(4/28/2018) I wonder if I'm going too slow. By now those other lovely writers already had the boys settled in. Oh well, whatevs. Got to write some fun scenes anyways!
Thank you Mystery Guest, missmeow1968 (hallo!), Lovingh3art, ngregory763, Dream Feathers, and Samuel William Winchester for the reviews! And everyone favoriting and following get licorice wands!
The Winchesters looked back and forth between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station and wondered if this had been one very, very elaborate hoax.
"You sure that's what it says?" Dean asked irritably.
"Platform 9 3/4," Sam read off of owl-delivered letter, "King's Cross Station."
Dean pointed up at one sign. "Nine." Then at another. "Ten. So what the fuck?"
Exhausted by travel, Sam leaned against the nearest pillar. "I dunno, man. I—shit!"
His brother, who had continued glaring at the signs as if they'd personally offended him, swiveled around and found one of Sam's feet protruding from a support tower. The rest of his body was inside the brick, not a hair sticking out the other side. Fortunately, none of the other station patrons seemed to notice. When Dean got closer he realized why; it merely looked as if someone had discarded a boot on the station floor.
While Dean was pondering whether or not to yank his brother back into reality, Sam's foot slid forward and presumably joined the rest of his body. A moment later, Sam's arm shot out from the pillar, grabbed the strap of Dean's duffel, and pulled him in. Dean let out a curse and closed his eyes, bracing himself to be flattened against the brick. Instead he found himself stumbling forward a few steps onto a brand new platform that, impossibly, had been nowhere in sight a moment before.
The place was wreathed in steam and the cause was readily apparent; in contrast to the modern electric trains that were prominent on the other side of the support tower the gleaming red and black locomotive in front of them ran on old fashioned coal, or at least the magical equivalent. What the brothers deduced were the students and their parents crowded the area along with their luggage and pets. Dean sneezed violently when a cat perched on a trolley passed by and Sam admired a large, black dog.
One of the men that were in the group that the dog belonged to broke off from them and walked over. Even though his hair was peppered with gray he appeared to be around Dean's age. An odd number of scars were visible on his face and neck. Coupled with the haunted look deep in his eyes, it was obvious that the stranger had endured something deeply traumatic. "You must be the Winchesters," he said. "My name is Remus Lupin. Dumbledore has asked me to give you a bit of direction once you arrived."
"I'm Sam, that's Dean." They shook hands. "And, yeah, we're a little lost."
"I assure you there's nothing much more to do other than board the train and find an empty compartment. I'm here more to point out a few students."
"Harry Potter," Dean inferred.
Lupin nodded. "He's the lad with the glasses back there. Harry's a little… beleaguered right now so I would suggest not calling too much attention to him right away."
"That libel thing McGonagall told us about?" asked Sam.
"To begin with, yes."
As the other group hurried by, Lupin quickly pointed out Harry's best friends, the bushy-haired young woman named Hermione and the second to youngest of the red-headed children, Ron Weasley. There was also Fred and George, the twins (who Lupin advised the brothers keep an eye on), and Ginny, the family's only girl. Those adults were their parents, Molly and Arthur, and the man with the disfigured countenance and missing limbs was Alastor Moody.
In the midst of Lupin's continued explanation about the remainder of the prolific Weasley clan a loud whistle blew. "Uh oh. You had better get going."
"Crap," Sam cursed. The brothers hurried to the tracks and hopped into the first open door they could find just as the transport began to move.
It was lucky that the Winchesters were used to packing light; the aisles were completely full with excited children wearing their uniforms: trim dark pants or skirts with collared shirts. Some had v-neck sweaters in black, gray, or one of four colors that corresponded with their ties: red, green, blue, and yellow.
Sam and Des were mostly certain of what these delineations meant. While the brothers had been in Pennsylvania dealing with the resurgence of a Nazi-based organization called the Thule, an owl had popped in to deliver a sheaf of letters detailing general aspects of the student body. The bird had landed directly onto the golem's shoulder. Instead of smashing it like they'd feared, the thing had actually lifted an enormous finger and gently rubbed its breast feathers in welcome. The owl, in turn, had hooted amicably.
