Chapter Six - A Totally Normal, Average American Wizard

The air was biting and the moon hung in the sky over Ottery St. Catchpole as Harry, Hermione and a handful of Weasleys left The Burrow, daybreak on the horizon. Mr Weasley lead the straggling group, closely followed by Fred and George, who were muttering moodily among themselves and throwing dangerous scowls in every direction - Mrs. Weasley had just confiscated the last of their ton-tongue toffees and this had obviously not gone down well with either of them. Mr. Weasley Ginny strode a few metres behind them, effortlessly keeping up with her older brothers as she inspected her surroundings, Ron was busy arguing with Hermione a little in from of Harry - something about gnomes having a higher I.Q. than cats; and Harry himself was busy blinking, still trying to recover from the early awakening. According to Mr. Weasley, they had a long walk ahead of them before they would reach the Quidditch World Cup grounds. Harry's heart gave an excited leap - he would walk a thousand miles just to get to the match. He was going to see a proper, world-league Quidditch Match! He grinned to himself, then thought about the thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup. Hitching his rucksack higher on his shoulders, Harry ran ahead to catch up with Mr. Weasley.

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" he asked curiously.

"It's been a massive organizational problem," Mr. Weasley sighed. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains - remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy boot they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them, where the dark outline of a ridge rose above the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry raised his eyebrows as he realised that was what they were going to be climbing. He looked back to Mr. Weasley

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?"

"Well, they can be anything," said Mr. Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them ... stuff they'll just think is litter..."

They continued walking, passing through the village in silence, Harry falling back once more to join Ron and Hermione, who were now apparently not speaking because Ron had 'insulted Crookshanks' dignity'. Harry avoided getting involved, and watched his breath steam in the air like dragonsmoke, rubbing furiously at his hands in an attempt to feel them again. Ron took this opportunity to gloat about the gloves he had enchanted to heat themselves.

'Charmed them last week,' He said smugly, holding his hands out and wriggling his fingers under Harry's nose. 'My hands feel like they're in an oven, all toasty and warm.'

'Get off, you git.' Harry pushed Ron away in good nature as his friend placed a hand on his shoulder gloatingly. Ron was right, the gloves were warm - in fact, Harry felt as if he'd just been burnt. He rubbed his shoulder confusedly as Ron turned to Hermione, face taunting.

'See, I told you I could charm objects properly!' He said, thrusting them into Hermione's face this time.

Hermione looked unimpressed. 'I'm not sure you're meant to charm material like thjat.' She frowned and took a step back. 'What spell did you use?'

'I dunno, just a heating charm.'

'Well of course, Ronald, but what kind of heating charm? What was the incantation?'

'Why should I tell you? They're working fine, stop being such an busybody.'

'What! I'm concerned, Ronald! The laws of charms state-'

'Yeah concerned my arse-'

'Er Ron.' Harry interjected hesitantly. 'Are they meant to do that?'

Hermione looked up at him angrily, but Ron had caught on sooner. He looked down at his hands in horror and held them up in front of him.

'Bloody hell!'

Hermione's eyes went wide in alarm and she whirled round to see that Ron's gloves were smoking, tiny flames beginning to appear in the material. She stood there, paralysed for a second, and then turned began to try and bat at them frantically, Harry glancing wildly around for anything that might help, Ron screaming uselessly and continuing to stand there and watch his hands catch alight. In the end, however, it was Ginny who solved the problem. A few steps ahead of them, she unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and threw it over Ron.

There was a pause. Ron, now half-soaked, slowly looked up at his sister.

'You idiot! Look what you've done, I'm going to freeze now!' He yelled angrily, taking off his gloves and throwing them to the ground.

'Oh gosh, I'm so sorry - I guess should have just let your hands get roasted.' Ginny rolled her eyes, voice sarcastic.'You know, a 'thank you' would have been suffice.'

Harry began to laugh - and then instantly regretted it. Ginny turned her large brown eyes to look at him, and, a second later, looked away, flushing with embarrassment. She looked to Ron hurriedly.

'You'd better hurry up, Ron; Dad says we've gotta meet this American guy up on Stoatshead as well.'

'Wait, what?' Ron looked at his sister in confusion 'What American?'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Have you been living on another planet, Ron? Dumbledore told Dad he wanted him to look after some new Transfer student who's going to Hogwarts this year. We're going to the Quidditch world cup with him, apparently.'

'I wasn't told about this!' Ron said, as if it were an outrage. Hermione, in turn, was joining Ginny in the eye rolling.

