Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a featureless void, or at least it was until a man suddenly appeared – no flash, no noise, he was just there. And he looked disturbingly like a cross between Moses from that one Monty Python sketch, and Morgan Freeman.

Moses Freeman beamed happily, and spoke. "Hello there! Welcome to the world of magic! My name is God! People call me God!"

He stared blankly, but the man – God, apparently, – continued cheerfully. "This world is inhabited by people called wizards! For some people, wizards are evil. Others use their powers for good. Myself... I don't exist in this world. First, what's your name?"

There was more blank staring, but God was still smiling at him blankly, awaiting a response. "Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Right! So your name is Dean Winchester! Dean! Your very own magical legend is about to unfold! A world of dreams and adventures with wizards awaits! Let's go!"

The first thing Dean thought when he woke up was, 'I gotta lay off the tacos at midnight.' The second was, 'I knew God would look like Morgan Freeman!' The third thought came as he lifted up a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, and it went like this: 'What the hell's wrong with my han- WHAT THE FUCK, I SHRUNK!'

That last bit also came out of his mouth, at quite a loud volume.

Dean threw off the covers and leaped to his feet – or, rather, he tried to do that, but his brain wasn't used to moving this new configuration of limbs, and he wound up tangled in the sheets and hit the floor with a loud thud that echoed for a few seconds before the airwaves filled instead with muffled cursing and flailing as Dean fought his way free of the blankets.

Upon surfacing and blowing a few strands of hair out of his eyes, Dean took a wary glance around the room, wondering if this was another messed up Freaky Friday switch like Sam and that Gary kid. If it was, he had to admit that the kid had good taste – the sheets that had so viciously attacked him were very cool Batman sheets, and there were a number of action figures and car models on the shelves near the bed. In fact, the one closest to the bed was a model of a '67 Impala that looked lovingly taken care of. There was no mirror in the room that he saw, though, so he decided to brave the rest of the currently quiet house.

The bathroom door was open down the hallway, although three other doors were also closed. Dean ignored them for now, focused on the bathroom.

He hadn't really been expecting what he saw in the mirror. What he had been expecting, he didn't know, but it wasn't his ten year old self staring back through shaggy brown hair (had it seriously been this long when he was a kid for real? He needed scissors), clad in flannel Batman pajamas.

"Dean?" a voice squeaked from behind him.

Dean whirled around, almost slipping on the tile floor, to see Sammy... Ten year old Sammy. Who really had been incredibly short until he hit that huge three-year-long growth spurt at fifteen, which made it almost impossible to think of him as 'Sam' instead of 'Sammy'.

Sammy's pajamas were Superman, which Dean automatically smirked at – everybody knew Batman was better. Then his memories clicked into gear, and he grabbed Sammy in as big a bear hug as possible. "Sam! How-?" Dean left the sentence hanging, not entirely sure how to phrase his question.

Sam hugged him back briefly. "I don't know, man," he said, voice still squeaking. "One minute I fell into the pit, the next I woke up in that room," pointing over his shoulder to a now-open door beyond which a number of bookshelves could be found. Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes – typical Sammy.

"You guys are really fucking loud," a sweet little voice whined from behind them, on the other end of the hallway. Dean and Sam quickly turned around, both reaching for weapons that were definitely not hidden on their superhero pajama-clad bodies. There was a little boy – a boy around their apparent age, Dean pointed out to himself – with a cherubic little face and buzz cut dirty-blond hair. And also a very impressive scowl for someone with his eyes half closed and arms crossed over the chest of his Batman pajamas.

(For a second, Dean felt like pointing out that two Batmans beat one Superman, and sticking his tongue out at Sam, but he successfully fought back the urge.)

"Who-" Sam started to ask, but Dean had a pretty good idea of where this was going, and spoke over him. "Adam?"

The scowling kid rolled his eyes. "Do you want a cookie?" he asked sarcastically. "Or at least to get out of the way of the bathroom?"

Wordlessly, Dean and Sam moved aside, and Adam quickly entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"What do you think happened?" Sam asked after they took a few steps further down the hallway (because it was just creepy to stand right outside the bathroom when somebody was using it).

Dean shrugged. "Before I saw you – and Adam – I was thinking it was a reverse-manwitch thing," he said, referring to the incident a few months earlier where he had wound up being an elderly man for what was far too long, in his opinion. "But that wouldn't explain-"

"Why I'm here, or Adam, or why we have rooms that are apparently ours," Sam finished the thought.

They both got their brood on as they thought through the possibilities. "A djinn?" Sam offered up after a moment.

"Nah," they said together, Dean adding, "We wouldn't remember everything like this."

"Maybe a Trickster – you know, a real one, not the dead archangel one," Dean suggested.

"Maybe…" Sam sounded doubtful.

"Move," came a pissed-off hiss. Caught up in their thinking, they had completely missed the flush of the toilet, sound of the sink, and opening of the door, and now Adam was waiting rather impatiently for them to stop blocking the middle of the hallway. Dean did move, taking point suspiciously and forcing Adam and Sam to both stay behind him (much to their grumbling).

Despite his wariness, there wasn't anything suspicious at the least about the downstairs, other than a shuffling coming from behind the door to what he assumed was the kitchen. Dean made quick shushing motions to his brothers (the youngest of whom merely rolled his still half-closed eyes), and snuck forward, pushing the kitchen door open just a crack.

"Bobby?" he said incredulously, pushing the door the rest of the way open and abandoning the sneaky atmosphere.

The be-hatted man at the table looked up from a folder he was looking through, and yeah, it was Bobby. It was a Bobby who was a good fifteen to twenty years younger than he had been last time Dean saw him, but still Bobby – scruffy scowl and all.

Sammy looked relieved, and sat down at the table opposite the older man. "Bobby, do you know what happened?" he asked, one hand gesturing to… well, the general situation.

"Not sure yet," Bobby grunted, picking the folder back up. "These were on the table when I came down. This one's got fake birth certificates for all of us," he added, closing the folder and handing it to Sammy. Well, Dean thought, that explained why he hadn't been too surprised to see Sam or Adam (or maybe he was just used to the children of John Winchester refusing to stay dead. Either way).

Sam looked through the papers, frowning, as Bobby moved onto another paper – one which Dean could plainly see, even from his angle, read in big letters, READ ME FIRST! Five exclamation points probably weren't necessary there, but who was Dean to argue?

Both of the other real grown-ups occupied, Dean turned his attention to his half-asleep littlest brother (it was the Batman pajama bonding, he was sure). Adam was… filling his arms up with a variety of things from the fridge? "What're you doing, Adam?"

"Makin' some mother-fuckin pancakes," was the muffled response as the boy dropped the supplies on the counter and then slammed a pan on the stove.

"Uh, are you supposed to do that with your eyes closed?" Dean asked sarcastically, practicing an eyebrow raise that felt weird on his much younger face.

His response was a simple raised middle finger that didn't falter even as the back door banged open and the other three jumped to their feet, grabbing again for weapons they didn't have.

They were met with the sight of what was undoubtedly a rather pissed off Ellen Harvelle, frog-marching a squirming curly-haired boy through the doorway. Two more kids followed her, a boy with almost black hair and a girl with blonde hair in pigtails.

"Okay kid, now you get to tell us all what you did," Ellen snapped as she dropped the struggling boy into a chair and put her hands on her hips. Dean was too stunned by the reappearance of Ellen – and Jo, if he was right about who the little girl was, and the way things were going he probably was – to say anything before the curly-haired boy started to speak.

"Look, guys, I swear to my Dad that whatever it is, I didn't do it this time!" he said, hands going into an automatic 'calm down' warding gesture. "I mean, for one, would I be stupid enough to add myself in? It's a lot more fun to laugh at people from the sidelines, and it also usually ends with less stakes to the heart, if you get my drift."

Dean ignored Adam's sudden giggling fit over by the stove in favor of letting his few non-stunned synapses fire. "Gabriel?"

The former arch-angel pouted. "No need to sound so shocked, Dean-o. Not like I'm the only one back from the dead around here," he said, gesturing to the room at large.

"Yeah, but I actually like the others."

They had progressed to the point of making faces at each other, when Bobby suddenly cursed. Loudly. "Son of a bitch!"

"My poor virgin ears!" Gabriel cried, swooning melodramatically into the dark haired boy, whose head titled and looked vaguely confused. Dean ignored him, and leaned over Bobby's shoulder to read the paper that caused him to continue to curse under his breath.

Congratulations! If you're reading this, it means that the trans-dimensional barrier didn't turn you all into gelatinous goo, which I think we can all agree is a plus. Anyhoodles, I thought 'Team Free Will' here deserved a reward after the whole 'apocalypse' thing (my bad, really guys), so have fun in your new demon and angel free universe! I should let you know that there's magic here, but don't worry! It's good clean fun magic! No demon-deals here, nosiree!

Love, God.

P.S. These folders contain all the papers for your new identities. Birth certificates, medical records, bank account information, deeds to the houses, et cetera et cetera. Have fun! And try not to die early!

Suddenly his dream made a lot more sense (well, comparatively). "I knew God looked like Morgan Freeman!" Dean said victoriously.

Everyone stopped to stare at him for a moment. Even Adam bothered to open up his eyes all the way just to give him a serious 'what the hell' look. Dean shuffled his feet a little. "So, uh, what do the other papers say?" he asked Bobby, hoping for a distraction.

It was Ellen who answered him, since she had rather efficiently taken the files and organized them while Bobby had his minor foul-mouthed breakdown. "Apparently, Dean, you and Sam are twins, and Adam's your half-brother. Bobby's been your foster dad for the last six years. Joanna and Cassidy Harvelle are also twins, and their brother Gabriel is ten months older than them and, sadly, my problem." With that, she glared at the curly headed arch-angel who, the moment attention was taken off of him, abandoned his chair and made his way to the stove where he and Adam were apparently in a duel to the death over the pancake batter.

Jo rolled her eyes, walked over while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Boys,", and quickly threaded her fingers into the curls and pulled. Yelping, Gabriel was dragged away from the stove and made to sit down again, this time with a scrawny pigtailed girl standing over him with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Wisely, Gabriel did not move.

"So, what? Are we supposed to believe this is actually from God?" Dean asked.

The dark-haired boy – Cas, Dean reminded himself – tilted his head and solemnly examined the paper, before nodding. "It is indeed authentic," he said.

"Yep, it's Pop's handiwork alright," Gabriel added in his usual unhelpful way.

The kitchen lapsed into silence, except for the area near the stove, which was sizzling and occasionally accompanied by mumblings that sounded half like a song and half like cursing. Apparently Adam? Was not a morning person.

A sudden torrent of screeching split the air, and Dean once again jumped for his gun. Damn, did he hate that ten year olds probably couldn't get revolvers. In a quick few seconds, the room was filled with owls – owls apparently dropping off letters, because the morning hadn't been surreal enough at that point. (Well, except the owl that headed for Adam, who hissed cross-eyed at the creature until it decided to drop the letter on the counter, as far from Adam as possible without hitting the floor.)

Just as quickly, the room cleared of the feathered menaces.

Sammy (of course) was the first to open one of the thick letters. "Dear Mr. Winchester," he read aloud, "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry…"

Chapter Text

The arrival and reading of the letters had led to a loud discussion, which quickly turned into a loud argument, which ended only when a pissed-off littlest Winchester started dropping hot pancakes on laps when people got too loud.

The run down was this: apparently they all had 'magic' (except for Bobby and Ellen, who Dean sulkily called lucky – he'd had over 25 years of experience informing him that magic, even if it wasn't straight-out evil in this dimension, was nothing but trouble), and they were all accepted to attend a school for it starting September 1st. Oh, and apparently they were also 'Muggleborns' ("Sounds like a racial slur!" Gabriel had chirped happily), so each family would be visited by a representative of the school who would explain what all was going on.

After a few laps-full-of-pancakes (and a lot more swearing), Ellen took control of the conversation. "Now, I don't see how we can stop them, so me and Jo and the baby angels-" Gabriel made a face, and got kicked under the table for his trouble. "-will go back to 'our house'," there was a distinctive pause before that, "And we'll meet up later to discuss."

