Chapter 6
Sam laughs at whatever Dolores had said just a moment before, using his butterbeer to cover his mouth shyly as he does. He’s barely even listening to the woman, but she was looking at him like she expected a laugh, so he did.
He can think of a million things he’d rather be doing with his Saturday morning, but here he is, playing the bait to this coquettish abomination in the Three Broomsticks. His mantra so far is that he’s doing this for the greater good, but it’s hard to think of all the good in the world when the woman is practically in his lap.
Leading her here, he had purposely chosen a booth closest to the front door so that Dean could easily rescue him, which he tries not to let rankle him. The only way out of this without Dolores getting suspicious would be an overbearing brother, so that’s what they went with. He just hopes Dean is nice enough to not let him suffer for too much longer.
“But enough about me! Tell me about where you come from, your past!” he zones back in to catch Dolores saying.
He mentally shakes himself and plasters on another shy smile, glancing at the front door to see if Dean’s here. He’s not. Guess Sam is going to manoeuvre the conversation around anything too personal.
“My brother and I are American born and raised, specifically from Kansas. I’m sure you could already tell from our accents, even though I’ve been told I don’t have a very heavy one,” he starts, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear that’s come out of his careful hairstyle.
Dolores’ beady eyes light up. “Generally, I don’t quite like foreigners, but you’ve proven yourself to be quite amenable. Your brother on the other hand, could use some work,” she says in a simpering voice.
Bold choice, insulting his brother to his face and then insinuating she doesn’t like foreigners. Is this how she plans to win his heart? By being a bigot and then being rude to his brother?
He tries not to grimace. “Yeah, Dean’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy.”
Dolores doesn’t look like believes him, in fact, it rather looks like it's gone in one ear and out the other. She smiles all coyly and waves a hand at him.
“Ever so noble, Sam,” she pauses and caresses her chin with one pudgy hand. “I can’t help but wonder if Sam is short for something. Perhaps Samuel? Samwell?”
Sam can’t stop himself from blanching at that. He hopes to god that no one else heard her say it. Especially not Dean. He’d never let him live it down.
“No, no, my name’s just Sam. Uh, after my grandfather I think,” he corrects hastily, shaking his head with enthusiasm.
Dolores is unperturbed. “I do believe Samuel sounds much nicer. More elegant, don’t you think? Yes, I think we’ll address you as Samuel from now on!”
He desperately shoves down the horror trying to make its way onto his expression. In what world can she just rename him?
Sam’s thinking of a way to very politely tell her to never speak to him again, when Severus Snape walks into the Three Broomsticks.
It’s like an angel has descended the pub, and Sam swears there’s a halo of light behind the brooding man as he makes his way to the bar.
He briefly considers dealing with Dolores until Dean gets here, because judging by the expression on Severus’ face, he probably doesn’t want to be disturbed.
But if he has to spend another minute with Dolores simpering away at him, he might just spontaneously combust and kill everyone here. So Severus it is.
“Oh my, Dolores, I totally forgot that I had an appointment with Severus this morning about some rune texts!” he jumps at the chance to say, already halfway out of the booth.
She looks very affronted by this, and attempts to grab his arm to pull him back down, but he dodges it easily.
“Wait!” Dolores calls, but he’s already scrambling out of his seat and stumbling towards Severus.
“I gotta get going, bye Dolores!” he calls over her shoulder with the most forced apologetic smile he can muster, before manoeuvring his way effectively through the busy pub towards where Severus stands at the counter.
Severus simply raises a judgemental eyebrow at him when he basically collapses on the bar bench next to the man.
Sam turns pleading eyes to him and clasps his hands together desperately.
“Severus, I’ll do literally anything for you if you play along with getting me out from this date with Dolores. I’ve severely miscalculated.”
At Sam’s begging, Severus’ expressions changes only minutely. His dark eyes scan Sam from top to bottom, taking in the dressed up robes that are crinkled in his distress and hopefully seeing the torment in his eyes.
Severus gives no indication of helping him, and when Sam hears the telltale click of Dolores’ flats approaching him from behind, he hangs his head in despair. The potions professor doesn’t like anyone, let alone Sam, the annoying American who keeps trying to be nice at mealtimes, so he doesn’t know why he even bothered.
“Samuel, surely you can stay for a while longer? I’m quite sure that Severus won’t mind me stealing you, he must have better things to do with his day than bother you,” Dolores states primly, standing right behind Sam and Severus at the counter.