'Your Mother told you yesterday, Ronald. Don't you remember anything?'

'Just leave it, mate.' Harry murmured to his friend as Ron opened his mouth to answer back. Hermione had moved to stand with Ginny and he didn't like the looks on their faces - he felt as if he were about to get told off by two copies of Mrs. Weasley.

Ron looked from Ginny to Hermione, and shut his mouth, instead simply glaring at the two witches. A second later, Mr. Weasley's voice called from in front.

'Come on, kids! We can't be late for this!'

'Come on.' Said Ron grouchily, striding ahead. Ginny rolled her eyes, tossing her hair and running ahead to join Fred and George. The remaining trio fell in line, Hermione handing Ron a spare pair of gloves, which he accepted grouchily before changing the subject, as if attempting to eclipse this weakness.

'Wonder what this American will be like.' He said grumpily. 'Annoying, most like.'

'You haven't even met him yet!' Hermione protested. 'I bet he'll be quite nice. We could learn a lot about the wizarding world in the United States.'

'I don't think he'd be charmed by you picking his brains at first sight, Hermione.' Harry said. 'Isn't a bit strange, though, Dumbledore asking your Dad to look after him? Does he do this kind of thing often?'

Ron shook his head, creasing his brow. 'No, never. Not that I know of, anyway. Besides, I don't know why he's asked us to look out for this guy. I mean, we're hardly special as far as wizarding families go.'

'That's not true.' Hermione interjected. 'You're very friendly - you practically adopted Harry and I for the week. Maybe Dumbledore's looking for someone who can make this guy feel at home.'

Ron raised his eyebrows, trying to shrug off praise that obviously pleased him. 'Well I'm happy for us to 'adopt' you and Harry, but I can't see some annoying American wizard becoming part of the family.'

The conversation subsided as they reached the bottom of Stoatshead Hill and began to climb, robbed of any breath as they ascended the steep slope. Hermione clutched at a stitch in her side, falling behind; Ron stopped every few minutes to 'admire the view', and Harry mainly focused on trying to breathe, the excitement in his chest spurring him on. The sun rose on the horizon as they reached the top, Mr. Weasley pausing as he reached the top, turning round to squint and watch as various members of the procession made it up the hill; Ginny and Hermione being the last ones up. Once up, however, they both froze slightly - with the same look on their faces. It appeared they were looking at something - or someone - behind the group consisting of Mr. Weasley, Harry, Ron, Fred and George.

'Uh - hi.' Harry jumped as a voice spoke behind them, one and all of them turning in surprise to see young man standing before them, smiling hesitantly as he looked to Mr Weasley. He was tall - very tall, standing even higher than Fred and George - and very broad; an impressive set of muscles visible despite the thick coat he wore. A large, heavy-duty duffle bag was slung over his right shoulder, and his face was slightly pale, cheekbones sharp in the light, and was framed by long, dark hair that was blowing slightly in the wind. 'Are you Arthur Weasley? Albus Dumbledore sent me - I'm the American Transfer?'

'Oh, hello!' Mr Weasley stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face. He stepped forward to shake the guy's hand jovially. 'Yes, Arthur Weasley; pleased to meet you. Samuel Winchester, isn't it?'

'Uh, yes. And it's Sam.' The wizard corrected Mr. Weasley, smiling.

'Oh of course, of course.' Mr Weasley replied. 'This lot here are some of my brood - that's Fred, George, Ron and Ginny.' The Twins stared with an air of curiosity, Ron humphed grumpily and Ginny stole a sly, wide-eyed glance at the American before turning away to share a grin with Hermione. 'And these two are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.'

'Wait - Harry Potter?' The young man's eyes widened as he stared at Harry. An excited glint had come to them and suddenly he burst into animated speech. 'Oh my god, it's so great to meet you! I mean, you're basically a legend in the US - you're in like so many magical history books; The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the 20th Century, Modern Magical History, Britain's Wizarding Legacy, An American Wizard's guide to European History… the list just goes on and on!'

Harry looked at him faintly. 'Oh, yeah, thanks.' He gave a slight smile. There was a strong feeling of deja vu in the air. 'Er, great to meet you too!'

Beside Harry, Ron muttered under his breath. 'Heads up - it's a male Hermione.'

'Oh shoot!' Mr Weasley was looking at his watch. 'Come on kids, we'd better find this portkey quickly!' He began to move across the moor, the group behind him following with confusion.

'Er, what kind of thing are we looking for, Mr Weasley?' Harry called.