"Can we have breakfast first?" Gabriel asked, giving his best puppy dog look, which was not very good. Sue him, neither archangels nor trickster gods needed to do much pleading in the course of their duties. Archangels were more with the smiting, and trickster gods – shockingly – were trickier. Still, it worked, probably because they had until noon and breakfast was half cooked anyway.

Then it was back to the seriously identical house next door (except that their kitchen table only held a note reading, Go next door, Bobby and the Winchesters are there, rather than the thick file of legal papers), where Ellen instructed them to return to the rooms they had woken up in and get ready for the day – and, she said, pointedly staring at Gabriel, they could feel free to stay in the rooms until noon, when the representative was due to show.

Up in his room (which looked rather like it had been attacked by schizophrenic painters and was somehow a total mess even though it had been neatly organized when he awoke, and he'd only spent about five minutes in it total), Gabriel carefully reviewed his wardrobe selection for the day – but who was he kidding? He was totally going with the t-shirt that read Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite. Which, okay, Jesus actually thought he was a dick (carpenters, seriously), but whatever. Nobody else had to know that. A pair of jeans, sneakers, and pockets full of candy, and he was ready to go (he gave props to God – sure, Pop had disappeared for way too long and then dumped him in kid form in another universe, but at least the guy gave him a huge stock of candy along with vaguely blasphemous t-shirts).

Lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth – he had to get more of these, it had started out cherry and was now turning lemon, there were layers of flavors – Gabriel slid down the banister on the stairs, looking for a TV. He found it in the front-most room, with Castiel already sitting in front of it.

He scanned his brother's outfit as he flopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote. A collared shirt and slacks? Seriously? "You know, the TV works better when it's on," he snarked, hitting the power button and getting comfortable – and getting his sneakers all over Castiel's nice clean slacks.

An annoyingly familiar jingle sounded on the channel that popped up, and Gabriel's eyes narrowed. He hit the channel up button, and – yeah, he knew that too. He quickly found the news channel and stared.

Castiel's head tilted. "The lower corner of the screen reads 2 August 1995," he observed calmly.

"Yeah, and it also says BBC!" Gabriel whined. "Do you know what was on TV in Britain in the 90s? Nothing! Nothing but EastEnders and Coronation Street and kill me now!" He flopped over, playing dead in a typically over-dramatic fashion.

Castiel just blinked at him.

Whatever. He only had, like, two hours to wait. He could deal with EastEnders for that long.

(About a half hour in, Ellen checked the living room and found Gabriel alternating between yelling at characters on the screen, gasping, and explaining to Cas why so-and-so was married to Guy #1 but sleeping with Guy #2. Okay, yeah, he had watched a lot of EastEnders over the years; he wasn't ashamed to admit it! Except in that he was, really, as would any other self-respecting male of any species. She shook her head, and withdrew.)

Five minutes to noon, the whole 'family' (Gabriel snorted internally at that idea; he may have to claim Castiel, but these two women who had followed Morons #1 and #2 to their deaths? Nah. He cheerfully ignored the fact that he, too, had technically followed them to his death) gathered in the living room to await their 'representative'.

Ellen had turned the TV off and then threatened to tape Gabriel's mouth shut if he couldn't keep it shut himself. Gabriel had tried to use his angel mojo on her in revenge, and started sulking when it failed to work at all. Apparently Dad had made him completely human, which he thought was totally lame.

Right as the grandfather clock in the corner started chiming noon, there was a loud crack and a frowning lady in a green robe was in the middle of the room. She reminded Gabriel fondly of Raphael – he was really the least fun of the archangels, which was saying something if you'd ever met Michael.

Her frown quickly morphed into pursed lips as she took them all in: Gabriel with his usual smirk, blowing obnoxious bubbles with his gum and popping them loudly; Cas with his uncombed nearly black hair (Jo had made a comment about it, and Cas had just stared uncomprehendingly), white collared shirt, slacks, shiny black shoes, and intense (yet blank) stare; Jo, blonde pigtails now replaced by twin braids, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt she had stolen from Gabriel's room because God had apparently given her a ton of sundresses instead of something she'd actually wear; Ellen over all of them, discreetly fingering a knife – just in case; and none of them shocked in the least.

"You're not really the best good-will ambassador I've ever seen," Gabriel noted when it seemed like the lady wasn't going to say anything.

She frowned at him, and Gabriel felt very special about getting a frown all to himself. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry." She spoke with a faint Scottish brogue. "I usually start off with a demonstration of magic-"

"Don't let us stop you," Gabriel butted in. Jo elbowed him sharply in the ribs, making him squawk and making Cas give them both a disappointed frown that clearly read, I disapprove of your shenanigans. Cas, Gabriel figured, was probably the only person under the age of eighty who could – and would – use the term shenanigans seriously.

"-But by your reactions, I don't believe it to be necessary," McGonagall finished, giving all three of the children a disapproving look even better than Castiel's, given that his expressions always had an element of disconnect that screamed 'I don't know how to make expressions! Save my autistic-ass self!'

"Don't worry, we believe in magic. It's the specifics we're fuzzy on," Ellen said, taking her hand off the knife in an effort to be a tad more discreet.

This, apparently, trigged the speech function for MechanoGonagall. "Hogwarts is the premiere British school of magic. Students attend for seven years and learn a full range of subjects, including Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, and Herbology. It is a residential school, and at the beginning of their first year students are sorted into one of four houses, which act as a surrogate family while at school." At this point, she produced what looked like a brochure that had gorged itself on the Necronomicon and handed it to Ellen. "This is the pamphlet we like to give Muggle parents. It details the magical educational system and explains the process by which our exams are translated into the Muggle world."

Ellen started in on the pamphlet with the same intense scanning look that all hunters got while looking through texts to find details on their latest hunt.

"Where are we to obtain these items?" Castiel asked, holding up the second sheet of the letter he had received, which – if anything – looked more pristine than when it had first arrived.

"Yeah, I've tried asking for dragon hide gloves before, people just give you weird looks." That, of course, was Gabriel.

"There is a magical shopping district in London known as Diagon Alley, there are plenty of shops there to buy your supplies. If you are amenable, I could escort you there today," McGonagall offered.

Ellen nodded, and opened her mouth to give a verbal agreement, when what sounded like a small explosion went off in the direction of the Singer/Winchester/Milligan house. They didn't bother to exchange looks, and instead took off – Jo in the lead, followed closely by Cas and Ellen, McGonagall at a slightly more dignified pace, and Gabriel bringing up the rear, annoyed that he could just snap his fingers to get over there.

Storming into the living room via the kitchen – it was quicker than going to the front door – led them into a showdown. On one side of the couch, Bobby and Dean stood (both holding knives from the kitchen). On the other side, a man dressed in all black with long greasy hair, a very ugly look on his rather ugly face, and what Gabriel figured was a wand pointed at Bobby. In the hallway, a worried Sam on guard in front of a bored Adam.

The greasy man sneered when he caught sight of McGonagall. "McGonagall, good. You can take them as well." With that, he spun and popped out of the room.

Figuring that was the other representative, Gabriel turned to his own with a raised eyebrow. "Please tell me you're not in charge of who visits people for the explaining."

By the slightly guilty look on her face, she totally was. Gabriel treated himself to a chocolate truffle in congratulations on another guess well-done.

Chapter Text

Dean insisted it wasn't his fault. Yes, okay, he had pulled a knife on the Dracula wannabe. But hello, who freakin' teleports into the middle of someone's living room anyway? It was rude, and deserved to get you stabbed, in Dean's opinion. Still, Dracula hadn't been too happy, and had jabbed a stick at Dean that had sent out a bright light. Now, Dean didn't know what it would do, but he had enough hunting experience to know an attack when he saw one, so he quickly dodged behind the sofa. And indeed, it didn't make delicious pie (the only thing he would've regretted dodging), but impacted with the couch and made a loud exploding noise (although the couch itself looked untouched).

Bobby stormed in, mouth open to probably call Dracula an idgit, if Dean knew him at all, and was quickly shot at by the Dracula wannabe too. He had quickly joined Dean behind the couch, swearing up a storm.

It was probably a good thing that the others came running in accompanied by the old lady, because Dean was seriously tempted to try out his knife-throwing skills. Still, the old sourpuss didn't have to frown at him like it was all his fault!

Even though it pretty much was.

Whatever, she probably hadn't been laid since before Dean was born. You know, the first time. This whole second childhood crap was almost as bad as time travel.

While everyone was hashing out what, exactly, had happened, Dean sneakily slipped the knife he'd been holding into the waistband of his jeans, pulling the hem of his AC/DC shirt down to cover it. Oh yeah, he was way stealth. (He ignored the fact that Adam very clearly rolled his eyes at him, and Cas gave a disapproving stare.)

"Yes, well," a shrill Scottish voice broke over the general chaos of Bobby bitching about the chaos of the morning (or afternoon, technically), Ellen attempting to explain things, Gabriel demanding to learn how to make the explosion noise, and Sam demanding to know what kind of school would send a representative that would assault a child. Ol' Sourpuss stood in the midst of the ranting, hands firmly on hips. "My colleague," she said it like it was a curse word, "Was a bit abrupt, yes, but I will be able to answer any questions you may have, Mr…?"

She trailed off for a moment, staring pointedly, until Bobby finally grudgingly filled it in with, "Singer, Bobby Singer." The Almighty had been nice in that way, letting them all keep their real names (except Castiel, because while Gabriel was a Biblical name that had long since been co-opted by the masses, Castiel was emphatically not).

"Mr. Singer."

The thing about being turned into kids – other than it really sucking, which was totally a given – is that it had come along with the attention span that kids usually had. And Dean's attention span as an adult was ridiculously short, so when it looked like the lady who was far too lame to have the same accent of Sean Connery was about to go into a speech, Dean took it as his cue to flee to the kitchen. After all, it had been a few hours since pancakes, and he hadn't actually looked in the fridge yet. There might be pie!

The other kids – except Sam who, let's face it was a total weirdo – eventually filed into the kitchen too, bored by reasonable grown-up talk. Well, Gabriel and Adam were bored by it, Cas was probably just following Dean, and Jo was suspicious about what that group could get up to alone and thought it best if someone reasonable was there to supervise (Cas didn't count as that person in any group that included Dean, it was universally acknowledged).

There wasn't any pie in the fridge (stupid God), but there were sandwich-making supplies, which Dean figured was good enough for now. At least there weren't any of the things that the British called pies but were actually lies. Pies of lies. Lie-pies. Shepherd's pie, his ass.

Dean really hoped his thought process hadn't been this weird the first time he was a kid, but he wasn't making any bets. He remembered what ten year old Sam was like, after all.

When he came back to the table with two sandwiches, Jo made a disgusted noise. "How are you hungry? You ate, like, ten pancakes a few hours ago."

For once, Dean and Adam shared a look of commiseration. Chicks. They never did understand what a guy's appetite was like. The former angels didn't really understand either, despite Gabe's constant devouring of candy and (for Cas) that one time with Famine, but that was okay – neither of them were paying attention. Cas was having a staring contest with a fly that had landed on the table, and Gabriel was sneaking up behind his brother with a bottle of honey and a crazed gleam in his eye.

Jo saw it at the same time Dean did, but rather than just grinning and waiting, she stood and grabbed the bottle from him in two quick movements. And then smacked him on the back of the head with the bottle for good measure. "Sit down and try not to cause an international incident by breathing, okay?"

Gabriel pouted. "You know, even here I'm older than you!" he whined.

"By ten months," was her exasperated response. "I read the papers too, moron."

Gabriel huffed in response, the gust scaring the fly away from the table and causing Cas to give his older brother the dejected puppy stare.

"Kids!" Bobby's voice boomed from the other room. "Get ready, we're leaving."

"Why?" Adam hollered back. Adam, Dean decided, was definitely a kid who, when told to tell so-and-so dinner was ready, had stood in place and yelled, "HEY! DINNER'S READY!"

