Chapter 5: The NeverEnding Journey Part 2

"Why the hell did they take off like that?" John grumbled from the passenger's seat. Bobby looked towards him, dried blood clotted in his beard.

"Gee, maybe 'cause we were fighting tooth and nail about the accident!" He snapped. John glared at him with his one good eye, the other one closed by the blue and purple bruising. "Isn't that the Jetta?" Bobby asked, squinting in the dark. John looked ahead of them, and there it was. Parked on a driveway. A glow came past the curtains from the room on the second floor.

Bobby parked the Chevelle behind the Jetta, it was a tight fit, but John wasn't going to complain. They got out of the car and John walked over to the Jetta. Not a scratch was on it, at least. He'd have to figure out later if the car got messed up in any other way, but he didn't think so. He joined Bobby at the front door, waiting for the other man to find the key.

Once inside, John purposefully stalked to the end of the hallway and up the stairs. Bobby was quick on his heels. Never slowing, John made it to the door he presumed led to the room with the lights on. The door swung open, and there were his boys. Sam was on the ground, playing with a toy truck, and Dean was lying on one of the two beds, one earphone of the walkman plugged in and a Spidey comic in hands. John relaxed a little, but he was still very angry.

"What the hell, Dean?" He barked, causing both boys to look at him. Sam promptly let go of his toy and crawled to Dean's bed. Dean closed the comic book, pulled the cable of the earphone, and sat up. Neither said a word. "You can't take off like that! What if something had been waiting for us here?" John went on lecturing, marching into the room. Bobby followed, taking a seat on the other bed. His blue eyes fixed on John. John ignored Bobby and stopped right in front of his kids, looking down on them. "I didn't teach you to be that irresponsible, Dean!"

"Dad…" Sam tried, his voice small before Dean could poke him.

"No Sam! I'm just as angry at you!" Sam's eyes went wide, but he didn't utter another word. Good, John thought. "I'm very disappointed in you boys," he added sternly. "You could've made an accident, got arrested by the police for joy-riding, or even killed! You both know what's out there!" John nearly shouted. He really thought he wouldn't have this kind of issues with his kids since Sam learned the truth last Christmas. He thought they had understood how dangerous it was to go out.

"John, that's quite enough," Bobby interjected, but he didn't listen as he raged on with his lecture, going over everything that could have happened with this show of irresponsibility. "John!" Bobby barked, finally causing the man to notice him. "Enough! Stop being a sergeant and be glad the boys are okay!" John's fury was now once again aimed at Bobby.

"They're my kids, Bobby. Stay out of this," John snapped.

"Yes, they're kids!" Bobby retorted. "You need to calm down, they already got the message," he added, looking pointedly to the defeated faces.

"They're easy prey for what's out there! They can't know that enough!" John shouted, storming out of the room. Bobby sighed and followed, closing the door behind him. His nose already hurt like mad, actually getting it broken wasn't on his agenda, but he couldn't let John go like that. Bobby heard the front door get slammed close and hurried down the stairs. He found John sitting in the Jetta, a string of curses audible as the man noticed he couldn't drive away. Only hesitating for a second, Bobby got in the Chevelle and drove off the driveway. John raced past him, never even looking in his direction.

"Asshole," Bobby grunted to himself. He wasn't surprised when he noticed the garage door opening and seeing Dean there. He shrugged, maybe it was better if the Chevelle got inside, at least tonight.

"Where did dad go?" Dean asked, to Bobby's chagrin he sounded very… Detached.

"Probably off to drink somewhere," Bobby grunted, his face scornful. He followed Dean inside the kitchen, finding Sam sitting at the dining table with a glass of water. Bobby made a beeline for the fridge, cursing softly when he found it empty. Settling on a glass of water instead, he joined the boys at the table. "So how's the house?" he asked, listening closely to the description of the rooms.

"Alright, you two take the bedroom with the two singles for tonight, then John can use Dean's room when he gets back. We can turn the nursery in a guest room tomorrow ," Bobby decided. "Now you two need to hurry your asses to bed." Sam and Dean agreed and went to bed without protest. Bobby sighed, downed his glass, and went to explore the house on his own.

