Work Text:
The hat barely even touched his head, didn’t even say a damn word to him before it opened up its brim and bellowed “HUFFLEPUFF!” for the whole of the school to hear. That was it: the hat had spoken.
Dean could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids as he slid off the stool. His face burned up hot, and even though the entire Hufflepuff house was cheering for its new addition, Dean couldn’t help but want to throw himself at Professor Mills’ feet and beg, beg, beg her to let him try again. Whatever was in his head, he’d clear it out. He’d make the hat realize that it had judged him too quickly. Because this… this was…
He couldn’t tell dad.
Dad wouldn’t even get past a sentence with the word Hufflepuff in it, much less be able to process that his son was in fact one of them.
Dean was sure this school would be different from his other. In his elementary school, he was rowdy, could never sit still. When teachers made him sit in the corner, when they called him bad, they soon found their desk filled with frogs, or a ghostly wind whipping all of the papers in the classroom into a flurry.
He was bad at muggle school.
He figured Hogwarts would be different.
As it turned out, it wasn’t even his first official day and he had already messed it up.
And it wasn’t as though he could lie about it either. He could delay telling his dad, but what happened when he went back home draped in yellow and black?
Gryffindors were valiant, brave.
Slytherins were ambitious, even if they were a bunch of ‘cocky sonsabitches’.
Ravenclaws were at least smart.
Hufflepuff, according to John Winchester, was a waste of space in an otherwise reputable institution.
Dean took a seat beside the gawky boy who had been sorted into Hufflepuff not ten minutes earlier. Garth, Dean was pretty sure.
“Hi there, Dean,” Garth greeted in an unexpected drawl. “Glad to meet you.”
Dean couldn’t speak, so he just nodded. There were only two kids left to be sorted after him, and once they’d been placed, the headmaster gave the okay for the feast to begin. Every kind of food Dean could imagine popped up right in front of him. Towers of food, all which would have made Dean’s mouth water on any other occasion.
Tonight, he felt sick.
The reality of it all started to set in, then. He was in a strange place, away from everyone he knew and loved, and now he was stuck with a group of people who had nothing to offer, the leftovers, the ones that no one wanted.
Dean concluded he shouldn’t have expected the wizarding world to see him any differently than the muggle world had.
“You like mashed potatoes, Dean?” Garth asked. Dean shrugged. “Aw, c’mon, you gotta eat somethin’. If you don’t like this, they got all sortsa stuff. There’s chicken, there’s… Hey, Aaron, what the heck is that?”
“Hell if I know,” Aaron shrugs. He was the only other boy to have been sorted into Hufflepuff this year with Dean and Garth. They weren’t exactly a promising-looking group. Aaron had these buggy eyes that wouldn’t leave Dean’s face, and Garth was exactly what Dean would expect a human made out of toothpicks would look like.
Unsettling.
“Hey, there’s pie,” Garth offered, and Dean perked up.
Pie?
“What kind?” he asked.
“Looks like you got pumpkin, some kinda berry, pecan--”
“Pecan,” Dean picked up his gold plate and held it out for Garth to pile a slice onto. In the case of nausea versus pie, pie always won in the short term. Sometimes in the long term too, but more often than not nausea claimed the last victory.
Being that this was hands down the most delicious pie Dean had ever eaten, he hoped his stomach would manage to keep it down.
He didn’t have fun, though. While Aaron and Garth got to know each other, while they fell into a conversation like they’d been friends their whole lives, Dean sulked. He couldn’t enjoy himself. If he enjoyed this, it made it real, it made it the right place for him. Hufflepuff was not the place for him.
Dean belonged in Gryffindor, just like his mom, and just like dad always said he would.
Hot tears pricked behind his eyelids again, but crying would only make it worse. Hufflepuff--the word even sounded like something you’d call a big crybaby.
Dean would not be a crybaby.
By the time the feast was over, Dean had barely managed to finish his pie. He was then expected to keep up with a perky prefect who guided them out of the Great Hall and onward to their common room. Whatever she said, Dean couldn’t hear it. He felt too much like he was wading through tar to bother with listening.
They had to crawl through a hole behind a stack of barrels, right beside a giant painting of a fruit bowl, and once they were inside, it was--
Strange.
The buttery yellow walls glowed in the light of the fire, welcomed Dean and the rest of his classmates with a warm hug. It was actually sort of nice.
