Chapter 3

Dean and Sam watched as the witch disappeared, the two sitting in silence, still getting used to the idea of good witches.

"That was a lot to take in," Sam said, checking over his laptop after Minerva disenchanted it. A mental image of Gollum with long girly Sam hair clutching a laptop came bursting into Dean's mind. My precious… Dean held back a laugh.

"And that's saying something, coming from you," Dean grinned, trying to get the image out of his head, so he wouldn't laugh. He turned around wanting to make sure the whiskey wasn't tea. Sam gave Dean his trademark bitch face and Dean laughed in response, nearly falling off his chair.

Sam, ignoring his brother's outburst, sobered up.

"What do you think of all this?" Sam asked

Dean frowned. "I think it's crappy for them, especially that Harry kid. Lost both his parents in one night. I thought our lives sucked." He thought back to his most recent nightmare, made up of mostly sounds: The crackling noise of fire-eating through the walls, his father's voice echoing in his ears, the quiet cries of baby Sam in his arms. And then he was running, not looking back at the house, not wanting it to be real. Screaming at his father to find his mother. He shook away his nightmare and added. "He grew up alone." At least Dean had Sam and his father.

"Yeah true," Sam agreed, he ran a hand over his forehead.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, wondering if he should redo the stitches from yesterday.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam answered. His head throbbed as he looked up to his brother's hazel green eyes.

The stitches in his forehead weren't helping anything. Dean watched his brother with focused eyes. He had told Sam to be careful and don't scratch the wall. The wall that Death himself had put up in his mind to hold back his little brother's memories of Lucifer's Cage. Even Cas hadn't been sure that Sam would wake from his coma-like state after Death had restored his soul. All Dean could do was sit at Sam's side and hope for him to wake.

He remembered his argument with Cas that day about Dean's part in restoring Sam's soul.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him," Cas had said.

"What was I supposed to do? Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire?"

"Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it. Like it had been skinned alive, Dean. If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright."

If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright. Castiel's words echoed in Dean's head.

"Can I get you anything?" Dean asked, trying to get the nagging angel's voice out of his head.

"What are you now, my waitress?" Sam snorted. Dean glared at him.

"I'm just trying to make you feel better. Don't be a bitch," he snapped. Here he was trying to keep his brother from having a mental breakdown, and he was being such a primadonna…

"Yeah jerk, I'm fine," Sam repeated with a shrug, the throbbing in his head becoming worse.

"Yeah, you look fine," Dean noted sarcastically, nodding towards him, looking at his pale face. "All I'm saying is everything's gonna be okay."

"I know. Thanks, De-" There was a sudden dull thud as Sam dropped to the floor, convulsing. Dean's heart almost stopped.

"Sammy? Sammy?!" Dean was up at once, hurtling towards his brother. No! Fuck, fuck fuck! Dean thought desperately. No! He was fine a minute ago! Now, Sam was convulsing harder, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. His eyes begged for mercy and a release from the pain he was enduring. Dean held his brother as still as he could, he cringed against the carpeted ground.

"Sammy, talk to me!" Dean begged. No, please. Sammy, please be okay. I just got you back little brother. You can't do this to me now. It felt as if Dean was being strangled as he begged his brother not to leave him.

Sam however was trapped in his mind. His surroundings were nothing but fire, igniting him and burning him alive. His face contorted and, in his mind, he screamed in pain. Lucifer's voice drifted through his mind, a cold chill running down his spine. You're staying here now Sammy. All mine.

Dean felt his brother's body grow limp. Sam's eyes slipped shut, and he gave in to the darkness.

His blood ran cold as he saw his brother's convulsions stop, completely lifeless… No Sammy, please. He shook his brother desperately, tears clouding his eyes.

"Sam? Sam. S-Sam?" he stuttered. "Oh, come on." He shook Sam more forcefully.

"Sammy! Come on, come on. Come on, damn it," he begged. One of his hands rested on Sam's forehead. He lifted his other shaking hand and rested it against his brother's neck, praying for a pulse. He felt the rapid thumping underneath his fingertips. Sam was alive, but he wasn't breathing. Sammy…

Sam's eyes shot open, he inhaled sharply, gulping in the air he desperately needed. Dean let go of him, worried Sam would hit him in his panic.

"Hey, hey, hey, you with me?" Dean said softly, relieved to see his brother awake. Sam groaned loudly. Dean hauled Sam from the floor. "Come on. Come on," Dean soothed gently.