'Portkeys are disguised as objects No-Majs wouldn't bother picking up by accident, so it'll probably be like, an odd glove, a discarded magazine, something like that.' Sam replied, before Mr Weasley had the chance to open his mouth. He seemed to realise how he'd come across a second later, and smiled quickly. 'Sorry, I guess I sound a real wise ass at the moment. My bad.'

'Wise ass?' Fred and George were the first to speak; chorusing in unison as they looked at the American with cheeky expressions. It was not an English phrase, and they were looking for trouble. Fred went first, putting on a mock-posh voice. 'Are you complimenting yourself, my man?'

'Do you believe you are above us in the category of arses?' George chipped in.

'You know vanity isn't an attractive trait.'

'Although your arse might be, from the way Ginny's looking at it.'

'GEORGE!' Ginny yowled, her face red with anger. Ron and Harry snorted in the background, watching the scene with barely concealed amusement, and Sam seemed to be trying to smile whilst obviously lost for how to react. Taking pity on him, Hermione comforted Ginny by patting her on the arm and glared at the boys.

'Wise ass means smart arse, you imbeciles.' She translated for them, sending looks of disgust their way. She looked shyly at Sam, who smiled at her briefly. His eyes were tense and alert, and she avoided meeting them.

'What's the wizarding community like in the United States?' She asked, her voice surprisingly strong. To accommodate for talking to Sam, she had gone into her fact-finding, straight-talking mode, her voice extremely matter-of-fact. 'Don't you have different laws concerning Muggles?'

'Not anymore.' Sam gave her another brief smile. 'Used to be very anti No-Maj, but it's much better now. Ever since we had a visit from one of you Brits.'

'Oh of course, Newt Scamander's visit to New York!' Hermione's eyes were alight with focus now. She looked as if she were interrogating the guy, on a quest to pick his brains. 'Where do you live in America?'

'Uh, New York, actually.' Sam answered. 'I used to travel around a lot though, when I was a kid.'

'Oh, so does magical attitude change according to each state? I hear it's very diverse across the country.'

'Yeah - I mean, I think so. We never stayed in one place that long. Amazing magical history though. I always used to read books on wherever we were going next.' Sam's eyes misted slightly, as if reminiscing of old times.

'Oh my goodness, I do the same! Well, I haven't travelled across America, of course, but whenever me and my parents would travel around England or to France or anywhere I would simply read as MUCH as I could on the place - everywhere is just so interesting! And I also-'

'FOUND IT!' A yell from Mr Weasley cut Hermione's rambling short, and the group looked up to see him standing next to two figures, one tall and slim; the other a few inches shorter and rounder in in silhouette. 'Hurry up!' Mr Weasley called, and the group pressed on; Sam smiling kindly at Hermione, who abandoned her ramble. She returned the gesture shyly after a pause, and then fell back to join Harry and Ron.

'He's alright isn't he.' She remarked, studying Sam's back as he walked in front.

'Yeah, I suppose so.' Harry said, also looking to the American. 'But we have only just met him.'

'Well, even then, he seems reasonable enough.' She stated; obviously playing down what she already thought of the wizard, who had won her approval already, even if she didn't realise it yet.

Ron looked at her briefly, and then set his brow. 'I say never judge a book by its cover. I mean, like Harry says, we don't know him yet. He could be anyone.'

'What on earth do you mean?' Hermione questioned incredulously, hearing the suspicion in Ron's tone.

'Just saying that for all we know, he could be a bad guy.'

'A bad guy?'

'They're big into enchanted Muggle firearms in America. He could be a gun-nut.'

'Really?' Harry chipped in, curious. 'How do they enchant them?'

'They shoot spells, magical bullets and that.' Ron answered helpfully, turning to Harry.

Hermione, meanwhile, gave an exasperated scoff. 'Ronald, I highly doubt Dumbledore would admit a 'gun nut' to Hogwarts, let alone ask your father to look after them.'

'Well you never know, maybe he needs watching.' Ron refused to let go of his point, unwilling to let Hermione win - like a lot arguments between the two, it had become a competition.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but never got the chance. A second later, they witnessed an object falling from the American's rucksack in front. He didn't appear to notice; so, after exchanging glances, the trio accelerated forward. When they reached it, Harry was the one to scoop the object off the ground, holding it up to look at as a moment of curiosity flitted by. It was a brown paper package; oblong and fairly heavy - there was a small tear in the corner and it appeared to be leaking a white substance.

'What is it?' Asked Ron.

'Salt, I think.' Answered Harry, examining the parcel and the powder that was now on his hands.