That only made Dean want to cry even more.
And when boys and girls separated to go to their respective dorm rooms, Dean did exactly that. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. The moment he saw his uniforms in his trunk, bedecked now with yellow and black, he felt himself burst into tears.
“Whoa, Dean,” came Garth’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“He’s obviously not okay,” Aaron argued.
“Is this the first time you’ve been away from home?” Garth asked.
“No,” Dean swatted in Garth’s general direction. “Leave me alone.”
“Hey, no need to get mad,” said Aaron. “We’re just trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help!” Dean shouted. “I hate it here.”
“You just got here,” Garth pointed out. “How could you possibly know that?”
This only made Dean’s blood boil further, and rather than stay here and argue, Dean shot up to his feet and bolted. He could hear Aaron and Garth calling behind him, and heard some of the older kids try to stop him, but Dean couldn’t stop.
And, furthermore, he wouldn’t stop. He’d run and run until he couldn’t run anymore. He dashed past the giant fruit painting and back out to the stairwell. He gazed up in sheer wonder at the sight of the marble staircases, shifting and floating as though they were lighter than air.
It was all the splendor his mom had ever described.
Not knowing which staircase led where, Dean just started climbing. He climbed until all the energy was out of his limbs, until he made it to a part of the castle he was pretty sure he did not belong in, and ran smack into another body.
They both collided hard with the cold stone floor, though neither had cracked his head, thank god. Dean sat up first, followed closely by the other boy. He had messy dark hair and these big blue eyes, that, when they landed on Dean, seemed to go right into his brain.
“My apologies,” he said then. “I didn’t see you there.”
Dean could do one of two things: he could yell at this kid and tell him to watch where the hell he’s going or, he could swallow what little pride he had left, dust himself off, and tell the kid it was no trouble.
Giving in to what the Sorting Hat so clearly saw in him, Dean sighed and stood, “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention either.”
He held out a hand for the boy to take, only to feel like an idiot when all he did was stare.
“I’m helping you stand,” Dean explained.
“But I can do that myself,” said the boy, and just to demonstrate, did exactly that. Dean remembered him from the sorting ceremony not a couple hours ago. His, by far, was not the longest sorting, though it did take a long while for the hat to decide that he best fit into Ravenclaw.
No surprise there. The kid radiated nerd.
“You’re Ca…” Dean couldn’t remember the name. He’d been too nervous thinking about his own sorting to pay attention.
“Castiel,” the boy picked the lint off of his dark robes.
“Hi,” Dean gave him a wave. “I’m Dean.”
Castiel looked up, eyes locking with Dean’s as he said, “I know. I saw you get sorted earlier.”
“Oh,” Dean coughed around the sudden tickle in his throat.
“I can’t find where my group went,” Castiel said then. “I got distracted and when I looked up they were gone. I have no idea where I’m going.”
Dean sighed. Dang, that sucked.
“Well, c’mon,” he tossed his head, “I’ll wander around with you ‘till we find it.”
Dean stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe, clenching and unclenching his fists as he and Castiel blindly navigated their way through the halls. Castiel wasn’t the talkative type, it turned out. In fact, he seemed to be unaware of most everything, which is how Dean got away with staring at him as intently as he did.
There was something about him that made Dean not want to ever look away.
“Castiel!”
Both Dean and Castiel turned to see a tall, dark-haired Gryffindor striding toward them, his brow set in a firm line.
“Hello, Michael,” Castiel waved.
“Castiel, what are you doing out?” Michael demanded in a calm, authoritative tone. “It’s lights out in fifteen minutes.”
He looked then at Dean and frowned, “Who are you?”
“Dean Winchester,” Dean gulped.
“And where are you supposed to be, Dean Winchester?”
Dean swallowed.
“Hu-Hufflepuff?”
“Then I suggest you get back there before Alastair catches you out of bed,” said Michael.
Who the hell was Alastair?
“Come on, Castiel,” Michael guided him away by his shoulder. “Your prefects are probably having a panic attack, wondering where you are.”
Castiel made Michael stop so he could turn and wave, “Goodbye, Dean.”
“Bye, Castiel,” Dean waved back. He waited until they rounded a corner to take off back towards the Hufflepuff common room. Although exhausted, Dean managed to navigate his way back to the common room, or, at least, the barrels that concealed it.
