De Ja Vu It Right

The convoy rolled to a halt before the massive wrought-iron gates of Silver Wings Academy, their vehicles lined up in an orderly procession. The gates themselves were an impressive sight, sturdy and built to last, with the academy’s newly redesigned logo—the angelic silver wings—integrated into the ironwork. Designed by Sam, they gleamed faintly in the afternoon sunlight.

Commander Shepard stepped out of her sleek black SUV, holding the silver key in her hand. Her black-and-red N7 jacket fit her sharp, confident demeanor as she approached the gate, her boots crunching softly on the gravel. She studied the logo for a moment, the wings a subtle but commanding reminder of the mission ahead. Turning back to the group, she called out, her voice steady and resolute. “Alright, everyone, this is where it begins. Stay alert, stay together, and let’s get this done.”

Optimus Prime rumbled forward in his polished red-and-blue truck mode, his flame decals catching the sunlight. Without hesitation, he transformed smoothly into his towering robot form, his glowing blue optics sweeping over the gates and the pristine campus beyond. “The craftsmanship of these gates,” he remarked thoughtfully, “is admirable. They stand as a testament to resilience—a fitting mark for our Sanctuary.”

Shepard stepped to the gate, slipping the silver key into the padlock and twisting it until the chain fell away with a metallic clink. With both hands, she pushed the heavy gates open. The iron groaned on its hinges before swinging wide, revealing the sprawling, silent campus beyond. The pristine grounds stretched far, red-brick buildings and lush green lawns seeming untouched by time or chaos.

She turned back to the convoy, nodding toward Optimus. “Lead us in,” she instructed.

Optimus rumbled forward in his truck mode, leading the way. His polished frame rolled steadily onto the paved road that encircled the campus, his presence radiating calm authority. Harry Potter followed closely in his rugged green Land Rover Defender, its roof rack and sturdy frame built for versatility. Dean Winchester’s iconic black Impala growled to life, its chrome bumpers gleaming as the classic car moved through the gates. Hermione Granger-Potter’s bold purple Hummer came next, its polished design combining authority and practicality. Fred and George Weasley’s workshop van rolled forward behind her, its bright emerald-green paint and playful decals reflecting their inventive energy. Abigail Whistler’s streamlined navy Dodge Durango followed, efficient and ready, trailed by Xander Harris in his apocalypse-ready Jeep Wrangler.

Finally came Hawkeye Pierce’s teal Volkswagen Microbus—and it stole the show. The bus wasn’t just painted teal; it was a masterpiece of chaos, adorned with a Hawaiian shirt pattern that included palm trees, sunsets, flamingos, pineapples, and waves cascading across its sides. The bus was unapologetically loud, just like the man himself.

Xander burst into laughter, leaning out of the window of his Jeep as the Microbus rolled forward. “Doc, I thought your shirt was great, but your ride? You’ve taken it to the next level! I didn’t even know vehicles could wear Hawaiian shirts.”

Hawkeye grinned, spreading his arms as he basked in the praise. “You’re witnessing history, my friend. This isn’t just a bus—it’s a Hawaiian shirt for the road. Palm trees for your soul.”

Xander shook his head, still laughing. “Well, it’s official. My girls banned me from wearing Hawaiian shirts back home, but you’re pulling me back into the fold.”

Hawkeye clapped a hand to his chest dramatically. “Xander, I accept the challenge of your redemption. Flamingos are non-negotiable, and I will show you how to wield pineapples with pride.”

Fred and George Weasley, who had been watching the exchange intently, froze mid-conversation. Fred threw his hands into the air dramatically, pointing at Hawkeye. “We’re not worthy! Oh, great leader of the Hawaiian Shirt Marauders, we bow before your undeniable supremacy!”

George quickly joined in, both twins bowing low toward Hawkeye’s Microbus in mock reverence. “Teach us your ways, oh lord of tropical chaos!” George declared theatrically.

The entire group laughed, the absurdity of the moment breaking some of the tension. Margaret Houlihan, standing nearby with her arms crossed, shook her head, though a rare smile tugged at her lips. “Looks like you’ve got a following, Pierce.”

Hermione chuckled softly from her Hummer, glancing toward Harry. “Well, at least they’re bonding.”

Harry grinned; his amusement clear. “Maybe too much. If they start painting flamingos on everything, we’ll have to intervene.”

Optimus allowed the laughter to linger for a moment before raising his voice gently but firmly, drawing the group’s attention back to the task at hand. “Your camaraderie is a fine foundation, but the gates await our full entry—and the campus awaits our careful attention. Let us proceed.”

Fred and George scrambled back to their van with exaggerated movements, bowing one last time to Hawkeye’s bus before climbing in. “Lead us to glory, Doc!” Fred shouted.

“And pineapples!” George added. “Don’t forget the pineapples!”

Once every vehicle had rolled through, Sam, driving Shepard’s SUV, pulled to the side just inside the gates and waited for her. Shepard stepped back to the gates, gripping their heavy iron frame as she swung them shut with a resounding clang. She threaded the chain through the handles with practiced efficiency, securing the padlock firmly before turning and walking to her SUV.

She climbed into the passenger side, and Sam smoothly pulled forward, bringing up the rear of the convoy as it began its tour of the campus. The vehicles moved steadily along the paved road that wrapped around the grounds. Optimus led the way as the team took in the vast expanse of their new home.

The dormitories stretched tall, red-brick facades with wide balconies and rooftop seating areas overlooking the campus. The circular commons followed—a ten-acre expanse of lush green surrounded by shaded walkways. Then came the academic buildings, with their science labs, arts spaces, and tech centers hinting at the academy’s former grandeur. The fitness center loomed next, its glass walls revealing climbing walls, parkour courses, and martial arts studios inside. Abigail’s raised eyebrows betrayed her excitement as she murmured to herself, “Perfect for survival training.”

As the convoy moved past the Trades building, Xander grinned widely. “Welding shop, mechanic space, woodworking? Yeah, this is my new favorite spot.”

The tour concluded as the convoy pulled up to the large garage near the maintenance warehouse and bus depot. Optimus transformed once more, his massive frame filling the space as he surveyed the garage critically. “Spacious, functional, and with promise,” he said thoughtfully. “With adjustments, it will serve well as my home and our command center.”

Hermione stepped forward, her wand already in hand as she studied the space. With a flick of her wrist, the garage began to transform. It expanded, stretching four times its original length to accommodate potential Autobots in the future. The ceilings rose higher, reinforced with magic, while a command center appeared on one side—large enough for humans and Autobots alike. Enhanced lighting brightened the interior, and additional compartments appeared seamlessly along the walls.

Optimus inclined his head toward Hermione, his tone warm with gratitude. “Lady Potter, your talents continue to amaze. My thanks.”

Hermione smiled faintly. “It’s a start. We’ll make this place work for everyone.”

Shepard stepped out of her SUV, adjusting her holster briefly before addressing the group. “Alright, everyone. Take a moment to stretch, but don’t get too comfortable. This is step one—we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

---TWD---

After Hermione finished her magical expansions, the garage now resembled more of a sprawling fortress than a simple storage facility. The reinforced walls and high ceilings stretched impossibly far, ensuring ample room for Optimus Prime and any future Autobots who might join their ranks. A gleaming command center stood on one side, complete with maps, planning tools, and consoles—all organized and ready for operation. The neatly parked vehicles, from Dean’s iconic black Impala to Fred and George’s emerald-green workshop van, filled only one-twentieth of the massive space. Even Hawkeye’s teal Volkswagen Microbus, adorned with its flamboyant Hawaiian shirt pattern, looked diminutive in the grand scheme of the garage.

Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala, his trademark smirk evident. “Well, looks like Baby doesn’t have to fight anyone for a parking spot anymore. She’s got room to stretch her legs.”

Fred grinned, flicking his wand between his fingers as he gestured toward Hawkeye’s bus. “I still say the Microbus deserves its own corner. It’s practically an art installation.”

Hawkeye, adjusting the shotgun slung over his shoulder, raised his hand theatrically. “I agree. Aloha Airlines deserves proper recognition. If we had wings, I’d have this thing flying over the apocalypse.”

Xander laughed, patting the roof of his Jeep Wrangler. “That bus really is something. Optimus, you better watch out—this guy might outshine you.”

Optimus Prime, towering in his robot form as he surveyed the vehicles, turned his glowing blue optics toward Xander and Hawkeye. “Style is secondary to function. However, the ingenuity represented by your transportation speaks to resourcefulness—a quality we will need.”

Commander Shepard, standing near the command center, cleared her throat to draw the group’s attention. She gestured for everyone to gather around the large map spread across the main table, its surface glowing faintly under Hermione’s enchantments. “Alright, enough admiring the space. We have work to do, and the sooner we get started, the sooner this campus becomes ours.” She pointed at the map, her sharp gray eyes moving across the faces of the group. “Listen up. Optimus is going to give us the overview for the next two weeks, and then I’ll assign today’s duties.”