⸸

He and Dean were sitting at the table an hour later. Sam's fingers were wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, enjoying the warmth the cup gave him. His head was still throbbing, and he felt weak. Like he had gone 10 rounds with Muhammed Ali. Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How d'you feel?" Dean asked, tensing a little. He felt like a jerk for asking him for the hundredth time. But Sam's seizure freaked him out. Images of Death putting Sam's soul back kept resurfacing from the depth of his subconscious.

"Fuck, like I got hit by a… planet," Sam answered with a scowl. He raised the coffee cup to his lips and took a sip. The warmth combined with the bitter taste of caffeine nicely to calm his nerves slightly and helped him to relax. Dean nodded, taking a drink from his coffee.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm a doctor." Dean held up a container of pills. "I got this," He put them on the table.

"What are they?" Sam asked, examining the bottle.

Dean frowned, thinking back to the hot chick at the pharmacy that he charmed into letting him back into the pharmacist's office. When she was sufficiently distracted, he searched through the stacks of prescriptions looking for anything saying, 'pain reliever' or 'make the headache go away.' "Effective," Dean answered simply with a shrug.

"I'm okay. Thanks," Sam said, pushing the plastic bottle of pills away. Feeling bad that Carl Pegango would be without his OxyContin for a few more days.

"Suit yourself," Dean sighed. He pocketed the drugs, knowing that before long one of them will need it.

Sam paused before asking. "How long was I out?"

Dean took a drink before answering. "About two or three minutes." Two or three minutes too long, he added in his head. "Why, what'd it feel like to you?"

"About a week, give or take," Sam frowned.

"You want to talk about it?" Dean asked. He knew he was going into a chick-flick broment, but he didn't give a damn, it felt like they needed it.

"It?" Sam asked. Dean had never really been good at expressing his feelings. Sam was used to it though.

"Yeah, whatever that was. I mean, it was like you were fuckin' electrocuted," Dean said, flinching slightly.

"Look, I mean, it wasn't fun." Sam let out a short laugh that wasn't humorous. "But I-I'm… Fine," Dean scowled, hating it when Sam told him he was fine. When Sam used that he was anything but fine.

"Fine." Dean snapped. "It was Hell, wasn't it?" He felt the urge to continue at Sam's wince. "You got a big, fat face full of hell. Ever cross your mind that you could've died?"

"Oh, come on." Sam rolled his eyes, taking his cup to the sink. Taking longer than necessary to keep Dean from scrutinizing his every move. Or at least, make it less obvious.

"I'm serious," Dean pressed on. "And none of this 'it's just a flesh wound' shit, 'cause we did it your way. We let you explore, and every bad thing that I said would happen, happened. So, guess what, past stays past. We're not kicking that wall again."

"So, I'm supposed to just ignore it?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Yes. If the shoe fits, wear it."

Sam sighed heavily. "I don't see how I'm just supposed to ignore it."

Dean flashed him a weak grin. "Beer helps," he said, lifting his bottle slightly. Sam laughed a little.

A sudden knock on the door reached their ears. The brothers tensed, wondering who else would be coming to see them. "After the morning we had, if it's a damn troll…." Dean got up and opened it to reveal a man of late fifties, with greying brown hair and beard, green eyes and had a sturdy build. He smiled. "Close enough."

"Hey boys," The man nodded to each of them.

"Hey Bobby," Dean answered and hugged him. Sam came up behind his brother and hugged Bobby.

"So, what's with the visit?" Dean smiled.

"I called him," Sam explained. "I figured we could use some help. He was nearby."

"Here I am. How are you, Sam?" The hunter approached Sam, looking him over with an expert eye.

"Fine," Sam replied. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but Sam ignored it.

"What happened?" Bobby demanded. "I ain't stupid. I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night." Something was going on, and he wanted to know what.

"Sam's wall… it cracked a little. He got a glimpse of hell," Dean explained.

"It's a good thing you called me, ya idjits!" Bobby snapped.

"We didn't have much of a choice… Sam had a freaking seizure, and I didn't know what the fuck to do," Dean frowned.

Bobby took a deep breath. "Okay, so the wall cracked. I thought Death told you not to scratch, Sam."

"You think I don't know about that?" Sam sighed. Bobby nodded silently. He looked at the table to see a bottle of whiskey. He stood and walked towards the cabinet and got out three whiskey glasses. As he poured the amber coloured liquid into the glasses, he noticed a letter on the table.

