A/N: I have a niece, young Susanna McQueen, and she quite enjoys the magical tales of Harry Potter. I dedicate this story to her.

All for the Firewhiskey
Deanie McQueen

Chapter One - The Corpse of Buddy Sloan is Never Found


That's all Dean could say. All Dean could say was 'oh.' Because here he was, standing next to his gigantic little brother as always, shoulder to shoulder, and they were staring down at the most odd-looking creature they had ever seen in their entire lives.

And they'd seen some pretty odd-looking creatures in their day.

But this one took the cake.

"Please do not be alarmed, Misters Muggles, sirs," the tiny, hideous thing said with its crazy ears all over the place and its single sock on one foot, wee rags wrapped strategically around areas that were most likely as indecent on this thing as they were on Dean.

Not that Dean had indecent areas. All of Dean's areas were magnificent, thank you very much.

"You is very tall and handsome," the oddity told them, and Dean smiled reflexively and stopped fingering his gun. This little dude knew what he was talking about. "For Muggles, Dobby means."

"What the hell are Muggles?" Sam asked, dancing a hand through his long hair. "Is that some kind of slur?"

"No, sir, not at all! Dobby is most coherent at the moment! Dobby isn't having a drop of firewhiskey in twenty years."

"Firewhiskey?" said Dean. "That sounds amazing." He elbowed Sam in the side. "Sammy? Doesn't that sound amazing?"

Sam sighed in exasperation. "Dean, what are we even..." But then he gave up, as he often did when his big brother looked excited about stupendous things, and turned back to their problem at hand. "Um...Dobby, is it?" It nodded eagerly, looking pleased that Sam had spoken to it so directly and without that all too familiar air of accusation in his voice. "Dobby, what are you exactly?"

It looked up at them with huge glassy eyes that might have been a little scared, but he trucked on bravely, this thing, and said, "Why, sir, Dobby is a house-elf!"

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked back. This look was a significant one, and together they asked, "A house-elf?"

Dobby, the house-elf, nodded quite eagerly. "Yes, sirs. Dobby is being a house-elf all his life." And Dobby's face suddenly fell, and his huge watery eyes diverted to the ground as he scuffed a barefoot into the grass. "It is rather a morose thing to be, Dobby is afraid."

"Sorry to hear that," Dean said. "So about this firewhiskey-"

"Dean," Sam sighed. And he rolled his eyes again. The bitchy little brat. "Dobby...you seem pretty harmless, so we're not going to kill you."

The elf's head snapped up in surprise, the fear in his eyes palpable. "You was going to kill Dobby, sirs?"

Sam looked down at the gun in his hand, which had been out in a very conspicuous way ever since Dobby popped up in this field twenty minutes ago, while Sam and Dean had been fervently searching for the unmarked grave of Buddy Sloan.

"Not anymore," Sam said smoothly, and slipped his gun back into his jacket. "So, Dobby...what are you doing in the middle of Burket, Indiana? In this field? With us?"

"Professor Dumbledore is sending Dobby, sir! To retrieve Mister Sam Winchester and Mister Dean Winchester and bring them back to Hogwarts!"

"You..." Dean was speechless for a moment. The fact that Dobby knew their names flitted briefly through his mind. But only briefly. "Hogwarts? What is-"

"Yes, Mister Dean, sir! Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You should be having a fine time, Dobby is sure of it!"

"Wha...uh, Dobby, we...dude, we can't just take off to some random place. Even if we wanted to...I mean, it's got a really funny name and all, but..." Dean trailed off, and he looked at Sam with eyes that said he was really actually quite curious about this hilariously-named school for..."Wizards, you say?"

Dobby nodded. "And witches!"

"Wizards and witches, Sam."

"Witches are evil, Dean."

"Dobby's not evil. And he's excited about them. Dobby, are witches evil?"

"Oh, no, sir! Witches is being very kind people at Hogwarts. There is bad witches, yes, just like there is bad Muggles."

"And they have firewhiskey?"

Dobby nodded seriously. "At the Three Broomsticks, there is being firewhiskey. Not at Hogwarts, Dobby is afraid. Only of age witches and wizards...but Misters Sam and Dean are of age."

"We most certainly are," Dean agreed, much to his brother's increasing distress.

Sam groaned. "Dean, this is ridiculous. Dobby, what's that thing around your neck?"

Not for the first time, Dean took note of the golden pendant around Dobby's neck. It was large and had a little hourglass in the middle of it, and it looked, Dean had to admit, distinctly magical.

"This?" Dobby fingered the necklace lovingly. "This is a time-turner, Mister Sam. Professor Dumbledore is trusting Dobby with it to bring Misters Sam and Dean back to Hogwarts with him. To the year 1993."

Dean blinked dumbly at Dobby. "You want to take us back in time?"

Dobby nodded. "And to Hogwarts, sir!"

"Well, that's...that's really awesome of you and everything, Dobby, but we're kind of busy. We're looking for our dad and-"

"So is Professor Dumbledore, Mister Dean, sir!"

Sam and Dean looked at the elf, aghast. Together, they asked, "What?"

"Professor Dumbledore is being on the search for Mister Sam's and Mister Dean's father in the year 1993. They must come now! Dobby is being paid for his services! Dobby is a free elf and he is being on the clock!"

Sam and Dean were rather speechless. They just kind of stood there, gawking at Dobby, their mouths opening and closing, small noises of never-formed words leaving the backs of their throats as they tried to soak this all in.

Unfortunately, in these long, lingering moments of shock, Sam and Dean weren't quite as reactive as they were usually prone to being. Dobby grabbed them both by the sleeves of their jackets and the three of them - Sam, Dean, and the free elf named Dobby - disappeared from the field with a pop.