Optimus stepped forward, his massive frame grounding the room as his deep, resonant voice filled the space. “My friends, this academy is more than a collection of structures—it is the foundation for our sanctuary. It represents safety, resilience, and the potential to thrive. Over the next two weeks, our efforts will determine whether this vision becomes reality. First, we must ensure the campus is secure. Today, that means inspecting every building, walkway, and green space for vulnerabilities, risks, or potential hazards. Once secured, we will fortify the campus further by organizing resources, establishing food production spaces, and designing training schedules. Long-term survival begins with careful preparation.”

He gestured toward the gleaming wings symbol etched into the academy’s gates, a design courtesy of Sam, the Angel of Death. “This emblem represents the sanctuary’s future—a haven for all who seek it. Today is the first step in ensuring that promise.”

Shepard stepped in smoothly, picking up from Optimus’s speech. “To do this efficiently and safely, we’re dividing the campus into zones. No one goes anywhere alone. You’ll move in teams, stay connected with your earpieces, and report anything unusual immediately. Everyone is armed, and no detail is too small to share.”

She reached into a nearby crate, pulling out one of the sleek earpieces she had found earlier. “These are hands-free communication devices. They’re lightweight and efficient, which means you can focus on your task while staying connected to your team, Optimus, and me. Test them before heading out, and keep them on at all times.”

Dean grinned as he adjusted his earpiece. “Finally—something that makes us look like secret agents instead of apocalypse scavengers.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look but nodded. “With a campus this big, communication is going to be essential.”

Shepard distributed the earpieces quickly, ensuring everyone was equipped before moving to the second crate, which contained an assortment of weapons. “Speaking of essential—everyone goes out armed. Peaceful as it may seem, we can’t afford to assume we’re alone. I don’t care if you haven’t touched a weapon in years—you’re carrying one.”

Her gaze landed on Hawkeye Pierce and Margaret Houlihan, standing near the edge of the group. “That includes you two.”

Hawkeye raised his hand in mock surrender, a grin spreading across his face. “Commander, I thought my charm and Hawaiian shirt were already lethal.”

Margaret, less amused, adjusted the strap of her holster. “Just make it practical. It’s been a while, but I’ll handle it.”

Dean stepped forward first, handing a sawed-off shotgun to Hawkeye with a smirk. “Alright, Doc, simple and reliable. Just point and shoot.”

Hawkeye took the shotgun carefully, turning it over like it was some foreign object. “Point and shoot. Sounds simple enough. Let’s just hope I don’t point it at my own foot.”

Sam followed, handing Margaret a lightweight handgun. “This should suit you. It’s dependable, easy to carry, and manageable.”

Margaret accepted the gun with steady hands, her military background coming through as she checked the safety and adjusted her grip. “It’ll do,” she said simply, her tone all business.

Xander Harris grinned as he approached Hawkeye, offering him a lightweight throwing axe. “For close encounters, Doc. Axes are versatile—swing, throw, or just intimidate someone by looking like you know what you’re doing.”

Hawkeye tested the axe’s weight before striking a dramatic pose with both the axe and shotgun. “Apocalypse Lumberjack—I’m ready for my photo shoot.”

Fred and George immediately seized the moment, bowing low in exaggerated reverence. Fred gestured toward Hawkeye’s teal Microbus parked nearby. “Weapons, apocalypse fashion, and tactical style? You’re unstoppable, Doc.”

George added, “The Hawaiian Shirt Marauders bow before their fearless leader. Teach us your ways, oh lord of tropical chaos!”

The group erupted into laughter, the levity balancing the gravity of the day ahead. Shepard let it linger for a moment before raising her voice to regain their focus. “Alright, enough joking around. Everyone’s equipped and ready. Here’s how we’re dividing the campus.”

She pointed to the map. “Optimus and Harry, you’re handling the walkways and exteriors. The pathways need to be expanded into full-sized roads so Optimus can move freely without damaging the green spaces. Harry’s magic will handle the expansions, and together, you’ll inspect the outside of the buildings as you go.”

Harry raised his wand, nodding. “We’ll circle the campus and make sure everything connects seamlessly. If we spot anything that needs immediate attention, I’ll call it in.”

Optimus inclined his head toward Harry. “Your magic ensures both practicality and preservation. Together, we will prepare the grounds for all who call this sanctuary home.”

Shepard continued, “Hermione and I will focus on the academic buildings and administration offices. We’ll clear them room by room and assess their potential for future uses, like training or research spaces.”

Hermione added, “Once the interiors are cleared, I can start expanding the buildings as needed. We’ll need more space if the population grows.”

“Dean and Sam, you’re handling the dormitories,” Shepard said, turning to the Winchester brothers. “Floor by floor, room by room. Look for structural issues, hidden supplies, or signs of trespassers. Document everything.”

Dean smirked. “Back to dorm life, huh? Let’s hope there’s something worth saving in the vending machines.”

Sam, as always, kept it serious. “We’ll handle it.”

“Fred, George,” Shepard said, addressing the twins. “You’re taking the student union and science labs. Secure the spaces and look for ways to fortify or repurpose them.”

Fred saluted playfully. “Magic and chaos—our specialties.”

George added with a grin, “Mostly functional chaos.”

“Abigail, Xander,” Shepard continued. “You’ll take the fitness center and trades building. Clear them thoroughly and assess their potential for survival training or resource hubs. Make sure everything’s intact.”

Xander nodded eagerly. “Training and tools? Sounds like my kind of project.”

Abigail gave a quiet but resolute response. “Understood.”

Finally, Shepard turned to Hawkeye and Margaret. “You’re handling the medical center and health arts facilities. Start with inspections and inventory. We need a fully functional trauma center as soon as possible.”

Margaret’s sharp nod was followed by a curt, “We’ll get it done.”

Hawkeye tipped his axe dramatically. “Trauma center—with a side of apocalypse chic.”

Shepard folded her arms, addressing the group one last time. “Remember: no one goes anywhere alone. Use the earpieces to stay connected, report anything unusual, and use your weapons if necessary. Today, we secure the campus. Over the next two weeks, we fortify it.”

Optimus stepped forward, his voice steady and grounding. “Together, we will ensure this academy becomes more than a sanctuary. It will be a home—a beacon of hope and resilience.”

With assignments clear, the teams split off.

---TWD---

After the meeting in the garage concluded, Harry Potter and Optimus Prime set out to begin their assigned task of inspecting and fortifying Silver Wings Academy. The low morning sun illuminated the sprawling campus, painting it in soft gold tones. Optimus transformed into his truck mode, his polished red-and-blue frame gleaming under the sunlight. Harry climbed onto the hood, sitting cross-legged near the windshield, wand in hand.

“You’ll need a vantage point to perform your spells effectively,” Optimus said. “Sitting here will give you the visibility you need to inspect the campus.”

Harry paused and tilted his head. “Are you sure you’re okay with me sitting on you? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Optimus’s engine rumbled softly, almost as though amused. “You will not harm me, Harry, as humans experience pain. Your presence will only aid us in securing this sanctuary.”

Reassured, Harry settled into position. “Alright, let’s get started.”

Optimus rolled forward, the tires crunching over gravel as they started their sweep of the campus perimeter. The wrought-iron fence stretched along the boundary of the academy, tall and imposing with its silver wings emblem gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Harry pointed his wand toward the first section of the fence, casting a series of spells that strengthened and expanded the structure. The iron bars grew taller and thicker as layers of magical protection fortified the fence against natural disasters, fire, and magical and physical attacks.

“I think this fence will hold,” Harry said after inspecting his work. “It’s stronger, reinforced to stand against just about anything—maybe even a missile.”

Optimus rumbled in approval. “The strength of this barrier reflects the sanctuary’s purpose. Your efforts ensure its resilience.”

They continued along the perimeter road, Harry systematically fortifying the fence as Optimus drove. Each section glowed faintly after Harry’s spellwork, the enchantments blending seamlessly with the iron bars and silver wings emblem. Once the loop was complete, they moved inward to assess and enhance the walkways and buildings.

As Optimus approached a narrow walkway leading to the heart of the campus, Harry surveyed the path and raised his wand. With a deliberate flick, he cast an expansion spell, widening the walkway into a smooth, road-sized path. The transformation was instant, the newly expanded road blending perfectly into the campus design.

“Gotta make sure this place is fully accessible,” Harry said, gesturing toward the widened road. “Optimus, you and any other Cybertronians should be able to navigate the campus without disturbing the green spaces.”

Optimus rolled forward, testing the new road as Harry expanded more paths. Walkways across the campus were similarly transformed into wide, practical thoroughfares, ensuring connectivity between buildings while preserving the natural surroundings.