'Why does he have this much salt in his bag?' Questioned Ron ludicrously. Harry shrugged in reply and, as if disturbed by the voices, the American turned round from where he was a few paces ahead.

'Oh, you dropped this, Sam.' Harry said, seeing the wizard had registered what he was holding. Sam walked back to them, and Harry handed him the package with a smile.

'Oh, right.' Sam took it from Harry and slipped off his backpack stuffing the package into one of the pockets. 'Thanks, I didn't notice.' He looked up at them, giving them a smile. Harry realised briefly that Sam's eyes, even when he was smiling, held a constant tension, as if he were perpetually on edge, holding something back.

'Looking to ward off some evil spirits?' Joked Hermione, slightly nervously.

Sam laughed. 'Uh, no. My, um, my brother is just a terrible cook. Only way to make his food edible is to add a shit tonne of salt to it.'

The trio laughed vaguely. 'So you're brother's going to be at the world cup too?' Enquired Hermione politely.

'Er, yeah.' Sam smiled. 'And my cous-'

'Oho, what do we have here?' The Weasley twins, having overheard the conversation, appeared. It was Fred who had spoken. 'What's this I hear about warding off evil spirits?'

'Sensible, you know.' Said George, addressing Sam. 'We do have some terrifying monsters over here in Britain.'

Fred took his turn. 'Yeah, we're far more barbaric over here. Far scarier monsters. Vampires.'

'Vampires are native to Romania.' Hermione interjected, but was promptly ignored.

'Werewolves.' George continued.

'Mummies.'

'Severus Snape.'

'Krakens.'

'Snogmonsters.'

'Snogmonsters?' Questioned Ron. Harry and Him were grinning faintly whilst Hermione rolled her eyes. Sam's expression held a hint of amusement.

'Better known by the name of of Angelina Johnson.' George informed Ron matter-o-factly before exchanging a grin with his twin. Fred then turned to Sam again.

'So yeah, you'd watch out. You never know when the monsters'll come for you.'

Sam grinned, raising his eyebrows. 'Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to take them on.'

They had reached Mr Weasley now, the conversation ending as he turned to address the group. 'Ah, finally! Everyone here? Good, good. Oh, this is Amos Diggory, everyone.' Mr Weasley gestured to the shorter wizard who he had been conversing with; a ruddy-faced man with a scrubby brown bear who was holding a mouldy-looking boot in one hand. 'He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?'

It was only when Mr Weasley gestured to the young man and is memory was jogged that Harry realised that he did know Cedric Diggory. Cedric was Quidditch Captain and Seeker for Hufflepuff, in his seventh year and known for his academic brilliance, sporting talent and extreme good looks. Already Ginny had reacted in the foreground, glancing from Cedric to Sam (who was standing by amicably, watching the scene with tense eyes) and whispering to Hermione.

'Good grief, I don't know where to look!'

Cedric shed a warm smile upon the group. 'Hi.' He said, looking round at them all

They all returned the greeting, apart from Fred and George, who simply nodded curtly - they still hadn't forgiven Cedric for beating them at Quidditch last year.

'All these yours, Arthur?' Asked Amos Diggory, peering goodnaturedly at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Sam.

'Only the redheads.' Answered Mr Weasley; gesturing to his children. 'This lot here are Hermione, friend of Ron's; Harry, another friend-'

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes wide as he turned to Harry, quickly finding the lightning scar on his forehead. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Er - yeah," said Harry. He felt uncomfortable - he should really have been used to this by now.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year...I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will...You beat Harry Potter!"

Harry stayed silent, unable to come up with a reply, and Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed, looking down at the ground

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. I told you...it was an accident..."

Amos Diggory laughed, and looked as if he were going to continue his joyful gloating when his eyes fill upon Sam, who was not easy to miss due to his height. Mr Diggory had caught him in the act of raising his eyebrows, a slight grin on his face. Pursing his mouth slightly, Mr Diggory made eye contact with Sam, who promptly stopped grinning, and turned to Mr Weasley.

'Who have we here, Arthur? You didn't introduce this one.'

'Oh yes, sorry!' Mr Weasley jumped into gear. 'This is Sam Winchester, and American transfer who'll be joining the kids at Hogwarts this year. Dumbledore said he was going to the Cup and asked me if I'd look out for him, show what wizarding Britain's like.' Sam turned to Mr Diggory and gave a brief smile, holding out his hand.

'Nice to meet you, Mr Diggory.'