Sam barely holds back the groan at the stupid name Dolores gave him. Plastering on yet another apologetic smile, he turns around, leaning backwards out of Dolores’ space as much as possible.
Before he can so much as open his mouth to speak however, Severus interrupts, dark eyes glaring boredly into Dolores’ own.
“I disagree, Dolores,” he begins, drawling out her name like an insult. “I was promised Sam’s time long before this impromptu… date of yours.”
Sam gets the distinct urge to clap the man on the back. He feels a little teary eyed, actually. Who knew that Severus actually had a heart buried underneath all that general bitchiness?
He nods along enthusiastically to Severus’ words. “I really am sorry Dolores, but I can’t go back on my word. Scouts honour and all that,” he says as he does a lame attempt at a scouts hand sign.
Dolores seems a little put out, sticking out her bottom lip in an almost pout, but seems relatively okay with the idea. Her beady eyes stare at Sam as if he’s some valiant knight in shining armour for offering to spend time with Severus voluntarily. He tries not to let the small amounts of hero-worship bleeding through her expression get to him.
“Of course then, I wouldn’t want to fringe upon any more of your time,” she croaks in a high pitched voice, and Sam feels his smile turn a little more genuine. “You’ll just have to buy me another drink next weekend.”
The smile disappears as quickly as it came.
She spins around and toddles back to her booth, and begins to nurse her drink prudishly. Sam turns to Severus and gives him his most blinding smile.
“You just saved my life, I owe you one, Severus,” he says, bowing his head slightly in thanks.
Severus sneers at him. “You do in fact owe me, Sam. Walk with me,” he orders, and without waiting for his drink to appear, begins to walk out the door.
It takes Sam two strides to catch up to the man despite his head start.
“What can I do for you?” he asks. Usually he’d be more hesitant about owing someone something, but Dean was taking too long to rescue him, and it was most likely on purpose. Sam was getting desperate, and desperate men are known to do desperate things.
Severus doesn’t speak until they are well out of the Three Broomsticks and on their way back up the grounds of Hogwarts. Sam waits.
“As Head of Slytherin house, I have been the unwilling ear to many of my students' complaints,” Severus eventually starts, voice low and slightly nasally.
The wind blows harshly across them, sending Sam’s robes in a flurry before he grabs them and stuffs them back into place. He tries not to shiver, but fails miserably. He’s been cold before, but there’s something icy in the milder weather of Scotland that always catches him unaware.
Severus rolls his eyes dramatically at Sam’s trembling before continuing. “As such, I have been made aware of the increase in difficulty in your Ancient Runes class.”
Severus digs his wand out of his pocket as he walks and Sam tries not to tense when he waves it as him, muttering a spell under his breath. Severus continues walking, but Sam is left baffled by the man's words and the lack of effect the spell was supposed to have on him.
“Did you want me to… lessen the difficulty of my classes? I know I said I’d do anything, but that could cost me my job or my students' futures–” Sam grits out as politely as he can manage.
Sam has always held himself to high standards with his own education, especially since he went to Stanford, and he respects the art of academics alot. But for Severus to imply that he should ruin the quality of his students' education because a few of them have complained to him? It doesn’t sit right.
He did say he’d do anything, however, and if there’s anything his dad managed to drill into him, was that if you said something, you stick to it.
He ignores the fact that that particular lesson had always worked better on Dean than it had on him.
“That is not what I am saying,” Severus interrupts, voice scathing.
Sam blinks at him, surprised. “Oh?”
“I am simply requesting that you open some hours up for extracurricular tutoring to a select few students. I personally do the same with my N.E.W.T students, but Ancient Runes has always had a worse reputation than Potions.”
Sam lets the words sink in for a long moment as they walk.
It makes sense, honestly, and was a lot nicer than trying to make him lose his job by straying from the curriculum. He had actually been considering opening up a few days a week for extra lessons for his students that might need it, or maybe who just wanted it. He knows students like Hermione Granger would appreciate the extra guidance, and he wanted to cultivate talents like Luna Lovegoods. His older year levels also needed some extra help, considering the stuff they knew about runes was rudimentary, at best.
He hums in agreement, still shivering a little as they approach the castle. “That’s definitely something I can do. I was planning on opening it up closer to exam time, but I guess it’s something that’s important when we’re at the basics as well.”
Severus turns his head to look at him, but his expression isn’t as judgemental as before. Then he must catch on to Sam’s still cold form and his eyebrows furrow.
