(6/13/2018) I haven't given up here! I swear!

A little shorter chapter this time, I apologize. It'll almost never happen again. Maybe. Kind of. Probably. Just hit a nice stopping point and didn't want to get all long winded.

Thank you RandomZambi, Lovingh3art, DreamFeathers, 1968, stormingknight, SilverDragonflymoon, ngregory763, booklifeforlife, Sailor Dragonball 87, Mystery Guest, Katzztar, Samuel William Winchester, WRose, and Hatelove731 for the reviews! And all you favoriters and followers get hot dogs!

Kevin was quite literally pushed into Hogwarts via the Floo Network (and the now permanent connection from the Defense Against the Arts classroom and the Men of Letters Bunker). He landed on the floor amidst a flurry of papers, his half of the demon tablet clutched to his chest, yelling rancid obscenities that the Winchesters hadn't even thought he knew existed.

Poor Kevin had a second shock when Dobby arrived with a loud crack to care for his things. He promptly clobbered the house-elf with the tablet, a gesture that Dobby took with great aplomb. The elf was far more shocked at receiving an apology afterwards and, much to Kevin's consternation and the Winchesters' amusement, promptly added the young man to his list of The Best Muggles in All of Creation.

"Where am I going to sleep?" Kevin asked irritably after Dobby had left.

"Here," Sam said as put an old suitcase on the floor.

"Okay, very funny. Where?"

With a wry smirk, Dean flipped the latches. To Kevin's shock he proceeded to step inside and, apparently, descend down a ladder. As if from far away, Dean called out, "You guys coming or what?"

"After you," Sam offered.

Kevin gave the younger Winchester the tablet and peered inside the open luggage. There, impossibly, was a sturdy ladder leading to a wooden floor. He toed the top rung and was astonished to find it solid. "This is a joke."

Sam shrugged. "It's magic."

Inside the suitcase was a small, candlelit flat, comfortable and roomy but lacking any modern amenities. No electrical outlets, no plumbing; just a squishy bed, a couch, a plush floor rug, a desk, and a bookshelf. There were also two windows showing completely impossible vistas. One was a view of the Sahara, sand blowing across dunes, and the other a pristine mountain forest somewhere along the Appalachians. "Bathroom's upstairs," Dean explained, "so don't shit in the corner."

"Gross," Kevin said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dobby said he can teleport in here as long as the luggage is in the castle. You just call for him and he'll come with food and whatever."

"I don't want anyone interrupting me."

"He'll get totally bent out of shape if you don't let him do your laundry."

Kevin recalled the large, wet eyes of the so-called elf and sighed. "Fine."

"You ain't stayin' all day in here," Dean declared. "It's just to sleep and if you need some me-time. So if you don't want us coming in and dragging your ass up that ladder then you're doing your Prophet thing in the library."

"Uh, okay. And what am I supposed to tell anyone about the fact that I'm staring at a rock?"

"Trust me," Sam said lightly, "it won't be the weirdest thing around."

By the time the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class occurred Harry was certain of a few terrible things. The first was that Malfoy had indeed noticed Sirius in his animagus form on Platform 9 3/4 and had passed the information on to his Death Eater father; the Daily Prophet's speculation regarding Harry's godfather's London location was proof enough. The second was that fate had decided whenever he and Cho Chang were in a room together something humiliating was going to happen. The third was that no matter how much pickled murtlap tentacles Hermione set out for him the words I must not tell lies were never going to leave the back of Harry's hand.

The anger that seemed to continuously simmer right below the surface of his emotions had Harry lashing out unreasonably at those who were trying to help him. Those depressing realizations coupled with the near-constant prickling of his scar, the endless corridors in his dreams, Sirius' disappointment, and the terrible way Quidditch practices were going had given Harry no room for reprieve. If something positive didn't happen soon the boy didn't know what he'd do.