"Get in here and quit yelling, boy, and you'll find out!" Dean snorted at that, but shoved the rest of his last sandwich into his mouth and trailed the others out of the kitchen, chewing noisily.

Sammy still looked affronted by the whole business of sending Dracula, but had tuned it down to a low-powered sulk. Similar to the one Cas was in, actually, although at least Sammy's was over something more than a fly being shooed away.

"Well?" demanded Adam. Dean made a noise of agreement around the mouthful of sandwich – okay, he probably shouldn't have shoved a full half of a sandwich in his mouth, but whatever. Sammy made a bitchface at him, so at least that hadn't changed.

"We need to get school supplies. Professor McGonagall is going to take us to the magical shopping district to buy them," Sam explained for the adults.

"Do we have to?" Dean, well – yeah, okay, he whined. Sue him. Sammy with school stuff was worse than any girl in any clothing store he had ever met. Although, according to the back statement in the folder, at least this time it wouldn't be the usual search for the cheapest supplies that Sam would actually accept.

"Only if you wish to attend Hogwarts, Mr. Winchester," Professor Oldlady said, peering down her nose at him.

"Well, in that case…"

"Dean!" More bitchface.

"Fiiine."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment before pulling out a wand and turning a piece of paper into a long string of yarn. "If you are all prepared, please hold on to this," she said, tapping it and muttering something that made it glow for a brief second before stretching it out and handing one end to Bobby, who stared at it incredulously.

"Why?" Dean asked, also eyeing the yarn.

"I have turned it into a Portkey. A portkey is a magical method of travel, the easiest for large groups. Once everyone is holding on, I will activate it and it will take us all to Diagon Alley." She seemed a lot calmer while in lecture mode.

The explanation was enough for Sam, who grabbed onto it next to Bobby. And hell if Dean was going to let his brother teleport someplace without him!

Cas stared at it very closely, before flicking his eyes at the professor. "How does it work?"

"Excuse me?"

"How is this object able to move people through space?" Cas seemed very intent on getting an answer.

"That is higher level magical theory, Mr. Harvelle, which is covered in NEWT-level Charms class if you maintain high enough grades."

This was apparently not a good enough answer for Cas, who pout-stared at her. Gabriel rolled his eyes, grabbed Cas's hand, and made it grab the yarn. He did the same with the next closest person to him as well – that person turned out to be Adam, who did his best to slap Gabriel with the hand he was grabbing, but the former angel had the upper hand. So to say. "Come on, let's get this show on the road!" he crowed, jerking his head towards the yarn in an attempt to get Jo and Ellen to grab on.

With an almost identical eye-roll, they did, and McGonagall took up the far end, tapped it authoritatively, and before Dean could start to feel stupid about standing in line holding a piece of freakin' yarn, he was being sucked through a straw.

On the other side of the straw was a cobblestone alley with bodies strewn around. Okay, that sounded bad – what he really meant was that everyone hit the ground and either threw up or did their best not to.

McGonagall was seriously trying not to smirk, which made Dean want to flip her off, but hey. He could tell he was going to be forced to go to magic school (ugh, he thought he had been done with school years ago), and it was usually best not to piss off the teachers before you even start at the school. He'd learned that one the hard way… a couple of times.

"Our first stop is Gringotts Bank, to exchange money." The professor was brisk, already starting off. Everyone scrambled to their feet (Gabriel had been the only one to land on his feet and not look nauseous at all, and he had indeed received a number of dirty looks from everyone else).

And then they walked into an insane renaissance festival.

"What the fu-" Dean started off, before Sammy stopped him with a hissed "Dean!" He rolled his eyes, but held off the rest of the curse. Not that McGonagall cared; she was pretty much ignoring them at that point, setting a brisk pace through the crowd of Dungeons & Dragons wannabes.

They followed (because it was either that, or get lost in the freak show), Dean making sure to grab the sleeve of Cas's shirt to make sure he didn't get distracted and wander away. Cas glared at him. "I am a few millennia older than you, you do not need to treat me as a child," he told Dean, thankfully in an undertone.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and how many of those millennia were spent as a human kid with no powers?" He looked about to argue, so Dean added: "No angel powers?"

And then Cas went into another puppy-dog sulk that seriously looked adorable. If Dean had been a girl, he would've cooed and pinched Cas's cheeks. Thankfully, he wasn't a girl, so he just ignored it.

The bank was giant and made of white marble, and had a poem above the doors. Freakin' weirdoes.

Adam seemed to agree. "Anyone else think that's a dare?" he said, gesturing vaguely at the inscription. That got the entire group a glare from the door guards – who had Dean reaching for his hidden knife the second he'd seen them, but since they were in uniform and everyone else seemed to be ignoring them, they probably weren't monsters. Ugly, yes, but that hadn't made the chess club at that one high school his sophomore year monsters.

Although that would've explained a lot.

Apparently the ugly creatures were either scared of the professor, or shared her opinion of their group, because they got their cash turned into gold coins (seriously, were they pirates too?) in what had to be record time. Not that Dean had spent a lot of time in banks over his life.

"Robe measuring first, then wands," decided the Scottish lady, not pausing in her speed-walk.

"And then," Dean muttered mostly to himself, "A freakin' haircut." He pushed the bangs out of his eyes yet again and resisted the urge to growl.

Robe fitting was pretty much a soul-sucking experience, as was any clothes shopping ever. But especially since Dean's clothes had come exclusively from thrift stores since he was four so the whole idea of having clothes fitted to you was really weird. The others seemed equally ill at ease, while the adults stood off to the side and discussed who-knew-what in low tones.

Thankfully, the rope shop was apparently very popular, so the fittings were hurried and after less than a half hour they were pushed out the door with instructions to return in two hours for their robes, cloaks, and gloves.

The wand shop was cramped and creepy, and the weird-eyed dude who ran the place had Dean reaching for his knife again while making sure Sam and Cas were behind him. So it served the guy right that it was nearly impossible to find wands for them.

The old guy started off excited, but as more and more wands didn't work (every time he handed one to Dean, who was first in line, and when it didn't react to him he passed it to the next in line, and so on, and none of the wands had worked for any of them), he started to look a little worried. McGonagall and Bobby had left a half hour in to go gather their miscellaneous goods (potion supplies and cauldrons and all that other weird stuff), and Ellen had sat down when it became obvious they were going nowhere fast.

After almost an hour, Ollivander told them to wait and disappeared into the far back of the store.

"Think they were wrong about us having magic?" Adam offered, shifting from foot to foot, obviously tired of standing in place for so long.

"Our Father said he gifted us with this power," Cas said severely – apparently the reappearance of God after the apocalypse had restored his faith to its previous levels.

"Yeah," Dean had to add, "And it's not like we've every come across something powerful claiming to be something else." He finished that off with a pointed look at Gabriel.

Gabriel fluttered his eyelashes. "Oh Dean, you think I'm powerful?"

"Dude, shut up."

Ollivander came back, levitating a large box ahead of him. It set down gently on the counter, and he blew a thick layer of dust off the box that made everyone cough and choke for a moment before the air settled again. "These are experimental wands I made years ago," the man explained, carefully opening the box and removing the first wand. "Before I settled on the three main cores I use now. These wands tend to be temperamental," he added as a warning before handing the first to Dean.

It didn't work for him, or for Cas, but on Sam the wand lit up and Sam smiled wide.

Ollivander bobbed his head. "That one has a core of ground Ashwinder eggs," he informed Sam, reaching for another wand.

"What's an ashwinder?" Sam asked politely.

"We'll look it up later," Dean said, impatiently waving the wand and then passing it on when it didn't work. "Let's get this over with first."

The second wand went off with Jo, who got the explanation of "Gytrash claw", before the next wand was passed out. The third and fourth didn't work for anyone, but the fifth worked perfectly for Dean, who was more than a little pleased to be done with the whole ordeal. Even if his was salamander scales and not some weird sounding magical creature.

Gabriel got the next, two wands later, whatever kind of bird a Diricawl was supposed to be. Dean was barely paying attention at this point, although Sam looked like he was taking mental notes to look up all the creatures mentioned the second he got to a book. The next wand went to Cas, another feather core, this time from an 'augurey'. Figured both of the former angels would get birds, even if they were weird magical birds no one normal had ever heard of. Bobby and McGonagall had returned right after Gabriel got his wand with shrunken packages the professor said contained the potion supplies, telescopes, and robes (apparently they had spent more than two hours in the wand shop).

It took another five wands for Adam to get one, and Ollivander had given the kid a weird look when the wand worked. "That's a very odd wand, that one. Jarvey fur core," he added, which made McGonagall's already pursed lips tighten almost into non-existence.

Money was quickly forked over and the group was ushered out by a harassed looking McGonagall, who merely said "Books" firmly when asked by Jo what was left on the list.

Sam brightened instantly, because he was a total dork, but everyone found something to look at while the responsible adults gathered the course books. Sam flitted all over the place, while Gabriel found a shelf of prank books, Jo drifted over to sports books, and Adam camped out in the magical healing section and started making a giant stack of books on the floor next to him.

Dean checked out the books labeled 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' idly, but was pretty bored. Unless he was researching a specific thing he was going to take out, he didn't really care about books. Cas was shadowing him, apparently suspicious of the others in the store.

"Wanna go check out the dark and creepy alley we passed on the way over here?" Dean asked after a minute of bored shelf-scanning.

"I do not believe we are supposed to go to that alley," Castiel said, frowning. McGonagall had purposefully led them to the other side of the street when they passed the opening, send a few dark looks its way.

"Yeah, and I'm so known for doing what I'm supposed to. Come on."

Everyone's wand cores were chosen on purpose, and mostly because I have a weird sense of humor.
Sam's wand: Ashwinders are born from magical fires. HINT HINT.
Jo's wand: Gytrash are spectral dogs, Jo was killed by a hellhound.
Dean's wand: salamanders (the magical ones) live in fire – a nod towards Dean's time in hell.
Gabriel's wand: Diricawls basically teleport their way out of danger, and are thought to be the extinct dodo by Muggles. Since Gabriel's had some fun with the teleporting and faking of death, I thought it was fitting.
Cas's wand: augureys are mournful birds who used to be thought to predict death.
Adam's wand: Jarveys are basically ferrets who can talk – in curses. I felt that after my portrayal of Adam in chapter one, this fit.

Chapter Text

"I really do not think we should be here."

"Quit worrying, Cas. Pretty sure some pricks in dresses can't take us down," Dean soothed his friend confidently. Still, there wasn't a reason to get reckless, so they were each wearing robes and Dean had one hand on his wand (not that he knew what to do with it, but some of the ones he had waved in the shop made some neat explosions, so he could probably try for that if he had to) and the other on his stolen kitchen knife.

Cas still looked skeptical, but that was okay. Dean had spotted a creepy looking shop that had some weapons on display, and started to drag Cas over. He'd looked around their house before the noon meeting, and other than the kitchen knives he hadn't found anything else that could be called a weapon. Not that he wasn't good at improvising, but it was always nice to have a shotgun or machete to back up your improv.

The store was dark and cramped and, yes, totally creepy. To the point where Dean honestly wasn't surprised to see a mummified hand. Grossed out, yeah, because who kept severed hands just hanging around, but not surprised.

Cas made disapproving noises, but followed Dean to where the glint of metal practically screamed 'sharp pointy objects this way!' He was still seriously uptight and by-the-book (despite having been rogue angel for over a year), but he was still a warrior. Dean bet Cas would feel better with backup other than a flimsy piece of wood they didn't know how to work, just like he would.

Still, they did look like kids, and while he doubted this place was classy enough to refuse to sell weapons to children, he bet the school (well, okay, more Professor McSourpuss) wouldn't be happy if Dean came in with a machete strapped to his back, as nice as that would be. So he steered them to more easily concealable weapons, and started testing for craftsmanship and balance.

"May I... help you?" a slimy voice crept out from behind them. They didn't jump, because the guy's attempt at sneakiness on the approach was about as good as Sam when he'd been going through puberty – elephants made less noise.

