(10/7/2018) It's been awhile! Hello! School started, and even though I'm on the other side of the desks there's no less work. Also, memorizing 120+ names is nutty.

Anyways, I finally pushed through this writing block and I'm chipping away at the boulder I've got on Paschendale, so hopefully someone is still about.

Thank you DreamFeathers, RandomZambi, Mystery Guest, Spambot (0_o), Lovingh3art, 1968, Samuel William Winchester, WRose, Morgause Pendragon, MooBooks, Dark-Supernatural-Angel, Roserayrose (whose fears I thankfully allayed), and randy2015 for the reviews! And all you favoritisms and followers get whiteboard markers!

Dean attended Hagrid's first class the following week and came back in a towering rage.

At first Sam was worried that Hagrid had flipped on his decision to allow them to hunt a Hellhound. However, while the large man had grumbled a bit more under his breath about the killing of a forest inhabitant, the problem was, unsurprisingly, Dolores Umbridge. In a profanity-laden tirade Dean explained how the woman had addressed Hagrid as if he had less than average intelligence, then promptly used the students' comments to paint a picture of an inept, bloodthirsty half-giant who obviously had no business teaching human children.

Dean had attempted, quietly, to foil Umbridge's plan by muttering encouragements to Hagrid, but with the thestrals in attendance the hunter was wary about utilizing his go-to method of conflict resolution: violence. The creatures were placid, generally, but the fact that they preferred raw, bloody meat made Dean wonder if the untamed versions had humans on their menu.

The brothers went down to Hagrid's hut that evening to check on the man and were alarmed to see his face had once again been beaten to a pulp. Instinctively the both of them thought that Umbridge was somehow to blame, but Hagrid vehemently denied it. He would not, however, reveal the truth.

"I swear to God," Dean grumbled as they made their way up to the castle, "if it is that bitch then I'm making her face look exactly the same as his."

"He says it wasn't," Sam said. "Question is: what's he doing?"

"Fight club?"

"With who, the centaurs?"

The mystery of Hagrid's repeated injuries was put aside, however, in the face of Sam's first lesson with Harry and his friends. He joined them late one Thursday evening, his presence effectively quashing Filch's heartfelt desire to test out his newly endowed disciplinary powers. The caretaker walked away muttering what Sam deeply hoped was not something about whips and chains.

Sam had missed the inaugural meeting and was a little surprised to find himself being led to a corridor with nothing in it other than the painting of a man and a bunch of monsters in tutus. "What are we doing here?"

"Just a moment, Professor," Hermione said quietly.

Sam watched, bemused, as Harry paced back and forth in front of the blank wall, his face screwed up in concentration. After the third pass, however, a door materialized. "Whoa!"

The three students beamed at their astonished instructor. "Welcome to the Room of Requirement, mate!" Ron said cheerfully as they opened the entrance.

Sam gaped at the well-equipped room. A table of dark magic detectors lay on the opposite end while the other walls were, floor to ceiling, covered in books. Silk cushions littered the floor, ready to catch the student who was knocked awry. "What is this room?"

Harry explained the Room of Requirement and its ability to transform to anyone's desire. "Don't let my brother know about this," Sam warned.

"Why not?" Hermione asked curiously.

As the vision Sam had of wall-to-wall pornography, an enormously stocked liquor cabinet, and a table of greasy hamburgers would not have been child appropriate, he decided not to elaborate. "Just… because."

Thankfully, Hermione didn't push the subject. She shrugged then headed for one of the bookshelves. After pulling out a tome, a slip of parchment already sticking up from it, she plopped down on a few cushions and began to read.

Sam walked along the shelves, his eyebrows lifting as he read through some of the titles. Every one of them had to do with some sort of defense or offense against the Dark Arts. He tipped down a random book and flipped to the middle of the pages.

A legilimens' greatest weapon is not his wand nor his mind: it is his opponent's greatest desires. To be able to discover what his adversary wants more than anything is to gain power through another's weaknesses.

The door creaked open, birthing a flow of students, and Sam clapped the book shut. What in the world could a "legilimens" be? Some sort of creature? A subspecies of wizard? Whatever it was, it didn't sound friendly.

Harry had explained on the way that they were in the midst of working on the Impediment Jinx. When Sam mentioned he'd been working with Professor Flitwick and had mastered the spell a week or so ago, Harry seemed relieved. No doubt the boy was worried over how awkward it would have been to instruct his own instructor.

Instead, Harry asked if Sam wouldn't mind helping him tutor. It would give the professor an excuse for why he was there, and give Sam opportunities to practice under the guise of giving demonstrations. The precautionary measure ended up being necessary as a Hufflepuff, Zacharias Smith (whose name caused Sam to reflexively cringe in memory of certain angel), immediately asked, "What is Professor Winchester doing here?"