They had closed out their unit on spirits (much to the castle ghosts' combined relief) and were now moving on to shapeshifters. The initial description of these monsters had Harry worried; they sounded a bit too much like animagi for comfort. It turned out, however, that these new creatures could only take the shape of other humans. They were also, quite horribly, able to absorb the memories of their chosen forms. By the time class had ended (homework was a foot on the way to distinguish shapeshifters from humans) most of the students were eyeing each other suspiciously.

"Hold up, Harry," Professor Sam said. Some of his classmates paused and shook their heads; they were still getting used to the American teachers' penchant for calling them by their first names instead of their last.

"Yes, professor?" Harry asked politely. Ron and Hermione lingered at the doorway, curious.

"He'll be with you guys in a bit," Professor Dean called. Harry's friends glanced at one another and then at him before quietly leaving.

The door closed. "You doing okay?" asked Sam.

"I'm fine."

"Really?" Dean wondered skeptically. "Because tellin' your best friend to 'shut the bloody hell up already' doesn't seem like fine to me."

Harry winced. The conversation prior to class, beginning with Hermione timidly, once again, bringing up the possibility of Harry teaching additional defense classes had escalated into a row between himself and Ron. Harry hadn't meant to snap at Hermione (his scar had prickled with extraordinarily annoyance right at that moment) and felt bad immediately after the words had left his mouth. To his surprise Ron had leapt into the subsequent breach to defend her. If the class door hadn't opened Harry wasn't sure how far that argument would have gone. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Professor Sam sighed. "Look, we know you're under a lot of pressure. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"We're here," corrected his brother.

"Talk to about what?" Harry asked testily. "I'm fine."

The professors looked at one another. Harry was certain they were having a silent conversation, much like he'd seen Fred and George do on occasion. After a few moments, Dean stood up and walked to the classroom door. He yanked it open to reveal Ron and Hermione standing there with expressions that were just a shade too innocent. "Just come in," he grumbled. The pair sheepishly complied.

Professor Dean closed the door with an exasperated sigh and followed them down the middle aisle. "He's just gonna tell them anyways," he told Sam.

The taller professor shrugged and headed back to the door. He put his wand on the door and uttered, "Tergora Inpenetrago." The wood appeared to be covered in a shimmering, gelatinous substance for a brief moment before turning back to normal.

"Ooh, that's the Impenetrable Charm!" Hermione said, delighted. Harry could practically see her brain working to commit the words and gesture to memory.

"Harry," Professor Sam said gently, "we know what it's like."

"What it's like to what?" a confused Harry asked.

"To have someone tell you that you've got a destiny to fulfill."

The brothers waited patiently while the boy digested the proclamation. When he finally did, he was outraged. "How could you possibly understand it?" he demanded. "Everyone telling you that you've got to defeat the greatest evil ever known, that everything is depending on you, that if you fail…" Harry's voice had steadily risen as he'd talked. He cut off his rant and tried to calm himself; it wouldn't do anyone any good if he landed himself in detention again.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured sympathetically. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Why? It's not as if anyone can do anything about it."

Professor Dean sighed. "You wanna start?" he asked Sam, who nodded.

"Harry," asked the taller professor. "What do you know about the Book of Revelations?"

"From the Bible?" Hermione asked curiously.

"From the what?" came a confused Ron.

"Maybe have a seat," Professor Sam said. "This is gonna take a while."

Two hours later dinner had started, but no one had left Classroom 3C. The professors had finished their tale and were now waiting for the children in front of them to react.

Ron was, perhaps, the most confused out of all of them. Prior to the first day of fifth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts he'd never heard of angels or Hell or anything that Hermione had called "Christian theology." Now he was reeling over the knowledge that there was even more out there than anyone could imagine, that those souls that the dementors sucked from people's bodies were more than just hypotheticals, that there were near-omnipotent beings out there who battled endlessly over the fate of the Earth. It wasn't so much that there were more powerful things out there than just Dumbledore or Merlin or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it was the very scope of it all. Ron's world had grown exponentially in the past few hours and he wasn't sure how to process it.