As they passed the academic buildings, Harry turned his attention to their exteriors. Casting protective spells, he fortified the walls, windows, and doors against fires, natural disasters, bullets, and other forms of damage. Each building shimmered momentarily as the enchantments settled into place.

“These buildings are just as important as the fence,” Harry explained. “No point in having a strong barrier if the structures inside can’t hold up.”

Optimus hummed in agreement. “Your detail-oriented approach ensures every part of this sanctuary is safeguarded.”

When they reached the outdoor spaces, the pair paused by a serene pond surrounded by trees. Harry hopped off the hood and approached the water’s edge. With precise wand movements, he cast spells to protect the fish and ecosystem, ensuring the pond remained clean and balanced. A faint ripple spread across the water as the magic took hold.

“This should keep the fish healthy and prevent any pollution,” Harry said, stepping back to inspect the shimmering pond. “The ecosystem should stay intact, no matter what happens.”

“A sanctuary must preserve its natural beauty as well as its strength,” Optimus said. “You honor this place by protecting both.”

Next, they moved to the soccer field, its wide expanse of grass still damp with morning dew. Harry reinforced the earth beneath to prevent erosion and weatherproofed the goalposts. “I’m keeping the spells more generic for now,” he said, pointing his wand toward the field. “Until we know exactly what this space will be used for—games, training, or something else—it’s best to make the enhancements flexible.”

Optimus nodded approvingly. “Your adaptability ensures this space will serve its purpose, whatever it may be.”

Their sweep continued through gardens, courtyards, and other outdoor areas. Harry cast spells to keep pests out of green spaces and ensure the gardens thrived in all conditions. The courtyards were fortified to handle gatherings and training sessions, and each space was balanced between practicality and beauty.

Finally, they arrived at the circular commons at the center of the academy. Harry climbed back onto Optimus’s hood to get a better view of the open area. “This could be the heart of it all,” he said, raising his wand. “Food production, training grounds, even a spot for people to relax.”

Optimus transformed into his robot mode and stood beside Harry, surveying the space. “A sanctuary must offer protection and growth. This area holds the promise of both.”

Harry cast another series of spells, expanding the walkways around the commons into wide roads and fortifying nearby buildings against fire, natural disasters, and physical attacks. The enchantments connected seamlessly to the roads, ensuring accessibility while preserving the surrounding greenery.

Satisfied with their work, Harry holstered his wand and turned to Optimus with a grin. “I think that’s a pretty solid start. The fence, walkways, buildings, and outdoor spaces are all fortified,”

Optimus inclined his head, his voice steady and filled with gratitude. “Your efforts reflect not only power and precision but care, Harry Potter. The foundation we’ve built today ensures this sanctuary will endure for generations.” Together, they headed back to the garage to regroup with the rest of the team.

---TWD---

Dean and Sam Winchester stepped into the first dormitory of the four identical buildings after the morning meeting, ready to thoroughly inspect its condition. The sleek, modern dorm stood quiet, its subtle hum of electricity hinting at fully operational systems. The brothers’ task was to examine all aspects of the dorm, from the double-occupancy rooms across all four floors to the amenities designed to support its residents.

“Okay,” Sam began as they entered the lobby on the first floor. “Each dorm has four floors, and all forty rooms on each floor are double-occupancy. Plus, two communal restrooms at the ends of each hallway, a common area in the middle for socializing, and covered seating on the roof.”

Dean looked around the well-maintained lobby as he adjusted the strap of his shotgun. The polished floors reflected the overhead lights, which illuminated neatly arranged seating areas and a reception desk off to the side. “Alright, this place doesn’t feel like the apocalypse. It’s clean, functional—almost feels like checking into a hotel.”

Sam glanced at the digital display on the wall, noting its functionality. “Power’s stable, water’s running, everything’s intact so far. But this lobby could use some personality—plants, posters, maybe a few rugs to make it feel less clinical.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully as he leaned on the reception desk. “Yeah, this setup has potential, but it’s a little bland. Add a personal touch or two, and you’ve got yourself something welcoming.”

From the lobby, they moved into the laundry room on the first floor. Rows of washers and dryers filled the space, each clean and operational. Folding tables lined the walls, accompanied by shelves for storing laundry supplies.

Dean opened a washer door and peered inside. “Machines are in good shape. No funky smells, no mildew. Everything checks out.”

Sam inspected the shelving units and vents on the dryers. “We could add cubbies or hooks for individual supplies—makes it easier for everyone to keep track of their stuff.”

Dean leaned back against a folding table and added, “And a few chairs for people to sit while their laundry’s drying wouldn’t hurt. Makes it less of a chore and more of a hangout spot.”

Next, they entered the maintenance room near the laundry area. Shelves were stocked with cleaning supplies, tools, spare lightbulbs, and other essentials. Dean tested the weight of a wrench from one of the shelves and nodded in approval.

“Fully stocked, but we could throw on some labels,” Dean suggested. “Nobody wants to spend forever figuring out where things are.”

Sam checked the plumbing access points and light switches. “No issues here. Everything’s functional, and the setup is practical. Just a bit of organization could make this room perfect.”

With the first floor completed, the brothers headed to the stairwell and began their inspection of the dorm rooms on the upper floors. The second-floor hallway stretched ahead, lined with evenly spaced doors leading to double-occupancy rooms.

Dean swung open the door to the first room they inspected. Inside were two twin beds neatly made, desks and chairs on either side, and wardrobes and small shelving units bolted to the walls above the beds.

“Double occupancy, just like we thought,” Sam confirmed. “Fully furnished, clean, and ready to go.”

Dean dropped into one of the desk chairs, spinning it around. “Alright, it’s functional. But these rooms could use a little personality.”

Sam surveyed the space and nodded. “Agreed. Letting people decorate their walls or giving them bulletin boards could help. Something to make the space their own.”

Dean gestured to the shelves above the beds. “Books, collectibles, plants—whatever people want to make it feel lived-in. And maybe some fun comforters or throw pillows to break up the blandness.”

Satisfied with the dorm rooms, they entered one of the communal restrooms. The tiled floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and rows of stalls, sinks, and showers appeared clean and functional. Sam ran the faucet at one sink, testing the hot water.

“Hot water works, no leaks, no issues,” Sam said.

Dean tapped on the stall doors and inspected the showerheads. “Everything’s solid, but adding hooks for towels or shower caddies would make a huge difference. Keep things neat and organized.”

The common area on each floor was spacious, featuring couches arranged around a coffee table and a kitchenette in one corner. Dean flopped onto one of the couches, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Now this is nice,” Dean said. “Throw in a rug, curtains, or some artwork, and it starts feeling homey.”

Sam took notes and added his own idea. “Each floor could have a theme. It’d tie things together while letting people personalize their space.”

Finally, they climbed to the roof, where covered seating areas offered tables and chairs neatly arranged. Dean leaned on the railing, looking out over the campus.

“Perfect for late-night hangouts or fresh air breaks,” Dean said. “String lights or flower pots would dress this place up. And if we’re thinking sustainability, rooftop planters for herbs and veggies could be a nice touch.”

The brothers spent the next few hours systematically inspecting the other three dorm buildings. Every dorm mirrored the first in layout and condition: clean rooms, functional restrooms, inviting common areas, and well-maintained roof spaces. On the first floor of each dorm, they also inspected the dorm advisor’s office and living accommodations.

The advisor’s office connected directly to the lobby and included a desk, chair, filing cabinets, and bookshelves. Dean noted how practical and organized the setup was. “Good space for managing dorm life—everything’s within reach.”

Adjoining the office was the advisor’s private living quarters, featuring a bedroom, kitchenette, seating area, and bathroom. Dean let out an appreciative whistle as he walked through the space. “Alright, now this I like. Queen bed, its own kitchen, comfy little loveseat—this could work for us.”

Sam smirked at Dean’s obvious interest. “You staking a claim already?”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, it’s got potential. But let’s wait until we check out the apartments before we make any calls.”

Sam nodded, inspecting the kitchenette appliances and bathroom fixtures. “Everything’s functional, clean, and ready for use. It’s compact, but not cramped. Could definitely feel like home with a few personal touches.”

After completing their inspection of all four dorms, the brothers regrouped outside the final building. Dean glanced back at the row of dormitories, hands on his hips.

“Alright, dorms are solid,” Dean said. “Rooms are ready, roofs are great, and the advisor setups are a nice bonus. People could live here comfortably—and maybe even enjoy it.”

Sam reviewed his notes. “With a few upgrades, these dorms could feel less institutional and more like a real community. Personalized decorations, extra storage solutions, themed floors, rooftop gardens—it’s all doable.”

Dean grinned. “And don’t forget that advisor setup. Sammy, that could be ours.”

Sam chuckled. “Let’s hold off for now. We’ve still got the apartments to check. Those might have even more space—or better privacy.” The brothers walked back toward the garage, their inspection complete.