"What's that about?" Bobby asked. "Passin' out love notes?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, wondering who would be the first to speak. Dean wanted to play a game of rock, paper, scissors, but Sam rolled his eyes. After a silent minute-long stand-off, Dean finally sighed and told Bobby the story.

"Are you two stupid or somethin'?" Bobby didn't look up from his glass. "Crowley is close to breaking the code to purgatory open, and you're going off to play wizards? It's out of the question."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Bobby, I think we are old enough to make our own decisions without consulting you," he snapped.

"Yeah, I'm sure ya idjit. I just want to make sure you don't get your guts ripped out!" Bobby scowled. "God forbid, I try to look out for you! You barely look after yourselves!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, I wasn't too jazzed about this either at first, but we've already consulted with Cas and Professor McGonagall."

"You called Cas?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow. "How the hell would he help anything?"

"Well, Cas has been watching over the planet for thousands of years, right?" Dean pointed out. Bobby nodded.

"And this 'McGonagall' person?" Bobby retorted, picking up the letter carefully.

"She seems to be fine." Sam leaned up against the door frame. "Her credentials are credible." He tossed Bobby the hexagon-shaped card.

"What is this?" Bobby flipped over the card.

"It's the card that she gave us when she showed up," Dean replied.

"You mean she got past all the traps that you set?" Bobby sounded incredulous.

"Yep," Dean popped the 'p'. "Devil's Traps, salt, Christo, she just popped in as a damn cat and turned that whiskey into tea."

Bobby looked at them incredulously, studying the whiskey bottle. "That doesn't make a lick of sense. Why would a witch need you to fight a wizarding war anyway?"

"They don't want us to fight, they want us to be teachers. According to McGonagall, this Dark Wizard might recruit the supernatural," Sam answered.

"You're positive this is legit?" Bobby pressed, looking each boy in the eye.

"Yeah, we're sure Bobby," Sam replied, his head throbbing, but ignoring the pain.

"As long as you're sure," Bobby nodded, trusting their judgement. "I need to go and see if there's anything new about this whole Purgatory crap," Bobby muttered. "I'll see you," he said, hugging both Winchesters.

"See ya, Bobby. We'll call," Dean answered.

"Ya better!" they heard Bobby call back as the door closed. "Idjits." Sam and Dean shared a grin.

⸸

Three days passed and the 22nd of August at 7 am rolled around. Sam and Dean were still sleeping, Dean on his stomach on top of the covers, mouth slightly open. Dean's face twitched slightly in his sleep. The nightmare was in full force.

Sam was on the table in Bobby's panic room. His eyes were wide, glazed with fear. He convulsed

wildly, and Dean knew his wall was gone, crumbled. Castiel was at the door, unable to come in because of the Enochian signs covering the curved walls.

"I told you this would happen, Dean," he said, and he glared at him.

"Shut it Cas! He'll be fine. He's always fine," but as he spoke, Sam's eyes rolled back in his head, and he grew still.

Dean's eyes shot open, and his breath hitched.

"Are you okay?" he heard Sam ask. He must have woken during the nightmare.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean replied, getting up out of bed and going to the counter, not meeting his brother's eye. "Want a coffee?" he asked.

"Sure," Sam said. Dean made the coffee, focusing on the task rather than wanting Sam to badger him with questions.

"Here Jolly Green Giant," he grinned, knowing acting like an ass would usually put Sam off for a few hours. Sam scowled at him. Perfect. They sat, drinking their coffees, and munching some cereal, Lucky Charms, a childhood favourite of theirs. The drab beige walls dampened their moods, not looking forward to the long drive to wherever the hell Minerva wanted to take them.

"I hate these shitty motels," Dean grumbled as a loud crack sounded in the room. Dean turned around rapidly to see Minerva standing there.

"You have got to stop doing that," Dean said, grabbing his chest where his heart was thumping erratically.

"My apologies," Minerva replied. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Minnie," Dean smirked, recovering from his near heart attack. Minerva raised an eyebrow. Dean wisely decided to shut up.

"So, you're here to bring us to get the stuff we need for school?" Sam asked. Minerva nodded.

"Yes, I am. There will be several things we need to buy for your school year including quills, parchment, books, and other things. But firstly, we must go to your vault in Gringotts bank to collect your money," Minerva explained.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. "And how in the hell do we get there?"