“I placed a warming charm when we left Hogsmeade, how are you still cold,” he sighs, clearly exasperated.
Confused, Sam tilts his head as they approach the steps to the castle. “You did? I didn’t notice.”
Severus’ expression grows stern. “You didn’t feel anything at all? Not even a small change in temperature?”
“No?” Sam answers honestly. Severus is making it sound like a really big deal, which doesn’t make Sam feel very good about this whole thing. His gut refuses to settle, and just like every other time in the past few months that he’s had a bad feeling, he decides to trust it and start getting nervous.
Reaching the top of the steps, Sam stops and turns to Severus, holding his arms out. “Would you mind casting it again?”
Severus, despite seeming reluctant to even look at Sam before, is locked onto Sam’s blue tinged face with intent as he raises his wand to cast the spell again. This time he says it more forcefully, like that might be the issue.
Absolutely nothing.
Severus grits his teeth loudly and does the spell again when Sam shakes his head as a negative.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” the man eventually asks, giving up and throwing his hands in the air, the most movement Sam has seen on him so far.
Sam can feel his mouth twisting into something distinctly harried, and he shakes his head again. “No?”
Severus crosses his arms and puts on his most menacing expression, but Sam ignores it. He’s got a lot of practice at ignoring nasty looks.
Magic has always behaved weirdly around Sam and Dean. He had just assumed it was because they weren’t witches, and that’s why wands didn’t work for them or buildings hidden by magic took a little bit of concentration to come into view. But with this new information, he can only reach two conclusions. Either Severus is just an incompetent wizard, or Sam is somehow, against all sense (though he’s not exactly sure magic made any sense in the first place), immune to magic.
With that realisation, Sam jolts himself out of his thoughts. Damage control time.
He slips on a sheepish smile and rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.
“I think I have an idea what it is actually,” he starts as he puts his hand into his pocket.
He’d been working through some extra runes that his fourth years had given him during their last lesson this morning, and in particular, had been marking an ingenious one Luna had scratched onto a piece of paper and handed to him nonchalantly after class. He had found it intriguing, an odd combination of runes that probably shouldn’t work, but somehow did, and had kept it in his pocket as a potential deflection point with Dolores later.
He pulls out the paper, thanking every higher power out there, and waves it in front of Severus.
“I totally forgot I was carrying this with me!” he chuckles nervously. “It’s got some deflection runes in it, so the spell was probably just bouncing right off me. Honest mistake.”
Severus arches an eyebrow at the excuse and uncrosses his arms so he can tuck his wand away again.
“Of course,” he drawls with yet another eye roll. Sam hopes his eyes get stuck like that someday, on account of how patronising it gets after the third time in one conversation.
Sam laughs again, and shoves the paper back into his pocket when Severus looks a little too closely. It wouldn’t do for him to recognise anything on there and realise it was an agricultural rune to help keep plants alive.
“I feel really embarrassed now…” he sighs as he shuffles his feet a little. Severus’s eye rolls, as annoying as they are, also manage to make him feel small, which isn’t something he’s used to, not since his father died. “I’ll definitely send out notices for my classes about some extra tutoring, just like I promised. Thanks for this, Severus.”
He counts that as goodbye enough, so he turns as confidently as he can manage to march into the doors to the entrance hall, and instantly smacks his face directly into Dean’s.
“Ow! Motherfu–” Dean begins to curse, before noticing it was Sam’s face he just managed to punch with his forehead. “Oh, hey Sammy.”
Sam groans loudly and nurses his face delicately. His eyes have teared up from the pain radiating from his nose, and he glares balefully at Dean, making sure to look as tormented as possible. His brother practically deserves the guilt trip at this point.
“Dean,” he responds, making sure to inject as much pissiness into the word as humanly possible.
Dean audibly gulps, before twisting his head to look for help from Severus.
Severus, apparently having run out of kindness for the day, possibly even year, stalks away dramatically, leaving Dean at Sam’s mercy.
(–)
“Professor Winchester, I’m here for the extra tutoring you mentioned this morning?” Hermione Granger says, her voice rising hesitantly into a question at the end, from where she’s shuffling all nervously at the entrance to his classroom on Monday after school.
Sam puts down yesterday's Daily Prophet, where he had been reading about escaped convict Sirius Black hiding in London with extreme boredom, stacking it up with this morning's Prophet that had apparently pointed Dolores as High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. Sam’s honestly not surprised at the turn of events, considering he and Dean thought Dolores’ position here was a power play from the Ministry from the get-go. He just hopes Educational Decree No. 24 doesn’t give Dolores the power to force him on dates. He wouldn’t put it past the evil witch.