---TWD---

Fred and George Weasley stood just inside the glass doors of the student union, the expansive building stretching out before them. Divided into two halves, one side housed the cafeteria, several study halls, a recreation room, a theater, and a supply cabinet, while the other was entirely occupied by the library. Their task for the day was straightforward on paper but monumental in execution: secure the building, organize its contents, enhance its functionality, and inject some much-needed Weasley charm into its dull, muggle design.

Fred stretched his arms, glancing at George with a mischievous grin. “Alright, Georgie, rule number one: secure the building. Every room, every shelf, every corner. Let’s make sure nothing’s lurking where it shouldn’t be.”

George chuckled, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “Rule number two: once it’s clear, we work our magic to make it less beige and boring. Comfort, color, charm—the full Weasley package.”

Fred nodded with mock solemnity. “Safety first, fun later. Let’s start with the cafeteria—it’s big and obvious, and something tells me it’s hiding the first mystery.”

The twins entered the cafeteria, an expansive space filled with rows of tables and chairs, all positioned beneath harsh fluorescent lights that cast an unforgiving glare on the bland beige walls. At the far end were the prep stations and industrial appliances of the kitchen. Fred moved methodically through the seating area, crouching to peer under tables and chairs for anything unusual, while George headed straight for the kitchen, opening cabinets, drawers, and appliances.

George paused in front of the industrial fridge, his brow furrowing. “Fred, you’ve got to see this.”

Fred joined him and let out a low whistle as he peered inside. The fridge was packed with fresh, crisp produce: crates of lettuce, cartons of milk, apples, and eggs stacked neatly in their compartments. The freezer was similarly overflowing, stocked with Tyson chicken breasts, Green Giant frozen vegetables, and tubs of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in a variety of flavors. The pantry, too, was immaculate, its shelves lined with rows of Del Monte green beans, Heinz baked beans, bags of Tilda basmati rice, Hershey’s cocoa powder, Jif creamy peanut butter and Smucker’s grape and apple jellies. There were even cases of Coke, Pepsi, Cherry Coke, Wild Cherry Pepsi, Sprite, and 7Up in the pantry, along with gallons of sweet tea, lemonade, cherry kool-aid, and tropical punch kool-aid in the fridge.

Fred scratched his head, his grin slipping into a look of confusion. “Alright, this is suspiciously perfect. Why is this kitchen stocked like Hogwarts is hosting a banquet here next week?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” George agreed, leaning against the pantry door. “No dust, no signs of disrepair. Everything’s fresh, organized—this place is as ready to go as it gets. Who on Earth—or beyond—restocked this place?”

Fred tapped his communicator and motioned for George to do the same. “Let’s ask Shepard. She’s likely found something by now that might explain this.”

They synced their communicators and connected to the shared channel Shepard had set up for their group. Fred spoke first, his tone carrying equal parts curiosity and humor. “Shepard, come in. Fred and George here, reporting from the student union, cafeteria side. The building isn’t fully cleared yet, but we’ve got something strange on our hands—the kitchen is completely stocked. Fresh food, frozen goods, pantry packed to the rafters. Any chance you know what’s going on here?”

A moment later, Shepard’s calm voice crackled through their communicators. “Acknowledged, Fred and George. I’m currently clearing the administration building. While searching through the desks, I found a letter from the real estate agency. It might explain your mystery.”

Fred raised an eyebrow and shared an intrigued look with George. “Go on, Shepard. Enlighten us.”

Shepard continued, her tone carrying a faint smile. “The letter states that the request to fully stock the kitchen—and furnish every dorm and apartment—was fulfilled before our arrival today. The arrangements were made as requested by ‘Sam Angel.’”

George blinked, then burst into laughter. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

“Yes,” Shepard confirmed, her voice tinged with amusement. “The Angel of Death arranged it. Everything we’re seeing is courtesy of him.”

Fred let out a low whistle, leaning back against the counter. “Death himself doing interior decorating and catering. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“Well,” George added, his grin widening, “when your landlord is Death, you know the job gets done right.”

Shepard’s voice softened, reassuring them. “This means everything’s been handled carefully for us. No strings, no surprises. We’ve got Sam Angel watching our backs. Focus on the task at hand, but feel free to breathe a little easier.”

Fred tapped his communicator off and turned to George, shaking his head with a grin. “Alright, Georgie. Mystery solved. Uncle Death’s logistics game is on point. But the rest of the building is still on us.”

The twins resumed their systematic sweep, moving from room to room to ensure the building was secure. The study halls, small and enclosed spaces lined with desks and shelves of reference materials, were next. Fred checked the desks and chairs, testing for stability and ensuring the windows were locked tight, while George inspected the shelves and even the air vents for anything out of place.

“All clear,” Fred called. “No creepy crawlies, no intruders—just beige walls crying out for mercy.”

“Beige overload,” George muttered, shaking his head. “Let’s keep moving.”

They entered the recreation room, which was filled with beanbags, couches, a ping-pong table, and a dartboard. George shook out each beanbag to ensure no critters had nested inside, while Fred inspected the game equipment and shelves stacked with dusty board games.

“Well, the room’s clear,” George declared, “but it’s as depressing as a rainy day in November. We’ll need to brighten this place up—make it fun again.”

The theater came next, with its rows of cushioned seats and a modest stage. Fred stepped onto the stage, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “Testing, testing! Any lurking ghosts, take your bow!”

George chuckled as he cleared the backstage area, pulling back heavy red curtains. “No ghosts, no dust monsters—just an old projector that needs an upgrade.”

Finally, the twins entered the library. The towering shelves, cozy reading nooks, and warm lighting gave the space an air of quiet reverence. Splitting up, Fred cleared the desks and chairs while George combed through the rows of shelves for anything suspicious. They regrouped in the center after a thorough sweep.

“All clear,” Fred said, clapping his hands together. “Safe and sound. Now comes the fun part—transforming it.”

They began in the cafeteria, where Fred and George expanded the fridge, freezer, and pantry with a wave of their wands. The spaces grew tenfold, their interiors rearranged for maximum storage efficiency. Cooling runes and stasis spells ensured that the food remained fresh, even in a power outage. The pantry shelves organized themselves by category and brand—Del Monte green beans, Heinz baked beans, and Tilda rice in neat rows.

The study halls were next, each given a unique theme with enchanted murals that transformed the walls into breathtaking landscapes: a snowy mountain, a lush forest, a tropical beach, and a serene countryside. The scenes gave each room a sense of peace and escape.

In the recreation room, the twins created a joyful explosion of color, brightening the walls with whimsical designs. The dartboard and ping-pong paddles were enchanted to match players’ skill levels, while beanbags and couches were charmed to mold perfectly to sitters’ preferences.

The theater gained refreshed red velvet curtains, and a stage polished to perfection. George upgraded the projector to handle both muggle films and magical recordings.

The library was the final masterpiece. Fred enchanted the bookshelves to adjust their height automatically, preserving older volumes with protective charms. George enhanced the reading lamps to provide optimal lighting, while the chairs were enchanted for ergonomic comfort.

To tie it all together, the twins created the Silver Wings Master Inventory. The crimson hardcover, embossed with gold lettering, featured tabs for Cafeteria, Study Halls, Recreation Room, Theater, Library, and Supply Cabinet. On the first page, a search function allowed users to write an item and locate it instantly, complete with its brand, quantity, and precise location.

Fred tested the function by writing “ice cream.” The book hummed and flipped to the cafeteria tab: Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie—5 tubs, Student Union, First Floor, Freezer, Compartment B.

“Perfect,” Fred declared. “Practical, efficient, and very Weasley.”

George grinned, closing the book. “Not bad for a day’s work. Let’s just hope Hermione doesn’t nitpick it.”

Fred’s smile faded slightly. “You know, this isn’t Hermione’s influence. This is us—years of running the shop and reorganizing Mum’s pantry.”

George’s humor faded as well. “Practical magic for people who mattered. For family. Real family.”

Fred’s voice hardened. “Mum, Dad, Percy, Ron, Ginny—they’re not family anymore. They made their choice.”

“Hermione’s our sister,” George said firmly. “Harry’s our brother. That’s all we need.”

“And that’s enough,” Fred agreed.

---TWD---

Abigail and Xander stepped into the Fitness Center, the hum of the sliding glass doors fading behind them. The lights were already on, casting a clean, bright glow over the rows of treadmills, ellipticals, and weight machines stretching before them. Everything gleamed as though the building had been untouched by time.

Xander adjusted the axe strapped across his back, his bat tapping lightly against his shoulder. “Well, Abigail, here we are. The heart of physical excellence. A temple of gains. The sacred ground of the swole. What’s first?”

Abigail scanned the room, her bow resting easily against her back. “First, we sweep the building. Room by room, no skipping. We make sure we’re alone before we inspect anything—or start deciding which of these treadmills you’ll inevitably fall off of.”

