Chapter 1

Boise, Idaho, 18th August 2011

The night was black, pitch black, nothing but the twinkling bright stars to guide travellers to and from their destinations.

The road was quiet, abandoned, more of a dirt path than an actual road. Occasionally a car would pass, but they were few and far between. But one car, in particular, stuck out among them. A 1967 Chevy Impala roared down the road, disrupting the unnatural calm of the night. This road was one of the hundreds she had travelled upon in the past forty years. Some no-name town, one of the thousands visited in the nearly forty years that had passed since it was manufactured. She seemed to glide across the dirt as if it was covered in fresh smooth pavement. Her bright headlamps illuminated the cornstalks encroaching on either side of the car , igniting the road ahead in blinding light… Her sleek black metal shone brilliantly under the moon's neon glow. The Impala had lived a long life, and she was still running, and she did what any other car would have done, carrying occupants to and from destinations loyally. But this car…. She was special.

She had all the things other cars had of course. A steering wheel, pedals, a gear shift, dials to tell you everything from tire pressure to speed. Two rows of black leather bucket seats, a radio that was only allowed to play classic rock, a killer motor and pistons and gears. But she also had a few things that didn't come stock . The most important accessories to the car were the two occupants she was carrying.

Their destination was a crappy little motel in some crappy little no-name town just to sleep, refuel and restock. Thoughts of a warm bed soothed the after-hunt adrenaline that flowed through the brothers' veins. Even if those warm beds might be contaminated with more things than either of them wanted to think about. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.

Now the two men inside were as different as night and day. The owner of the car, a 6-foot-tall man, his piercing green eyes standing out from the handsome features topped with sandy blonde hair. He was driving the car with a skill that only came from almost twenty years of experience behind the wheel of his baby, and years before that when she belonged to his father. His driving was adjusted, perfect to the car he knew and loved. He knew exactly how to move her, to brake easily, and he cared for her as if she were a lover. She was the most stable relationship that he had in his life.

He groaned as he shifted his right shoulder , he had tried to shift the gear from second to third, forgetting for a second that it was dislocated. He drove with his left hand (it was awkward but doable), lightly tanned fingers curling around the black steering wheel.

The man beside him was handsome and looked younger, yet taller than the other man. It was evident in the way he sat; his feet squashed up underneath the dashboard. The nickname 'sasquatch' was appropriate, he hated it. His long brown hair fell in his hazel green eyes. He sighed impatiently, wincing as blood pooled around a gash in his forehead. The red liquid threatened to spill over the rim of the cut. He tried to relax his facial features to keep that from happening. He went through his knowledge of first aid from his college days on how to treat a wound to simple life-sustaining practices.

You could ask the eldest of the pair, and he would say without a doubt that the younger was more book smart. He was nearly finished with his law degree before he went out on the road with his brother, but that had been so long ago that he barely remembered anything he learned there. It was also too painful to think about the old days. This was his life now; he had chosen this path. Come hell or high water he was going to live it.

The Impala swerved into a parking space in front of the Thunderbird Inn , home sweet temporary home: Room number 66 . The men got out and their eyes swept the area out of force of habit. Once they were satisfied there was nothing amiss, the taller man dug the keys out from his pocket.

Once inside, there was a minor scuffle over who got the bed with the working vibrating mattress. Even with a dislocated shoulder the eldest still put the younger on the floor in ten seconds.

"Ya OK Sammy?" The eldest asked with a grin . His brother nodded, muttering under his breath as the blood seeped into his dark hair .

"M'fine Dean," Sam Winchester said with a smile as he got up from the floor . "And for the last time, it's Sam."

"This is the life, huh?" Dean grinned , ignoring his brother's protest over his nickname . Maybe I should go back to Sasquatch? He thought to himself. "Sleazy motels, hunting ghosts and who knows what other crap. Almost getting killed every day… loads of fun," Dean snorted at his sarcasm and Sam laughed in response.

They dropped their bags of weapons they had used on the beds. Dean dug around in his pockets for spare change, grinning when he heard the satisfying jingle coming from the third pocket of his jeans. Sam groaned as he fumbled for the first aid kit , trying to keep the blood out of his eyes . Because of their occupation, hunting, their kit would be better stocked than the typical household one would ; containing around 10 types of medication for pain, bandages, needles and thread, antiseptics, cleaners, and slings.

"Sam, will you do my shoulder?" Dean asked. "I'll stitch you up in a minute."