"Yeah, you got this in iron and silver?" Dean asked, ignoring the 'out, worthless urchins!' tone the guy had going and hefting a wickedly sharp knife with good heft. It was bigger than the kitchen knife he was gripping, hidden, in his other hand, but still able to be hidden under clothes – possibly strapped a limb. That was one good thing about robes, Dean figured, a lot easier to hide weaponry.

"Do you have money?" the man asked, sneering down at them as if he knew the answer was no.

For once, though, he was wrong – after Gringotts, to the obvious disapproval of the professor, Bobby and Ellen had divided the money up among each of the 'kids'. After all, they'd all been adults back in the real world, they could handle their own cash.

Dean jingled the pouch of coins in front of the clerk's face obnoxiously, watching the greedy guy go cross-eyed as he checked the size and made assumptions about Dean's relative wealth. The pouch didn't have all the coins Dean had left – he wasn't stupid, a good half of it was hidden in various places. And there was also Cas's pouch, which he had handed to Dean after a few seconds of considering it. Angels, apparently, weren't that good with money.

(Again, Gabriel didn't really count as an angel. And Dean had a suspicion that even Gabe was better at stealing money than managing it.)

The clerk became sickeningly helpful at the promise of money and bustled off to find iron and silver daggers of the kind Dean had picked out. "These are a very popular model, the runes around the hilt make it less noticeable, easier to carry concealed, and the metal is lightly grooved to better hold poisons," the man chatted cheerfully. The guy was really creepy, and it was probably equally as creepy that those were selling points to Dean.

Cas selected a steel short sword that looked similar to Gabriel's old archangel sword he'd tried to off Lucifer with (as well as that had gone down). Dean raised an eyebrow, but Cas silently demonstrated how it strapped easily to his back and could be hidden by robes.

The three weapons took up most of the coins in the pouch, but that was fine. A quarter of their funds was a cheap enough price to be well-armed. After some haggling, the clerk threw in sheaths for free, and the boys strapped them on before going back to the alley. The alley that, weirdly enough, was somehow far darker than the main one despite being under the same sky and with nearly as much free airspace. Maybe the sunlight was just afraid to enter.

They only made it two shops further down before rough, familiar hands clamped down on their shoulders and spun them about. "What are you idjits doing?" Bobby demanded, shaking them by their shoulders a little.

Dean opened his mouth, but Bobby shook his head. "Never mind, boy, I don't care why you're being stupid enough to go into a magical black market without any protection. C'mon."

He dragged them sideways through the street until they came back out onto Diagon Alley, and then slowed down a bit, but kept their shoulders in his grip as they made their way back to the bookstore.

"C'mon, Bobby, you don't think we could handle ourselves?" Dean whined.

Bobby glowered. "No. You forget, boy, I knew you the first time you were ten. Didn't you almost wind up in traction after taking on that one bully?"

"Yeah, but he actually did," Dean sulked.

"You're both grounded."

Dean made an unfortunate squawking sound in response. Cas just looked confused.

Everyone else was waiting in front of the bookstore. McGonagall looked like she had been torn between helping Bobby search down the two missing boys, and making sure no one else got lost. She'd been a little on edge ever since they'd used the portkey thing – not a whole lot, just enough to get Dean's hackles up.

"They were down that other alley," Bobby told them – or at least, told the other two adults-who-were-in-adult-form.

"Knockturn Alley!" McGonagall gasped. "Children should not go down there, it is where Ddark wizards gather," she told them in lecturing tones, regarding Dean and Cas with a bit of suspicion.

Sam sighed, but Jo seemed just as interested in investigating Knockturn as Dean had been. But hey, she snoozed, she losed.

...whatever, who needed grammar anyway?

"It says we're allowed a pet," Jo pointed out when it looked like McGonagall was getting ready to lead them out. In a lesser woman, an eye-twitch would have developed, but the professor merely closed her eyes for a moment to re-center herself.

"We should probably get an owl, at least," Sam agreed.

Dean made a face at his brother. "You get to take care of it." Birds were messy and would try to take your eye out if you let your guard down. Sam frowned at him, but didn't argue. Smart kid.

"As it said in your supply list, everyone is allowed a cat, toad, or owl. Other small animals such as rats are also allowed, so long as they are not dangerous and can be kept in a room all day," McGonagall informed them as she led them to the pet store. Jo had a gleam in her eye that didn't speak of anything good – Dean imagined her picking the biggest, scariest cat possible, and training it to attack. Apparently, being killed by hellhounds had made her one hell of a cat person. Dean could sympathize a little, but at the same time... he'd been almost killed by so many creatures he'd given up holding grudges against any one kind.

The pet store smelled the same as any other pet store in the world – horrible. It was only a lifetime of smelling rotting corpses that kept Dean from having to cover his nose and mouth, and even then it was a close thing.

Gabriel wandered around making faces at various creatures, looking about as bored as Dean felt. Dean liked animals all right, but the only ones that would be useful in a fight were either impossible to train, or not likely to fit the 'small and harmless' rule she'd laid out.

(Some might wonder why Dean was assuming he'd have to fight. The answer was: Dean had lived his life. He knew there would be fighting, quite probably for their lives, at some point in the near future.)

"Hey, littlest Winchester, I found the thing that's in your wand!" Gabriel suddenly called, smirking from where he was standing in front of a cage.

Adam huffed, but came over anyway. "'M not a Winchester, I'm a Milligan," he insisted.

"Son of fuckin' whore!" the weird looking ferret suddenly shouted in a squeaky voice.

Dean stared, and then started to laugh hysterically. "That thing is awesome!" he said over the continued cursing. Adam was looking between the ferret and his wand with a furrowed brow before shrugging and walking away.

"Jarveys are not allowed at Hogwarts, as they are too disruptive." McGonagall, from behind them, and with blood-freezing disapproval in her voice.

Gabriel shrugged easily and moved on to the next case, and Dean decided now would be a good time to check on Cas.

Cas was staring down what the sign said was an eagle owl when Dean found him in the chaos of the shop. "I cannot communicate with her," Cas said, sounding distressed.

Dean awkwardly patted his friend on the shoulder. "Different powers, remember Cas?"

Cas tilted his head in acceptance, and followed Dean to where Sam was having a serious discussion of the relative merits of different breeds of owl with a pimply clerk who looked like he wasn't old enough to be out of middle school. The one he decided on was a sleek black owl that was more balanced to speed than strength, and Dean instantly named it Impala. Even if it wasn't technically his owl, and even if Sam bitch-faced about it for the next hour.

Animals purchased – and Jo really had gotten a monstrous sized cat that looked fairly evil, like Dean had feared – McGonagall quickly led them back to the small side alley they had arrived in, shoved the string back in their hands, and sent them off. And then probably went to get a good brandy, if Dean had been reading her body language right.

As soon as they landed (it was a little better the second time, but Dean still wanted to kill everyone involved in inventing portkeys), Gabriel pulled something out of his pocket and smirked. It was the jarvey.

Well, at least Dean wasn't going to be the most hated by the professors at school.

Chapter Text

Gabriel had no idea what the others had been doing for the past month, but that was mostly because he didn't really care. He saw them every day – after all, every morning they'd gather for breakfast – usually at their own houses, but sometimes the others would get fed up with cereal (they'd learned that, no matter how good the pancakes he could make were, it was just not worth it to wake Adam up early – on the upside, Dean's eyebrows did grow back by September 1st) and come over for Ellen's cooking. She'd roll her eyes, but cave to their puppy dog eyes quickly enough. (Understandable, given how wide Sam could open his eyes and the practiced way his lip trembled oh-so-very-slightly. Gabriel suspected that someone the first time around – probably Dean – had taught him so he could score free pie after he had passed the 'adorable' stage.)

After breakfast, the 'adults' would go off to work, supposedly (for all Gabriel actually knew, they were going out and drinking; he knew he would be). God had been nice enough to get them jobs that were pretty much the same as their old jobs – Bobby was a mechanic, Ellen managed a local pub. Most people would be a bit leery of leaving six ten and eleven year olds alone all day (and they were, a little, because they had met the kids in question), but enough threats in Gabriel's direction and they seemed to think it was good enough.

Seriously, all the threats came to him. Like he was the only one here who got up to no good! Puh-lease. Had they met Dean? That kid got into more trouble on accident than Gabriel ever could on purpose.

…which may have been the point. Threatening someone who doesn't get in trouble on purpose wouldn't make a lot of sense, would it?

Ellen had enforced Bobby's promised grounding for Cas after the 'running off to dark back alleys where you can get killed very easily' incident (although she had added in a lecture on how he didn't need to do everything Dean did, bridges and jumping off of, etc etc), so they had been treated to a week of a confused former angel sitting cross-legged on his bed and staring quizzically at the door. When Gabriel realized Cas was planning on doing that the whole time, he had thrown a random textbook at his head and instructed him to read it.

After all, he was going to need someone to copy off at school, wasn't he?

But other than that first week, he had no idea what any of them – Castiel included – were up to. Because he had made the mistake of turning on the TV in the living room one day, and somehow he had become completely addicted to some weird British soap opera. Every now and then, he'd surface from his haze, point out to himself how ridiculous whatever the current storyline was, and then it'd return from commercial and he'd be glued to the set again. Damn feeble human brains. (He ignored all the equally as foolish shows his archangel/pagan god brain had been addicted to, mostly because it destroyed his point.)

On the last day of the month (approximately fifteen hours before they were supposed to board some train on a platform behind a force-field made to look like a wall – he really hoped his ideas hadn't looked that lame from the outside), the TV died in front of Gabriel's eyes. He glanced up from the now-black screen to see Ellen looking down at him, remote in hand.

"Adam's birthday party is in five minutes," she said, one hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised.

"Aaaand?" Gabriel asked, not bothering to move anything other than his mouth and eyes from his relaxed state.

She sighed. "There's cake."

Gabriel considered this. "…chocolate?"

"Yes, it's chocolate," she sighed.

"Awesome!" Gabriel jumped up, ready for some delicious homemade chocolate cake.

Ellen froze him in place with a single look. "Might want to change your clothes."

Huh. Yeah, he probably did – he didn't even need to do the dramatic armpit-whiff to tell that he was beyond ripe at this point. Oh how he missed the good old days when he could shower and change clothes in one quick finger-snap, rather than trudging upstairs, digging through his wardrobe of what Dean had offhandedly referred to as 'fashion disasters' (Sam had snarked about his brother watching too much Project Runway, and then had to explain what that was to Cas), and actually physically get dressed.

The party was at their house, of course, since the kitchen-slash-dining-room at the boys' house had quickly turned into a disaster zone that Jo, at least, had refused to go within ten feet of for fear of contracting the plague. Gabriel managed to make it to their kitchen at the perfect point – after the singing had been done (seriously guys, were they eight?), but before the cake was actually served.

Adam seemed annoyed. "C'mon, Miss Harvelle-" "Ellen," she interrupted him, rolling her eyes at the title. "-Miss Ellen, we all know it's not really my birthday, and I'm a little old for birthday parties in the first place."

"Ah, but it gets to be your birthday for the rest of your life!" Gabriel said cheerfully, sliding himself into the open seat between Adam and Jo.

"So given family history, a few years?"

"Sounds about right."

Ellen looked like she wasn't sure which of them she wanted to smack more, and was possibly going to default to smacking Dean instead (usually a safe bet).

"Just blow out the damn candles, kid," Bobby chipped in, looking rather resigned to both of them.

Adam did as told and soon they were all chowing down on the rather delicious cake – not quite as good as the cake from Leela's in Denver or McSweeney's in Boston, but definitely up there on the list.

"So we seriously have to go to this witch school tomorrow?" Dean asked sulkily after losing the battle for last piece of cake to Gabriel, who smirked and shoved the entire thing into his mouth in one bite.

"Seems like we're supposed to," Sam said. "Why else would…God," he sounded extremely uncomfortable with that, "have made us all the same age and dropped us here just in time for the letters to arrive?"

"On that note, can we talk about how messed up of a 'reward' this is?" Jo asked. "Does God have a weird sense of humor, or what?" That last was directed to Gabriel and Cas, the resident (former) angels.

