"Good, good," Dean said, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team zoom around him on their brooms. A beater's bat was over one shoulder as George ran a lap around the field for failing to hit a bludger at his intended target. "Remember, speed is only useful when you can still be accurate. You can be as fast as the wind but it doesn't mean jack if you can't make your shot, catch the Snitch, or block your goal."
With the first Quidditch match of the season rapidly approaching in three days Dean had decided that one last grueling practice had been necessary. The sun had disappeared behind the woods of the Forbidden Forest and the cool night air caused his words to come out in a whoosh of warm fog. Only when the darkness prevented him from seeing further than fifteen feet in front of him did he finally whistle for the team to join him on the ground. He waited for them to catch their breath, which took quite some time, before he spoke. "Well done, all of you." Dean said, smiling at the students. "You have all really shown up. I couldn't be more proud of each and every one of you. Slytherin won't know what hit them. Oliver, speak to your team."
"It's my last year," Oliver's eyes were bright with determination. They were in direct contrast to his robes, which were absolutely soaked and covered in mud. "My last chance to win the Quidditch cup. I want… I need this. We need this. The past several years we should have won, but due to a large variety of circumstances…" The fact that they hadn't won was left hanging in the air.
"This is our year," Katie said firmly.
"We will crush Slytherin," Angelina echoed.
Dean smiled as the others joined in on the chorus. Oliver dismissed them all to the locker rooms, except for Harry who lingered behind. "Something the matter, Potter?" Dean asked, throwing his broom over his shoulder and starting back towards the school. "You practiced hard today, hit the showers."
"Professor," Harry said, worry in his tone. "Have you ever heard of a Grim?"
Dean paused at this and slowly turned to face him. "Yeah, we call them Black Dogs back in the U.S. Where did you hear about them?"
"Professor Trelawney said… well… she's the Divination teacher see, and she said that the Grim was in my future." The last came out in a rush and Dean had to take a few seconds to process the words. Once he had, a frown formed on his face. Black dogs were by no means uncommon but they preferred to stay around cemeteries and places of tragedies.
"Have you noticed anything going wrong?" Dean asked, wondering where he would get an olive branch to kill the beast. "You know, a run of bad luck worse than normal? Stuff that is out of the ordinary?"
"Well… no…" Harry's voice trailed off again and Dean knew immediately where his problem was.
"You've seen it, haven't you?" Dean asked softly, turning back towards the castle and jerking with his chin for Harry to follow him.
"Well, I saw a big dark dog," Harry said nervously, jogging to keep up with Dean. "I'm not sure if it was a Grim though."
"Well, better to be safe than sorry," Dean said, his eyes darting around as he walked up the hill towards the school. "Trust me. Black dogs aren't always bad, they usually hang around graveyards and places like that, but if one marks you it's not good. Go back to your dorms tonight and try not to go outside during the dark."
"Professor, am I in danger?" Harry asked resolutely.
Dean liked the iron in Potter's voice and had to hide a smile. "No, you should be fine," Dean said. "Black dogs may take an interest in a human, but after a while their interest usually goes away." He didn't mention that half the time the interest diminished because the human in question had been killed due to the bad luck that the dog brought. But if Harry wasn't experiencing and real bad luck, the kind normally associated with Grim, it might just be a normal dog he had seen.
Dean walked Harry into the school and then bade him good night, turning to go the opposite way. It was barely eleven o' clock and yet he was as tired as he would be after driving all night long and his legs wore sore from flying for hours. Deciding to check in on Sam, he ducked into his brother's office to see what he was doing as it had been some time since he had spoken to him. Predictably, Sam was at his desk with a small mountain of papers in front of him. One such piece of parchment was held before him, his eyes scanning the page as he read. He glanced up when he heard Dean's approach and put the paper down. "Hey," he said. "Long night at practice?"
"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "Slytherin is going to have a tough time Saturday. I actually had a question. Harry Potter came up to me and said he saw a Grim-."
"It's his godfather," Sam said, picking up the paper once again and continuing to read it. His quill occasionally brushed across the page to correct some mistake or make a comment. "Don't worry, it's not a Black Dog."
"His godfather is a dog?" Dean asked, lost. "Uh, what?"
"No, he's an animagus." Sam pushed a paper towards Dean. "This is a paper I assigned the seventh years on them. They're pretty accurate for the most part, so read it and get an idea."
Dean fell silent as he did just that. Occasionally he paused to ask Sam a question, but for the most part he was silent as he read through the parchment. When Dean reached for Sam's quill the younger Winchester looked at him confusedly. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Well you just said that people can't transform into more than one animal, right?" Dean tugged the quill from under Sam's hand and wrote something on the paper.
"You know these are my papers, right?" Sam asked with a laugh. "You don't need to help me grade them."
Dean waved a hand dismissively and reached for another paper. "I've got nothing better to do, I don't assign homework that much at all, and I'm your brother. Helping you is in the job description."
Sam smiled at that and reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "I ordered this from the Three Broomsticks," he said, conjuring up two glasses. "Firewhisky is great, but nothing like the classics right?"
"You read my mind," Dean said, toasting Sam as he accepted the glass. They took a long drink and sighed appreciatively. "How are classes going for you?"
"Not bad," Sam said, shrugging. "Getting the fifth years ready for their O.W.L's. The seventh years for their N.E.W.T's and the fourth years Remus and I split so we split the work load as well. How about you?"
"About the same," Dean took another drink as he put another paper in the 'graded' pile. "Thought about asking Dumbledore to borrow Fawkes for a lesson. The seventh years could use an easy lesson, and phoenixes are pretty easy to teach about. The fifth years are going over Bowtruckles for the next few lessons."
"Actually, I was meaning to ask you about something," Sam said, recalling Severus's warning. "What have you been doing in the Forbidden Forest so late at night?"
Dean raised an eyebrow at this. He hadn't been aware anyone knew about his late night strolls. "Sorry, can't say." He shrugged. "I promised them."
"Them?" Sam asked. "Who are 'them'?"
But Dean pantomimed zipping his lips and Sam had to roll his eyes. They sat in silence for a good long while after that, drinking and grading papers until the young hours of the morning. When the clock read quarter past two, Sam placed the last paper onto the graded pile and leaned back in his chair. His head was buzzing slightly from the scotch, and he got slowly to his feet to judge his level of inebriation. In the chair opposite him, Dean had dozed off some minutes ago. He snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face and the older Winchester jerked awake. "Daisy Duke," he blurted out, looking around wildly.
"Simpson or Bach?" Sam asked, smiling.
"Scott," Dean said, blinking several times and glaring accusingly at the bottle of scotch. "There is no way that is still half-full."
Sam took out his wand and tapped the bottle, the amber liquid within rising to the surface. "Refilling Charm," he explained. "Unlimited alcohol, if you know how to do it."
"Sam, this place is trying to kill me," Dean said, running a hand down his face.