Hermione was initially frightened, as she was the only one of the three to have had any exposure to the Church. Her parents were light on religion, agnostics more than anything else, but Hermione at least knew the mechanics of Heaven and Hell. It had never occurred to her that any of it was real. But now…?

The environmental disasters from three years ago that the professors had attributed to the archangels Michael and Lucifer hadn't escaped the girl's notice. While Hermione had been petrified at the time (thanks to the basilisk), social media and various other newsfeeds were still talking about the odd spate of earthquakes, hurricanes, and volcano eruptions after the fact. It made sense, somewhat, that these unnatural occurrences were byproducts of the Apocalypse, the event that had been averted by the two, tall American men currently inhabiting the DADA classroom.

Harry was humbled. His fate was nearly laughable by comparison to what the Professors Winchester had endured. Sam had blunted their tale by telling him that their experiences hadn't really started until they were adults, a tactic that worked for the bare moment until Hermione had pointed out that they'd said their mother had died when they were four and six months old, respectively.

Granted, Voldemort was not a minor threat, but he was only one, albeit unnaturally altered, man. The Winchesters had had to contend with the entire pantheon of Heaven and Hell. Harry looked from one brother to the other, saw that despite the endless parade of hardships and dark temptations they'd remained good, brave men, and made a decision. "Hermione, I'm going to do it."

His friend glanced warily at the professors and then back at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do what?" asked Professor Dean.

Harry's head lifted proudly. "We're going to do some extra defense classes. If we have to face Voldemort—" Ron let out a barely stifled squeak, "—then we need to be prepared."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Can… Can I come?"

Startled by the query, the three teenagers all asked, "What?" with a great deal of astonishment.

The professor rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Look, don't tell anyone, but I just started the whole magic thing, like, not even two months ago. I need practice."

"What about you, Professor Dean?" Hermione asked.

"I don't need it," he answered.

"Well, we could at least use more supervision."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Um… perhaps have some Shield Charms ready just in case? Or perhaps some healing spells. I could give you a list—"

"Wait wait wait. Hold up. I don't do the stick thing."

"Oh. Well, nonverbal spells are quite advanced. Perhaps you could teach us?"

"Uh, no." Dean wiped a hand down his face and sighed. "This can't leave the room, okay?" The trio nodded. "I'm a Muggle."

"No way," Ron gasped.

Hermione looked back and forth between the two professors. "But then…?"

"What," Professor Dean asked, puzzled, "is that not normal?"

"It's not that. It's… um…"

While Hermione was obviously trying to be tactful, Ron had no such compunctions. "Dumbledore hired a bloody Muggle? To teach Hogwarts?"

"Hey!" Professor Dean exclaimed, offended.

"Sorry, mate. It's just… I don't think a Muggle has ever stepped foot in the castle!"

"Look," Professor Sam said hastily, "it's important no one knows. Especially Umbridge."

"Yeah," agreed his brother. "Don't think Pepto-Bismol would be too thrilled."

"Secret's safe with us," Harry said determinedly. He turned to Hermione and adjusted his glasses. "Do we have a plan?"

"Yes. Next Hogsmeade weekend—"

"Harry," Professor Sam suddenly inserted, "what the hell is on your hand?"

Harry had been careful the entire day to hide Umbridge's foul etchings from anyone other than his friends, but the excitement of the past few hours had caused him to drop his guard. He sat on the offending hand. "Nothing."

Professor Sam radiated concern, but it was the mounting rage in Professor Dean's eyes that made Harry give in. As soon as Harry brought his hand back out the shorter professor grabbed the boy's wrist and peered at the skin. "'I must not tell lies'. That ain't ink. That's a scar."

Harry yanked his hand away as Professor Sam's eyes widened. "Was that from Umbridge's detention?"

"I'm shooting her again," Dean growled. He opened the teacher's desk and pulled out a handgun with an ivory handle. "Only this time it ain't gonna be with rock salt."

"No!" shouted Harry. "Don't! It's not worth it."