Xander grinned. “Please. I’ve got incredible balance. You’ll see—I’ll be the star of the apocalypse Olympics. The question is, what’s our plan for this place once we’ve confirmed no ghosts are hiding in the locker room?”

She started toward the rows of treadmills, her sharp eyes taking in every detail as they moved deeper into the gym. “Plenty of options. If the equipment’s functional, this could be a key training space. Endurance, strength, agility—you could cover a lot of ground here.”

“And the ropes course,” Xander added, nodding toward the far side of the building. “Nothing says ‘trust your team’ like dangling twenty feet above the ground.”

“We’ll need to check its stability before planning anything,” Abigail replied. “But yes, it could be good for team-building. And individual skill assessments.”

Xander looked thoughtful for a rare moment as he crouched to check behind a treadmill. “Y’know, in all seriousness, having a place like this could really help people decompress. Let off steam.”

Abigail glanced at him, her face unreadable. “Physical outlets are important. People will need a way to stay sharp—and stay sane. But that only works if it’s secure.”

“On it,” Xander said, gesturing to her with his bat. “Let’s sweep.”

They worked their way through the main gym, checking under the mats and behind the equipment with methodical precision. Abigail moved to the weight racks, tugging lightly on the bar of a bench press to test its stability. She nodded to herself before pulling open a nearby storage cabinet filled with neatly folded towels and resistance bands.

“Still untouched,” she said, moving to the next cabinet.

Xander peeked inside the open cabinet and pulled out a towel, tossing it over his shoulder with a flourish. “The towel game here is strong. I say we keep this level of luxury. Apocalypse or not, people deserve nice things.”

Abigail didn’t even look at him as she shut the last cabinet. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet irreplaceable,” Xander replied, grinning. “Alright, let’s hit the next room.”

They moved to the martial arts studio, where padded mats lined the floor and training dummies stood in neat rows. Abigail entered first, scanning the room for anything out of place. Xander followed close behind, poking a dummy with the tip of his bat.

“Pretty great setup,” he said, giving the dummy an experimental shove. “We could run all kinds of combat training here—close-quarters, self-defense, even some sparring matches. What do you think, Abigail? Could I be your sparring partner?”

She gave him a flat look but couldn’t quite hide the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’d lose. Badly.”

Xander held up his bat dramatically. “Hey, I’ve got years of zombie apocalypse training under my belt.”

“That’s not a real thing,” Abigail deadpanned, stepping onto the mats to test their firmness. “But if it makes you feel better, you can practice here—after it’s secured.”

“Deal,” Xander said, grinning as he twirled his bat.

Next was the dance studio, where the mirrored walls gleamed under the bright lights. Abigail moved carefully around the room, inspecting the corners while Xander made a beeline for the sound system.

“You know,” he said, pressing random buttons on the console, “this place has a lot of potential. We could run agility drills, balance training, or even—hear me out—apocalypse Zumba.”

Abigail straightened up, looking unimpressed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said today.”

“Yeah, but you’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Xander countered, spinning on his heel in an exaggerated dance move. “Imagine it. Cardio for survival.”

Abigail shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s just clear the room.”

The archery range was next, its long, narrow lanes lined with well-preserved bows and targets at the far end. Abigail’s movements became more deliberate as she inspected the equipment, testing the tension on one of the bowstrings.

“Still in excellent condition,” she said quietly, her fingers tracing the curve of the bow. “This could be a key space for training precision. Archery, marksmanship, focus—skills we’ll need.”

Xander picked up a bow and mimicked her stance, drawing back an invisible arrow. “How’s my form? Be honest.”

“You look like someone trying to swat a fly,” Abigail replied, not even glancing up.

“Savage,” Xander muttered, carefully placing the bow back on the rack. “But fair.”

Finally, they reached the ropes course, an impressive structure of climbing walls, suspended bridges, and platforms that stretched toward the ceiling. Abigail tested the ropes, tugging on them firmly to check their stability.

“This could be valuable,” she said, her gaze flicking upward. “Team-building exercises, confidence courses—ways to push people outside their comfort zones.”

“Agreed,” Xander said, already halfway up a climbing wall. “And just think of the bragging rights. ‘I conquered the apocalypse ropes course. What did you do today?’”

“Don’t fall,” Abigail called, her arms crossed as she watched him climb. “I’m not carrying you back.”

“Oh, Abigail,” Xander said, pausing dramatically at the top. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” she deadpanned. “Now get down.”

With the Fitness Center secured, they moved across the courtyard to the Trades Building. Abigail stopped just inside the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning the workbenches and tools.

“Same plan,” she said. “Sweep first, inspect later. We need to know we’re alone.”

“Got it,” Xander replied, his bat resting lightly on his shoulder. “Though if we find an angry carpenter ghost, I call dibs on the saws.”

They moved methodically through the mechanic shop, clearing the space before turning their attention to the diagnostic equipment. Abigail nodded in approval as she flipped a few switches. “All operational. This will be a key resource for vehicle repairs—and anything else that needs tuning up.”

In the woodworking studio, Xander picked up a piece of sandpaper with mock reverence. “Ah, the humble sandpaper. Unsung hero of civilization.”

“Stick to your axe,” Abigail said, inspecting a stack of lumber. “You’re not a carpenter.”

“Harsh,” Xander muttered, though he was clearly amused.

They cleared the welding and electrical workshops, Abigail making mental notes about the condition of the equipment. Finally, in the plumbing section, Xander held up a massive pipe wrench, grinning.

“Think this counts as a weapon?” he asked. “I could be like Mario, but, you know, cooler.”

“Focus,” Abigail replied, though her tone was lighter than usual.

With both buildings thoroughly secured and their potential uses mapped out, the pair stepped back outside. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard, highlighting their work.

“Well,” Xander said, leaning on his bat, “Fitness Center’s ready for action, and the Trades Building is basically a DIY paradise. I’d say we crushed it.”

“Agreed,” Abigail replied, her tone thoughtful. “Both spaces will be valuable—for training and for resources.”

“And lucky to have us,” Xander added with a grin.

“Don’t push it,” Abigail said, though her faint smirk betrayed her amusement.

As they walked back toward the meeting point, Xander couldn’t resist one last comment. “So, about that apocalypse Zumba idea…”

“Not happening, Harris,” Abigail said, her voice sharp but warm.

---TWD---

Shepard and Hermione stepped into the Math Building, the glass doors opening effortlessly to reveal a spotless hallway. The lights illuminated pristine tiles, perfectly aligned lockers, and walls free of the slightest smudge or imperfection. It was hard to believe the building had been abandoned for six months—it felt more like someone had been tending to it daily.

Hermione held her wand firmly, casting faint detection charms as they moved through the space. “This is extraordinary. Not a single speck of dust, no signs of decay. It’s as though the building is waiting for us.”

Shepard scanned the hallway with her Carnifex pistol raised, her movements precise and fluid. “More like it’s too good to be true. Let’s make sure no one’s hiding before we start turning these rooms into survival hubs.”

They entered the first classroom, a quiet space filled with rows of desks that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Hermione murmured a charm that sent a soft, golden glow sweeping across the room, highlighting corners, walls, and even the spaces beneath the desks. Everything was still.

“Clear,” she said, lowering her wand slightly. “What do you think of this room?”

Shepard tested the locks on the windows, her gaze sweeping across the space. “Good layout. Maybe repurpose it for tactical planning. Split teams up into classrooms—one for resource management, another for battle strategies.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, running her fingers lightly across one of the desks. “We could set up maps, enchanted models, projection systems. Prepare groups for different survival scenarios.”

Shepard glanced at her, a hint of a smirk forming. “You’re already imagining the upgrades, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Hermione replied, raising an eyebrow, “if we’re going to survive, we can’t just muddle through. We need foresight, preparation. Magic’s useful, but strategy is essential.”

They moved to the next room, where Hermione’s charms once again confirmed an empty, untouched space. Shepard checked the ventilation grates for hidden access points, her practical nature guiding her every step.

“You know,” Shepard began, leaning against the teacher’s desk, “this could be more than just a classroom. Maybe a training space. Teach people combat techniques tailored to their strengths—make them adaptable.”

Hermione tilted her head, considering. “Combat training, yes, but we could also focus on mental resilience. People need to learn how to think clearly under pressure.”

“Critical thinking,” Shepard replied. “Makes sense. Panic kills more people than zombies ever will.”

Hermione let out a soft hum of agreement, her wand casting another detection charm as they moved toward the staircase. “Top floor next?”

“Let’s keep going,” Shepard said, her pistol still raised.

Floor by floor, room by room, the pair worked with methodical precision. Each classroom echoed the same story: a pristine, untouched space brimming with possibilities. By the time they exited the Math Building, the sun was climbing higher, casting a warm glow over the commons.

“Math Building’s secure,” Shepard said, holstering her pistol briefly as they walked toward the Social Studies Building. “What’s the plan for this one?”