Fuck, he couldn’t remember how he was supposed to get in. He vaguely remembered that he’s supposed to tap one of the barrels? Taking a shot in the dark, Dean tapped a barrel. He heard a creak--holy crap, did he get it right?--and then the harsh smell of vinegar a split second before he got doused.
Oh god.
Ew.
Ew, ew, ew, in every language on this and any other planet. Dean couldn’t even open his eyes for fear that they’d burn right out of their sockets.
“Oh, goodness,” he heard a grown lady’s voice. “Oh dear, you’re one of mine, aren’t you? Scourgify.”
Immediately, Dean’s body was swiped clean. There wasn’t even any vinegar smell left. He looked up at the woman to thank her, only to find that it was one of the teachers who had been sitting up front during the feast.
“You’re Dean, right?” she asked.
Dean nodded.
“I’m Professor Hanscum,” she introduced herself. “You’re more than welcome to call me Donna. I’m the head of Hufflepuff house.”
“Oh,” Dean rocked back on his sneakers, rubber squeaking in the stone corridor. “Hi.”
She showed him the proper way to get into the common room and followed him in. Most everyone was in their rooms by now, and Dean was about to dutifully do the same when Donna caught him by the sleeve.
“Would you mind if we sat and had a chat, Dean?” she asked.
Uh-oh. That never meant anything good.
Dean scooted back into a squishy yellow armchair, feeling not unlike he’d just fallen into happiness itself.
“I couldn’t help but notice you looked a little upset at the feast,” said Donna.
“Oh,” Dean pulled his legs up into the chair. “You saw that?”
“Sweetheart, you can’t put a whole heck of a lot past me,” she gave him a kind smile, one that he’d learned after so many years with his dad was not to be trusted. “There’s a lot of prejudice working against us, I know. And believe me, it’s a lot better than it used to be.”
“I was supposed to be a Gryffindor,” Dean pouted, staring at the domed ceiling. He could see the early September wind rustling in the grass up at the tops of the windows, at which point Dean realized that their common room was partially subterranean.
“Dean, there’s a lot we think is supposed to happen,” Donna removed her hat. “I was supposed to be an auror, but wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I got into training I broke down. I found out that, even though that’s what I wished I could do, it wasn’t the right place for me. Now I teach Muggle Studies, and you know what? I’m a heck of a lot happier, because I know that this is where I feel my best.”
Dean shifted and pulled his knees in close to his chest. His eyelids were starting to droop under the weight of exhaustion, the heat of the crackling fire swaddled him.
“And even if you’re supposed to be somewhere else, and this really was a accident,” Donna said. “You really couldn’t ask for a better group of people to be accidentally placed with. You’re one hundred percent safe here, Dean, and if you ever feel otherwise, you come and find me.”
Dean couldn’t speak, his tongue too tired to form around words, so he just nodded.
“Are you ready for bed?” Donna asked.
Dean nodded again.
“All right, up you go,” she instructed, and led him back upstairs to the first year dorms. When she opened up one of the round wooden doors, Aaron and Garth, both in pajamas, immediately stowed their hands behind their backs.
“Oh, if that wasn’t the most suspicious thing I’ve ever seen,” Donna tutted and held out her hand. Obediently, Aaron and Garth surrendered their exploding snap pieces. “You can get these from me tomorrow. Right now, it’s time for bed, boys.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Garth and Aaron fixed their sights on their feet.
As soon as Donna left, Dean changed into his pajamas. When he turned toward the bathroom, he saw Garth and Aaron staring at him.
“You okay?” asked Garth.
Dean nodded, “Better now. Um… sorry I freaked out.”
“That’s all right,” Garth waved it away. “Everyone goes a little bonkers now and then. No worries.”
“Yeah,” Aaron nodded back. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”
Dean didn’t know if he’d ever get used to being around such genuinely friendly people.
oo
Breakfast came far too early for Dean’s liking. He supposed that, wherever he was, he was never going to get used to waking up at the butt crack of dawn. Still not entirely comfortable with his yellow tie, or the yellow cuffs on his sweater, or indeed the yellow inlay and Hufflepuff insignia on his cloak, Dean very hesitantly dressed and headed down to breakfast with Aaron and Garth.
“Sleep well?” Garth asked.