"Dad made the platypus. You be the judge," Gabriel managed through the remains of his mouthful of chocolate cake. Note to self, it was hard to swallow when your mouth was completely full.

Heh. Heh heh heh. He cracked himself up sometimes.

"Think of it as a hunt," Ellen suggested. "You're undercover doing research."

Dean looked like he was considering it, so of course Gabriel had to burst his bubble. "Yeah, undercover for at least seven years. Should be a snap!"

Jo elbowed him sharply in the ribs and gave him a warning look. That girl had taken far too quickly to having "brothers", and Gabriel was all without his smiting powers.

Which was really the only reason he was going along with this crap. His own dimension-hopping vision from the Big Guy had been accompanied by a cheerful "It'll do you some good to only be as powerful as those you like to mess with!" which he was taking to be a free pass to screw with people as long as they had magic – and magic was pretty much the closest he was going to get to his archangel powers. It was, of course, nowhere near good enough, but it would have to do for now. He fully intended on digging into whatever 'forbidden magic' there might be (and there would be some, there was always something forbidden, he'd seen movies) and manufacturing a close replica of his former powers. Because this whole doing everything manually, even when in private and not keeping up appearances for the sake of a gig? Ugh, humanity.

Adam got three presents for his new fake permanent birthday; Gabriel felt a little gypped by the fact this his new fake permanent birthday wasn't until after they were off at magic school. Laaame. He'd be lucky to get one present, depending on how much Ellen decided that he was actually a kid now. Adam got a nice leather jacket from Bobby and Ellen, a predictable book from Sam, and a very sharp looking knife from Dean (apparently the brothers Winchesters felt guilty about missing all of their half-brother's birthdays back in the real world).

"Dean!" Ellen scolded after Adam unwrapped the newspaper-covered dagger. "You don't get kids knives for their birthdays!"

Dean looked honestly confused. "What? It's the same kind of knife I got for my eleventh birthday! I mean, Dad got me a rifle too, but apparently they don't sell those to eleven year olds in England." He sounded honestly disappointed by this fact, and Gabriel brought up the mental note to avoid pissed-off Dean, and underlined it. Three times.

The only one who seemed to think this was normal was Dean, as everyone else stared at him for a long moment (except Bobby, who was too busy sighing with his face in his palm). For his part, Gabriel was…

"Wait, why am I still here?" The cake was gone, after all, no reason for him to hang around. Gabriel got up (more like jumped up) from the table. "Bye!"

And yes, he was going to watch more of that ridiculous show before going to bed. He had to find out who was the other father of Nathan's baby!

…it was a really fucked up show.

The morning was chaos, as Ellen and Bobby had (incredibly wrongfully) assumed that since all of their "children" were, in fact, adults, they wouldn't need to remind them to pack for school before going to bed.

Sam sat by his trunk and Impala's cage, already dressed in his snazzy school robes with a smug look on his face, having been the only one with foresight enough to have gotten his things ready the night before. Dean was digging through his mess of a room (he'd really taken advantage of the whole 'having a permanent room to himself' thing), tossing things in the general direction of his trunk, while Adam had managed to get everything into his trunk but was now faced with trying to close it.

Gabriel, meanwhile, had given up on trying to blackmail Jo into packing his trunk when she had tried to get Speedwagon (her choice of name for the cat she'd bought – you could tell she hadn't had pets growing up - or much of an imagination) to attack his hair, and was trying to convince his little brother to do the work instead. Cas was just distressed by the whole process of packing – he'd only had a month to get used to having to do even self-maintenance, since previously his vessel had been virtually indestructible.

Somehow – Gabriel's bet was on Ellen's mom-superpowers (whatever, he was millennia old, trust him when he said moms definitely had superpowers) – they managed to get out the door in enough time to make it to King's Cross. The adults-who-actually-looked-like-adults helped them get the assorted trunks and cages onto trolleys and then did their send-off in the parking lot, where they were less likely to be overheard.

"Just remember that you're all eleven year old kids now, okay? And human," Bobby directed the last part to Cas and Gabriel. "Try to act like it. That means no stabbing people when they annoy you." That was directed to… Pretty much all of them.

"Whatevs." That would the entirety of Gabriel's contribution to the conversation. Puh-lease, like he just went around stabbing people. That was completely lacking in flair of any kind. What was he, Michael? Gabriel had style, hel-lo.

Gabriel didn't bother sticking around any longer. Speeches were for chumps, and/or humans, same diff really. (What? Humans came from chimps; it was just one letter away from chumps.) Or, from a less cynical point of view, goodbye speeches were for people who actually knew each other and (mostly) like each other. Gabriel counted himself lucky not to be one of those.

It also meant he got to the train before everyone else, which really meant that he had extra buffer time to get lost in the crowd before Tweedledee and Tweedledum showed up to curtail his fun. He hadn't actually made a plan for any mischief, but – ooh, what was that? An empty compartment with a trunk already stowed? A fledgling idea started to sprout in the back of his mind, cawing and demanding food, but he wasn't in the mood to regurgitate right now.

Usually, with as little of a beginning of an idea like that, Gabriel would let it germinate (why were ideas always the same as plants?) for a while and then work it into a useful plan. In this case… well, Bobby had told him to act human, and humans were morons, so… he was just going to go with it. Flying by the seat of his pants had always seemed like a fun idea when it wasn't likely to get him stabbed with a wooden stake (and why was it that modern mythology made vampires susceptible to methods that killed tricksters, not real vampires? Bram Stoker was such a douche. Although he probably shouldn't have put an enraged porcupine in the guy's bed…).

A quick glance to make sure no one was paying attention, and Gabriel was in the compartment and using all his athletic ability and knowledge of physics (very little in both cases) to scramble into the overhead shelf. Humans never looked up (until something dripped on them, anyway, according to horror movies; and note to self, probably should stop taking all advice on human behavior from horror movies, no matter how well it had served him in the past).

"Fuckin' shithead," a squeak sounded from Gabriel's side. After determining that no, Adam hadn't shrunk himself further and hid in his pocket, Gabriel pulled his shiny pet jarvey out of his pocket – Bobby and Ellen had decided that making him return it would just be painful for them, and Gabriel wouldn't learn a lesson.

"Baal, dude, chill," he said, holding the magical ferret up so they could see eye to eye. "This'll be hilarious, just wait." Baal – short for Baalberith, a particularly foul-mouthed demon he'd known at one point – managed to give him a skeptical look, but kept quiet.

The compartment door opened and the closed, and Gabriel peeked out from behind the trunk (the storage space was seriously roomy when you were a scrawny eleven-year-old) to see a blonde girl who seemed a little… off, in almost the same way Cas was. Eh, no fun tricking the autistic – he'd wait.

A high-pitched whistle went off, and he told himself it wasn't worth hoping that certain people he'd come to the station with would miss the train. The prissy lady who reminded him of a cat would probably just show up and take them to school anyway. A little while later, the door opened again, and pretty quickly the compartment seemed full. And oh crap, three more trunks? Gabriel gave up the visual and crammed himself into the corner as tightly as possible, hoping that only one of the trunks would go up next to him, otherwise his squishy parts would get overly squished, which was good for no one.

"Hi, Luna, is it okay if we take these seats?" There was a pause. "Thanks."

There was some rustling and grunting and one of the trunks got placed next to the blonde's – Luna's. The other two and the bird went on the other side, thank Dad.

"Had a good summer, Luna?"

"Yes." Well, she wasn't quite like Castiel. His little brother was less dreamy, more direct and confused. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter."

Oh, well, crap. Gabriel had read a few of the books (commercial breaks, you know), and more importantly, he'd read the absolutely hilarious gossip rag that was apparently the source of news for these wacky spell-casters. He knew who Harry Potter was, and given Dad's sense of humor, Gabriel was also pretty sure the kid was telling the truth. So, of course, he'd managed to end up in the same compartment as this universe's equivalent of Sam Winchester. Typ-i-cal. Did he have a magnet attached to him or something?

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," the blonde suddenly sang, and Gabriel really had to agree with that. Life was nothing without jokes, and jokes were nothing without wit.

Gabriel was just about to start his trick – too bad he'd never learned how to throw his voice, that would useful right now – when another voice spoke up. "Guess what I got for my birthday?"

Meaningless chatter followed, and Gabriel manfully resisted the urge to bang his head on the ceiling. Weren't teenagers supposed to be into sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll? (Or even those much older than teenagers; see Winchester, Dean for more details.) Instead, they were apparently into … rare plants. And not the kind of 'plant' you're thinking of, either.

There was a sound not unlike a bomb made of water balloons going off, and a gross smell filled the air. Gabriel chanced a peek from behind the trunks and was suddenly glad that he was still hidden: dark green goo covered nearly everything in the compartment.

And the door slid open right at that moment. Gabriel, apparently, was in a sitcom. And not that hilarious one he had made (not that the brothers Winchester had been hilarious on purpose – and man, he needed a redo of that Herpexia commercial, that was gold), but a very lame, predictable one.

There was some more meaningless chatter, and before Gabriel could prep himself again, the soothing rocking back-and-forth of the train car started to make him sleepy…

He woke up with a start when a loud voice right at his level said, "I'm starving."

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house. Boy and girl from each," a new female voice joined in after the rustling noises that Gabriel groggily figured out were the new arrivals sitting down.

Apparently someones named Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were the prefects for Slytherin. Gabriel reviewed that sentence a few times in his head, came to the conclusion that, no, it did not make any sense, and tuned back to the conversation in time to hear them talking about a school dance.

"Oh my god, you are all way too boring for me to stand anymore," Gabriel's voice boomed from above the three girls. "Fuckers!" Baal agreed in an equally-loud voice as Gabriel shoved blondie's trunk out of the way and dropped to the ground. Well, fell, and barely avoided landing on one of the teens – it was still a drop, so whatever. "You ruined an awesome practical joke, so I hope you're happy with yourselves."

He ignored the wands pointing directly in his face and flapped a hand imperiously at one of them. "Scoot over, Red."

She didn't scoot over, or put her hand down. "Who are you?" she demanded instead.

Gabriel shrugged at her refusal to move and squeezed himself into a seat next to the blonde chick instead. Redheads were trouble anyway. "I'm the Dark Lord Chuckles the Silly Piggie," he informed her in his most dry, sarcastic manner, making sure to pet Baal in the very best evil overlord manner. "Fear my adorable evil."

The blonde girl – Luna, Looney, whatever her name was – started laughing, loud and raucous, to the stares of the others. When it started to look like she wasn't breathing, Gabriel carefully patted her on the back. "There. There. Other comforting words."

"Are you completely mental?" the male redhead asked, almost curious.

"Probably." Gabriel didn't generally think too much about it, but by human standards he was almost certainly off his rocker. Most people didn't try to piss off Lucifer while going into battle against him.

"Are you a first year?" a frizzy haired girl asked him, sounding sympathetic.

"You don't recognize me, and I look like I'm eleven. What do you think?"

"Are all the first years going to be as snotty as him?" Male Red asked the room at large, jerking a thumb in the direction of Gabriel.

"Oh, a few, at least," Gabriel said cheerfully. "Lots more, if you're lucky."

Red looked like, if he was lucky, he could knock himself out by slamming his head into the wall.

Aaand the door opened. Again. "Why are we even closing the door at this point?" Gabriel muttered, looking over the scrawny kid with slicked-back blonde hair and an overinflated ego (he was reminded rather of one of the older of his little brothers, Zachariah, for some reason) and his two pet gorillas (he wondered, vaguely, if Magilla Gorilla existed in this world; that was one funny cartoon. And also maybe he should die those two purple).

"What?" snapped the boy wonder with the unfortunate hair.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention. You see, I, unlike-"

Gabriel knew it was rude to interrupt the villain's monologueing, but this time, he just had to. "Seriously, detention? That's your threat? That might even be lower than 'I'll tell mommy' on the bullying scale. 'Oooh, respect me or I'll make you write lines for a few hours! Danger!'"

It was possible that he used too much sarcasm. Possible, but not likely.