Amos Diggory said nothing more, his eyes showing a hint of suspicion as he eyed the wizard, but he shook Sam's outstretched hand and there was little time to dwell on the moment, Mr Weasley exclaiming a second later:

'Oh, we're a minute off. Better get ready-' He turned to Harry, Hermione and Sam whilst the others began to cluster around the old boot that Amos Diggory had now placed on the ground. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -"

Perplexed but doing as Mr Weasley said, Harry followed the others and joined the crowd around the old boot. Sam, surprisingly, seemed to know what to do at once; setting himself up with ease. Perhaps he was from an all-wizarding family, Harry thought fleetingly, although the idea was cut short by Mr Weasley's countdown the next second.

"Three..." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, two...one..."

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then -

Harry hit the ground with a slam, the air pushed out of him. Groggily, he began to rise, as a voice called in the background. "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

Harry rose to his feet with difficulty, slightly shaky from the impact, and looked around to see the others also rising - apart from Sam, who was already up and looking about with interest, adjusting his backpack heftily. Harry blinked rapidly and followed Mr Weasley as he conversed with the wizards managing the Portkeys before moving on through the mist; tracking across a deserted moor towards what they could only make out as a distant light.

'Gosh, it feels like we're in a Victorian tragedy.' Remarked Hermione, adjusting her rucksack with difficulty. She was panting slightly, and laughed wheezily. 'Perhaps we'll get set upon by ghosts.'

'Hmmm, could happen. Have to be a cemetery or a church nearby, though, and this seems pretty deserted.' Sam answered. He was walking next to her, and, upon her comment, looked up to scan the area, as if considering it as a valid point. He realised, a second later, that Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring at him, and quickly added. 'Uh, you want me to take your bag, Hermione?'

She looked at him, curiosity still lingering in her gaze. 'Oh no, no, it's fine.'

The light, as it turned out, belonged to a tiny cottage that marked the base of the campsite where they were to stay, and they struggled there for a few minutes whilst Mr Weasley tackled the Muggle in charge of the place. It seemed that every few minutes he began to smell a rat; a wizard wearing plus-fours who was part of the set up appearing to promptly obliviate the poor man before they finally got through. The man accompanied them as they headed for the gate of the campsite, muttering to Mr Weasley:

"Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur." He Disapparated, leaving Ginny to turn and question her father;

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit...well...lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

Suddenly, just as Mr Weasley finished his statement, a dark shape sprang from between the tents; hurling itself at the group with ferocity. It was too fast for Harry to follow - in the heat of the moment he wondered if some humanoid magical creature had got into the camp - a vampire, maybe?

There was a yelp at his side and a painful thumping noise before the scene cleared and Harry realised what was going on. It was Sam who had been felled by the assailant, and he was currently rolling around on the grass aiming punches at it and grunting with effort as he apparently tried to the fight it off. The dark shape, Harry realised - was a man.

Mr Weasley stepped forward, exclaiming; 'Get off him you brute; you can't physically attack people, it's-' He was soon silenced as the two jumped up, squared each other, and the attacker spun round to hold Sam in what looked to be an extremely painful stance; one arm pressed at an uncomfortable angle behind his back. Sam was busy attempting to twist round, struggling in the grip of his assailant.

'Woahh, easy tiger.' The man restraining him grinned. He was young and extremely handsome; beating Cedric and Sam in that department, and that was saying something. There was a cocky, self-assured look to his face and it looked as if he knew Sam; ignoring the rest of the group.

'Dean?' It looked as if Sam hadn't realised who his attacker was either, until now. 'You scared the crap out me!'

'That's 'cause you're out of practice.' The man answered smugly. Sam visibly gritted his teeth and, a second later, twisted round in a blur and whirled round to hold his attacker in the same position he had previously been captured in. The man laughed, grinning. 'Or not. Get off me.'

Sam sighed and let the man go, brushing himself down whilst the other guy turned to the dumbstruck group before him. 'So, who have we here?'

Sam sighed, coming forward to stand beside the man and address the group reluctantly. 'Uh, everyone - this is my brother, Dean Winchester.'

Dean grinned. 'Pleased to meet y'all.'

A/N:

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, have a great day! .. Or night, fellow insomniacs.

For the love of Dean, please do tell me what you think! Reviews, even if they're only a few words, really keep me going!*resists wailing self-centerdly* However, I'd like to thank SparkyFlame101, Dean salutes you! ;P

1745 views.. ! Thanks so much, everyone, you're so awesome!

Next time, Sam and Dean cat H sight of a familiar face - and Harry realises he's seen Dean and Cas somewhere before...