Sam nodded , realizing Dean's shoulder would be the priority because Sam couldn't see his forehead to stitch it up, and it wasn't that deep . Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, holding him in place for a minute. "Wait, how many fingers am I holding up?" He asked holding up three slightly bent fingers, the results of repetitive breaking.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't have a concussion Dean, and three," Sam answered with a huff.

Dean grinned , holding up only one finger. "How about now?"

Sam stood , getting tired of the antics, and approached his brother. He placed one hand behind his dislocated shoulder, and one on the front side to hold him steady. Without warning and with brute strength, Sam pushed Dean's shoulder rapidly, hearing as it clicked back into place. "Fuck!" Dean swore, grunting loudly in pain. Sam handed him two pain pills that wouldn't make him drowsy, along with a glass of water. Dean took the pills, but he shook his head and grabbed the bottle of Jack that was within reach. He popped the pills into his mouth and took a large gulp of the whiskey. The pleasant burn of the alcohol hit his throat and he let out a sigh of happiness. "You could have warned me you were doing it…." Sam just shrugged it off

"Fine, now it's your turn," Dean said, moving his injured shoulder slowly, a hiss of pain escaping. He grabbed the needle and thread from the first aid kit. He wiped Sam's forehead with alcohol from the Jack Daniel's bottle and began sewing up the cut. Sam didn't wince much as the dull needle slid in and out of his skin, he had taken the pain pills before when Dean was getting the keys. Luckily it wasn't deep, and it was only a small cut, compared to others Sam had got in the past. He finished and again poured the alcohol over the wound to clean it. "There you go champ.

All better?" he teased, ruffling Sam's hair lightly.

Sam scowled. "Jerk."

"Bitch. Come on, we better hit the hay," Dean yawned, arms outstretched, the pain in his shoulder starting to wear off with the pills and the alcohol. The bottle of amber liquid in his hands. He took a swig before putting it on the tiny table.

"That poltergeist was crazy," he commented, feeling like he needed to break the surrounding silence. It was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

"Yeah, it was. I mean, who or what kills people by ripping their lungs out?" As soon as the words were out, Sam realized his gaffe, he grimaced. Tonight's hunt had reminded him too much of Zachariah ripping his lungs out to make Dean say yes to Michael.

"Sick bastards Sam," Dean answered, remembering the same thing, making no other comment.

"Yeah," Sam answered, but Dean was already snoring lightly. He rolled his eyes and lay back and drifted to sleep.

⸸

They're on a warm beach somewhere, it didn't matter where. It only mattered who with. She was beautiful with a nice rack, and she was cuddled into his side. They were sitting on the blanket in the sand, watching the sunset below the horizon. He was leaning over to nuzzle her neck when she started banging coconuts together and looking at him with a perplexed expression on her face. Before he could ask, she banged them together again.

Dean awoke with a start to a sharp tapping on a window.

"What the hell?" he muttered. He arose slowly, walking towards the window. There on the windowsill, was a small tawny owl. It had an envelope tied to its leg, looking at him expectantly. Dean raised one eyebrow quizzically at the sight. Not sure if he still wasn't dreaming. He turned around and shook his brother wishing he was still with the hot chick on the beach .

"Wha…?" Sam groaned sleepily. He tried to focus on his brother's figure squinting in the darkness. Once he was up, he turned on the bedside light.

"Dude, there's a freaking owl on the windowsill!" Dean exclaimed in confusion, jerking his thumb towards the only window in the place. Sam shook his head, wondering if he heard Dean right and went over to the window and saw the owl. He moved to open it automatically.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you nuts?" Dean snapped as the small owl flew into the room and nuzzled Sam's arm.

"There's something tied to its leg," Sam said simply. As if that explains everything. Dean thought to himself, his scowl deepened.

"And that means we let the thing in? It could be cursed with something," Dean pointed out. Sam was too trusting in his opinion. Dean lived by the mentality of shoot first and ask questions later. Though he had to admit, even if too himself, that the owl was pretty cool. He had never seen one up close before.

Sam ignored him and untied the envelope from the owl's leg. "It's holding an envelope…

What's so scary about an envelope? I might get a paper cut at the worst."

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink.

Messrs Sam and Dean Winchester,

Room 66

The Thunderbird Inn,

Boise, Idaho,

United States of America

Sam turned it over and saw a purple wax seal with a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered.