Professor Sam stood up. "You can't expect us to just—"

"If you do something," Hermione interrupted loudly, "the Ministry will come."

"My dad works for them," Ron added. "Trust me, it'll be quick and it won't be good."

"Please," concluded Harry, "just let it be."

Professor Dean drooped the handgun back onto the desk. "Fine. For now."

"Maybe Cass could fix it," Sam said worriedly.

"Yeah, if Cass was here."

The three teenagers glanced at one another, confused, as the two professors mulled over this Cass-thing. In the ensuing silence, as if on cue, Ron's stomach made a deep, rumbling noise. "I think we missed dinner."

"Yo, Dobby!" Professor Dean called into the air.

With a familiar pop, the house-elf appeared. Dobby made a great deal of happy noise at seeing his favorite wizards and Muggle. Once they had him calmed down, Sam asked him if there were any leftovers available. Dobby expressed his great offense at the request, disappeared, and reappeared a few seconds later with four other house-elves and heavily laden platters of freshly made food.

The five of them had what Harry realized later to be an extraordinarily casual, and enjoyable, dinner around the teacher's desk. Most of the adults in his life (Sirius and the Dursleys excluded) were either formal or parental around the children. The Winchesters, however, exchanged colorful banter with their three guests as if they had these sort of meals all the time. It was friendly and homely, and very much not like any get-together Harry had ever experienced. No one was worried about impending trials or classes or test results, no one was trying to cheer them up with pictures and stories of those long dead, and no one (other than the house-elves) acted oversolicitous to the boy-who-lived. The professors ended the meal with promises all around to repeat the experience and escorted them back to Gryffindor tower.

Once the portrait door closed, Hermione asked, "Did the professors ask anything from either of you?"

Harry and Ron glanced at one another. "No," the former replied, "why?"

She shrugged. "Professor Dean asked me to talk to a friend of his that was going to visit the castle. Another Muggle. I wonder why he thought I should be the one to do so?"

"Maybe because you're Muggle-born?" asked Ron.

"Yes, but I'm not terribly wonderful at being social. I dearly hope the professor isn't trying to set me up on a date."

Much to Dean's delight, Hermione was immediately drawn in by the tremendous spread of notes and the focused way Kevin was peering at the demon tablet. She watched, fascinated, as he wrote down words and accompanying translations and quickly ascertained the pattern for herself. Hesitantly, Hermione tapped Kevin on the shoulder to get his attention, helped him off the floor after he'd fallen from his chair, and pointed out a minor error that he'd made.

At first, Kevin instinctively became defensive. Who was this girl to question his work? Then he realized that she was right; he'd switched two words and had completely bungled the sentence's overall meaning. Kevin softened towards her after admitting his error and, after a short introduction, allowed her to proofread his notes. It wasn't quite a friendship yet, but it was a companionable partnership.

The Winchesters also began to haunt the library as they tried to figure out how to locate a hellhound. As professors they had no problems accessing the restricted area. They did discover, however, a good number of books that they would have burned on principle (including one that literally screamed at them when it was opened) if they'd found them on a hunt. Sam and Dean refrained from doing so due to both their desire to remain employed and the fact that they were terrified of the librarian, Madam Pince.

Their dedication to research caused them to miss the first Hogsmeade weekend (much to Dean's disgruntlement), but there was no way of avoiding the next two significant events. The first was Umbridge's promotion to Hogwart's High Inquisitor, whatever that meant. Although it gave the woman more authority, most of the students and teachers either worked their way around the increasing number of Educational Decrees or ignored them entirely. It wasn't until the second event, Sam and Dean's first Quidditch match, that they all realized they should have been taking Umbridge's new power seriously.

Author's Note : I couldn't find any in-canon incantation for the Impenetrable Charm, but what Sam says is a slightly altered version of Google's Latin translation of "impenetrable." Seemed to work as a magicky kinda blurb.

I figured Newt couldn't have had the only room-in-a-luggage. Besides, now they have a portable Kevin.