John saw it all happen in front of him, but he couldn't do anything. He had seen how Bobby's car shook up the moment he got out of the curve. The wheels of the Chevelle blocked, leaving a black trail on the grey asphalt while the car swerved to the left. Instinct had taken control of his body, aided by adrenaline. His left hand had been firmly placed against Sammy's chest in hopes to keep the kid safe. He had forgotten about the seatbelts. John had jerked the wheel to the right, planning to take the opposite lane to avoid crashing into Bobby's car.

John sighed, chugging down his whiskey in the brown café he had found. He had lost count in the drinks already, but his brain was still tormenting him with unwanted thoughts.

John had thought he acted smartly, but the Chevelle tried to escape to the same lane. That fool Bobby, trying to get out of the way even though he should know John would avoid them. He had been a mechanic after all. John had attempted to get the Jetta back on their actual lane, but it was too late. In a painful slow motion he got to witness how he hit the side of the Chevelle's bumper, causing it to go in a spin. He had been surprised when the airbag exploded in his face. He had braked as hard as he could, but it hadn't made a difference. It seemed like an eternity had passed when Sam's whimpers finally reached him.

John gritted his teeth. "Another one, please!" He ordered, the bartender complied easily and John returned to his brooding. He had been pissed at Bobby for endangering Dean and making the mistake to try and avoid the following car. Bobby should've known he hadn't any control over the Chevelle and leave it to John to avoid the Jetta to crash, too. He let the whiskey burn his throat, sighing in content.

"You're too hard for them, they're just kids!" Bobby's voice rang in his ears. He knew that, damnit. He had wanted a better childhood for his own kids, too. He wanted his kids to have both their parents, to grow up without having to worry. But since he learned the truth, he couldn't keep that from his sons. He needed to find the thing that killed Mary, for her, for them, and for himself. Mary had never done anything wrong, let alone Sam, he had just been a baby, and that thing had targeted both of them. But he couldn't possibly wish to track it and every other fugly down and protect his sons at the same time. John shook his head, thinking about that night would only make him angry, and he just wanted to get drunk. He went to take another sip, but found his glass empty. With a grunt he ordered again.

"You two are leaving again!" It hadn't been a question, it had been a desperate cry, yes, but in the first place it had been a statement. Sammy had never taken it so hard when he left on a hunt, but the kid went frantic whenever John took Dean away. The tired hunter tightened the grip on his glass, trying to ignore the pain in his chest that that realisation brought upon. It was necessary. He reminded himself. He wasn't about to let his son walk into a school full of powerful wizards and witches without knowing how to defend himself. John felt a bit more at ease after witnessing how well Dean could fight on the hunts. Training was one thing, but actually carrying it out, hell, he had seen plenty of soldiers struggling with that in Vietnam. Dean had been nervous, scared to death even, but he never hesitated in carrying out an order and used what he had learned very well. He trusted his instincts and he trusted his training. John had liked to wait a few more years, sure, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

This time the bartender refilled his glass without him asking and John gave him an appreciative nod.

Yes, he had liked for Dean to have a few more years before he had to kill. His eldest had lost so much childish innocence on such a young age already, he had loved to preserve what little was left as long as possible, as selfish as that may have been. It was a world where it was kill or be killed, John knew that. Even Sam, despite Dean's insistence that they kept him out of the loop, had learned the truth about the monsters when he was just six and a half. Just a little bit over six years since that cursed night.

He downed his shot and paid for his drinks before he left. It was time to go back.

"Are you sure about this?" John asked, heaving the duffelbags into the trunk of the Jetta.

"Yeah, I just don't understand why we need to go all the way back to London," Dean answered.

"Magical tradition or sumthing," Bobby grunted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I agree, why the hell would you go to a magic school by train in the first place?" he added, frowning as he did another attempt at figuring it out.

"Maybe they just like trains?" Sam offered. "I had a teacher once who collected tiny trains," he supplied helpfully.

"I hope it isn't that," Dean retorted. "How come you get to go via the floo network?" he asked Bobby.

"Teacher's privilege. Besides, you don't want to leave your brother all alone here, now do you?" Bobby glanced towards the trunk to see it was once again full with luggage. "It seems like you're all set to go," he pointed out. "I'll see you tomorrow evening, alright Dean?" He said, forcing his doubts down. Dean nodded, hugging the older man around the waist.