Blondie the Male (and probably not the singer, although that mental image would stick with him a while) whipped his wand out (heh) and pointed it at Gabriel. "Watch your mouth, firstie," he spat out like it was a curse, rather than a cutesy shortening of his year in school. Sort of the way Gabe liked to say 'humans', in fact.

"Or what? You'll curse a defenseless eleven year old? Big man, biiiig man," Gabriel snarked back. Apparently ill-advisedly, because the older boy managed to get a full syllable of a nasty-sounding spell out before suddenly crumpling with a yelp, hands immediately clutching the back of his left knee.

Behind him stood Jo, hair gathered into a messy ponytail and a seriously disgruntled look on her face. "Just so you know, I still hate you," she directed to Gabriel. "That was more because I don't feel like having the train get blown up before we reach school."

"Love you too, sis."

"Shut up, and come on. We used some of Cas's money to buy a bunch of candy."

Aha, she said the magic word! Gabriel darted out of the compartment without a second glance, intent on promises of sweet deliciousness, and Jo followed, leaving behind a group of extremely bewildered upperclassmen.

Chapter Text

Dean really could have done without Jo bringing back the annoying pagan god slash archangel slash fellow child, but it was probably a better idea than letting him wander around and sic rabid tarantulas on people, or whatever he would come up with.

Adam was asleep under one of the benches, claiming he needed to stretch out and he didn't trust "the idiots" (which of the group he was referring to was left open) not to step on him, but Dean had managed to annoy Sam into putting down his ridiculously huge book and entertaining him.

Okay, so maybe he'd had a few too many of those chocolate frog things. There was a reason his dad hadn't let him have much sugar when he was a kid.

"-and the school is divided into four houses," Dean tuned back in time to hear Sam say.

"There's a lot of people on this train for just four houses."

"No, Dean, the school itself is a castle. The houses are more like… teams. Students are sorted based on personality traits, although the book didn't say how."

"Online personality test. My girlfriend used to make me take 'em," a voice drifted out from under the bench. Dean leaned over to peer at his youngest brother, who had apparently decided that 3PM was late enough to bother waking up, if not get up.

"Electricity does not work in the magical world," was Cas's contribution as he completely missed Adam's sarcasm.

"What?"

"Cas is right. Magic interferes with the electric signals," Sam confirmed from behind his book.

"No TV?" Dean demanded, apparently in stereo. Hey, something he and Gabriel agreed on! Also, hey! Gabriel managed to crawl out of the sugar coma he'd been in for the last hour or so after eating what looked like seven pounds worth of magic candy!

"No, no TV. You'll have to catch up on your soap operas during Christmas vacation," Sam snarked at them, rolling his eyes.

"Wait, Christmas? Witches celebrate Christmas? Isn't that kind of like Osama bin Laden saying his favorite holiday is the 4th of July?" Adam asked, still under the seat and not making any moves to leave.

"It's different," Sam said. Dean started to open his mouth, and his little brother immediately pulled out pouty glare number forty-five. "Because it just is," he preemptively whined at Dean.

"Back to the point," Jo said with a severe eye-roll, "We're all going to be in different houses?"

"Why would we be in different houses?" Dean demanded.

Gabriel was the one to respond. "Right, because our personalities are all so similar, Dean-o."

"I am nothing like you!"

(There was a moment of silence as everyone thought about pointing out that first, that was kind of Gabriel's point; and second, he so was like Gabriel. They came to a group decision that no, they weren't going to say a thing.)

A knock on the door, and someone announced in a rather bored voice that they were approaching Hogwarts and should all get ready.

Jo grabbed her things and went to find a bathroom to change into, muttering something derogatory about the males of the species as she went, and the boys started stripping down – except Sam, who had been in his dress the entire trip, the geek.

Dean and Sam were helping tie everyone else's ties (hey, pretending to be federal agents occasionally came in handy! Who knew?) when the train came to a stop. Doors slammed open, and the passages filled with loudmouthed teenagers chatting like they hadn't had about seven hours to do so already.

"Who makes ten year olds wear ties, anyway?" Adam muttered, holding still with extremely bad temper as Dean completed the final loop and tightened it a respectful amount.

"British people, apparently," Dean said, tone agreeing with the younger boy. "There, you're done." He patted the plain black tie, and Adam scowled.

"Everyone ready for magic school?" Dean asked the compartment – Jo had returned before the tie-tying part of the events.

There were nods, grumbles, and a "Let's just go already, Jesus."

They had waited long enough that the train was mostly emptied out except for a handful of stragglers, and they were actually caught by the very last call for first years. Sam grabbed Dean's sleeve and Jo grabbed both of her angel-brothers, leaving Adam to follow along behind rather than be dragged.

Before he did, however, he stared in the opposite direction. "What the hell is up with the black Calista Flockhart pegasus over there?"

Dean managed to stop Sam long enough to take a look as well. Adam's description was pretty accurate, and no one else was bothering to look at them. Maybe that was the wizard version of cars, who the hell knew.

Sam wasn't allowing himself to be held back any longer, and they ran up to the professor. Or random child abductor – again, who the hell knew. "We're here, ma'am!" Sam said excitedly. And geekily, but that went without saying.

The professor glanced down at them. "Come along, then."

They joined the throng of first years, all of whom looked so very young to Dean's eyes. The children were all chattering excitedly and nervously, and their group stood apart from them in more than just a physical way. And he wasn't just talking about Adam's glaring or Gabriel's smirking, either.

"This way, children," the lady with the sharp haircut said briskly, leading them down a winding, slippery path. By the time they reached flat ground again, Dean was seriously considering just picking up Adam – the kid could not keep his balance. (The former angels and hunters were fine, of course.)

"That… is a big castle," Jo said, eyes wide as they came around a bend and got an eyeful of their new magic school.

"Reminds me of Disney World," was Gabriel's bored (and loud) contribution, getting a few titters of laughter from Muggleborns amongst the crowd.

"Four to a boat," was the next direction called out, and Dean made a face. The boats in question were seriously rickety and probably full of termites – he wasn't sure he trusted one person to each, let alone four. Still, he quickly grabbed Sam by the shoulder (Sam had dropped his sleeve a while earlier) and then looked about for Adam, figuring he should probably keep an eye on his other little brother, too.

Adam was sneakier than anyone gave him credit for, though, and was already sitting in a boat with three other, rather confused, students. He smirked and gave a mocking wave to Dean when he saw him looking around.

Cas was standing so close he was about a centimeter from fusing with Dean's shoulder blade. "Dude, personal space, remember?"

"Apologies," Cas said after a moment, taking one carefully measured step backwards.

Jo joined them a few seconds later as they waited for a boat. "Gabriel managed to get away from me. He's gonna pay for that." The remaining three boys started to edge away from her. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Hey, look, a boat!" Dean stepped carefully into the newly-arrived boat and away from the scary girl.

All loaded up, the boats started off across the lake. One of the other boys in Adam's boat, just ahead of theirs, trailed his hand along the surface of the water. At least, he did until the professor, not bothering to look behind her from the lead boat, snapped, "Hands out of the water unless you feel like getting eaten by the giant squid in the lake."

The kid pulled his hand back so quickly he almost tipped the boat over. Adam scowled and it looked like he managed to kick the other boy for the disturbance.

The boats finally docked, and the second he was sure he wouldn't fall in the water Dean jumped out, took a few long strides, and grabbed Adam by the collar. Just in case.

They were led up to the castle and then traded one strict professor for another – McBagpipes met them at the door and led them into a small room that, by the sounds of it, was next to wherever everyone else had gone to, where she proceeded to give them a stupor-inducing speech – something about house, family, etc etc. Dean ignored it. He had (most of) his family, thanks, he didn't need any more.

She instructed them to straighten up (Adam's tie had somehow completely unraveled in the short trip from the train, so her gaze was mostly focused on him), and left for a minute. Dean had just managed to get the tie redone when she came back.

"Form a line and follow me," was her sharp order. Dean took point for their group, Sammy bringing up the rear automatically – he was actually at the tail end of the entire group of first years, thanks to all of them naturally lurking at the back of the crowd.

As they marched forward, Dean noted offhandedly that the girl in front of him had a braid long enough to strangle someone with. What, it was a perfectly legitimate description! And pretty accurate – where was Gabriel, he needed to check this out. She was also six feet tall (or the ten year old equivalent, whichever) and completing blocking Dean's view of anything in front.

She finally shifted out of the way as the line came to a stop and the first years bunched up a little, which was great, except…

"Someone please tell me that isn't who I think it is," Dean hissed at the small group behind him, eyes never leaving the table of teachers at the front of the room.

Gabriel didn't look up from whatever was in his hands. "It isn't who you think it is," he said mechanically before finally glancing up. "Oh, hey, it's Crowley!"

Dean glared at him. "I said someone, not something."

"Wait, you know Crowley?" Sam asked, completely ignoring his brother.

"Well, yeah. Guy plays a mean game of poker. Cheats like crazy, of course, but that's just part of the territory."

Everyone looked appropriately disturbed by the idea of Crowley and Gabriel playing poker. Well, except Adam, who had no idea what a 'Crowley' was, other than apparently the dark-haired, well-dressed man sitting next to the guy Dean tried to stab.

(Up at the table, Crowley had taken notice of the same group that took notice of him. He turned to Snape – they got along rather well, Snape reminded him of home – and asked, in conversational tones, "Think if I killed myself now the contract would still be in effect?"

"Most likely," Snape sneered in the tones of someone who had wondered the same thing exactly four years earlier.)

Dean was torn. On the one hand, there were some very pretty girls next where he was in the line of first years. On the other hand, he still mentally felt like the thirty-one year old he had been, and he'd always been very careful about not perving on jailbait. (Well, mostly thirty-one. With the time he spent being dead, it really could be anywhere between thirty and seventy-one. Moreover, physically he was eleven, so flirting probably wouldn't work. He really hated thinking about it that way.)

Professor McTartan had brought out a stool and placed a ratty hat on top, and Dean wasn't sure which of them was losing their mind, him or her. Then the brim opened up, and Dean concluded that no, it was definitely him.

At times of old when I was new
And Hogwarts barely started
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted:
United by a common goal,
They had the self-same yearning,
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach!"
The four good friends decided

"So, they decided to make a school after they started making the school?" Adam whispered in a mock-confused tone. Sam shushed him, actually shushed, like he was a middle-aged librarian! His brother was such a nerd.

And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?

That… didn't sound quite right in terms of rhyme scheme, but hey, it was doing pretty good for a hat.

So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?

Pretty easily, Dean thought, glancing at the group around him. Jo was probably the only one who hadn't been betrayed by, or betrayed, anyone else in the group. If they could move on from blaming each other for letting Satan himself out, those four old guys really should've gotten over themselves.

Why I was there and so can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry is purest."

"Technically, ancestors can't be pure, or they wouldn't have descendants," Adam pointed out.

"They mean blood purity, now shush!" Sam hissed back.

Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest."

"Wait, one house is just for the AP classes?" That comment actually came from Jo. Sam had apparently given up on getting them to keep their mouths shut, and had moved a few steps away from them in order to hear better.

Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name."

"Exactly what 'deeds' was he expecting eleven year olds to have done? Shoplifting a pack of baseball cards is about as brave a deed as you get at that age."

Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,
And treat them just the same."

"Which really sucked for the kid in the wheelchair when they had their morning runs."

These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had
A house in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pureblood wizards
Of great cunning, just like him,

"He would later be reborn in the Muggle world as Machiavelli." (Dean wondered who the hell Machiavelli was.)

And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,
And taught them all she knew,

"Unfortunately, she had attended San Diego State, so that wasn't much."

Thus the houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true.

The hat continued to sing its little history lesson (the gist of it seemed to be that they had been great friends until they weren't anymore), but Sam and Cas were the only ones bothering to listen. Gabriel had gone back to playing with whatever was in his hands (every time Dean got close enough to find out what it was, it would disappear into a pocket until Dean backed away again) and Adam was apparently taking a nap standing up, while Jo just tapped her foot impatiently.