It had been written by McGonagall and, just like the woman, had been both informative and to the point. In general, the students were between the ages of eleven and eighteen and were citizens of Great Britain. Their social status tended to lie along bloodlines, with those whose parents could both trace their genealogies unbroken to magical ancestors (purebloods) sitting at the top tier. Muggle-borns sat at the bottom with half-bloods a minor step above. McGonagall made it clear, however, that she had included this pseudo-caste system for historical reasons and was no longer of great importance. It was best to keep in mind, however, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named succeeded then this question of blood purity may become a serious issue.
Upon arrival the students would be sorted into one of four houses that corresponded to the four colors the Winchesters spotted on many of the uniforms. Each house had its primary virtue: Gryffindors were brave, Ravenclaws were intelligent, Hufflepuffs were loyal, and Slytherins were cunning. It was, according to McGonagall, a way to put like-minded students together to foster friendships and cooperation, and to create an air of friendly competition.
As Sam looked back and forth for an empty compartment he noticed that the older students seemed to cluster with housemates. The air of "friendly competition" that McGonagall had touted appeared, in some cases, to be outright hostility, particularly between those in red and those in green. The blues were mostly neutral while the yellows had smiles for everyone.
They were nearly at the end of the train when they discovered two thinly populated compartments. The one on the left had a single girl inside reading a magazine upside down. The one on the right had a pair of female blues (Ravenclaws?) reading their textbooks.
After deliberating for a few moments, Dean slid open the doors on the right and said firmly, "Out."
The pair blinked at the Winchesters, startled by the rude demand, but stood regardless. "Are you new professors?" asked one.
"Yes," Sam said amiably.
"Americans?" asked the other.
"Is that a problem?"
"Not at all. Just curious." Without further ado the pair vacated the room.
Once the girls were gone, Dean claimed the forward facing seat and, after tossing his duffle up into the luggage shelf, sat down with a sigh. "Dude, is that kid across the way wearing bottle caps for a necklace?"
"I think so. She's got her wand behind her ear, too."
"Hey, where's your stick?"
"Here," Sam replied as he patted his breast pocket.
"You try anything with it?"
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Turn Kevin into a frog or something."
"Pretty sure you would've noticed if I'd done that."
The compartment across from the Winchesters eventually had three more occupants: Harry Potter, his friend Hermes ("Hermione, Dean," Sam sighed), the Weasley girl ("Jenny? Jeannie?" "Ginny"), and a homely young man who looked like he needed some time to grow into his features.
About thirty minutes in, Dean ended up surreptitiously observing the children across the aisle while Sam looked through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. The latter twirled his wand about absentmindedly as he read, resisting the temptation to say the incantations out loud.
They were interrupted first by a horrible squelching sound from the other room. Alarmed, Sam leapt to his feet. His head smacked on the protruding luggage rack at the same time he realized that his brother was snickering. Scowling, Sam asked, "What's so funny?"
"You banging your head for one," Dean said with a smirk. "The kid giving everyone a facial with his plant for another."
Sam looked at the other room and saw Harry and his friends liberally coated in dark green goo. As if on cue, an attractive Asian girl approached and opened the door. Harry appeared to be completely flabbergasted by her visit and she left soon afterwards.
Ginny pulled her wand and cleaned the mess with a flick, a gesture that Sam watched with great interest. He mimicked the motion but only succeeded in cracking the door window. "Will you quit screwing around with that thing?" Dean groused.
Sam put his wand away. "Sorry."
Their second interruption was far more pleasant. A lady pushing a cart came by shortly afterwards. "Care for a snack?" she asked after pushing the door open.
Dean looked absolutely delighted with the selection. His pouch was still untouched after their trip to Diagon Alley and he parted with a galleon in order to get one of everything. Sam settled for a chocolate frog and an apple. He took a hearty bite from the latter, but when he opened the former the candy leapt from the box and landed on his shirt.
Sam stared down at the brown frog now blinking back at him. "Dude," he said warily, "Get this thing off of me."
Unfortunately, Dean was too busy laughing. The frog made a leisurely climb up Sam's flannel and went straight into his pocket. Taking the move as an opportunity, Sam smacked his hand onto his shirt. When he dared to look inside the pocket he found nothing more than crumbled up pieces of chocolate, some of which were now imbedded into the fabric.
