Teleportation, or Apparating as it seemed to be known in this world, was possibly the most enjoyable thing Castiel had found about this world thus far. Though he never had openly admitted it, the loss of his wings and his subsequent inability to teleport was by a huge loss to him. So when he realized that apparating was quite simple, and not at all difficult, he felt as though a crucial part of him had been returned.

However, when Castiel awoke, he cursed his newly returned teleportation ability. His head was pounding with what humans referred to as a hangover and he had absolutely no clue where he was. It was bitterly cold and he had evidently made some sort of shelter out of his trench coat. He blinked several times and glared around at the forest that surrounded him, unsure of what had happened. Like Sam, he had no memory of the night before. He crawled out from underneath his trench coat tent and picked it up, knocking the snow that had accumulated on top of it. Extraordinarily thirsty he stumbled to a creek that was nearby and shoved his entire head underneath the water to both drink and relieve the headache that threatened to split his head in two. When he resurfaced he shook the excess water off and, feeling marginally better, attempted to get a better handle on his surroundings. From his time as an angel he had a vast knowledge of different places in the world and he was reasonably confident that he was in Norway. Why he was in Norway, however, he hadn't a single clue. "Sam? Dean? Crowley? Remus?" Castiel called, turning in a circle. He pulled out his wand and cast a locator spell, determining if anyone was in the immediate area. There seemed to be none, which both worried and relieved him.

Deciding that returning to Hogwarts was his best option Castiel disappeared with a loud crack and reappeared in the center of the Hog's Head bar, thoroughly startling a dirty-robed small person who had been walking past. "It weren't me, I never seen them!" He yelped, diving for cover underneath a table.

The bartender glanced up from where he stood behind the bar, seemingly not have moved a single step from where he had been last night. "About time you got back," the bartender grunted. "You still owe me for your drinks."

Castiel took out a number of Galleons from his pocket and placed them on the bar. "Have you seen my friends?"

"You mean the other four you were drinking with last night?" the bartender asked, pocketing the money. "They all left right after you did. Bloody impolite, apparating in a bar by the way. The sick looking one staggered out saying something about finding an old friend. The big one with the long hair said something about sleeping. The other two didn't say anything, just left."

"What is the fastest way back to Hogwarts?" Castiel asked, throwing another Galleon onto the bar. Bribery, he remembered from Sam and Dean, seemed to accelerate things.

The bartender seemed as susceptible to money as a normal human, pocketing the money and pointing at the corner of the room. "There's a broomstick in that room. You can borrow it but I want it back."

Castiel thanked him and grabbed the broomstick, running outside and throwing a leg over it. He had seen Dean do it several times and it seemed rather simple in concept. He kicked off the ground and immediately slid off the back of the broom, landing in the mud and snow that was all over the ground. He frowned at the broomstick which hovered slightly off the ground. "That did not go as expected," he said uncertainly. Perhaps flying was a bit more difficult than he had previously thought.

Unlike Castiel and Sam, Dean knew exactly where he was when he awoke. How he had gotten there, however, he hadn't the slightest idea. It was early morning, the sun having only just risen slightly above the horizon. "Ah, I was wondering when you would awake." A rough voice said from somewhere to Dean's right. He sat up and shook the leaves out of his hair, blinking several times in the light. "Ugh, the hell happened?" he asked the voice, recognizing it. "How did I get here?"

"You walked." It said simply, the barest trace of humor evident.

"Yeah, thanks for telling me the obvious," Dean said dryly. His comment was met with a soft wheezing sound he knew was their version of laughter. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Well we found you stumbling around last night and we rather thought that you could use someone to keep an eye on you, inebriated as you were." Another voice, still known to Dean, answered. "The centaurs were a bit grumpy that you were stumbling around the forest in the dead of night, so we decided to keep an eye on you. Didn't want them or the spiders to get any funny ideas."

"Thanks for the assist," Dean said, rising to his feet and cracking his neck with a relieved groan. "I owe you guys one. Anything you need, name it."

"We will keep that in mind," the original voice promised. "For now though, we have some things we would like to attend to if you wouldn't mind. The castle is directly to your right. Go in a straight line and you will come out right behind the half-giant's hut. Also, would you please tell him to tell Aragog to watch his territory? His family continues to take all the prey in this area and it is absolutely annoying."

"Yeah, I'll have a word with him." Dean promised. "Anything you guys need while I am thinking of it?"

"Some new reading material would be rather nice," a third voice jumped in. "I've already gone through the books you brought last time."

"Wow, already?"

"You would be surprised at how much free time we have," the third voice said. "Perhaps this time something a bit more enjoyable to read? Hogwarts, A History is all well and good but I have had more fun watching leaves fall."

Dean promised he would and set off in the direction that he had been instructed, handling the hangover with all the practiced ease of a veteran drinker.