As the student's tone sat somewhere between disrespect and disdain, Sam drew himself up to his full height to glare. Zacharias, however, was far more wary of the wands the Weasley twins were currently pointing at him. "You know, Fred?" said George. "I think there was a phrase Mr. Winchester used the other day that would be quite appropriate about now."

"Was it, perhaps, the one about the ass-whooping?"

"I was thinking more of the one about eating dirt."

"Ah, but we are lacking in earthy material here."

"Not a problem, George. Out the window yonder I see a large patch of said material. It's just unfortunate that it's so far below."

"SO!" Harry said loudly, much to Zacharias' relief. "More practice today on the Impediment Jinx. Professor Winchester is here to give us some further practice and to join us in general Umbridge bashing."

"Here, here!" a few students cheered.

"Right. Um. Let's get to it."

For the next hour, Sam and Harry walked around the room helping their fellow Ministry seditionists learn how to freeze their opponents in their tracks. Sam thought he might be learning greatly from teaching the spell, perhaps even more than when he was merely performing it. He also noticed that Harry was quite the adept teacher, giving detailed instructions when necessary and offering encouragement freely. It was an impressive display, and Sam wondered if Harry had a future as an educator… providing they all survived the impending war.

The others left, furtively, at the hour's end. Once they were alone, Sam decided to broach the subject of Hagrid's mysterious enemy. Unfortunately, none of the three had any answers.

"He won't tell us," Harry said miserably. "I'm worried he's got another pet."

"'Pet'?" Sam echoed.

As they walked back to the Gryffindor common room, the three students stumbled over each other to tell their professor about Fluffy (the three-headed dog), Norbert (the Norwegian Ridgeback dragon), Aragog (the Acromantula), and the Blast-Ended Skrewts. By the time they were done, Sam was well on his way to convincing himself that the groundskeeper was insane.

He spent some time revealing Hagrid's proclivities to Dean, Kevin, and Castiel. Contrary to his sustained absence of the past several weeks, Castiel had yet to leave the Hogwarts Castle grounds. The angel claimed he was merely staying in order to catalogue the entirety of the place, but Sam wasn't so sure. He'd caught his friend glancing apprehensively up at the sky more than once, as if Castiel was fearful of eyes up in Heaven. Perhaps he was; according to Dean, the angel had been fervent not to return.

Therefore it was unusual (after the group decided to stop interfering in whatever Hagrid was up to lest they expose what was likely another illegal companion) that Cass asked to accompany them during the next Hogsmeade trip.

"What for?" Sam asked, surprised.

"It is the one place around here I have yet to explore," Castiel replied. "I have seen all of the towers, the forest, the Quidditch grounds, the professors' offices, the hidden chamber—"

"Wait, what?" cut in Kevin.

"A hidden chamber. You can access it through the bathroom with the ghost that won't stop whining. Someone left a dead basilisk to rot there and the smell is awful."

"A what?" asked Dean.

"Snake thing," Sam said. "But why won't you go down to Hogsmeade yourself?"

The angel blinked, as if the answer should have been obvious. "I did not want to scare the locals."

Dean gave a snort. "And making Hufflepuff first-years wet their pants is okay. Yeah," he said as Castiel lifted an eyebrow at him, "we heard about you popping into their dorm right before bedtime."

"It was next on my list."

"Anyways, next weekend ain't until December. You stickin' around?"

"For now."

Sam and Dean exchanged apprehensive glances, but Kevin cracked an enormous yawn and signaled an end to the discussion. The humans headed for their beds while the angel stayed up and brooded over how long it would be before Naomi finally told him why he was being forced to linger at Hogwarts.

Thanksgiving came, and the three American residents (and one Heavenly representative) asked Dobby if it was possible to have a turkey dinner. Once they had described the necessary dishes, the house-elves came through tremendously; turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce made from scratch, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, and three different pies (pumpkin, apple, and pecan). Not to mention both butterbeer and the finest English ales.

The Winchesters invited Harry and his two friends to partake in the non-English tradition. Though it was technically a regular school Thursday, all of them stuffed themselves to bursting and stayed up nearly the entire night. Sam and Dean bemoaned the lack of a television, and thus the football game they were missing, but other than that the holiday went off wonderfully.

The only snafu occurred when Hermione realized that Castiel wasn't really partaking of the festivities. He'd dutifully filled his plate, took a few, unenthusiastic bites, but left most of his food untouched. "Not hungry?" Hermione asked.

"Uh, no." In a slightly panicked manner, Castiel looked to the Winchesters for help. Unfortunately, they were preoccupied trying to get Ron to chug a beer. The angel blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I am experiencing hyperemesis gravidarum."