"You killed your new pet," Dean commiserated as he opened a box of jelly beans.
Sam pulled out the remnants of the frog's leg and peered at it. Far as he could tell it was nothing more than solid candy. "Must have been a spell of some kind."
His brother popped a bean into his mouth. "Dumb gimmick. Hm. These are pretty good."
Sam shrugged and ate the leg. "So's this."
"Well, at least—ugh!" Dean spit the next bean, a speckled brown one, onto the floor. "What the ever-loving fuck?"
"What?"
"Tasted like frigging dirt!"
"'Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Beans'," Sam read off the box. He grabbed a yellow one and prayed for lemon.
After a few more candies they discovered that "every flavor" really meant every flavor. Sam discovered tomato, grapefruit, and what he suspected was fish. Dean ended up with apple, toffee, and bacon. The last one was so good that he grabbed a small towel from his duffel, emptied the entire box onto it, and claimed the rest of the delicious meat-flavored candies.
The other treats (a mixture of candy and Halloween themed pastries) sat forgotten as they engaged in a thorough investigation of Bernie Bott's hazardous product. They dared each other to eat the more luridly colored ones at first until the discovered that the more innocuous ones were far more dangerous. A red one might be cherry or chili, a dark yellow one might be banana or cheese. One colored a horrific beige and green ended up being vomit.
As raucous as the brothers got (each time one of them discovered something foul the other couldn't help howling with laughter), they inadvertently earned an audience. The compartment across the aisle had stopped in the midst of trading chocolate frog cards to watch the spectacle.
The shorter-haired one was gagging over what Neville recognized as the soap-flavored bean when Ron and Hermione finally arrived. They glanced over at the pair, eyebrows raised, as the longer-haired one was pointing and saying, "Ha ha! Told you!"
"They're the new Defense Against the Arts Professors?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"How do you know that?" Harry wondered.
"All the other prefects are talking about them," she said as Ron plopped down and began wolfing down a chocolate frog. "They're Americans and they're taking over the DADA job. That's as much as anyone knows."
Ginny looked over, her chin in her hand. "They're quite good looking."
"Aren't they?" Hermione said dreamily.
"They couldn't be any worse than Lockhart," Harry reflected, putting an extra emphasis on their second-year Defense professor's name.
Hermione flushed and ignored the implications. "Hopefully they'll be as good as Lupin."
"Or at least as knowledgeable as Moody," Ron added. "Or… Crouch? How're we even supposed to refer to him now?"
"We shouldn't," Harry told him sharply, his insides churning at the memory of his last encounter with the now debilitated Death Eater. Minister Cornelius Fudge's quick decision, and near-immediate execution, to sentence Barty Crouch, Jr. to the Dementor's Kiss still had the power to revolt Harry. Perhaps the man had truly been irredeemable, but now there was no way to know for certain. All that was left was an empty husk incapable of doing anything other than breathe.
Hermione heard the bite in Harry's words before Ron finished ruminating on their former professor. Before her fellow Gryffindor prefect could inadvertently cause any more harm she abruptly launched into an explanation over what they'd learned about the Hogwarts' prefect policies and who had been selected from their year.
The fact that Draco Malfoy was representing Slytherin came to no one's surprise, but Luna's reaction to Ron's quip about making Goyle write "I must not look like a baboon's backside" as punishment did startle them all. She fell into hysterics, which dumbfounded Ron, which in turn caused the rest of them to also fall into hysterics. The girl was so tickled by his joke that she dropped the magazine she'd been reading upside down, The Quibbler. Its cover boasted a rather poorly done drawing of Fudge abusing a goblin along with the titles of several of its articles. One touted the name Sirius Black, much to Harry's surprise.
It ended up being a lot of nonsense, at least to everyone's opinion other than Luna's who, it turned out, was the daughter of the magazine's publisher. She was just returning to her reading in a huff (Hermione having accidentally insulted Luna's father's work) when Draco Malfoy and his cronies swept the door open.
The jelly beans had been consumed with the tally leaning towards Dean in terms of who had consumed the greatest quantity of disgusting flavors. "Never again," he announced as he threw the box to the floor. "Who the hell thinks it's a good idea to make something that tastes like boogers?"