"You take care of Sammy," he said. Bobby grunted, but couldn't help a smile.

"I can take care of myself, you know," Sam replied, but tears were welling up in his eyes when it was his time to hug Dean.

"I know that, Sammy. I know that," Dean grumbled, patting his brother on the back. "I'll write you on Sunday."

"P-promise?"

"Yeah." Dean stepped away, just in time to see his father and Bobby shaking hands and wrapping up their last minute conversation. Their father squatted down to Sam's height and hugged his youngest son.

"I'll be back in about two months, around Thanksgiving," he told Sam for the one-hundredth-and-sixty-seventh time. "You call if there's something wrong, alright?"

"Yes, dad, I'll miss you," Sam answered, his voice wavering.

"I'll miss you, too," John admitted, ruffling Sam's hair. He straightened up, looking at Dean. "You ready to go?" Dean nodded and they got in the car together. The engine came to life dutifully, and they drove off, quickly losing sight of Bobby while Sam ran along until the end of the curved street. With a last honk and wave, they communicated their final goodbyes.

Dean slumped back in his seat and allowed the music to soothe him. He glanced over to his father from the corner of his eye. The man seemed deep in thought, his eyes fixed on the road but glassy at the same time. Dean figured that his father was struggling now that the moment was finally there, but he had truly no idea what his father might be thinking, or feeling for that matter. Dean decided to leave the mystery of his father's brain for another time and looked out of the window.

By the time they passed Glasgow, his father spoke.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" Dean sat up straighter, shaking the daze out of his head. He caught his father's eyes glancing over, indicating that Dean wasn't imagining things. Dean hesitated, but decided honesty would probably serve him best.

"I am, it isn't exactly like any other school I've dealt with," he admitted. He hadn't been nervous about new schools since a couple years ago, but this was different and there was no denying that.

"Good," John grunted, causing Dean to snap his head towards his father. John swallowed. "I'm glad you see this differently, it means you'll be vigil," John reasoned. Dean nodded his understanding, and it went quiet for another couple miles.

"I have faith in you, you know," John admitted, not sure what he was doing himself. "You were nervous on the hunts, understandably so, but you always trusted your training. That's good, I think you can handle whatever that school will throw at you." John wanted to slap himself, but refrained from doing so. Dean smiled weakly.

"Thanks, dad." John grumbled something incoherently in response and cracked up the volume.

Hours later, John parked the Jetta outside a motel and glanced over to the passenger seat. Dean's cheek was stuck to the car window, he was snoring softly, something John hadn't noticed over the music. He stepped out of the car, welcoming the cool night air. Stretching his tired limbs, he made way to the service desk. He noticed a young, blond man, his face red by the acne, sitting at the desk. The man hadn't noticed him yet, he was heavily engrossed in a thick book.

"Good evening," John grunted, walking up to the desk. The man jumped, the book slipping out of his fingers and promptly landing on the floor with a loud thump.

"Oh! You startled me!" The man said, smiling nervously. "Erm, I mean, good evening sir. How can I help you?

"I'd like to book a room for the night, two queens," John answered, mildly amused.

"Sure, if you can fill this in for me," The man replied, pushing over a form and pen. John complied, paid cash and left with the key in hand. He got back to the car to find Dean still sound asleep, and he nudged him awake.

"What is it?" Dean asked in less than a whisper.

"We're at the motel," John answered, watching as Dean took in the information and quickly sat up straight. "Come on." They got out of the car and only took out of the trunk what they needed. Their motel room was far from luxurious, but it was one of the cleanest John had seen in a long time. There were two queens, both beds still had to be made. There was a desk, and a tiny TV that John suspected was still in black and white. He let Dean use the bathroom as he salted the place and made the beds.

Dean woke when he heard an engine start outside. Not bothering to open his eyes, he turned onto his back, hoping sleep would take him once again. But now that he was awake, he couldn't believe he slept through the chirping of the birds and the snoring of his father. With a groan, he swayed his legs over the edge and sat up, letting a hand go over his face. He looked over to the small alarm clock on the night stand in-between their beds and promptly fell back on the bed. It wasn't even seven o'clock yet! He opened his eyes once again to stare at the ceiling. This was going to be a long day. He got up, gathered his things, and stealthily made it to the bathroom.