"They got the exact address… too exact if you ask me," Dean said, suspicious. He couldn't wrap his head around what was going on. He just wanted to go back to the island with the coconut fetish. Now Sam wanted to play nature boy with a stupid owl. With pale fingers, Sam broke the wax seal and opened the letter, revealing a heavy paper with more emerald-green ink in elegant script.

Sam began to read the letter aloud.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer Supreme

Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

"What a name," Dean smirked. Sam glared at him and continued to read.

Dear Sam and Dean Winchester,

My name is Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am afraid that war is coming to my world faster than we were expecting and require your assistance in preparing our students should they feel the need to participate.

I understand if you do not wish to join us, but we would consider it an honour to have two of the world's most renowned hunters to help with the rising of the Dark Wizard Voldemort.

We are aware that your father, John Winchester, has trained you to hunt the supernatural since childhood. So, naturally, you would be the perfect people for the job.

If you agreed to join us, or if you have any questions for me, I would be happy to give you the answers you require. I will meet you tomorrow at 2 pm. The school term begins on September the first.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

What the fuck is this? Were the first thoughts to enter the Winchester brothers' minds. Magic? Witchcraft? Sure, they had heard of all of that before, but on a good side? Nope, it just didn't happen. They had come across their fair share of witches, and it never ended well. Dean was stubborn about sticking to that fact, the memory of Ruby leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The demon was once a witch when she was human, and due to her treachery, Dean hated both witches and demons, although from time to time was forced to work with them, much to his disdain.

Sam thought about it for a minute and then said, "Let's go check it out."

"Are you serious?" Dean smacked him upside the head. "This could be a trap." His mind was reeling from all their recent encounters. Who knew what the hell this was? Shapeshifter? Demon? It could be freaking anything. And his brother just wanted to check it out? And who exactly is Voldemort?!

"Well, if it is a trap then maybe we could set a trap for them." Sam gave him a small shrug.

"But what if they anticipate us setting a trap, so they set a trap, to trap our trap that we were using to trap them before they trap us," Dean said it like it should make perfect sense. Even though it sounded completely insane when he said it out loud.

"What?" Sam finally looked up from the letter. "Come on dude, how scary could this Minerva McGonagall be?"

"Very. I'm sure that Minerva McGonagall is one of the teachers at this weirdo school, she has teacher handwriting…. Her G's look the same as that psycho teacher I had in 5th grade…." Dean shivered involuntarily, "No way man… We didn't think Ruby was that bad, did we?" Dean snapped, nodding when Sam winced.

"Yeah, you're right," he made a face at the memory. "But I'm still curious."

Dean took the letter from his brother's hands and studied the innocent-looking parchment; like there was some secret encryption that they were missing that could turn into some death trap, or worse. It brought to mind all those spy films when the note always said this note will self-destruct in three… two… one…. BOOM!

All that Dean could find was the impressive penmanship of a middle-aged woman. He sighed and gave it to Sam. "What are you doing?" Dean grinned as he watched Sam scrutinize the letter like the nerd he was while ignoring the fact that he had just done the same thing . Sam ignored him, running encryption codes through his head trying to decipher hiding meanings as Dean had done.

"Whatever man, I'm going to have a drink." He walked over to the mini bar, silently praying this was a dream within a dream.

"What the hell?" He tried to open the cabinet and the door was locked.

"You do know that you have to rent the key to get to the booze?" Sam murmured without taking his eyes off the letter.

Dean sighed. "It's not fair that I have to get stuck in this crummy motel with my brother who is obsessing over a letter, obviously written by an owl trainer and I can't even get drunk to forget it all."

Sam smirked at his brother, "Yeah, life isn't fair, is it?"

"Shut up bitch," Dean snapped, rummaging in the duffle bags, and finding another bottle of whiskey. He sighed happily as it ran down his throat, coating his insides with warm bubbles. He fished out the coins he found earlier and turned on the bed, smiling to himself.

They kept going back and forth over the pros and cons of the letter while it lay on the table, just like an ordinary letter. But with everything the boys had to deal with over the past few years nothing surprised them. For all they knew, it could explode in the next few seconds. But Sam still wanted to go, he smiled as he petted the owl's head, and it started nibbling affectionately at the zip of his jacket.

"No way man, it's too dangerous." Dean put his foot down. "Besides, she didn't even give us directions! How are we supposed to get to this place? Tie ourselves to the stupid bird's legs?" He gestured to the owl that was still perched on Sam's arm like it was waiting on something. Then it swooped up to swiftly clamp its beak down on Dean's fingers.