To cleanse their palates they each munched on a cake. Dean's was shaped like a pumpkin and Sam's like a cauldron. Both were delicious, thankfully, with no hidden flavors. After that, Sam finished his apple while Dean tasted a few more treats including the infamous chocolate frog. He bit the thing in half right away, effectively "killing" it and rendering it inanimate.
Evening was well on its way when a commotion from the hallway drew their attention. A blonde boy with two gargoyles as attendants was speaking into Harry Potter's compartment. Whatever it was that the newcomer was saying had most of the other room's occupants furious or annoyed (the bottle cap girl was hidden behind her magazine again). Hermione quite clearly, and loudly, snapped, "Shut up, Malfoy," giving the Winchesters a signal that it was time to intervene.
"Hey!" Dean barked as he violently slid open their compartment door. The windows quivered in protest. "What's going on here?"
The blonde boy turned around, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Who are you?"
"A teacher," Sam said darkly over his brother's shoulder.
"What sort of teacher?"
"Does it matter? Leave them alone."
Dean's eyes narrowed as the Malfoy boy scanned him and his brother from head to toe. He lingered on their worn jean cuffs and faded shirts and apparently came to the conclusion that the Winchesters were beneath him. "You tramps sneak onto the wrong train? What sort of squalor were you two dragged out of?" The kid's cronies let out a few guffaws.
With a feral smirk, Dean folded his arms and quietly said, "The kind that makes me think it'd be real funny to see someone finishing their train ride to school hangin' for dear life off the caboose."
Malfoy paled. Without another word, he and his goons turned and scurried from the car. "Really, Dean?" Sam said irritably. "Threatening kids?"
"I wasn't gonna do nothing!" his brother replied.
Much to Sam's chagrin, Ron began applauding. "Bloody brilliant that was. Right up there with the ferret!"
"Ferret?" Sam repeated.
"It's a terribly long story," Hermione said quickly. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, professors, and I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly but we need to get ready to help with the first years."
"Prefect duties, you know," Ron said proudly.
"Uh, yeah," Sam replied. "Sure. We're almost there?"
The pair pinned elaborate gold badges on their chests. "Yes," said Hermione as the train began to slow. "Come on, Ron. Hurry up!" The boy had been admiring his reflection, moving the badge up and down to see what looked best, and protested loudly when the girl pulled him away.
"It was nice to meet you all," Sam told the children. "See you soon, I think."
"Same," Dean tacked on.
"Goodbye, professors," the remaining students said.
Sam slid their compartment door closed. "They're polite at least."
"Yeah, well, just wait till we gotta deal with more than a dozen at the same time. I'm gonna remember that Malfoy dick."
"Hard to forget."
The train came to a gradual stop, rolling into a platform that was shrouded in fog. Light was scarce, the lamps gamely trying to shine through the thick air. A woman called, "First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!" and the smallest children headed for her. The rest meandered towards a line of carriages.
The Winchesters watched the procession of either eager or frightened eleven-year-olds clamber into boats before joining the older students. They came to an astonished halt once they got close enough. "What the hell are those?" Dean asked.
"I have no freaking clue."
Harry was still staring at the odd horse-like creatures, bewildered and troubled, when he heard the two American professors arguing. "Dude, it's a freaking Clash of the Titans pegasus," the slightly shorter one said, much to Harry's surprise.
"What, from Hell? Look at that thing!"
"You think Crowley's got Hellhounds and Hell-ponies? C'mon."
"It's got fangs, Dean."
"Dare you to touch it."
"You touch it."
"Chicken. Bok, bok, bok!"
"What are you, five?"
The two men continued their good-natured bickering in a way that could Harry could have easily heard coming from the mouths of any of the Weasley siblings. It was comforting to know that there were those who could see the creatures other than himself and Luna Lovegood; her reassurances hadn't done much to ease his nerves.
"Oi, mate!" Ron called. "Let's go!"
Harry climbed into the carriage and joined his friends. So far he was leaning towards liking the new professors, if only because of this shared experience and the shorter one's threat against Malfoy. Defense Against the Dark Arts this year was going to be, if nothing else, very interesting.
Author's Note : Of course the Winchesters could see thestrals. Kinda depressing when you think about it.