Pulling his head away from those thoughts, he smiles and nods in confirmation to her question, gesturing for her to come inside and make herself at home.
She eyes the room, plainly intrigued at the new set up. He’d decided that for his extra tutoring, he might as well change the room up a bit, to facilitate a more casual environment. Mostly, he was just sick of teaching to rows of kids.
So he had pushed most of the desks to the side of the room, and shoved the remaining together to create a large table in the middle. He himself is sitting at one facing the door, and Hermione takes to the right of the table. She dumps her book bag down and it makes a thud so loud, Sam’s pretty sure she must have an anvil or something in there for it to make that kind of noise.
“Am I the first one to arrive, Professor? I honestly thought I was going to be late with how much Ron was begging me not to come,” she remarks with a prim set to her shoulders, and Sam stifles a laugh.
“Yeah, you’re the first one. I don’t really think anyone else is coming today, even though I was told on very good authority that people needed some extra help.”
She rolls her eyes and relaxes a little at his lack of formalities. “Honestly, if only everyone put a little more effort in, they wouldn’t struggle so much in the first place. Ron and Harry are practically helpless at studying too.”
Here, she looks at him with narrowed eyes.
“You’re not like them, right Professor Winchester? Surely with your talents you can’t slack on learning,” she accuses him loftily.
Sam grins wryly at her, a little surprised she somehow managed to come to the conclusion that he was a slacker.
“I’ve always been pretty driven. I got into a pretty prestigious college back home, with a full ride to boot. Studying is practically my middle name,” he jokes.
It’s not until Hermione’s halfway through continuing her rant on how useless her friends are that he realises what he had said. Back home. His throat feels dry all of a sudden at the reminder that he isn’t home. It’s not as simple as catching a flight back to America, because even if he managed to drag Dean into what he vehemently labels a ‘flying death trap’, it still wouldn’t be home.
Home is sitting in the Impala for days on end, gross motels and dingy bars with pools tables and waitresses for Dean to hit on. Home is a future in liver failure with the amount of beer they drink, and sitting on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in the middle of nowhere. Home is a long way away, and very little chance of actually getting back there.
“–and then I thought that combining Gebo with Fehu to see if it can create currency or if it’s more like a good luck charm for wealth, because you mentioned the existence of procuring runes,” Sam zones back in to catch the tail end of Hermione’s rant about runes.
He nods encouragingly, like he had been listening that whole time.
“Interesting. I know I mentioned materialisation last week, but I didn’t think you’d remember. It begs the question on what the rune defines as wealth. Fehu can mean wealth, but it can also mean livestock. Will you get a gift of livestock then? Can a rune and magic even define something as concrete as that, considering it technically isn’t sentient? Or are they?” he asks back, and lets her ponder over it for a bit.
He reaches towards his copy of the Daily Prophet again, and opens it to the page about Sirius Black again. “Sketch me a rune about how you think those will connect, and I’ll walk you through it when you’re done.”
She nods determinedly, eyes burning and curly hair bouncing everywhere as she sets to work.
Sam eyes the empty hallway with a bit of disappointment. He had purposely cleared a few days for this too. He had set aside his Monday’s for his fourth to sixth years, and his Thursday’s for his seventh years doing N.E.W.T level Ancient Runes, but it seemed that out of the three whole year levels that could have shown up today, no one except Hermione had.
“Miss Granger,” he eventually asks, mind drawn to the image of Sirius Black snarling in the newspaper in front of him.
“Yes, Professor?” she responds instantly, eyes still fixed on her rune.
“Who’s this Sirius Black guy?”
Hermione’s quill snaps.
“Pardon, Professor?” she stutters, sounding distinctly nervous.
He eyes her suspiciously, and then down at the ruined nib of the quill that is now dripping ink all over her almost finished rune.
“You should clean that up before it stains. Limpy complains about removing ink stains all the time,” he very carefully suggests, curious as to why she reacted like that.
He heard a while back that Sirius Black had broken into the castle a few years ago, but surely she wasn’t so traumatised by just the mention of him? It was suspicious, and Sam was bored enough to want to dig around for answers.
She hesitates to speak again once she’s finished waving her wand to clear up the ink. Sam props his chin on his hand while he waits, eyeing the slight discolouration on the desk that Limpy definitely won’t miss. He resigns himself to a lecture from his house elf friend.
