(4/24/2018) Apparently getting reviews makes me think I should actually work on this thing (hint hint nudge nudge). Anyways, thank you rosie302, DreamFeathers, mystery guest, ngregory763 (hey, I know you!), and Lovingh3art for being my first reviewers! And Cheetos for everyone favoriting and following!
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wand in his hand.
Phoenix feather, hawthorn, thirteen and a half inches. Supple.
Jasper had taken home a wand with a core of dragon heartstring, cypress wood, nine inches in length. Rigid. It had fired into the air bursts of miniature blue and green fireworks that delighted the boy (and the Winchesters, but they weren't about to admit it). His had been chosen before Sam's as they had continued searching while the brothers had argued.
Sam theorized that, maybe, just maybe, it was a lingering after effect of the demon blood still flowing through his veins. After all, most of the witches that they'd encountered had been slaves to demonic power, why should this world be any different? It was best to leave the incident forgotten and head on home.
Dean wasn't so sure. There were kids everywhere. A woman outside passed by holding a baby. The Parks had a toddler. What kind of demon hung around for the diapers and the drool? Besides, how helpful would it be if Sam could do a little wand waving and make a werewolf into a piñata? It couldn't hurt to try.
In the end Sam acquiesced, if only to prove his brother wrong. He was certain that every wand that he picked up would produce some sort of negative effect, thus confirming his suspicions about the affinity with his blood. Worried about the backlash, he asked Lady Bevell to take her son and go. Instead she calmly walked over to the chairs by the window and sat down. Her son followed, eyes wide in anticipation.
The first box held a black wand carved in a fancifully crooked manner. "Dragon heartstring and ebony," announced Ollivander. "Ten inches." Sam picked it up… and the wandmaker snatched it away. "No, no, that won't do. Here. Yew and unicorn hair, seven and a half inches."
This one actually let out a raspberry as soon as Sam grasped it. Both Jasper and Dean did their best to smother their giggles. "I don't think it likes you, Sammy," said the latter.
"Shut up."
A pile of boxes nearly as large as Jasper's grew at Sam's feet. Finally, Ollivander unveiled a pale wand, longer than most of the others, elegant in its simplicity. The hilt and handle were slightly darker, while its length boasted a strange set of whorls that did nothing to detract from its beauty.
Even before he'd touched it, Sam knew that this wand wanted him. His hand hovered above the box, unwilling to take that last step. "Go on," urged Ollivander.
Sam picked it up and immediately the entire shop was blanketed in thick darkness, window and sunlight be damned. After a few seconds a brilliant white light erupted from the tip, sweeping the black away before slowly receding.
The look Ollivander had given him was completely unnerving.
"Well, shit," Dean uttered. When his brother lifted an eyebrow at him, the elder Winchester added, "Honestly? I didn't think anything was going to happen."
Irritated, Sam threw up his hands. "Then what was all that crap about waving this thing around and—agh!" Moving the wand in such a sudden manner had an unexpected effect; it had apparently taken its owner's movements to mean something and fired off a blast of power into Ollivander's shelves. Boxes and product tumbled down.
"I'm sorry," Sam cried. He thrust the stick back at the wandmaker. "Just… here. Take it back."
Instead of being upset, Ollivander appeared delighted. "My dear boy, that wand has chosen you. It is best you listen to it."
"But—"
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Lady Bevell said. "I believe we would like to settle our bill."
"Looks like you've got a new buddy," Dean told his brother.
"Great," Sam moaned.
Lady Bevell and Dean gave Ollivander seven gold pieces each (apparently these were those mysterious galleons) and walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was getting late, but the evening crowd was no less smaller than the daytime one. The only significant difference was the lack of young children.
The bar itself was now half full with witches and wizards all about partaking of stew and drink. Lady Bevell whirled around to face the brothers and asked, "Have you made your decision?"
"Have we?" Dean asked Sam.
"Let's talk to the other person, the staff member. At least so we know exactly what we're getting into."
"Very well," said Lady Bevell. She handed Sam a key. "This is to room seven on the second floor. Please wait in there."
Her duty completed, Lady Bevell directed her son back towards Diagon Alley. Dean lifted his eyebrows at her. "Where you going?"
"To finish our shopping, of course. When I planned this day I hadn't given leeway for… diversions. Come along, Jasper darling."
As the Bevell family headed out, Sam's hand pressed against the wand now resting on an inside jacket pocket. He and his brother had ordered the stew and two glasses of mead, ate quickly and quietly, then retired to room seven.
"You know," Dean said finally, "you keep staring at it like that and it might start gettin' the wrong idea."
Sam sighed. "Dean…"
"What? C'mon, so what's the big deal? It's not like 'cause some fancy stick took a liking to you means you're…" The elder Winchester waved his hand towards the window overlooking Diagon Alley. "You know, one of those guys."