“Okay, I guess,” Dean shrugged. He’d been so tired that he’d passed out as soon as his head had hit the pillow, but his sleep had been far from restful. All his subconscious would let him see was dad’s disapproving stare, or being completely disowned.
Not that Dean actually thought that was a possibility, being that his dad was a squib and knew a thing or two about being an outlier.
“C’mon, Dean,” Garth nudged him as they sat. “What’s on your mind? You look like you’re a zillion miles away.”
Dean shrugged and pulled a plate of bacon toward himself. After his episode last night and his staunch refusal to eat, Dean woke with hunger gnawing at his insides.
“It’s ‘cause you’re in Hufflepuff, isn’t it?” asked Aaron, and Dean felt his shoulders sag. Aaron just shook his head, “I knew it.”
“Did you?” Garth’s eyebrows went up.
Aaron shook his head, “Total stab in the dark.”
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean startled so violently that he accidentally flung a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto Garth’s lap.
“Whoa, sorry,” Dean tried to clean him off, but Garth swatted him away. Castiel, looking freshly pressed in his Ravenclaw robes, sat down right beside Aaron. He smiled across the table at Dean, then looked to Garth and Aaron. “Hello, I’m Castiel.”
Garth and Aaron introduced themselves, but rather than accept his presence without question, Aaron just had to butt in, “It’s the first day; how do you two even know each other?”
“We ran into each other last night,” Castiel explained. “Literally, ran right into each other.”
“How Looney Tunes,” Aaron commented, only to be met with Castiel’s blank stare.
“How what?”
Aaron looked between Garth and Dean and shook his head, “Muggle thing. Sorry.”
“Oh, are you all muggleborns?” Castiel asked, genuine curiosity coloring his voice.
“I am,” Aaron raised his hand.
“Me too,” Garth smiled.
Castiel turned his laser stare at Dean, and Dean swallowed his mouthful of toast.
“Uh, my mom was a witch,” he said. “And my dad’s… He’s a squib.”
“Oh,” Castiel blinked. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing one brought up upon first meeting, Dean gathered. His dad never told anyone, but whether or not it was a social thing or a dad thing, Dean could never tell.
Castiel said nothing after that, just grabbed the gigantic bowl of oatmeal and started filling up.
Soon, Donna came around, a stack of schedules in her hand. She distributed them in clumps, group to group until she came to them.
“And how are my first year boys doing this morning?” she asked, and handed schedules to her three students. About to hand one to Castiel, she paused. “You’re not one of mine.”
“No, ma’am,” Castiel shook his head.
Donna then craned her neck back toward the Ravenclaw table and called, “Singer! I got one of your little birdies over here.”
The man who approached was not someone Dean would have expected to have as jovial a last name as ‘Singer’, nor would he have expected him to have been the head of a house known for its studiousness and intelligence.
In fact, if anything he looked like he should be elbow-deep in groundskeeping work, but if there was one thing Dean had learned in the last twenty-four hours, it was that people were hardly what they seemed.
“Castiel, Castiel,” he thumbed through his papers until he found the corresponding one.
He handed it to Castiel, who took it and asked, “Is it okay if I sit here with my friend Dean?”
Dean felt his face heat up at the use of the word ‘friend’, but said nothing.
“Sure,” Donna nodded. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind, Singer.”
“Don’t make a lick of difference to me,” Professor Singer shrugged. “Good to see you makin’ friends, boy.”
Castiel didn’t have much of a response to this, and so went back to eating his oatmeal.
As soon as Donna and Professor Singer left, Garth started up again, “Hey Castiel, it looks like we got double Defense with you this afternoon.”
Both Dean and Castiel looked at their schedules. Indeed they did have Defense Against the Dark Arts together, right after lunch.
“You wanna walk there with us after we eat?” Garth offered.
Castiel’s lips curved into sort of a phantom smile, the first smile Dean had seen on his face.
“I would like that very much.”
Dean’s head was reeling, the world around nearly spinning. The conversation kept going between Garth and Aaron, and occasionally Castiel would chime in. For the most part, Dean remained silent, pulled into participation by Garth only a few times.
It occurred to him, in that moment, that he had never really eaten a meal with a group of his peers--or, rather, peers who wanted to engage him.
“Are you in, Dean?”
Dean turned his attention back to the conversation, “Hm?”