The shower left him feeling more human, but also more hungry. His stomach was roaring in loud demand. He got dressed and slipped out of the batroom. To his dismay, his father was surprisingly enough still asleep. Dean sat down at the desk, debating whether to wake up his dad or go out for food on his own. He decided on the latter and was just tying his shoes when John stirred awake. His father grunted and turned to face the other bed, then stiffened.

"Dean?" he asked.

"I'm here," Dean replied, his dad relaxed.

"You're up early," John stated, forcing himself to sit up to find Dean sitting fully dressed.

"Yeah, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," Dean shrugged with one shoulder as he tied his other shoe. "I'm starving though, can we go out for food soon?"

"Yeah, just give me a moment," John answered, getting up and claiming the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he came out and they left to turn in the key to the elderly woman that now sat at the desk.

It wasn't long before they were on the road again, making their way to King's Cross. The traffic wasn't so bad on the early Saturday morning, but Dean's stomach thought that it had taken more than enough time when they finally parked in front of the train station. They got out of the car, looking up and down the street, and started in the direction to the nearest restaurant. They took a table next to the window and a woman in her late thirties came over, smiling sweetly when both their stomachs roared.

"Good morning gentlemen, can I take your order?" She asked in her thick, British accent.

"We'd like two full English breakfasts, a black coffee and an orange juice," John said, offering the woman a small smile.

"And a pie," Dean added quickly. The woman quirked up an eyebrow, but John nodded.

"Yes, and a pie," he agreed gravely.

"What kind of pie would you like? Apple or cherry?" She watched in amusement as they glanced at each other and then replied with "cherry" simultaneously. "Coming right up," she promised before leaving father and son alone. John looked up at the clock on their left and slacked back in their seat. They had almost two hours to kill until Dean needed to be at the train station.

The woman returned with their drinks and promised the food would only take a few more minutes. John gratefully sipped his coffee, glad to get something in his system as he watched Dean down the juice in two goes.

"We got time, you know," he informed his son, smiling weakly at his cup. Dean shot him a glare but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to follow the waitress with his eyes. John sighed and finished his coffee. It wasn't long until she came back once again, two large, steaming plates in both hands.

"There you go," she said, placing it in front of Dean. "And for you," she added, smiling kindly as she put John's plate on the table. "Would you like anything else to drink? She asked.

"Could we get refills?" John asked, his mouth watering at the sight in front of him. Dean had already dug in.

"Certainly, enjoy your meal." Once she was away, John all but devoured his breakfast. They were almost finished when she returned with the drinks. "I think I'm going to need to go get the pie," she said, more to herself than to them.

Dean managed to empty his plate first and leaned contently against the back of his seat. "Ah, that was great," he said lazily. His father grunted his agreement.

"I'm glad everything is to your liking," the waitress said, placing two slices of pie on the table and taking Dean's plate with her. Dean eyed the pie, but decided to wash away the bacon with some juice first. John finished his meal and shoved the plate out of his way.

"I'll give the English one thing, they sure as hell know how to prepare a breakfast," John grunted in appreciation.

"The pie is pretty good too, though," Dean offered with his mouth full. John had no idea how his son managed to be understandable, and he was afraid to find out.

"Gotta swallow first, Dean," he commented dryly, but pulled the pie towards himself as he did so. The breakfast had been nice and filling, and John felt like he could take on any hunt, but he sure had plenty of space left to enjoy a good pie. He sighed in content as he took the first bite, crispy on the outside, soft and almost spongy on the inside. The sweet taste of sugar and berries chasing away the hearty breakfast.

They enjoyed a few more drinks until the clock reached half past ten. John paid the bill, leaving a decent tip, and they made their way to the train station. The Jetta was still where they had left it and John popped open the trunk, retrieving Dean's two duffelbags as Dean himself slid on his backpack. They got inside of the station and headed towards platform nine, like Dumbledore had explained to them.