"Actually," an distinguished voice declared as its owner opened the door to their room, "it means precisely that. Sam Winchester, apparently you are a wizard."
The brothers stared at the woman, dumbfounded. She wasn't anywhere near as physically tall as either Winchester, but her demeanor conveyed a strength and power that had nothing to do with the magic at her disposal. Emerald green robes pinned over a austere black dress were topped off by a tall, pointed hat with long feathers that, despite its Halloween connotations, didn't look a bit ridiculous on her. An ebony walking cane completed the ensemble. "You're the staff member," Sam inferred.
"Correct. I am Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. According to Lady Bevell there was a sort of… revelation today."
"I'm not a wizard!" Sam cried.
McGonagall lifted an eyebrow as she shut the door. "A wand has decided that you are its wielder. I fail to see how denying it will change the facts."
Seeing how agonized his brother was becoming, Dean changed the subject. "So if you want us teaching at this school of yours, what'll we be doing?"
Dean had no doubt the woman knew exactly why he was interrupting, but she answered regardless. "We require a new instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Our last one was… let us just say he wasn't who we expected him to be."
"And Defense Against the Dark Arts is…?"
McGonagall pulled her wand (which made Dean step back and Sam clutch his own wand tighter) and conjured… a stiff backed chair. She sat down regally and laid out the details of the offer.
"The job we are offering is twofold. Primarily you will be giving lessons on Muggle methods for dealing with the supernatural. I understand the two of you are quite skilled."
Dean snorted. "Couldn't you all, like, wave your sticks and make them into donuts or something?"
"Hardly." McGonagall's tone was harsh but her lips quirked upwards momentarily. "Although there are those of us who are skilled enough to battle creatures with magic alone, most are not. Therefore it is in our students' best interests to learn alternatives."
"Do you guys see monsters that often?" Sam asked, his turmoil momentarily forgotten.
"Yes… and no. Many of the creatures we regularly interact with are, shall we say, innocuous. But just as wolves walk through your forests there are predators among us. You will, of course, be working a bit with our Care of Magical Creatures instructor during the year so that you understand which are which."
"What," Dean wondered, "like unicorns and dragons and crap like that?"
"Unicorns, possibly. Dragons, I should hope not."
Dean nudged his brother. "Dude, unicorns are real. That thing from that Pennywhistle joint doesn't count. Hey," he asked McGonagall, "are there magical killer clowns in your world? 'Cause Sammy here—"
"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped, his heart leaping a beat at the reminder of his coulrophobia. He turned to the professor. "You said predators?"
She nodded. "Which brings me to the second part of your position." McGonagall's back stiffened and the grip on her cane tightened. "Last year, a very dark wizard arose, a man who poses a threat to not only our world, but yours as well."
Incredulous, Sam asked, "Just a man? Like… a human man?"
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Whether he retains his humanity is… debatable. Allow me to give you more details."
For the next hour, Professor McGonagall gave the Winchesters as much information as she could about Voldemort (a name she used once and then never again) and his Death Eaters. She described the years during which he rose to power, how he'd spread his sinister ideals of blood purity garnering support from like-minded individuals, and revealed his ruthless quest for immortality. Once he'd cemented his power base there came the murders, the disappearances, the fear that swept through the magical populace that eventually had culminated in the eleven year long "Wizarding War."
"Hold up," Sam interjected. "If there was a war for a over a decade wouldn't someone have noticed?"
McGonagall looked pointedly at the wand still in his hand. "There are ways of ensuring our secrets are held."
She went on to describe how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated by unknown means. The instrument had been a young boy, barely over a year old, named Harry Potter, who would be entering his fifth year at Hogwarts come the beginning of term. Part of the Winchesters' duty, McGonagall explained, would be to help keep him safe.
"Then why don't we just take the kid with us back to the bunker?" asked Dean.
She sighed. "It would raise too many questions if the famous Harry Potter suddenly disappeared."
Which brought her to the crux of their current difficulties. Harry and a schoolmate, Cedric Diggory, had been abducted at the end of the previous year. Potter had returned clutching Cedric's body with a wild tale of being forced to participate in the resurrection of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Most of the staff at Hogwarts, who had been present for the War, believed him and had quickly reformed their previous revolutionary group, the Order of the Phoenix. The Prime Minister, however, had not. Their government had spent the summer spreading libel regarding Harry's fanciful delusions and need for notoriety. It meant that the general magical populace was uninformed and unprepared for what was coming.
The professor sighed. "As much as we would like to hide Mr. Potter, for his safety if nothing else, we need him."