“Maps,” Hermione said immediately, her excitement showing. “Navigation, terrain reading. We could turn this building into the heart of tactical preparation.”

Inside the Social Studies Building, Hermione’s eyes lit up at the sight of the colorful maps lining the walls. She moved closer, tracing the edges of a world map pinned to a corkboard. “These are invaluable. People need to know the land to survive—where resources might be found, which areas to avoid.”

Shepard scanned the shelves filled with atlases and textbooks, nodding in approval. “Terrain analysis. Route planning. Teach people how to move safely through dangerous areas.”

Hermione’s wand flicked gently, expanding the light in the room. “With a bit of magic, I could create interactive models. Imagine being able to simulate landscapes—show people what to expect before they go out.”

“Could work,” Shepard replied, her tone steady. “And what about team planning? Groups need to know how to move together, cover each other’s blind spots.”

“We could split the rooms by theme,” Hermione said, gesturing toward the other classrooms visible through the glass walls. “One for geographical training, another for group strategies. Maybe even a third for crisis management.”

Shepard smirked faintly. “Ambitious. But I like it.”

They swept through the Social Studies Building with practiced ease, securing each room and ensuring nothing had been disturbed. By the time they exited, Hermione’s mind was racing with possibilities.

“Language Arts next,” Shepard said, pointing toward the building across the commons.

Inside the Language Arts Building, the bookshelves lining the walls immediately caught Hermione’s attention. She moved toward them, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of the neatly arranged books.

“This could be a sanctuary,” she said softly. “Not just for reading, but for reflection. A place where people can step back, think, breathe.”

Shepard stepped closer, scanning the rows of books. “What about recording information? Documenting what we’ve been through, what we’ve learned?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione replied, pulling a book from the shelf and flipping through its pages. “We need to preserve knowledge—not just academic, but survival techniques, personal stories. If we lose those, we lose ourselves.”

“You’re not wrong,” Shepard said, her tone warmer than before. “And what about teaching critical thinking? Problem-solving under pressure?”

Hermione nodded, slipping the book back into its place. “We could use one of the larger rooms for discussions—debates, even. Teach people how to approach problems from different angles.”

As they cleared each room, Hermione’s ideas grew more vivid, while Shepard kept their focus grounded. By the time they finished the sweep, the building had transformed in their minds from an empty relic to a space full of potential.

Shepard and Hermione stepped into the Administration Building’s central office, scanning its immaculate condition with practiced precision. The desks were orderly, chairs perfectly aligned, and supplies neatly organized. But their attention was quickly drawn to a letter sitting openly on the center desk, as though someone had placed it there just for them.

Hermione picked up the letter, unfolding the crisp paper carefully, her wand casting a faint glow. Shepard leaned closer, her Carnifex pistol now holstered, and read along as Hermione began to decipher its contents.

TO: Rick Grimes
FROM: Harmony Realty Group

"Dear Mr. Grimes,"

"This property has been left in its current condition following the closure and subsequent legal proceedings of Singletary Preparatory Academy. All records pertaining to the former institution have been confiscated by law enforcement and legal authorities for use in the ongoing criminal investigation. What remains—furnishings, office supplies, and structural components—has been deemed free and clear for use by new occupants as outlined in the terms of sale."

"Please note: The request to fully stock the kitchen, supply the dormitories, and ensure all residential spaces were furnished was fulfilled prior to your arrival today. These arrangements were made at the direction of ‘Sam Angel.’"

"The property is sold as-is. All liability pertaining to the former institution has been transferred to appropriate legal entities overseeing the investigation. Should you have additional inquiries or require documentation, please contact me directly at the information provided below."

"Best regards,"

Jeanine Caldwell
Senior Agent, Harmony Realty Group

Shepard leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms as she considered the name. “Sam Angel. There’s no way that’s just coincidence. He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

Hermione allowed herself a faint smile. “No. Sam Angel is clearly the Angel of Death. Everything we’ve seen so far—the preparations, the resources—it’s his doing.”

Shepard chuckled softly, her tone tinged with dry amusement. “Death himself setting up camp for us, making sure the pantry’s full and the beds are made. Can’t say I expected him to be quite so… thorough.”

“Thorough and strangely considerate,” Hermione added, shaking her head lightly. “He didn’t just drop us here with nothing. He made sure we’d have every chance to succeed.”

Before they could say more, their earpieces crackled to life, breaking the quiet with Fred and George’s distinct voices. Shepard tapped hers quickly, her brows lifting in mild curiosity.

Fred’s voice came through first, cheerful and intrigued. “Shepard, come in. Fred and George here, reporting from the student union, cafeteria side. The building isn’t fully cleared yet, but we’ve got something strange on our hands—the kitchen is completely stocked. Fresh food, frozen goods, pantry packed to the rafters. Any chance you know what’s going on here?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, glancing at Shepard. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any.”

Shepard smirked faintly, tapping her communicator to reply. “Acknowledged, Fred and George. I’m currently clearing the Administration Building. While searching through the desks, I found a letter from the real estate agency. It might explain your mystery.”

Fred’s tone shifted to intrigue. “Go on, Shepard. Enlighten us.”

Shepard continued, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of amusement. “The letter states that the request to fully stock the kitchen—and furnish every dorm and apartment—was fulfilled before our arrival today. The arrangements were made at the direction of ‘Sam Angel.’”

George burst into laughter immediately. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

“Yes,” Shepard confirmed, her tone calm but amused. “Sam Angel is, without question, the Angel of Death. Everything we’re seeing here is courtesy of him.”

Fred let out a low whistle, his voice crackling faintly over the transmission. “Death himself doing logistics and catering. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“Well,” George added, his grin audible in his tone, “when your landlord is Death, you know the job gets done right.”

Shepard’s voice softened slightly as she reassured them. “It means everything’s been handled carefully for us. No strings, no surprises. We’ve got Sam Angel watching our backs. Focus on clearing the rest of the building, but feel free to breathe a little easier.”

Fred tapped his communicator off with a laugh. “Alright, Georgie. Mystery solved. Uncle Death’s logistics game is on point. But the rest of the building is still on us.”

As the transmission ended, Hermione shook her head, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Only Fred and George could take news like that and turn it into a joke.”

“Humor or not,” Shepard replied, pushing off the desk, “they’ve got the right attitude. Knowing Sam Angel’s behind all this makes it easier to focus. He’s set the stage—it’s up to us to make it count.”

They continued their sweep of the Administration Building, discussing ways to repurpose its spaces as they worked. Hermione gestured toward a large, sunlit office overlooking the commons. “This would be perfect for the Council. It’s spacious, secure, and central.”

Shepard stepped inside, her sharp gaze assessing the windows and desk. “Good spot. And close enough to the command center for coordination.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “The command center isn’t fully operational yet, but it’s a solid foundation. Sam Angel clearly wanted us to have the infrastructure to succeed.”

“And the Junior Council?” Shepard asked, her tone speculative now. “They’ll need space too—somewhere close, but separate.”

“This smaller office near the Council chamber would work well,” Hermione suggested. “Individual desks, plenty of supplies—it gives them room to grow into their responsibilities.”

Shepard smirked lightly. “Whoever they are—seasoned prodigies or rookies—they’ll figure it out when they get here.”

They finished clearing the building, earmarking the large conference room for neutral meetings between the Council and Junior Council and setting aside a storage room for conversion into a secure archive. By the time they stepped outside, the campus was bathed in twilight, the Administration Building glowing softly behind them.

Hermione glanced back at the building, her wand now lowered. “Between the stocked supplies and the letter, everything here feels deliberate. It’s like Sam Angel wanted us to have every advantage.”

“He did,” Shepard replied, her tone steady but thoughtful. “Now it’s up to us—and the Council, and the Junior Council—to make it count.”

---TWD---

Hawkeye Pierce pushed open the gleaming glass doors of the Medical Center, letting them swing wide with a theatrical flourish. Margaret Houlihan stepped in without hesitation, her sharp eyes scanning the pristine interior. The place was eerily perfect—polished floors, untouched medical equipment, and meticulously organized supplies. It felt like stepping into another world, one that had somehow managed to escape the apocalypse entirely.

Hawkeye let the door close behind him and leaned casually against the wall. “Well, Margaret, we’re either in heaven or a very well-stocked afterlife guesthouse. I’m still waiting for the zombie concierge to offer us mints.”

Margaret smirked faintly, already moving to the nearest diagnostic monitor to check its functionality. “If Death had a concierge, I imagine it would be Klinger dressed to the nines in one of his gowns. Now focus. We need to sweep the building first. No sense getting comfortable until we know this place is secure.”

“Ah, yes. Safety first,” Hawkeye replied, straightening up and slipping into a mock-serious tone. “Because, you know, nothing screams apocalypse like getting eaten by a zombie while admiring the MRI machine.”