“We’re gonna go to the lake after last class,” said Aaron. “Wanna join?”
“Oh, sure,” Dean nodded. It would be nice to get outside after a day enclosed within dreary stone walls. So far there hadn’t been any part of the castle that he’d liked more than his common room. Everything else was so drab, so impersonal, so dark. A little part of him knew he shouldn’t feel so at home in the warm yellows and the rounded walls, that he should crave the bold, blood red of Gryffindor, but.
But, he wasn’t sure that he actually did.
Soon, breakfast was over and they had to part ways with Castiel. While Castiel went off to Transfiguration, probably for his first lesson in real spellwork, Dean, Aaron and Garth had to go to History of Magic.
“See you later,” Castiel waved, and Dean nodded, waved back.
“Later.”
“Interesting… very interesting. My, my, you’re an odd one, aren’t you? There’s bravery, to be sure, and a wealth of loyalty. But your mind… my, what a nice open mind you have. So ready to take in everything it possibly can. No desire to lead, yet not much willingness to follow. Odd, yes. Quite, quite odd.”
“There you are!”
From the scroll of parchment he’d taken out for notes, Castiel looked up, his eyes flitting up and down his cousin until he was satisfied.
“Hello, Gabriel,” he greeted.
“Man, I was looking for you everywhere,” Gabriel plopped down beside him. The cool silver and green was hardly what anyone expected out of the Milton children, though Gabriel had never been good at living up to anybody’s expectations but his own. His three older brothers, Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael, all stood as pillars of strength, brave and valiant, grooming themselves to one day elevate the Milton name even further.
Though raised a Milton, Castiel did not receive the name.
Castiel’s mother, Amy, had an affair with a man named James Novak. A young magical ethologist on his way to becoming a prominent member of the community, had attended a Milton-hosted soiree nearly thirteen years ago. Intelligent as he had been, and as respected as he had been, he was still of muggle descent.
Castiel Novak.
The dark spot in the Milton lineage, the one who was never meant to be, the scandal. Nearly twelve years old (eleven and three quarters, all right? Nearly) and never once had he been allowed to forget that, while technically a Milton, he did not belong.
Perhaps that was why it wouldn’t be as big of a fuss that Castiel was sorted into Ravenclaw. His sister, Anna Milton, was a third year and in Gryffindor house, along with Gabriel’s brothers.
Miltons bled crimson and gold.
And yet there were Gabriel and Castiel, on the outside, in the Ravenclaw-Slytherin first year Transfiguration class.
“How’s your night?” asked Gabriel, voice low.
“Neither good nor bad,” Castiel shrugged, and then reconsidered. “Maybe a little good. I made a friend.”
“You did not,” Gabriel said. “Who?”
“His name is Dean,” Castiel picked at a scratch on the desk.
Gabriel frowned, trying to determine why exactly that name sounded so familiar.
“Hufflepuff?” he asked.
Castiel nodded.
“He’s very nice,” he reassured Gabriel, though he knew he hadn’t actually asked. “I ate breakfast with him this morning.”
“Damn, that’s where you were?” Gabriel pulled out a scroll of parchment and a well of--Castiel squinted.
“Is that ink orange?” Castiel asked.
“Yes, and that’s not the answer to my question.”
“How do you expect to see orange ink?”
“The same way I see any other ink, nerd,” Gabriel gave him a quick shove to the shoulder. “So what, you get sorted into the genius house, suddenly you’re too cool for me?”
“No,” Castiel cocked his head. “What would make you think that?”
“It’s a joke, Castiel,” Gabriel shook his head.
“Oh,” Castiel frowned. “How?”
“Because you’re not cool, you’re a dweeb,” Gabriel looped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “But you’re my dweeb, so I love you.”
“Oh,” Castiel nodded. “Okay.”
Professor Mills was the head of Gryffindor house, and also the Transfiguration teacher. With mousey brown hair and a kind face, Castiel found himself immediately engaged in her introduction to the subject.
“Now, I’d like everyone sitting on the inside row to come up and grab two matches,” she held up a box of matchsticks. “One for you and one for your table partner.”
Gabriel, immediately regretting his choice to sit on the aisle, hurled himself out of his seat and trudged up to Professor Mills.
“Now, everyone take out your wands and place them on your desks, where I can see them,” she instructed, eyeing one particular student in the front. Castiel and Gabriel complied and placed their wands at the top of the desk.