Sam's brow furrowed in anger. "You wanna prop him up, use him as a standard. A kid. He shouldn't be anywhere near all of this!"
McGonagall didn't deny his claim. "There is also the matter of Potter's education. His magical education. On his own, Harry Potter does not stand a chance, and the Death Eaters will be waiting for the opportunity to kill him and win their master's favor. Hogwarts can not only prepare him, but it is also the safest place for him to be so long as Albus Dumbledore remains Headmaster."
The brothers glanced at one another. "What do you think?" Sam asked Dean.
"What about… you know…"
"I dunno. It's not like we can't do both. We're not even able to do anything until Kevin's done."
"Yeah, but if he does get something he's in Kansas and we're in freaking England."
"You'll be in Scotland, actually," McGonagall corrected, apparently unperturbed by the vague references in their conversation.
"Dude," Sam said, "he could, I dunno, FaceTime us or something."
"Hey," Dean asked the professor, "the school got free WiFi?"
"Normally magic and electricity," —the word fell uncomfortably off of her tongue— "do not mix." McGonagall's expression became sour. "After the requests of so many Muggle-borns and their parents, some of which have contributed a substantial number of galleons, we have managed to isolate a single room at Hogwarts that will allow a few computers," —another word that felt unnatural, "—to feed off of magic rather than electricity."
"So you guys got magic WiFi."
"I suppose. The mechanics elude me, I'm afraid." She sniffed. "Personally I feel it is a waste of resources, but it allows our Muggle-born students to contact their parents and loved ones. Apparently owl post is too… conspicuous."
"Yeah, well, can't say it was really great finding a fricking bird sitting in the middle of our home."
"So," Sam said as he put his wand on the nightstand, "how would this work?"
Lady Bevell removed the stethoscope from the wall and placed it in her bag. No use continuing to listen; all the Winchesters wanted after those revelations were details about the wizarding world that she was already familiar with. It was rather funny, in her mind at least, that these magic folk were so narrow-minded in their thinking that they would ward their walls against spell based listening techniques and not even consider the effects of good old fashioned Muggle technology.
She hurried out of her room and down the tavern stairs, paid her reckoning, and walked onto Charing Cross Road. Her driver stood patiently beside the family town car. "A moment, Benjamin," she told him. He nodded.
Lady Bevell stepped several feet away and pulled out her phone. "They're here," she said as soon as someone picked up. "I've confirmed that they are indeed using the abandoned headquarters in the United States. I believe they are not an immediate threat to our operations, but it might be prudent to keep an eye on what they discover there."
"Henry Winchester's grandsons," ruminated the man on the other end. "I suppose they have a right to the place, after all."
"Indeed." Lady Bevell sighed worriedly. "Unfortunately, I have also confirmed that Tom Riddle has resurfaced. We need to convene and figure out how much we wish to be involved this time around."
"We could send Mr. Ketch or any of our other operatives and make a preemptive strike on Vold—."
"There is a reason we called him Tom Riddle."
"Surely you don't think that spell is still active?"
"Better safe than sorry."
"Regardless, we are considerably more well-equipped than we were twenty years ago. If we discover Riddle's whereabouts it may be prudent to take him out sooner rather than later."
"We need more information before we proceed with anything. Send someone to watch Malfoy manor and see if there is anyone with the will strong enough to keep an eye on Azkaban. I wish we had found the Black estate."
"Yes, the number of Death Eaters associated with that family… well, no use dwelling on the past. I'll let you know by tomorrow morning who would be suitable."
"Very good." The call ended.
When Lady Bevell returned to her car, Benjamin opened the door. Inside, she found Jasper flipping through one of his textbooks. "Are you certain that you do not wish to go to Kendricks Academy?" she asked her son.
"No, mother," he replied as the car began to move. "If I am a wizard then I would like to be properly educated as one. Besides, think of how I might be able to help you with your work with all the spells that might be at my disposal!"
Lady Bevell gave her son a gentle kiss on the head. "Just remember: whatever happens, no matter what you become, I will always love you."
"And I you, mother."
The Winchesters asked a few more questions, but it was obvious that they had already made up their minds. Professor McGonagall gave them precise dates and times for the beginning of term and left the room feeling better about Albus' unusual decision to hire these men. At the very least, it gave the thinly populated Order two more competent people to rely on. Besides, should they turn out to be troublesome, Dumbledore had authorized the use of the Obliviate charm, and then that would be that.
McGonagall apparated to outside of Hogsmeade and began making her way to the castle. She could have arrived closer, but she needed time to think.
What could it mean that Sam Winchester was just now discovering he was a wizard? It was rare, but not unheard of, for magical ability to be discovered so late in life. However, most wizards and witches first manifested their power during moments of extreme stress, and according to the British Men of Letters these two men were no strangers to harrowing encounters. Something at some point should have shown itself.