Margaret gave him a look—part amused, part exasperated—as they started their sweep. Room by room, they moved through the building, methodically checking cabinets, vents, and supply closets. The trauma wing was immaculate, surgical stations gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The pharmacy was fully stocked, with brand names like Bayer, Johnson & Johnson, and Pfizer filling the shelves. Even the patient wards were ready for use, beds neatly made with fresh linens that carried no sign of wear.

“It’s almost unsettling, isn’t it?” Margaret said as she opened yet another supply cabinet. “Not a single thing out of place. It’s as though Death personally oversaw every detail.”

“Well, considering he’s been playing landlord, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Hawkeye quipped, shining his flashlight into a corner. “Sam Angel—our Angel of Death—is clearly a fan of the ‘leave nothing to chance’ approach.”

Margaret paused, her expression thoughtful. “You know, if anyone can arrange something as absurd as bringing people back from the dead and prepping a campus, it’s him. Which makes me wonder… Could he bring more people here?”

Hawkeye straightened, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’re thinking about the old crew, aren’t you?”

Margaret nodded, crossing her arms. “Radar, Father Mulcahy, Klinger, BJ—they’d be invaluable here. Radar would have this place running perfectly in no time, and Father Mulcahy would keep everyone grounded. Klinger… well, he’d be Klinger, but even chaos can be useful. And BJ—he’d figure out all this advanced equipment faster than we ever could.”

Hawkeye’s lips tugged into a wistful smile. “You’re right. Radar would probably memorize every manual in the building before we even finished reading the titles. Father Mulcahy… well, if anyone could bring calm to a world of zombies, it’s him. And BJ? Solid as ever.”

Margaret hesitated, then added, “Frank… not so much.”

Hawkeye turned to her, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Frank Burns, the Romeo to your Juliet? The soggy toast to your bland marmalade? Not even a little nostalgia for your old flame?”

Margaret shook her head, her lips twitching with amusement. “At the time, I thought I loved him. But looking back now? He was selfish, childish, and exhausting. If Frank Burns showed up here, I’d throw him in front of the first zombie I saw.”

Hawkeye burst into uncontrollable laughter, doubling over and clutching the counter for support. “Oh, Margaret—my sides—Frank Burns, zombie bait! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years. God help me, I’ll be laughing about this for the rest of my undead days.”

Margaret rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “I mean it. Life’s too short—again—for Frank’s nonsense.”

Hawkeye wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Margaret Houlihan, I’m beginning to think post-death you might be my favorite version.”

“Well,” Margaret replied, a mischievous glint in her eye, “if we’re stuck with each other, we might as well make the best of it.”

“Stuck with me?” Hawkeye placed a hand over his heart, feigning a wounded expression. “You mean ‘blessed by my radiant presence,’ right?”

Margaret smirked, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re radiant when you admit it,” Hawkeye replied, flashing her a wink.

They moved into the trauma wing, where Margaret began inspecting the GE Ultrasound machines, Medtronic defibrillators, and robotic surgical equipment. The technology was sleek and intimidating, far beyond anything they’d encountered before.

“We’re going to need help, Pierce,” Margaret said firmly, gesturing to the equipment. “This isn’t the 4077th. We can’t just wing it and hope for the best. We need training—fast.”

Hawkeye nodded, his humor fading into seriousness. “Agreed. We’ve got the basics, sure, but this stuff? It’s twenty-first-century medicine, and we’re still working with mid-twentieth-century know-how. Magic, maybe?”

Margaret tilted her head thoughtfully. “Possibly. Harry and Hermione might know something—ways to learn faster or adapt quicker. It’s worth asking.”

“And Sam Angel,” Hawkeye added. “He brought us here, arranged all of this. If anyone can bring the others back—or help us figure out this equipment—it’s him.”

Margaret glanced at him, her expression softening. “How would we even contact him?”

“Well,” Hawkeye said, leaning against the counter with a playful grin, “I could write him a polite note. ‘Dear Mr. Angel of Death, please send radar, Klinger, Father Mulcahy, and BJ to join us posthaste. P.S. Frank can stay wherever he is.’”

Margaret laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Hawkeye shot back, flashing her another wink

---TWD---

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the magically expanded garage, illuminating the command center. The enchanted map table at the center glowed softly, showcasing the campus layout in intricate detail. The air was buzzing with quiet energy as the team gathered to debrief after a long day of securing the campus. Optimus Prime stood at the head of the table, his towering frame radiating quiet authority. Commander Shepard stood to his right, her gaze sharp and focused, while Harry Potter stood to his left, his wand loosely gripped in his hand, ready to contribute his insights.

Once everyone had taken their place, Optimus raised a hand, and the room fell silent. His deep voice resonated with calm command as he addressed the group. “Today’s work brings us closer to creating a sanctuary that will protect us all. Each of you has played an essential role in these efforts. Now, let us hear your updates and determine what remains to be done.”

Commander Shepard stepped back, allowing the first team to speak. Optimus gestured to Harry to begin.

Harry stepped forward, gesturing to the map where the perimeter and outdoor spaces were marked. “Optimus and I worked on the campus exterior. I used magic to expand the walkways—they’re now wide enough for Optimus to traverse the campus without stepping onto the green spaces. These green spaces can be used later for food production or other vital resources. I also reinforced the perimeter fence with protective wards and spelled the exteriors of all buildings to repel intruders and alert us of breaches. We cleared the green spaces, sports facilities, and pond, ensuring they’re safe for future use.”

Optimus nodded. “Excellent work. The expanded walkways ensure access across the campus while preserving the green spaces for sustainability. We must further fortify the fence with additional barriers, both physical and magical, to bolster our defenses.”

Commander Shepard gestured to Hermione. “Let’s hear your report.”

Hermione stepped forward, pointing to the Social Studies, Math, Language Arts, and Administration buildings on the map. “Shepard and I secured these buildings. Shepard conducted thorough sweeps of every room and hallway, ensuring no threats remained. I reinforced all entry points with protective enchantments, including doors and windows. The classrooms and lecture halls are in excellent condition and can be repurposed for education and training. The administration building is intact and can serve as the central hub for logistics and coordination.”

Shepard added, “The administration building should be up and running immediately. It’s central to the campus and critical for organizing operations and communication.”

Optimus inclined his head. “Well done. Fred and George, your report.”

Fred grinned and leaned casually against the table, gesturing to the Student Union and Science Labs on the map. “George and I had a busy day at the Student Union and science labs. First off, the cafeteria’s pantry, fridge, and freezer have been magically expanded to hold ten times their original capacity. They’ve also been enhanced with temperature control charms to keep everything fresh and stasis charms in case the power goes out.”

George held up a notebook with a flourish. “Not only are they expanded, they’re fully stocked. Non-perishables, dried grains, canned goods, frozen items—we’ve sorted and cataloged everything. We’ve even organized the supply closet, which is filled with cleaning supplies and kitchen essentials. To top it all off, we created this: the master inventory book. It’s charmed to update automatically whenever items are added or removed. It tracks categories, quantities, and locations.”

Fred added, “No more wondering if we’re out of flour or if the beans are running low. It’s all here, neat and tidy.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as George handed her the notebook. She flipped through it, her expression shifting from curiosity to pride. “This… this is incredible. It’s so meticulously organized—you even included expiration dates and storage instructions for perishables. Fred, George, this is genuinely impressive.”

George gave a modest shrug. “Brilliance runs in the family.”

Fred added with a grin, “And we’ve got plenty to spare.”

Hermione straightened, a determined look on her face. “We need to incorporate supplies from the other buildings into this system. The dormitories, medical center, trades building—every resource across the campus should be accounted for in one centralized inventory.”

Fred clapped his hands together. “Tomorrow’s project.”

George nodded. “We’ll expand the charm to include every building. By the time we’re done, this campus will run smoother than a Quidditch tournament.”

Optimus inclined his head toward the twins. “Your contributions today ensure that our resources are protected and used effectively. Continue this work tomorrow.”

Dean Winchester stepped forward, gesturing to the dormitories on the map. “Sam and I cleared the dorms—every room, hallway, and entry point is secured. The furniture’s in good condition, and there are enough beds for everyone. We’re thinking of setting up safe rooms in each building and turning storage areas into small armories.”

Sam added, “The dorms are functional as they are, but they’ll need reinforcement to withstand an attack. Safe rooms and armories should be the top priority for upgrades.”

Optimus nodded. “Ensure the dormitories are fully prepared for defense. Abigail, Xander, your report.”

Abigail gestured to the Fitness Center and Trades Building. “The Trades Building is packed with tools—woodworking, welding, everything we need to create and repair. It’s in excellent condition, and we propose dividing it into crafting workshops.”

Xander continued, “The Fitness Center is equally impressive—open spaces, functional equipment, everything we need for combat drills and physical training. It’s ready to be used immediately to prepare recruits for defense.”