She looked about half a second away from grabbing Gabriel's mystery object and chucking it at the animated inanimate object when it finally shut up and Professor McHaggis unrolled the scroll she had been holding the entire time. A scroll, seriously. Even in this universe, in 1995, email existed, but nooo. Witches had to use freakin' scrolls.

"Abercrombie, Euan," was the first name.

"Where's Fitch?" someone muttered, and Dean honestly wasn't sure whether it had been Jo or Adam – he really hoped Adam's voice had dropped early, or the kid was going to be teased mercilessly for the next five years, because the kid sounded exactly like a girl.

The crowd shuffled around as one kid after another was called up and then sent to one of the tables by the talking hat. All four tables looked the same to Dean – the only real difference he could find was that they were wearing different gang colors.

Finally, after about half of the group, "Harvelle, Cassidy," was called. Dean had to smack Cas on the shoulder to get him to remember that was him, but not a lot of people noticed.

The hat was suspiciously quiet and took a suspiciously long time, but finally – after a good three minutes, which were really freaking long when the room is silent, and was at least four times as long as anyone else had taken – the brim opened up.

"Hufflepuff!"

"Why is Cas in the marshmallow house?" Dean hissed at Sam.

"It's the house of loyalty and hard work. Now shut up, it's Gabriel's turn."

Right, because Dean cared so very much about that.

Gabriel was under the hat twice as long as Cas had been, and Dean's worst suspicions were confirmed when both the boy under the hat and the hat itself started to crack up, laughing hysterically – Gabriel actually had to clutch his ribs after a moment.

The former archangel was making best friends with a talking hat. This was what his life had come to.

After a few more chuckles, the hat got itself together enough to announce, "Slytherin! And come up to visit me some time, my boy." The last part was directed to Gabriel, who smirked at everyone's shocked faces in response as he swaggered to the green gang.

"…Harvelle, Joanna."

Jo went up, shaking her head at her 'brother'. Her sorting was far quicker than either of the previous Harvelles – after about fifteen seconds under the hat, it shouted out, "Gryffindor!"

There were some whispers at that – a set of triplets (which they weren't, but it wasn't like anyone knew that), all put into different houses? Including one in Gryffindor and one in Slytherin? Impossible!

Three more kids – another Slytherin, and a set of Gryffindor twins – and then the last name he'd have to pay attention to until after he was sorted (yeah, he'd figured out the whole alphabet thing, thanks) was called: "Milligan, Adam."

Adam stomped up to the stool, scowl fully in place. On most kids his – well, their– age, it would just look adorable. On Adam, it actually looked scarier than the same expression on his nineteen-year-old self. Dean made a note to tell his baby brother that exact thing the next time they talked.

His sorting took about as long as Jo's, and ended with a call of, "Hufflepuff!" Adam sat down at the yellow table next to Cas, since despite his bitching at nearly everyone for the past month, Adam oddly didn't have a problem with the former angel. So at least that would be okay – he had been a little worried Adam and Gabriel would wind up in the same house, and then the school would implode and Bobby would yell at Dean because of course it would be his fault.

Dean spent the good twenty minutes of pretty much everyone else getting sorted before they reached the W's leaning on Sam and trying not to think about the fact that it was pretty likely he and Sam would be in different houses. How was he supposed to take care of his brother if he was on the other side of a freakin' castle from him?

An Ella Wilkins went to Slytherin, and it was down to the two Winchesters and a little blonde girl as "Winchester, Dean," was called.

Dean walked up confidently, ignoring the glower he could feel from the Dracula wannabe who had teleported into their living room.

"Another dimensionally displaced person? How fun!" God he hated sentient objects. So very much. "Definitely not a match for Ravenclaw or Slytherin… I suppose it comes down to whether selling your soul to save your brother shows more loyalty, or stupidi- I mean, bravery." Well, at least now he knew why Gabriel had gotten along so well with the hat. It was a total jackass too. "A year ago, the answer would have been simple, but I think you have finally learned to be more careful with who you give your loyalty to. So it has to be…"

"Gryffindor!"

Dean left for the red table and Jo with the distinct feeling that he had been insulted by a piece of headwear. Whatever, at least he had legs.

Jo was sitting in between an older brown-haired girl with some sort of extra badge pinned to her robes and a boy with short blond curls, so Dean took the seat across from her, next to some kid who could really use a haircut and contacts. There was no one on his other side – for whatever reason, there was a large gap between the black haired boy and the other students. He didn't smell weird, so Dean didn't really care whypeople didn't want to sit next to him.

"Winchester, Samuel."

And here it was, the moment of truth. The hat may have completely covered Sam's face, but Dean could still read his brother's body language, and he was apparently having a very tense, serious conversation with the hat, which took four minutes and thirty-seven seconds (yes, he counted, shut up) to announce, "Ravenclaw!"

At least he had official proof that his brother was a geek now.

Rose Zeller went to Hufflepuff, and the sorting was over. Merlin up at the head table stood, and Dean braced himself for a totally boring, endlessly long speech, like that semester they had spent at the private school that was being haunted (John Winchester as a P.E. teacher was still a terrifying memory for him).

"To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands – welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

It was only a quick kick to the shins from Jo that kept Dean from springing to his feet and pulling his knife at the sudden appearance of food all over the table. "Dean!" she hissed, jerking her head at the older students, all of whom seemed completely calm about the teleporting foods and were starting to chow down without any noticeable side-effects.

Dean suspiciously grabbed what looked like a turkey leg from the Renaissance Festival and sniffed it suspiciously before biting in. It tasted alright, but it was definitely no bacon cheeseburger.

While he had been investigating the food, the older kids next to him and Jo got into a sudden argument that ended with a ghost floating away in a huff. Huh, ghosts that weren't just mindless violence and revenge. There was something just wrong about that. Dean felt better about the one Gabriel was cheerfully chatting over at the green table, the guy covered in blood. At least he looked like a real ghost, not this Casper the Friendly Ghost shit.

"So what are we going to do about Crowley?" he asked after he had finished most of his meal, still chewing on a mouthful of potatoes.

"Okay, first of all, chew with your mouth shut." Jo made a disgusted face at him. "And second, there's pretty much only one way he wound up here, too." Now she gave him a very pointed look, eyes flicking to the side where the black haired boy was paying some amount of attention to them while his friends sulked.

"But he's a-" Right, people were paying attention. "You know. He can't be trusted. I'm still pretty sure he set me up for, uh, that last meeting." God, speaking in code when you don't have an actual code was a pain in the ass.

"I thought you were still blaming Gabriel for that?"

"Him too."

"Anyway, didn't our 'message' state that they don't exist here? He's probably human here."

"I guess," Dean said grudgingly. "They do start out as humans."

By this point, black haired kid's friends were paying attention to their conversation too. Yeah, they really sucked at being subtle. The girl next to Jo opened her mouth, a burning question in her eyes, and Dean cut her off with a hurried (and honestly excited), "PIE!"

The plates of dinner items had disappeared, bringing desserts up instead. And there was definitely pie, tons and tons of pies. Through various passing of plates and jumping up and racing to other parts of the table, Dean managed to get six slices of different pies on his plate before sitting down to test out magical pie. Sure, he was still suspicious of this 'good magic' thing, but the power of pie was greater than that of any magic – that, he was sure of.

"What did you mean, 'they start out as humans'?" Apparently his distraction technique needed work. Shiny-badged girl was still staring at him intently. "Who or what are 'they'?"

"Lawyers." Yes, that was seriously all he could come up with in the split-second he had to think. They really should have come up with a better cover story, but then they hadn't had any idea that Crowley, of all things, would be showing up at their school.

"Speaking of, think he still has Bobby's soul?" he asked Jo suddenly.

Jo shrugged. "Dunno. You're the one with more experience with them."

Dean glared up at him, just in case. If he did still have Bobby's soul (although what kind of God would send a demon to another dimension with someone's soul… Well, what kind of god other than Gabriel-slash-Loki-slash-Trickster, anyway), he would be giving it back the second Dean had five seconds alone with him.

Their little aside hadn't helped with the suspicious teenagers next to them, and she opened her mouth to ask something further when Merlin stood up again. Her mouth closed with a small but audible snap and her attention shifted completely over. Saved by Gandalf!

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students – and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too." Dean missed the smirks of the kids next to him because he was too busy catching his brother's – er, the one with the same last name – eye and raising an eyebrow and giving a smirk of his own. Sam attempted to give him a death-glare (it was like being glared at by a floppy-eared puppy) and mouthed a strict "NO" in his direction.

Dean bet he'd get his brother in the forest by the end of the week.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in the corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door."

That definitely sounded like a challenge to Dean. One that he gladly accepted.

"We have had a number of changes in staffing this year. First, we are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons." There was some polite applause, but most of the students at the red table seemed concerned, the kids next to them especially so. "Second, Professor Binns has moved on to the next great adventure, so taking over History of Magic lessons will be Professor Crowley."

This was met with insanely enthusiastic applause from everyone except the first years, most of whom looked completely confused by the cheer of the crowd.

"Finally, we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Much more subdued applause, and a number of eyerolls from the older students. Those eyes rolled even harder as the pink monstrosity Dean's brain had been trying to ignore for his own sake cleared her throat with a 'hem, hem' and stood to speak.

And speak.

And speak.

And speak. Dean was actually praying to go back to that old private school, because at least the headmaster there hadn't had such an annoying voice. God. Give him Becky over that!

…Dean quickly glanced around to make sure God didn't grant that particular wish.

Everyone's eyes had glazed over, and Dean and Jo had devolved into playing a game of table football with a leftover potato by the time the pink lady had shut up.

Over at the green table, Gabriel had jumped to his feet and was applauding enthusiastically and, to all appearances if you didn't know him, sincerely. After he had finally sat down, Merlin stood up to make a few more announcements that Dean paid less than no attention to, instead catching Sam's eye over at the geek table and flicking his eyes at the figure of Crowley, and then raising his eyebrows. Sam nodded, agreeing to meeting up at breakfast the next day to discuss… things.

"Breakfast tomorrow?" Jo asked quietly as everyone started to stand up, quick on the uptake. "You tell the Hufflepuffs, I'll tell Gabe so you don't have to strangle anyone."

They both quickly slipped away as shiny-badged redhead guy started hollering for 'midgets'. "Breakfast tomorrow, we gotta talk," Dean hissed at Cas. Cas nodded seriously, eyes still on the retreating figure of the demon – or former demon, whatever.

"First years! This way, please!"

Dean gave a quick wave to his youngest brother and his former angel as he went to join the group of nervous little kids gathered around Ms. Inquisitive. Jo was already with the group, having not spent much time giving the message to her 'brother' (not the least because of the incredulous stares of his housemates at the very idea of a Gryffindor, even one related to a Slytherin, coming across the invisible divide).

Dean was so ready for bed.

Chapter Text

Slytherins were adorable. Seriously, just so cute with their 'I'm evil and badass, fear me!' little smirks and glares. And their general 'I'm better than you' attitude? Ah, it reminded him of his brothers, it did. He'd even overheard someone saying mudblood, which just reminded him of his one brother – Uriel, he was pretty sure, but it might have been any-other-combination-of-letters-ending-in-el – and his insistence on calling humans mud-monkeys. It was all very comforting.

On the other hand, there was a reason he had run away from home for two millennia, and at least part of it was the fact that his brothers were grade-A douchenozzles.

Still, there was nothing in the rules against fraternizing with other houses, so if his house got too insufferable, he would just fuck off to a different group for a while. Hufflepuff, maybe, the quiet dumpy types always knew how to party. He just had to be careful that no one wound up thinking he was lonely or scared or something stupid like that.

(Even if he was, maybe, a little tiny bit uneasy. So sue him, but the last time he had been in England was when the Magna Carta was signed. After that point, he mostly hung around the continent, and later the New World and Australia. The British were too likely to shrug at his antics, sip their tea, and carry on with their lives rather than freak out and become paranoid bloggers. His knowledge of recent England was limited to the Doctor Who and Monty Python that PBS had shown in the '70s.)