They were just in time to see a man walk through the wall of platform nine and ten. Holding their breath, they waited for the other people to panic, but it never happened.

"How did they not notice that?" Dean hissed.

"Not a clue, get a move on," John hissed back, pushing his son forward. They casually stood in front of the wall, making sure nobody was watching them when they took a step back, smoothly going through it. They turned around to face the sign reading nine and three quarters, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if there was a nine and a quarter and a nine and a half platform, too. They looked around warily, the platform was loaded with loud talking witches and wizards clad in robes, cats were chasing each other, some owls were screeching, and a green smokescreen appeared not too far from them. Once it cleared, it revealed the scarlet engine and John let out a low whistle.

John placed one hand on Dean's shoulder, every muscle on his body was on edge, and Dean wasn't faring much better. They walked to the back of the platform, where the last of the carriages were. Less people were gathered there and it gave a good all-over view.

"Last chance Dean, you sure you wanna go through with this?" John asked, turning his son around to face him. Dean's eyes were wide, the green looking intenser than normal as he scanned the platform. There were more people than they had thought there would be. Dean looked back to his father.

"I got this far, might as well see it through," Dean said, sounding braver than he felt. He couldn't believe he had anything in common with the other people that were boarding the train, but he'll manage. He always did. John nodded and they entered the last carriage together. Dean led the way to the end of it and slid open the door of the compartment on the side of the platform. He put his backpack on the bench and turned to the window, glancing out over the platform towards the big clock. They had ten minutes left.

"That's it then," John said, causing Dean to turn around. Dean noticed his two duffelbags were now on the luggage rack.

"I think you should go before the train leaves and all the others want to exit the platform," Dean suggested. He knew his father was highly uncomfortable and he could only imagine the line that would form once all the parents and other family members tried to leave. John offered a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, that might be for the best," he agreed. His smile faltered. "I'm gonna miss having you around, son." Dean didn't know what to say, it wasn't a side his father ever really showed before. Well, at least not after mom died. Instead, he just hugged his father. He had no idea when he'd see him again. It might be next summer. Dean swallowed, he wasn't going to break down now. They parted, John gave a last reassuring squeeze in Dean's shoulder, and left. Dean sat down, following his father over the platform until he disappeared through the gate. A feeling of definition crept over him. There was no backing out now, and that scared him. He dug his walkman out of his backpack and led Led Zeppelin soothe him. He hardly noticed as the train started to move.

Dean awoke from his nap when nature demanded it, the cassette had long stopped playing and one of the earphones had plopped out of his ear. He glanced out of the window to see the train passing by a village. The sun stood high, so it was still early noon, Dean figured. He got out of his compartment and started looking for a restroom sign. To his relief, he found one in the next carriage.

By the time Dean was washing his hands, he heard commotion outside.

"Your mom said that, huh?" Someone asked, the disdain clear in his young voice. "Well, your mom is a stupid bitch!"

"A filth to our society," a second one agreed, followed by a loud smack.

"Ouch! Don't talk about my mother!" a third one cried out. With a sigh, Dean opened the door.

"What's going on here?" He demanded to know with as much big brother authority as he could muster. There were three boys in front of him, they couldn't be much older than him, and they were all in their Hogwarts robes. Two of them were looming over the third one on the ground. Freaking bullies, Dean thought. The two twirled around, but relaxed once they saw him.

"What do you want, mudblood?" the taller of the two demanded. Dean wondered what kind of insult mudblood even was, but he decided he didn't care.

"Just back off before I introduce your blood to the mud on my boot," Dean snarled, making his young voice as deep and intimidating as possible. The duo hesitated, weighing their chances. Dean rolled his eyes and walked past them, facing their victim. "You alright?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Yeah, I guess," he answered as he took Dean's hand. The boy's eyes widened and Dean promptly let go, kicking straight behind him. He connected to someone and the person sacked to one knee with a groan, rubbing gently over the other one.

"I told you to back off," Dean bit, challenging them to make another move.

"This isn't over," the uninjured one of the two stated as he helped his buddy up and left. Dean turned back to the other boy and helped him up.

"T-thanks for helping, I'm sorry you got on their bad side now, though," the boy stammered. Dean shrugged.