There was something more to these Winchesters than could be gleaned from one sitting, but regardless of her misgivings McGonagall trusted Dumbledore. Whatever it was that these men carried with them she was certain that he had the students' best interests in mind.
She just wasn't unsure if he had the Winchester's best interests in mind.
They headed back to the bunker as soon as McGonagall had gone. Dean made sure Sam didn't forget his "stick" and the pair of them hit the Floo network back to the Park's home.
The family wasn't in. According to the note they'd left on the coffee table they had decided to take a day trip to Kansas City for some shopping. By the time they got back, the Winchesters would probably have returned and could they please lock up when they go? Oh, and the cookies in the plastic bag were theirs to take.
Obviously the Parks had decided that waiting around for hunters to come whirling back through their fireplace wasn't an ideal situation, especially with a small child. Neither Winchester took offense. Sam locked the door, Dean took a hesitant bite of a cookie and declared them the best cookies ever, and they headed back to the bunker.
"Didn't ask a lot of questions about your stick," Dean said as he drove.
"Figured if we're going to be there anyways there'd be plenty of time. Besides, done all these years without magic. Why should I start now?"
"Well, if I thought you were a freak before…"
Sam jerked his gaze up at Dean, upset at the throwback to their days being torn apart by his demon blood, and found his brother doing his best to keep a straight face. He sighed in relief. Dean was just being an ass, just considering this new development as nothing more than another Sam Winchester abnormality. At least he hoped.
Truth be told, Dean's time in Purgatory had altered his outlook somewhat. The ends could justify the means, particularly if the person or the monster retained a sense of morality. If his little brother (optimistic, well-intentioned Sammy) was now a witch then it was just another tool in their arsenal against the bad guys.
Dean could accept it. He could live with it. But the second that this so-called magical community showed any signs of demonic origin then he would pull Sam away and burn that fancy stick of his in holy oil.
The Impala came to a gentle stop in the bunker's garage. "So we're doin' this," Dean said as he shut his door.
"Might as well."
"Yeah, well, I don't like that we're leaving Baby here to gather dust."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You could give the keys to Kevin."
The thought of leaving his precious car to the jittery young man made Dean turn green. "Not happening."
"We'll figure it out."
"Looks like we got a lot of things to 'figure out'. Hey," Dean said thoughtfully as he paused on the staircase to the main floor, "you think Charlie could figure out the whole magic internet thing?"
Sam recalled the way McGonagall's face had twisted in distaste over the modern addition to her school. "We should wait a bit on that."
Upstairs, they found Kevin in the same state that they'd left him in, with the addition of two empty frozen burrito wrappers tossed carelessly onto the floor. The brothers glanced at one another, thankful that the young man had at least eaten while they were gone. Sam knelt down to pick up the garbage while Dean tossed the remaining cookies onto the demon tablet. "Dinner," he announced.
Kevin looked up after shoving the bag aside, irritated at the interruption. "Thanks."
"Everything okay?" asked Sam.
"No." The young Prophet paused. "Why do you have a stick in your pocket?"
"Apparently Sammy's got magic fingers," Dean announced gleefully.
"What?"
"Later," Sam said with a sigh. "We're going to take the job. You sure you don't want to go to the school with us?"
Kevin slowly shook his head. "I'm fine here."
"Okay, well, we've got a train in London to catch in about a week. We'll make sure the place is stocked before we go."
"Thanks." Conversation apparently over, Kevin put his earbuds back in, pulled out a cookie, and went back to his task.
The brothers headed for their rooms. "We should tell Cass where we're going," Dean said.
"Yeah, sure," Sam replied doubtfully. Their last encounter with the angel had been both unusual and worrisome. He'd claimed that Samandriel had been compromised, but…
As if reflecting on the same incident, Dean sighed. "I know, he's acting weird. But still." His face brightened. "Hey, I'm gonna see if there's a job we can do before we gotta catch that train. You in?"
"Sure." Might as well. It wouldn't take them an entire week to pack.
"Great. Hogwarts here we come!"
Author's Note : I figured that the BMoL would have known about it all, seeing as how they're know-it-alls.
The war McGonagall talks about is technically the "First Wizarding War," but seeing as how the second hasn't even begun calling it the "first" didn't seem to make sense, at least to me.
The electronics and Hogwarts thing seems to be debatable. Colin Creevey had that camera, which apparently fed off of magic for power, so I sort of implied from there. Also figured Muggle-borns in 2012 at age 11 would be already into their phones and stuff. Mommy and daddy would want their preciouses to be able to contact home.
The bunker garage actually doesn't show up until "Slumber Party," 9.04. But Baby can't sit around outside while they're in Scotland, right?