“Whoa,” Gabriel marveled then and reached for Castiel’s wand. “What the hell’s this made of?”
“Gabriel, don’t--!”
When Gabriel’s fingers closed around the wand, it started to quake in his hand.
“Gabriel!” Professor Mills snapped, and immediately Gabriel let it clatter back onto the desk. Castiel could feel the disrupt in energy, the wand’s dislike of being handled, and just how quickly it calmed being back in its owner’s hand.
“It’s ebony,” Castiel moved the wand to his other side.
“It’s black,” said Gabriel, envious. "That's so cool."
“Because it’s ebony,” Castiel shifted. He glanced over at Gabriel’s wand, warm and golden, a stark contrast to the silver and green on his robes. “What’s yours?”
“Spruce,” Gabriel shrugged, pouting. “Not as badass as a black wand.”
“Ebony,” Castiel corrected again.
“Whatever.”
As Professor Mills went through the steps for turning a match into a needle, Castiel stared at his wand. He hadn’t thought it was so strange, but then again he hadn’t had the opportunity to see those of his classmates yet. The variety was staggering, each as individual as the person to whom it belonged.
Castiel’s disinclination to pay attention proved to be a disadvantage, however, when Professor Mills gave them the opportunity to try their hand at the spell. Most of his classmates were able to change a few features after three or four tries; Gabriel completed the spell with inhuman ease right away, a shiny silver tapestry needle now before him.
“Very nice, Gabriel,” marveled Professor Mills. “Ten points to Slytherin, that is truly excellent work.”
Gabriel turned a big, cheeky grin toward Castiel, only to have it fall when he realized Castiel hadn’t even tried.
“C’mon, it’s not that hard,” Gabriel encouraged and turned to face his cousin.
Castiel picked up his wand with a shaking hand. He’d been warned it would be a powerful tool, perhaps overwhelming for someone so young, but there had been no other wand that had tolerated him like this one had.
Unfortunately, even harnessing what he needed to be able to transform a match into a needle was too much, and his match splintered out in all directions, the brunt of which burrowed in Meg Masters’ soft brown curls.
She turned and gave Castiel a look.
“Really?” she asked. “I thought you winged dorks were supposed to be smart.”
“Meg,” Professor Mills snapped. “If you don’t think I’ll take away those points your classmate just earned for your house, you are sorely mistaken. Believe me, Castiel, that’s not the first time that’s happened and it will not be the last.”
She placed another match in front of him and cleared away the remains of the tiny explosion with a spell that Castiel didn’t recognize. He looked up at her, prepared to apologize anyway, but she simply gave him a wink and started walking around to check everyone else’s progress.
“Dude, she wants you,” said Gabriel, punching him in the arm. “You see the way she winked at you?”
“Gross,” Castiel wrinkled his nose.
Though it was nice, for once, not to have been scolded for doing something wrong.
“Okay, enough lollygagging,” Gabriel smacked the desk. “Try again, but this time don’t move your wrist so much.”
oo
By the time they’re released for lunch, Castiel is more ravenous than he’s ever been. Ravenclaws and Slytherins had been together for all of their morning classes, and while History of Magic was by no means the sleep aid that he’d been sure it would be, it had hardly been stimulating. Professor Uriel didn’t seem to have much of a good humor about him, despite the fact that Michael has said multiple times that he’s one of his favorite teachers.
“The thing you have to remember,” Gabriel reminded him. “Is that, by and large, Michael sucks.”
In the Great Hall, Castiel could see Dean and his roommates were already seated. He didn’t care how stupid he looked, or that he nearly tripped over his shoelaces in his eagerness to be with Dean again.
He accidentally knocked into Garth in his haste, but at least Garth didn’t seem to be the kind of person who minded if you knocked into him every now and then.
“Hello, Dean,” he greeted.
Dean lifted his head and looked at him with those pretty green eyes. He swallowed a mouthful of his sandwich and gave a little smile, “Hey, Cas.”
Castiel felt a flood of warmth in his stomach as he smiled back. It was a short-lived moment, as all three Hufflepuffs turned their attention to the newest addition to their table.
“Oh, this is my cousin Gabriel,” Castiel explained. “He’s a Slytherin.”