"No problem, what were they bothering you about anyway? Lunch money?" the kid seemed rather athletic, so Dean didn't see why they were picking on him. The boy sighed.

"They're purebloods, I'm a halfblood, so to them, I'm below their station," the boy explained. At Dean's confused look, he laughed bitterly. "Purebloods tend to think they're better because all their ancestors were witches and wizards, too. When you're a halfblood, this isn't the case, hell, your parent could be non-magical, or a muggle as we call them," the boy explained. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What if your ancestor has a whole tree of witches and wizards but got squibs as children and you might be the first wizard in his direct line?" Dean asked.

"I… I have no idea, actually. I think they'll just consider you a muggleborn," the boy said with a shrug.

"Huh, Gringotts thought different about that. I mean, I got access to the family vault and everything," Dean explained. The boy shrugged again.

"I have no idea what to make of that," he answered truthfully. He considered Dean for a moment. "Oh! I'm James, James Begbie!" he added, offering his hand.

"Dean Winchester," Dean replied, shaking hands. It was weird, he couldn't recall ever shaking another kid's hand. Adults sure, but kids? "This your first year?" he asked.

"Yes, it is. Yours too, right?"

"Yeah, it appears so." Dean grinned despite himself. "And I already made two enemies before we even got to the school," he added.

"You and me both," James agreed, also grinning. "But perhaps also a friend?" Dean couldn't help but laugh. James might be a bit weird, but he decided he liked the kid.

"I guess so, yeah. Anyway, I gotta go back to my compartment, I was sitting alone so for all I know someone stole all my shit,"

"Oh, where were you sitting? I'll go retrieve my stuff and join you," James said.

"Last compartment of the last carriage, on the right hand," Dean explained before taking off. He hurried back and was glad when he found his stuff untouched. It didn't take long before his door slid open again and James back came in, pulling his big trunk inside with all his might. "Dude, how much did you pack?" Dean asked, looking from the heavy trunk to his duffelbags and hoping they wouldn't be too heavy. James shrugged.

"Mind helping me put it on the rack?" He asked. Dean got to his feet and helped James lift it up. It was lighter than Dean anticipated, but it might've been heavier than Sam. No, he was positive that the trunk was heavier. They sat down, an awkward silence between them.

"So what do you know about Hogwarts?" Dean asked, not sure what else to say. James perked up and started explaining about the founders and the several charms and spells that were known to protect the school. It didn't take long for Dean's attention to slip, but James didn't notice.

Dean's torture finally ended when someone knocked on the door. Dean hastily got up and slid it open. A cart filled with all sorts of candy and other sweet goods was in front of him. Dean's mouth watered despite his inability to name any of the items.

"Would you like something of the trolley, dear?" an old lady asked. Dean decided that she was his favourite person in the magic world so far.

"Have you got any pie?" he asked hopeful.

"No, but I do have some cauldron cakes," she answered sweetly. Dean shrugged, deciding to go for those and some chocolate frogs. He paid her in the weird wizarding coins and allowed James to access the trolley. His friend returned with a couple of items for himself, the only thing Dean recognized was the liquorice wand and the chocolate frog. Dean dug into his cauldron cakes, the taste of rich chocolate surprised him. The green filling tasted like buttercream with lime and it was topped off with tiny, crusty parts of almonds.

"These things are incredible," Dean all but sighed, suddenly happy the Trolley Lady didn't have any pie. James chuckled and enjoyed his liquorice wand.

"Where are you from anyway? James asked suddenly. Dean's eyebrows furrowed closer together.

"America," he answered simply. "Lawrence, Kansas, if you wanna be precise." James raised his eyebrows.

"That's sweet, mate. Did you come here alone?" He asked, shifting into a more upright position.

"No, I got to London with my dad, little brother, and surrogate father," Dean replied. He wasn't even sure why he told the truth, but at least he wouldn't have to remember any lies yet.

"Where's your mom if you don't mind my asking?" Dean did mind, but it was a simple enough question.

"She died in a house fire when I was four," he replied, busying himself with the wrapper of a chocolate frog.

