A/N: Yes, another story. I've actually had this one sitting around in my computer for about a year and recently saw it sitting around in my computer looking up at me and asking me to love it (I've got such a clear vision of that in my head that it's ridiculous :D) Well, any who-sit, I've got so much of it written out already that I should be posting for it every week. Yes, I will also be juggling this with Carry That Weight, but I'm going to be putting Hold Your Hand on hold for a little while (it's kinda a writer's block thing I've got going on with that one). So, I hope you like this!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural or anything! I'm a bum! I own nothing! You're reading the works of a bum!


(The third of August)

So after one of those impossibly long days, 99% of people want nothing more than a warm bed to sleep in and a good twelve to fifteen hours of non-stop sleep—the Winchesters were definitely part of that group. Of course, they still were Winchesters and that kind of comfort was illegal as far as the laws of the universe were concerned.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The two Winchester brothers were lightly dozing in the front seat of the Impala, which had been parked near the edge of a cliff by, what seemed to be, the Pacific Ocean. It had been about two or three days since they had gotten any sleep and they'd already reached and past the point of drop-dead exhaustion.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Their sleep went basically undisturbed by the persistent tapping noise besides a few grunts from Dean's part and twitches from Sam. The noises were beginning to blend themselves into the fuzzy, unstable, dreamy thoughts playing in their heads.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

It wasn't the tapping that had managed to finally wake up Sam but one of Dean's unnatural grunt-snore things. If any other Hunter had heard one of them, they would've already been locked, loaded, and shooting hours ago.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

For the first time, Sam noticed the noise and sat up from where he had been leaning on the door.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

He glanced out the windows but saw nothing. That was never a good sign.

"Dean," Sam said huskily, nudging his brother. Dean's response consisted of a few grunts followed by an overly dramatic snore that only Dean could have honestly pulled off. "C'mon Dean. Time to wake up."

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Dean was waking up when Sam opened the glove compartment, dug around their mini-cell-phone store, and pulled out two guns from the back. He shoved a Glock into his brother's chest while peering out the windows again.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Becoming aware of the noise, Dean started to lock in his high alert-mode. He nudged Sam with his elbow and mouthed, I think it's on the roof.

Sam nodded, put one hand on the handle, and held up three fingers with his free hand…then two…then one…

The doors flung open, releasing the two Winchesters to the ground while they aimed their guns at the roof of the car, where an… owl sat?

A bang rang out from Dean's pistol but the tawny bird managed to just evade the shot.

"Dean! It's just an owl!" Sam yelled.

"I don't care what it is! The damned rats on my car! It's gonna scratch the paint!"

Sam couldn't help but smirk as he and his brother stood up almost simultaneously—though unlike his brother, Dean was positively pissed off. Sam inspected the owl a little while Dean wasted no time and went to the trunk to pull it open. He dug into the drop-down compartment where they kept all their weapons. He grabbed a flask with holy water that swished around its container at every shift, and a pure silver dagger before returning to Sam and the owl.

"I think it's got something attached to its leg," Sam noticed.

Dean dripped some of the water onto the bird, only to wet its black, grey, and brown feathers. Demon was instantly crossed off the list. Although, the glare it slapped Dean with could definitely be considered demonic.

It purposely hopped over to Sam as if it was trying to scratch the paint and give Dean migraine. It then stuck out one of its legs, revealing an envelope tied to it.

"Pass me the knife," Sam said to Dean, snatching the owl's suspicion. He surrendered his hands, trying to placate the bird before gently bringing them down to the owl's leg. When the knife was close enough, Sam sliced off the twine that attached to letter to its leg, making sure to scratch the bird's leg with it.

"Damn it!" Dean shouted, looking at the white splash of poop that had been left on his roof.

Sam brushed off his brother's colorful language that came rushing out of his mouth and read the address on the envelope.

Dean and Sam Winchester

1967 Chevrolet Impala

Cliff by the side of the Pacific Ocean

California

"Well that's accurate," Sam murmured.

Dean took a moment, halting is rage over the bird, his car, and crap, to notice that Sam was scanning something with the same intensity he used to use when studying for a big exam. He walked to where his brother was leaning on the Impala and read the address along with him.

"A little too accurate," Dean agreed. After a couple more seconds past, Dean's eyes flashed up to his brother with his eyebrows scrunched up like Eskimos cuddling in an igloo. "Well, are you gonna open it or are we just gonna stand here staring at a piece of paper."

"It's parchment."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks, Sam. That helps."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Sam flipped the envelope to the other side and looked at the blood-red seal that kept it closed. There were a few miniscule symbols on it that were much too small for him to make out with his eyes. "What do you think they are?"

"I don't know Sam. You haven't opened it yet," Dean said impatiently as if he were talking to a dyslectic five-year-old being introduced an Oxford dictionary.

"The symbols, Dean," Sam said, pointing the tip of the knife at the seal.

It only caught Dean's interest for a moment before the impatience crept up on him again. He took the envelope and knife from his brother's hands, with an obvious intolerance to waiting. After sliding the sharp blade underneath the seal—carefully enough so it wouldn't rip—he looked inside it.

"More parchment," Sam noted.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes once more. "Yes, Sammy. Generally, envelopes have letters inside of them." Dean smirked as he pulled the letter out and mumbled, "And you call yourself a Stanford-boy."

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfrick Brian Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

"Fancy ass name he's got there," Dean muttered.

Dear Mr. and Mr. Winchester,

We would like to inform and congratulate you that we would consider it an honor that you join our faculty here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your course would be in the training of our students in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which we are aware your father, John Winchester, had you finely trained you in.

If you decide to join our staff we will need you to return this owl with a letter of acceptance. If not, please proceed in returning the owl—she will know where I am. If you have any questions—which I assume you will—feel free to contact and ask me. I am free to see you anytime between now and August 11th.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no longer than August 15th.

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore

P.S. The owl has quite the attitude. Stay on her good side.

"What the hell?"

Sam was just finishing reading the letter for the fifth time when Dean had spoke up.

"Good question. Maybe we should mention it in our follow up."

Dean turned to his brother and raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean 'our follow up'? You can't be serious about writing back to this dude."

"Why not?"

Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "Firstly, he's insane. Secondly, even if anything he says is true, then he's a witch and is probably planning hex us into oblivion. Thirdly, in case you haven't noticed, we've sorta got a crap-and-a-half of problems going down here. Plus, he knows exactly where we are when we only have a faint idea of our friggin' location. Need I continue?"

"I'm still writing back," Sam said, simply. "Even if he is some kinda crazy wicked witch of the west, he still seems to know something that we don't and I wanna find out what it is. We'll ask him to come somewhere on our own turf, that way, if he tries to do anything, we'll have an advantage over him."

"And you really think that's gonna work. This guy's completely insane and you want to have tea with him while you talk about your feelings?"

"Dean, listen to me. I've got a feeling about this guy. "

"So that's what you want me to go on? A 'feeling'? C'mon, you're gonna have to do better than that."

"Fine. Whatever," Sam said, feigning defeat. "Just…think about it. We've got eight days so…think about it."

"Whatever," Dean said, knowing is brother wouldn't drop it if he said anything else.


A/N: Yeah! Chappie one is done! I'm kinda sad that the font for the letter didn't come out all fancy like I had it on Microsoft but whatcha gonna do? Oh that's right: Review!