"Oh! That sounds terrible. Is it some sort of recurring illness?"

"It… can be."

With a pitying look, Hermione turned away to stop the professors from corrupting her friend. Unfortunately, despite Castiel's hope that his little subterfuge had worked, the girl easily discovered the truth and developed a whole new set of questions to lay at the Winchesters' feet.

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin when Hermione slammed the book down on the common room table. Medical Herbology screamed at him from the cover. "We need to investigate Mr. Castiel," his friend announced.

"What for?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"He doesn't eat!"

"Didn't you say he was sick?"

Hermione folded her arms. "He told me he had hyperemesis gravidarum. I thought it might be something serious so I borrowed this book from the library. Do you know what hyperemesis gravidarum is?"

"Uh…"

The girl's voice lowered to a sibilant hiss. "Nausea and vomiting during pregnancy!"

Harry and Ron burst out laughing. Hermione cleared her throat. "Oh, c'mon, 'Mione," Ron said. "He was probably just trying to get you off his back."

"I've been watching him since last Thursday." It was currently the next Tuesday after their Thanksgiving dinner. "He still hasn't eaten. If this were a stomach bug or something he would be over it by now or they would have sent him to St. Mungo's."

"All right," Harry placated. "So what're you thinking?"

Satisfied that someone was taking her concerns seriously, Hermione pulled a second book from her satchel. "Remember the list Professor Winchester put on the board at the beginning of the school year?"

Ron and Harry exchanged bewildered glances. "No," they both replied.

Hermione gave a huff, exasperated with her friend's' inability to remember important details (despite having been new three months prior). "I went through the Monster Book of Monsters and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Everything eats something, even dementors. There are only two things that don't require regular food or drink. Angels and demons."

The boys peered at the old tome Hermione held out before them. "Inquiry into Heaven and Hell," Ron read. He noticed a slip of parchment sticking out of the pages and opened the book to its position. For a few minutes there was silence as both Ron and Harry pored over the passage their friend had marked. When they were done, Ron lifted an eyebrow and stated, "You sure?"

"Not one hundred percent, but close enough. Look," Hermione said as she pulled yet another book from her overburdened bag. "Here, in the Appendices of Angel and Demon. 'Castiel'," she read, "'Shield of God'. You can't possibly believe this is a coincidence."

"Er…"

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said doubtfully. "I mean, say he is an angel. Then what?"

Flustered, Hermione stuttered, "Then… Then…" She straightened, a familiar stubborn look in her eyes. "Then we follow him. In case he's dangerous."

"Follow him where exactly?" Ron asked apprehensively.

"Hogsmeade. Crowds, distractions, all of it."

"And look for what?" Harry added.

"Whatever we can!" Hermione huffed as she stomped up to her dorm.

"And what's that supposed to be?" Ron asked Harry, whose only bewildered response was to shrug.

The trio surreptitiously followed Mr. Winchester, Professor Winchester, Mr. Castiel, and a highly reluctant Kevin down to Hogsmeade on the first weekend of December. Bemused, they watched Mr. Winchester drag Kevin out of the door as the young man loudly protested, "I'm almost there! I can almost get the second trial!"

"Kid," Dean told him as he jammed a warm hat on Kevin's head, "you ain't been out in weeks. Just enjoy one freaking day out."

"Fine, fine. Whatever."

Despite Kevin's initial reluctance he was all wide-eyed interest when they walked down the main road. As a Muggle, the young man's exposure to the wizarding world would have been negligible at best, and now it was being pushed upon him from all sides. It was enough to even loosen Mr. Castiel up slightly; at least the man stopped staring so intently at the people and was now staring intently at the various shop products.

The four first stopped at Zonko's, where even Ron became alarmed at the gleam in Mr. Winchester's eye. It was the sort of look he was used to seeing on either Fred or George's faces and didn't bode well for any of Dean's current roommates. Sam even bought a few dungbombs for retaliatory purposes (if the look he gave his brother was any indication).

They next followed the men to Honeyduke's, a place swarming with students, where three of the four eyed everything around them with wonder. Mr. Castiel, however, peered interestedly at the stranger items, like the acid pops and cockroach clusters. Much to Ron's horror, the man picked up one of the former and began to put it in his mouth.

"Hey!" Dean said irritably as he swiped the not-so-sweet sweet away. "At least wait until we've paid."

All the men left the shop with bags of goodies (after being pulled away by Hermione, Ron and Harry went empty-handed, much to their intense disappointment). Kevin even pulled out a Cauldron Cake, bit into it, and lost the ever-present look of anxiety he wore. Mr. Castiel pulled an acid pop from his and completed the motion he'd begun in the shop. "Huh," he said thickly.

"What?" asked Professor Winchester.

"I believe this treat has damaged my tongue. Why is it being sold to children?"