"We have put your first month's wages and a yearly budget in a vault in Gringotts for you," Minerva told them, handing a key to Sam. "And if you don't control your language Mr Winchester, I will have to use you as a test subject for some new transfigurations."

"Thanks," Sam smiled, loving the fact that someone had finally put Dean in his place. Dean looked at her wide-eyed, before looking back at the whiskey bottle.

"Our pleasure," Minerva replied. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at an old sock. "To answer your rude question, this is how you will get to Gringotts. Portus," she said simply, and the sock glowed blue.

"What the hell is that?" Dean exclaimed.

"That is a Portkey. It will bring you to London, where we must go to get our supplies. Portkeys are usually made from ordinary things that people would think of as rubbish."

"Oh right," Sam said.

Rubbish, I guess I'm gonna have to get used to the English slang, Dean thought with a smirk.

"Yes, I need you both to put a finger on it," Minerva said, holding it out within their reach. The brothers, after exchanging a look and raised eyebrows, touched it.

It happened immediately. They felt as though a hook just behind their navels had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Their feet left the ground. They were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour. The brothers' forefingers were stuck to the sock as though it was pulling them magnetically onward and then the three pairs of feet slammed into the ground. Minerva righted herself calmly as Sam and Dean landed on their behinds. Dean had a greenish tinge to his skin, holding his hand over his mouth.

He searched for a trash can quickly. "I'm gonna be sick," Dean muttered. "I thought flying was bad."

"Head between your knees," Sam advised, already assuming the position, letting nausea pass.

"Shuddup," Dean muttered as he took deep breaths. "I am so not doing that again."

Minerva gave him a rare smile. "Yes, it can be quite nauseating the first time. When you're ready we must get going."

"Where are we?" Sam groaned, finally looking up to assess his surroundings.

"An alley in London. We will have to finish our journey on foot," Minerva informed.

Dean snorted. She sounds like we're searching for the freakin' holy grail or something.

The brothers took in their surroundings, having never been outside the US, and not so quickly either. But they didn't have much time for sightseeing. Minerva led them out of a small alleyway and down a crowded street. They passed bookshops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas. It was hard enough to keep up with her, even if she was the only person on the street that was wearing an emerald green cloak. It flapped behind her, oddly reminding Dean of a Batman cape.

"Hey Sam, I wonder if we'll get to wear capes like that." Dean punched his brother with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

Minerva came to an abrupt halt, causing Dean to run into Sam, the eldest shuffling, embarrassed. "This is it, the Leaky Cauldron, it is a famous place." It was a tiny, grubby-looking bar. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.

But if I was going to hide something, Sam thought to himself, I would hide it in plain sight. "Can they see it?" Sam asked.

"No, Muggles normally cannot see it, but there have of course been exceptions made," Minerva explained.

Dean and Sam didn't see much about the place for it to catch the eye of a passer-by. For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby, the view didn't seem to improve much as they walked in. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe, she was appraising the two of them behind Minerva. A shiver passing down Dean's spine at her look. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Minerva; they nodded politely at her, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "Hello Professor."

"Hello Tom," Minerva greeted. "I'd like you to meet Sam and Dean Winchester. They will be teaching at Hogwarts this year."

"Nice to meet you," Tom nodded. Sam shifted uncomfortably as he noticed the eyes on him and his brother. He couldn't look anywhere without meeting a curious pair of eyes.

"You too," Dean answered.

"We have a room for you here until term starts," Minerva explained, handing them a key. "Come on, we need to go to Gringotts." Sam and Dean nodded, not oblivious to the stares they were getting from the witches and wizards. Minerva led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds poking through the cobblestones.

"Why were they all staring at us?" Sam muttered.

"It is highly unusual for a Muggle to know about our world unless they have a magical relative. This is an entirely new thing, Muggles teaching at Hogwarts," Minerva explained.

"Awesome," Dean muttered with a scowl. "Hey Sam, Broomhilda was checking you out in there. Want me to go back in there and get her number?" Sam punched Dean in the shoulder.

Minerva was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can trying to ignore the brother's banter. She wondered half to herself how many young impressionable children these boys will teach bad habits to.

"Stand back," she advised. Sam and Dean did as she said, exchanging a glance. She tapped the wall three times with the point of her wand. The brick wriggled and, in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider and a second later they were facing an archway that led onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," said Minerva.

Dean and Sam grinned in unison, "Awesome..."