – you know, to get water to run off from the roof. Anyway from these grotesque water features –"
"Sculptures were made and not used for the same purpose," said Dean quickly, "So our guys are just cursed or charmed , as I suppose the wizards would call it?"
"Probably, and for good reason too, like keeping out students and so forth,"
Dean sighed, "So we can't do anything, then?"
A wicked grin spread on Sam's face, "We might be able too."
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, Scotland
The next night Harry sat in the Gryffindor Common Room, in his favourite squishy armchair – shaking in silent fury, as he thought of Percy's letter to Ron. He was dangerous? Percy thought he was dangerous? That Ron should drop him and become a loyal little Umbridge follower? To tell Umbridge lies? He couldn't believe it. Though he liked Percy least out of the Weasley children, Harry could have never of thought that Percy would write things like that.
He breathed in deeply and then said, "So, Ron –"
"Don't even start!" growled Ron, his cheeks flustered. He grabbed the letter and ripped it in half, "Percy is," the halves became quarters, "the biggest git," another rip, "in the," another, "world," and then the red head chucked the pieces into the roaring fire.
"I can't believe he wrote that," said Ron, standing up, running his hands through his hair.
"I wonder what's going to be in the Prophet tomorrow..." said Hermione seriously, biting her lip.
"I think I'd rather not know," said Ron dryly. Harry sighed and stared at the fire. As he watched the red flames dance and twirl over the logs, he gasped, and fell forward – crawling to the fire.
"Sirius?"
Umbridge's Office, Hogwarts, Scotland
Umbridge sat on her desk, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Tomorrow it will be official and her takeover of Hogwarts would begin, and about damn time. Her poor Fudge having to deal with the likes of Dumbledore, well at least she'd be able to settle a few things straight.
Suddenly an owl began to tap at her window. Umbridge rose and proceeded over to it and let it inside. She immediately recognised a Ministry owl. She stroked it and then took the letter from its beak, her eyes scanning over it, her face exploding in an evil grin.
This was so perfect...
Author's Note: Well I haven't updated in ages and I say sorry for that. I have my reasons, but anyway I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter...trust me I edited this chapter a lot and I'm still not sure nut I never am, so tell me if you love it or hate it or anything in between!
On the next update, well I don't want to make any promises on when, but I am working on the next chapter. Trust me (damn it a promise!), I will finish this story, I will.