Margaret and Hawkeye stepped forward next. Margaret spoke first, her tone steady. “Hawkeye and I secured the Health Arts Center. It has advanced medical facilities and trauma rooms. The equipment is decades ahead of anything we’ve used before—it’s all functional, but we’ll need training to use it properly.”

Hawkeye grinned. “Harry, Hermione—any spells to make us experts overnight? Magical med school has a nice ring to it.”

Hermione smirked. “We’ll set up memory and comprehension spells to make learning faster, but you’ll still need hands-on practice.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll tailor the spells to focus on trauma care and equipment usage. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

Optimus turned his glowing optics to the map’s final area—the apartment building. “The apartments remain unsecured. We will clear them next. Once secured, each of you will claim your own space. This campus is not just a sanctuary; it will be your home.”

As the team prepared to move out, they began discussing personnel from their worlds who could join them. Harry spoke first. “Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood would be great additions. Neville’s expertise with plants could help grow food and medicines, while Luna’s affinity for animals would ensure their care and utility.”

Fred nodded. “Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Sirius’s energy and unpredictability are perfect for defense, while Remus’s calm and strategic thinking would strengthen logistics.”

Dean added, “Bobby Singer. He’s the best survivalist I know—he’d whip this place into shape in no time.”

Margaret chimed in, “Radar, BJ, Father Mulcahy, and Klinger. Radar could run this command center blindfolded, BJ would have the medical center fully operational, Father Mulcahy would keep morale up, and Klinger… well, he’d keep things lively.”

Hawkeye clapped his hands. “Klinger could charm walkers into doing a tango. He’d fit right in.”

Shepard added, “Kaiden Alenko, Mordin Solus, Grunt, and Legion from my team. Kaiden’s biotics would enhance defenses, Mordin’s scientific expertise would support research and healthcare, Grunt’s raw strength would bolster security, and Legion’s tech skills would optimize operations.”

Optimus concluded, his voice resonant with determination. “From my world, Ratchet, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Ironhide would contribute greatly. Ratchet’s medical knowledge would complement your team, Prowl’s tactical mind would enhance planning, Bumblebee’s resourcefulness would aid in gathering, and Ironhide’s strength would secure our defenses.”

Dean Winchester leaned against the table, his usual smirk giving way to a seriousness that reflected the weight of their discussion. “Alright, so here’s the deal—we’ve done some great work here. The campus is locked down, supplies are organized, and we’ve got plans in motion. But if this sanctuary is going to live up to what it’s meant to be, we need more people. Not just any people—the right people.”

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “The kind of people who’ve proven they can handle the worst of situations. They don’t need hand-holding—they just need the opportunity to step up.”

Hermione tilted her head, her voice steady and measured. “Sam gave us this mission for a reason. He believed in us, and we’ve made real progress. If we ask him to help recruit others, he’ll want to know we’ve thought it through. We have to be clear about why we need them and who we need.”

Commander Shepard spoke with her usual directness. “This isn’t about numbers. It’s about finding people who can make a difference. If we’re going to ask Sam to bring them in, we owe it to him—and to them—to have a plan. No half-measures.”

Optimus’s deep, commanding voice carried across the room. “Sam trusted each of us with this mission because he saw something within us—our capacity to lead, to protect, to rebuild. If we ask him to recruit others, we must do so with clarity, with respect, and with purpose. Those who join us will make sacrifices, and it is our duty to honor those sacrifices by creating something extraordinary.”

Dean crossed his arms with a faint grin. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sam’s already tuned in. The guy’s got a talent for showing up right when you need him.”

As if on cue, the air in the room shifted, growing cooler and heavier. A familiar presence filled the space, and the faint rustle of wings echoed softly. Sam, the Angel of Death, materialized at the edge of the command center, his imposing figure stepping into the light. His dark coat shifted as he moved closer to the table, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room. His expression was calm, unreadable, but there was a faint glimmer of knowing in his eyes.

“You called,” Sam said smoothly, his voice resonating with ancient wisdom. His sharp gaze landed briefly on Dean, a trace of amusement flickering across his face. “And, of course, you’re the one who speaks my name.”

Dean offered a faint smirk. “What can I say? You’ve got impeccable timing.”

Sam turned his attention to Optimus, his expression sharpening. “You’re leading this, aren’t you?”

Optimus inclined his head slightly. “I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Protectors. This sanctuary is growing, but to realize its full potential, we need assistance. There are individuals—both living and departed—who possess the skills and knowledge to strengthen our mission. We seek your guidance and your help in recruiting them.”

Sam studied him for a moment, his tone calm but firm. “You’re asking me to approach the afterlife—to bring people back, not permanently, but to offer them the same choice I offered you. Do you understand the weight of what you’re asking?”

Harry stepped forward, his tone steady and sincere. “We do, Sam. Every one of us remembers the blue room—the clarity you gave us, the chance to decide our own paths. If you’re willing to extend that offer to others, we believe they’ll understand why we’re asking.”

Hermione added, her voice resolute, “This sanctuary isn’t just about survival. It’s about rebuilding and growing, about creating a place where hope and opportunity can thrive. If they join us, they’ll be part of something meaningful.”

Commander Shepard’s voice was firm yet confident. “Every decision we make here honors the sacrifices of those who came before us—and those who will join us. This sanctuary will be as much theirs as it is ours.”

Sam crossed his arms, his gaze sweeping the room. “Tell me who you’re asking for, and why. Show me that you’ve thought this through.”

Optimus stepped aside as Hermione opened her notebook. The Protectors began presenting their choices.

Hermione spoke first, her tone measured but steady. “From our world: Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Neville’s expertise with plants would be invaluable for food and medicine production, especially in the green spaces Harry preserved. Luna’s understanding of magical creatures would help us adapt to any animals we encounter. They’re both natural leaders who inspire loyalty in others.”

Fred added, his usual humor tempered by sincerity. “Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Sirius has fire, passion, and unpredictability—the kind you want in a fight. Remus is the calm strategist who keeps everything grounded. Together, they’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Dean spoke next, his tone direct. “From my world: Bobby Singer. The guy’s a survivalist through and through. He’s been through hell and still knows how to keep people alive and ready for anything.”

Margaret Houlihan added, her voice confident but thoughtful. “Radar, BJ, Father Mulcahy, and Klinger. Radar’s organizational skills would keep everything here running smoothly. BJ is one of the best doctors I’ve ever worked with, and Father Mulcahy’s compassion would anchor everyone. Klinger’s creativity would solve problems none of us could even imagine.”

Commander Shepard stepped forward, her tone sharp. “Kaiden Alenko, Mordin Solus, Grunt, and Legion from my team. Kaiden’s biotic abilities would strengthen our defenses. Mordin’s brilliance in science and medicine could revolutionize healthcare here. Grunt’s raw strength would bolster our security, and Legion’s technical expertise would optimize all of our systems.”

Optimus concluded, his voice steady. “From my world: Ratchet, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Ironhide. Ratchet’s medical expertise would complement our doctors. Prowl’s tactical brilliance would elevate our strategy. Bumblebee’s adaptability would enhance resource gathering, and Ironhide’s strength would solidify our defenses.”

Sam listened intently, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. When the group fell silent, he nodded slowly. “Your choices are sound. These individuals bring the skills and qualities you need. But there are others you should consider.”

The Protectors exchanged glances as Sam continued. “From Commander Shepard’s world: Dr. Chakwas and Admiral Anderson. Chakwas’s medical expertise is unparalleled, and Anderson’s leadership would strengthen your command structure. From another world you don’t yet know: the entire A-Team. Hannibal Smith, their leader, is a tactician who sees solutions where others see problems. Templeton Peck—‘Face’—can secure resources through unconventional means. H.M. Murdock is a skilled pilot, and B.A. Baracus brings unmatched strength and technical skills.”

There was a pause before Sam added with an almost imperceptible smile, “And B.A.’s mother, Mrs. Baracus. She’s a guiding hand and a source of morale—the heart of the group, with wisdom that goes beyond strategy.”

The room was quiet for a beat as the Protectors absorbed the suggestion. Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly before she nodded. “An entire team like that… they’d be an incredible asset. And Mrs. Baracus—it sounds like she’d be exactly the kind of steady presence we need.”

Commander Shepard’s gaze softened as she added, “Chakwas and Anderson—they’re leaders. I’ve trusted them with my life before, and I’d trust them again. And the A-Team… they sound like the kind of people who’d find a way through any situation.”

Optimus inclined his head slightly, his deep voice filled with resolve. “We trust your judgment, Sam. Approach them all—those we’ve named and those you’ve suggested. Offer them the choice. The Protectors will honor their sacrifices as we honor the mission you gave us.”

Sam unfolded his arms, his expression steady. “I will approach them. But remember this: your sanctuary will only succeed if you remain committed. Every decision must honor the trust they place in you.”

With the faint rustle of wings, Sam vanished, leaving behind a renewed sense of purpose.