"Oh, I'm sorry… My dad walked out on my mom once he learned she was a witch," James told him honestly. "She remarried and I got a half-sister, Vanessa, but the man died of dragon pox last year. He wasn't my actual dad, but he still was the only father I ever knew. He even agreed to adopt me so I could take his last name." James smiled at the thought.

"I'm sorry for your loss, it sounds like he was a great man." Both boys were lost in thought until Dean got enough. "Hey, you ever heard muggle music?" he asked.

"No, why?" James responded, eyebrows raised. Dean adopted a wolfish grin and snatched up his walkman. "Is that a radio?" James asked.

"No, it's a walkman. You have these tapes called cassettes," Dean popped the cassette tape out to show it to James. "There's film in them that has the music on it which this device can play," he explained, pointing to the rolls of film that was visible in the cassette.

"Film? Like in a camera?" James asked curiously.

"Yeah, like that, but you use a different kind of coating on the film for a camera than that you do on a cassette," Dean explained patiently.

"I'll gladly take your word for it. I never knew how cameras worked and I'm perfectly fine with that," James admitted. "Now let me hear your music!"

It had gotten dark outside of the train and James had suggested Dean also changed into his robes. Now clad in black, Dean plopped down on the bench, not really sure what to do with himself. But he didn't have to find out as the train started to slow.

"It seems like we're finally arriving,"James said, pushing himself up from the bench across of Dean to look out of the window. "I think I see a platform."

"I hope you see a platform, too," Dean agreed, not bothering to get up. A bell rang and a man informed them that they were reaching Hogsmeade Station. They were instructed to leave their luggage behind as the staff would take it to the castle. Dean paled, his bags stood out compared to the standard trunks that the other students had. What if they searched his stuff? He decided he'd at least take his backpack with him. If the staff did search the luggage and he'd lose the arsenal in his duffelbags, he'd at least have a backup with him. James didn't ask any questions when Dean slid on his backpack.

The train stopped and the boys braced themselves before they joined the hectic of students outside of their compartment. They made it to the platform quickly. Dean hardly recalled walking, they had just been carried and pushed along by the swarm of black robes. A huge man towered above them, casting them in a shadow.

"Firs years, firs years 'ere!" The man bellowed. Dean and James shared a look, and stepped closer towards the giant of a man. From everyone in the Magic world so far, this man looked the most like a hunter. His features were rough, his hair and beard wild, the man even wore some flannel.

More students gathered around them and the platform quickly emptied as the other students walked away. Dean wondered why they weren't going with the others, but he shrugged it off.

"I think das everybody. Dis way!" The man said, beckoning them with a big hand to follow him. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts," the man told them with pride as they walked a dark path through a forest, Hagrid's very out of proportion lantern the only source of light. It was a short route until they reached a lake, about a dozen rowboats waiting at the edge. A small lantern was attached to a mast on each one of them.

"Everyone get into a boat, no more than four of ye in each of dem!" Dean and James quickly got into a nearby boat and were joined by two other boys. Once everyone was seated, the boats drifted off on their own. Dean sighed, letting a hand drag over his face. He could feel James' eyes on him.

"This journey just drags on, and on, and on," Dean explained, slumping back as much as the wooden bench would allow.

"Agreed, there must be a better way to transport this many students to Hogwarts," James said. Dean stayed silent, unsure of how much he could share.

"Yer about to see Hogwarts for ye firs time!" Hagrid announced from the boat leading the other boats. Dean glanced up at that, and sure enough, just behind those low hanging trees, was the stark, black silhouette of a huge castle against the deep blue sky. Thousands of lights were on, giving it an eerie, yet beautiful look. Several "oh's" and "ah's" were heard from the other boats.

Dean couldn't stop looking, and the curtain of ivy took him by surprise. He struggled a little with a particular root, but James helped him free himself despite chuckling uncontrollably. Dean looked around the peculiar cave. There was a stone docking place that led to the longest stairs Dean ever laid his eyes on. He groaned in misery. This was not a good sign.

AN: Huh, I actually don't have to say much here… I did zero research for this chapter. It's a bloody miracle, really. Uh, I think everyone got the reference of the title of this chapter (and the previous one of course), right?
I took some liberties on the taste of the Cauldron Cakes.

Thanks for reading!