"Shit! What the hell bird?!" Dean whacked at the owl, and it let go and flew across the room and then towards the open window.

"That's what you get for calling it stupid." Sam rolled his eyes and tried not to snicker at his brother. "What's the harm in just meeting with her? If it makes you feel better, we can take some guns just to be safe."

"But we have no idea what she's capable of!" Dean snapped. "She could be a demon, spirit, Wraith, or she could be a witch and hex us into oblivion."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's theatrics. He took out the bandages and patched up Dean's fingers.

"Look man, why don't you just call Cas? He could have some info for us on these Hogwarts people." Sam offered as he put up the First Aid Kit, hopefully for the last time tonight, err, morning , according to the clock on the nightstand.

Dean sighed in defeat .

"What the hell. Cas?" he called. "We need your help with something. Get your feathery angel ass down here."

A loud fluttering of wings sounded through the room along with the sound of clothes whirling through the air as the Angel of the Lord swept into the rundown motel room. He was of average height, with black shaggy hair, midnight blue eyes, pale skin and a confused expression and his head tilted to the side. He wore his usual clothes, a white shirt, open suit jacket, slacks, a dark blue tie worn backwards and loose around his neck. A tan trench-coat covered the suit and hung open.

"Hello Dean," Cas said in a gravelly voice . His gaze towards the older hunter. "Sam," he finished.

"Hey Cas," Dean replied quickly and Sam nodded.

"Why have you called me?" Castiel asked as he looked between the two brothers quizzically .

"We need your help. We got this letter a little while ago. Could you tell us if they are telling the truth?" Sam handed the parchment to the Angel, and he scanned it , blue eyes scanning the page rapidly.

When he finished, he looked up , handing the note back to Dean . "This woman is telling the truth. She is not evil and needs your help," Castiel said simply.

"But we've faced witches before. She doesn't seem to do that kind of stuff," Sam stated, confused.

Castiel shook his head before continuing his explanation. "These wizards are different. It's in their blood, they are more like Wiccans than actual witches and warlocks . They get their powers from their bloodlines. Or if they're born to non-magical families, and mostly channel their magic through their wands."

"Wands?" Dean asked incredulously. "Seriously? Like an enchanted stick?"

Sam rolled his eyes, wishing that Dean would stop being an idiot . "Do you know anything about their culture, their society?"

"Well, they are almost the same as humans. They have a government called 'The Ministry of Magic', and they have established eleven known schools, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland being the most famous. There are two more in Europe; the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, a more formal school for young witches and wizards that is in France, and the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning in Scandinavia is more closely related to the Dark Arts."

"Dark Arts?" The brothers said in unison.

"The Dark Art is similar to the witches that you have dealt with before. Wizards who participate in the Dark Arts pledge their allegiance to a wizard named Voldemort, who is normally referred to as You-Know-Who. His other known aliases are He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Cas finished his explanation, noticing the bottle of whiskey and frowned. "You are drinking this early?"

" No…." Dean hid the bottle, clearing his throat before he began again . "So, these people at Hogwarts. They're harmless to us?"

"Yes, unless you do something to upset them."

"Which, in case you haven't noticed, we tend to do a lot," Dean smirked. Sam snorted.

"What are they going to do?" Sam asked in a patronizing tone. "Poke us to death with their magic sticks? Kill us? We've died before." Evidently, some of soulless Sam's snarkiness had stuck, Dean noted.

Dean and Cas exchanged looks. "Shut the hell up Sam," Dean scowled.

"So, do you think we should meet them?" Sam asked his bitch face on full display .

"Yes, I do," Castiel nodded. "They are of no harm to you."

Dean and Sam nodded , trusting in the Angel's assessment completely .

"Cas, why do hunters not know about them? A hunter must have come across one before," Sam inquired, wanting more information before he went in to meet this witch. Dean could see the gears turning in his little brother's mind .

"They have, but the witches and wizards wiped the hunters' memories if they found out about them to protect themselves," Castiel explained. "And the schools are heavily warded against the non-magical population."

"Thanks," they said and with a flutter of invisible wings, Castiel was gone.

Dean turned and collapsed on the bed, snoring before his head hit the pillow. The bottle banged the floor with a dull thunk . It didn't break, but it lay on its side, the cap still on. Sam rolled his eyes.