"Pretty sure you're not actually supposed to eat something that's called 'acid'."

To the three students' amazement, Mr. Castiel proceeded to eat the entire thing. Although they couldn't see his face, the damage had to be catastrophic. No one, however, seemed to notice.

They followed their elders to the Three Broomsticks. As the men sat at the bar, Harry, Ron, and Hermione snuck themselves onto a corner table. Dean immediately tried coaxing Kevin into an ale (the drinking age in Great Britain being lower than that of the United States) while Sam ordered firewhiskey from Rosmerta.

With morbid fascination, Harry tried to see what damage Mr. Castiel's face had taken. After all, a "treat" notorious for burning holes in people's tongues couldn't have been good for any other part of a person's face. He was actually a little surprised at the continued lack of reaction to what must be a bloody, gory mess. Therefore when Mr. Castiel finally turned at an angle that allowed a good view of his face, Harry could only mutter, "What?"

"What?" Ron echoed.

"He's fine. Totally, completely fine. Look."

Ron and Hermione twisted in their seats to gape at the trench coated man. He was currently downing a shot of firewhiskey. No deleterious effects from the acid pop could be seen. "Merlin's beard," Ron gasped.

Ron continued gaping at Mr. Castiel, which was why he missed how Kevin was becoming increasingly agitated. It began with looks, here and there, as if hearing someone call his name. Then the young man demanded that Mr. Winchester listen as well, determined to have whatever delusion he was having verified. When Kevin became both obstinate and belligerent, the older of the Winchesters grabbed him by the collar and hauled him from the pub. Harry and Hermione were forced to do the same to Ron who was insisting, oddly, that Mr. Castiel had just apparated without being noticed.

The trench coated man was significant by his absence. While Professor and Mr. Winchester continued to try and placate a hysterical Kevin, Ron said, "I'm telling you, one minute he's there the next he's not! No wand, no standing, no nothing."

Hermione made a disparaging noise. "You were probably too busy staring at Rosmerta to see him."

"I was looking at him the whole time! Poof! Never seen the like!"

"Ron," Harry suddenly inserted.

"Why would you think I'm looking at Rosmerta?" Ron continued angrily. "She's ancient. I prefer girls my own age, thank you."

"Oh, sure," Hermione countered, "and her low décolletage had nothing to do with it."

"Hermione!" Harry hissed.

Ron's cheeks flared. "It's-It's got nothing to do with it! She's the same age as my mum, I think."

"Will the two of you shut up for one… bloody… SECOND?" Harry shouted.

His friends quieted, appalled. Harry gestured broadly in front of them. "What do you see?"

"Snow," Ron answered.

"The Shrieking Shack," came Hermione.

"Sticks?"

"Um… a fence?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly. "But what do you NOT see?"

"Er…"

"Well…"

"Why the hell have you three been following us all day?" Mr. Winchester roared from behind the trio.

Hermione let out a shriek while Ron indulged in a slew of loud profanities that would have given his mother an apoplexy. Harry, who had spotted his erstwhile professor emerging from behind a tree, just folded his arms smugly. In answer to Dean's query, the boy said, "Hermione wanted to observe Mr. Castiel."

Honestly bewildered, Mr. Winchester asked "What the fuck for?"

Flustered by the profanity, Hermione merely stuttered a few half-formed sounds. It cleared the way for Kevin's panicked statements to Professor Winchester to float their way. "Crowley! It's Crowley! He's in my head, he's in there and I should never have left my suitcase or the Bunker or freaking Michigan —"

"Okay, okay," Sam said soothingly. "Let's just head back."

As Kevin did his best not to hyperventilate, Dean walked around the tree to where his brother and the young man were conversing. "Cass said there was a demon around," Dean added. "He'll take care of it. Guarantee if it's Crowley that son of a bitch will get what's comin' to him."

"I'm so relieved," Kevin said flatly.

Castiel could hear their conversation through the walls of the so-called Shrieking Shack (which had emitted not a single shriek since he'd stepped foot in it) and cringed. The power of the demon he could feel was formidable, yes, but not nearly at the strength of the self-proclaimed King of Hell.

He needed to tell them. In fact, he should have told them in the first place to deflate any growing worry. But a nagging voice berated him for even thinking of it. Oh well.

The walls of the "Shack" were ripped and torn, as if attacked by claws. Most of the furniture was in pieces, scattered hither and yon by the same creature, whatever it was. All of it was coated in a thick layer of dust with the exception of a trail of multiple footsteps going up and down the stairs.

Castiel followed them up. A scuffle of some sort had occurred in the room beyond. Curious, he stepped inside… and stopped short at the edge of a demon's trap.

The bloodied woman on the floor gave him a wry smirk. "Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?" asked Meg.