"Gabriel, meeting tomorrow morning," Jo snapped suddenly from behind him.

"Okay-" he started to say as he turned around, but she was already heading back to her little herd.

There were outraged looks on the kids around him when he turned back to his own herd. "That was a Gryffindor," someone pointed out, scandalized.

"Oh hallelujah! You're not color blind!" His sarcasm was thick enough that he had to check to make sure he didn't hurt himself. Nope, all in one piece!

"Harvelle, right?" That came from the dude with blond hair that Jo had beat down – he apparently didn't recognize her from the train. "We don't associate with Gryffindors. Even if we have the misfortune of being related to them." A sneer gave his opinion of the quality of those with Gryffindor in their family tree.

"Is that the royal we?" Gabriel wondered idly, carefully examining his fingernails in a perfect picture of nonchalance. "Because I shudder to think that all of you fine upstanding citizens are toeing the party line like that."

Blank looks, he was surrounded by blank looks. Also morons, don't forget the total morons.

"Just because you all are too scared to mingle doesn't mean I am," he clarified.

"We're not afraid," Blondie claimed indignantly. "We just don't want the filth to rub off on us."

"You do know that you don't have to rub against people when you talk to them, right?" Just in case, Gabriel took a step backward.

Blondie looked constipated, meaning he was probably mad. Gabriel gave brief thought to starting a study to investigate why the two looks were so similar, but he forgot it about three seconds later. It was a pretty pointless idea even for him.

"Forget it. You're obviously a lost cause." With that dramatic statement, he twirled on his heel and stalked off. And sadly didn't trip and fall on his ass, which would have been hilarious (and would have happened if he hadn't been turned into one of these sparkly mud-monkeys without any real powers). The other tiny children around him seemed to pull back from him in a combination of fear and disgust.

Gabriel got the disturbing feeling he'd just been sorted into an aristocratic frat. Oh, screw that. And screw his earlier idea of waiting until he got tired of them to go somewhere else, he was already tired of these douchebags.

Where to first? Well, he should probably check on his little brother (in both this world and the previous one). And see if the Hufflepuffs really were the party types, it would be so disappointing to find out otherwise later.

Thankfully, plenty of the older students were hanging around after the feast to chat with their friends in other houses (plenty of other students from houses other than Slytherin, but that really went without saying after their sheer drama-llamaing over his talking to Jo for half a second), so it was easy enough to trail after one of the yellow-and-black marked ones.

The girl led him down to a nice, warm cellar hallway, and stopped at a pile of giant barrels laying on their sides. She pulled out her wand and tapped on the barrels, one of which popped open, leaving a nice hobbit-hole door, which swung closed behind her.

Well, that was ridiculously easy! He strode up and confidently tapped the same number of times in the same spot – and was in a sudden downpour of foul-smelling liquid.

Gabriel stared blankly at the innocent-looking barrels and couldn't quite decide whether to applaud or throw a tantrum. On the one hand, he was now soaked in vinegar. On the other hand, if it had happened to literally anyone else, Gabriel would still be rolling on the ground laughing his ass off. Tough choice. He decided on just getting out of the way before more Puffles showed up – he refused to be mocked by giant bumblebees. Not after the last time.

He retreated to a nearby alcove – from what he'd seen so far, the castle was half alcoves – and rung out the stupid-looking robe as best he could. He would just take it off and ditch it, but blending in might be important (and Ellen would definitely find out about it somehow, and he just knew she'd come up with a way to make sure her wrath was felt, other side of the country or not). He still reeked, but at least he wasn't dripping anymore.

Well, Hufflepuff was an obvious bust. Gabriel played a quick mental game of eenie-meenie-miney-moe and turned on his heels in the vague direction he had seen some red and golds going earlier. Sure enough, students were still trailing up in pairs and small groups – curfew, he overheard someone say, wasn't for another hour and a half, and some were catching up with friends in other houses.

The mixed Ravenclaw-Gryffindor group he had been following split up with friendly goodbyes. His eyes followed the Ravenclaws' path even as he physically followed the Gryffindors as stealthily as possible while in the body of an eleven-year-old standing on a giant staircase. Thankfully, Gryffindors weren't particularly quiet, so he heard the password loud and clear despite being a flight and a half of stairs away from the entrance.

He waited until they all clambered in and the portrait swung closed, and then he climbed the last flight. He took off his tie and artfully arranged his robes to cover his new badge and uniform edging, and stepped up to the portrait.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," he told the painting confidently, part of him noting that was the name of the strange goo-expelling plant he had encountered on the train. ("Fuckin' A!" a small voice from one of his pockets squeaked, too softly for anyone else to hear. Gabriel absently patted the pocket to comfort his foul-mouthed pet.)

The painting rambled an endless comment at him (which he promptly tuned out, of course), but thankfully also swung open to reveal a garishly decorated room still fairly full of people, although not entirely packed. And ooh, apparently he was just in time for drama, his favorite!

The stars of this particular soap opera were apparently messy-haired-boy-with-glasses-from-the-train (better known as Harry Potter), and some random sandy-haired boy. He had clearly missed the beginning of the fight, but by the sandy-haired boy's words, dark-haired boy was having a 'go' at his mother (Gabriel assumed that was the same thing as insulting her, given the context).

Red-headed-boy-from-the-train stepped in at that point. "Harry wouldn't do that – we met your mother, we liked her…" He really wished he knew the names of more than one of the players in this, the description names were getting rather unwieldy even in his own mind.

Harry decided the fight wasn't loud enough, and hollered, "That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!" Oh, the Daily Prophet, such a hilarious thing to read when you were bored. Gabriel supposed it was slightly less fun when you were the one being written about, however.

"You know what?" Sandy-haired boy shot back. "He's right, I don't want to share a dormitory with him anymore, he's a madman."

"A madman? What kind of mad is he?" Gabriel broke into the conversation with his annoyingly piping voice before anyone could storm away (and/or burst into tears). Eyes all around the room turned to him, and he resisted the urge to preen. Aah, attention, does a body good!

"What are you talking about?" the redhead demanded.

"Weeeell," Gabriel swayed his body back and forth a bit, hands clasped behind his back. "I mean, which of the criteria of the DSM are we looking at to make a diagnosis?"

For a room full of teenagers ready to brawl a second earlier, it was almost disturbingly quiet.

"Gabriel!" a voice from the other side of the crowd shouted, and Jo pushed her way through, trailed by an inordinately amused-looking Dean. "Aren't you supposed to be with your house?" she half-hinted, half-threatened. "Slithering, or whatever?"

"He's a Slytherin?" The redhead's face was going very interesting colors, and most of the others around him were following suit, like bizarre social chameleons.

"Uh-oh, the natives are getting restless!" Gabriel said cheerfully.

Having been kicked out of one common room (and not having made it into the other), Gabriel went to his last stop on the night's tour: Ravenclaw Tower. Apparently their version of the barrels and the picture of the fat lady in all pink was a doorknocker. Well, whatever.

He placed himself firmly in front of knocker before knocking. The eagle-shape that made up the knocker started to drone: "I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I?"

Really? A riddle? He'd been Loki for a few thousands of years, and a doorknocker was trying to stop him with a riddle? (Especially one that he was fairly sure anyone over the age of five could figure out.) "It's the letter 'e', now open up," he said, tapping his foot impatiently. (Although, he thought, it could be argued that the answer was 'God', but that wasn't nearly as clever.)

He got the very strong impression that the talking inanimate object was rolling its eyes at him, but it opened up anyway.

To absolutely nothing. The common room was deserted save Luna, the rather amusing girl he had met on the train.

"Is everyone already asleep?" Gabriel demanded of her, mimicking tones of dismay.

"Oh yes," the girl said, not looking up (even though it didn't appear she had anything in her lap to look at).

"Damn," he said, and promptly left. Nothing to it, he was going to have to go to his own common room.

Which was thankfully easy to find, because there were still Slytherins lurking in corridors trying to look cool. Trying and failing. One of the older ones who probably hadn't overheard the dinnertime debacle let him in, and Gabriel found himself standing in the middle of a dark and dramatic-looking underground chamber. Well, that wouldn't do. Time for some mood derailment!

"So where's the TV?" Gabriel asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"The what?" Everyone nearby who had heard him looked completely confused by his perfectly reasonable question.

"Muggle 'elektricks' don't work in Hogwarts," an older student who apparently recognized the term sneered at him in disgust. "What are you, a mudblood?" The other first years rapidly withdrew from him as if they'd be tainted by breathing the same air.

"Humans, honestly," Gabriel muttered under his breath. (Unfortunately not quietly enough, as a few of the students around him exchanged shocked looks and probably began circulating rumors that he was a vampire.) "First, it's electronics. 'Elektricks' just makes you sound retarded and about as in-bred as you probably are." The older boy, probably a second year, started turning purple with rage but Gabriel didn't particularly care. "Second, television is way better than anything I've seen in this lame-ass 'magical world' so far."

No one seemed to have any response to that (they were all rather too deeply in shock at the very idea), so Gabriel just stomped his way up to his dorm room and bed.

His roommates were indeed as lame as he had thought they would be – he'd hadn't bothered to lie about what he had been up to, and they all thought it was very Gryffindor of him to go around to common rooms like that. And on his first night!

Gabriel suggested they take up knitting, since they already sounded like a bunch of old ladies.

He had wondered, vaguely and not very much, about how they were going to meet up. The answer was, apparently, Jo would just stand at the entrance to the Great Hall and yank them aside as they showed up for breakfast. Good to know.

"So Crowley's here." Sam sounded grim, or possibly constipated.

"And…?" Gabriel chipped in, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and unwrapping it.

"And he's a demon?"

"Eh, we aw haf our pwobems," Gabriel muttered around the sucker before gesturing at the Brothers Winchester. "Ah mean, jus' look at dose two."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean bristled.

Jo sighed. "Boys, focus. Demon, here, professor? Ringing any bells?"

A very bored sounding sigh came from a very bored looking Adam. "And if he's here, doesn't that mean that God probably sent him and he's, you know, human, like these two?"

Everyone stopped short. Right, they had forgotten that, even though most of them had figured that out the previous night.

"Bravo, one of you can think," a voice drawled from behind the small group tucked into a corner of the entryway.

Dean and Cas both stiffened up like pointer dogs, and Gabriel waved a lazy hand."Ho, Cwowey."

Crowley rolled his eyes at the greeting, and continued. "Plotting my imminent demise, are we?"

"Possibly. What's the legal age of infancy in Britain?" Adam drawled.

"The what?" Dean was completely lost.

Sam absently filled him in. "Children under a certain age are exempt from criminal responsibility," he said, sounding almost exactly like a textbook. "I think it's ten in England."

Everyone gave him varying degrees of a weirded-out look, except Gabriel, who turned to Adam and raised his eyebrow. "Sam's law-school-boy, but how do you know about that?"

Adam just blinked and calmly said, "Fifth Amendment."

"Are we done here?" Crowley asked, clearly bored.

"Do you have a soul now?" Dean cut through the crap and demanded.

"Moron, I had a soul before. It just happened to be rather corrupt." Crowley sniffed haughtily. "But yes, I am now human, if that's what you're asking." He seemed very ill-at-ease with the idea; Gabriel commiserated, although Crowley at least had been one before.

"Can we have breakfast now?" Gabriel had finished his lollipop and was getting annoyed. Crowley was kind of a dick, sure, but he was also lots of fun to be around!

Breakfast was as he expected – lots of greasy food, lots of space on all sides of himself because he was apparently wearing a 'do not approach' sign, some sort of kerfuffle at the Hufflepuff table that ended with Adam threatening half the table with a pitcher of syrup, a typical morning.

Schedules were handed out, and Gabriel quickly noted classes he had in common with the others. Potions with Dean and Jo? He glanced up at the staff table where his head of house was glowering in all directions. Oh yeah, that would be fun! Herbology with Sam, Charms with Cas and Adam, and History of Magic – of course – with all of them.

Gabriel wondered if he'd get extra credit for keeping Dean from murdering the professor.