“I like long walks in dank, darkened corridors, and slytherin’ into your chamber of secrets,” he tossed a wink in their general direction, and pulled the nearest plate of cookies toward himself.
“How was your first set of classes?” asked Castiel.
“Pretty decent,” Aaron shrugged into his bowl of chicken soup. “Had to spend all morning with the Gryffindors, but as soon as you get past your homicidal urges they’re okay.”
Gabriel whistled, “Pretty catty for a ‘puff.”
Aaron hissed.
“They weren’t so bad,” Dean said then. “I mean, Charlie was pretty awesome.”
Oh… of course, Dean was a Hufflepuff, and it was in their nature to make heaps of friends. Of course Castiel wouldn’t be his only friend.
“That’s the gal with the red hair, right?” asked Garth, and Dean nodded.
For some reason, finding out that Charlie was actually a girl made Castiel feel a little better. He wasn’t quite sure why, though.
Just then, as if on cue, a bouncy girl in Gryffindor garb took the seat on the other side of Dean and, recognizing neither Gabriel nor Castiel, stuck out her hand.
“I’m Charlie,” she beamed. “Nice to meet you.”
Castiel stared at her hand for a good few moments before Gabriel let out a huff and took her hand.
“Pardon my ward, here,” Gabriel tossed his head toward Castiel. “He’s new to the whole being around other humans thing.”
Castiel shifted. It was a sore subject that he knew Gabriel hadn’t meant to bring up, had just used it to brush off Castiel’s odd nature.
Being from as prominent family as he was, Castiel had very much enjoyed the sprawling manor in which he’d been raised. There was always an unexplored corridor, an unturned page in the library, and hours upon hours of sunshine on the grassy lawn out back. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten a little older that he realized how little he had seen of people outside of his mother, his father (stepfather, really), his sisters and, on special occasions, his cousins.
It turned out that Charlie was another muggleborn. As far as Castiel could tell, they were the friendliest of his classmates. Hardly any of the kids that came from magical families would even speak to him once they’d learned who he was.
Oh dear, it was starting to feel quite crowded. Usually having Gabriel with him was enough to keep him grounded, but not now. So many parts of himself told him to get up and run out of the hall, back up to Ravenclaw tower and hide in the soothing blues of his bedsheets until he was better equipped.
And then Charlie pulled an absolutely fascinating object out of her bag.
“What is that?” Castiel marvelled, gaining the attention of everyone at the table.
“Uh, it’s a Nintendo DS,” Charlie explained. “It doesn’t work here, and when I asked one of our prefects about it he was kinda mean.”
“Blond?” asked Gabriel. “Tall? Gives off the general vibe of ‘total dick’?”
Aaron snorted into his pumpkin juice while Dean proceeded to let a smile slip. And Charlie nodded, “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“That’s Lucifer,” Gabriel shook his head. “He made prefect this year so he thinks he’s so great. Dad was so proud of him he barely even noticed I got my letter, or that Michael made Head Boy.”
“You’re their brother?” Charlie’s eyebrows shot up, earning from Gabriel a cautious stare.
“Why?”
Charlie seemed to realize that she had said too much. If Michael and Lucifer had been talking about Gabriel last night, after the sorting ceremony? There is no way it could have been a positive or flattering conversation.
Gabriel, however, took her silence in stride and went back to piling his plate with whatever sort of bad-for-you things that his mother would have admonished him for eating.
Castiel did feel Gabriel inch just a little closer to him, though.
Plus, it was nothing Gabriel wouldn’t be hearing from them himself when they finally got around to talking to him. Gabriel knew this just as well as Castiel. The thing about Gabriel was that, if he wanted to avoid you, you wouldn’t see him until he wanted to be seen.
“So, Gabe, it looks like you and me are in for a Charms lesson,” said Charlie, trying to change the subject.
“He’s really good in Transfiguration,” Castiel piped up then, only now finding his voice. “He transfigured a needle into a match on the first day.”
“Stop,” Gabriel murmured, and gave him a bashful shove on the shoulder.
The entire group, already having had their first Transfiguration class, gaped in awe.
“Any chance you’ll be as good at Charms?” Charlie leaned over the table, and cupped a hand over her mouth to whisper, “My match exploded.”
“So did mine!” Castiel ejected before meaning to.
Dean let out a laugh, and for some reason that filled Castiel’s chest up with... something. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, just that it was absolutely wonderful.