“Well, there’s not much to say, Professor,” she eventually starts. “Sirius Black was convicted of being a Death Eater and killing James and Lily Potter, alongside twelve muggles. The Ministry handed out their judgement,” she says perfunctorily, but her eyes give her away, jumping from side to side like she’s going to be exposed for lying at any second.
“And you were in the castle when Sirius Black broke in a few years ago, correct?” he prompts.
She twitches in her seat subtly. He’s sure if it wasn’t his job to tell truths from lies, he wouldn’t have picked up on it. Bad luck on Hermione’s end.
“I was. But I didn’t see him! Who knows what would have happened if he ran into me, or, god forbid, Harry,” she declares, shoulder stiff.
She’s lying. Not about seeing him in the castle back then, but Sam is sure that she’s seen him since then. Why else could she possibly be so nervous? But then again, Hermione Granger, a bright muggleborn witch, should have no relation to the infamous criminal Sirius Black. What reason would she have to lie?
“I did hear that Black was a close friend of the Potters. Thanks for telling me, Miss Granger,” he says, deciding to back off a little. The girl is smart, and would get suspicious if he digs any more into the issue. “The Daily Prophet is good at exaggerating things, so I wanted a second opinion on the issue.”
Hermione smiles, still a little hesitant. She looks down at the wood of the desk and the ink staining it, despite her spell having removed the majority of it. “It was nothing, Professor.”
They sit in companionable silence for a while, and she redoes her rune, while he continues to flip through the paper boredly. After a moment, she speaks up.
“You mentioned that a, uh, Limpy would be upset about the ink stains?” she questions, handing over her rune. “Who’s that?”
Sam smiles and begins to deconstruct the rune. “Limpy is a house elf here at Hogwarts. We met on Dean and I’s first day here, and he hangs out with us every now and again.”
He pauses and furrows his eyebrows as he looks upwards.
“When I say us, I really mean me. Dean doesn’t do well with non-humans, and Limpy is enthusiastically and proudly house-elf. Very enthusiastically,” he explains, memories of the ease Limpy defied the laws of physics and life itself at the forefront of his mind.
Hermione gasps. “The house elves actually talk to you?”
He gives her a confused look, and is surprised to find outrage and delight somehow warring on her face. “Yes? Is that a problem?”
She shakes her head enthusiastically. “Absolutely not! I’ve been trying to get the house elves to talk to me all term! Did you know that house elves are essentially enslaved in the wizarding world? They often deal with abusive owners and don’t get paid for their work. And to top it all off, they’re brainwashed into thinking it’s something to be proud of!”
He blinks in the face of her indignation at the treatment of house elves. He hadn’t seen anything but pride from Limpy for his status as a house elf, but he can guess that something like that was very easily exploited.
“I did read about that when I first got to England. We hadn’t seen a house elf outside of Hogwarts, so I must admit, I didn’t think it would be an issue anywhere else.”
“Of course it’s an issue, it’s slavery! I’ve been campaigning for them to receive rights and payment opportunities, but no one takes it seriously, and the house elves won’t talk to me anymore! I’ve had to resort to knitting clothes and leaving them around the Gryffindor common room for them,” she exclaims passionately, and wow, she’s really pumped about the issue.
Sam can’t say he was comfortable with the idea of slavery either, but Limpy’s insistence on the subject quieted him a bit. In Hermione Granger’s outrage however, he can’t help but feel himself get a little invested.
“A lot of the house elves in Hogwarts are happy with their current role. Limpy did say something about private ownerships of house elves being an issue, once. Do you have any other ideas for helping house elves out, apart from forcefully freeing them from their current situations?”
She huffs and crosses her arms. “You say that like it’s the wrong thing to do!”
“I wasn’t saying anything like that, I swear,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I just think that the first step to introducing house elves to basic rights, is to introduce them to the idea that they get to choose what to do with their lives.”
It’s like all the indignation vanishes from Hermione in an instant. She seems to deflate and puts her hand on her chin as she considers his words.
“I’ve never thought of it like that, Professor,” she eventually intones, thoughtful. “Usually, I just get shut down when I talk about house elves, so no one has really given me anything constructive.”
“Well I personally think what you’re doing is great, Miss Granger. Did you have any other ideas for helping the house elves?” he asks.
She shakes her head. Looking at her, he feels a little bad. He hadn’t meant to shut her down like that, and she’s got a good heart in her chest and a smart head on her shoulders.
“Miss Granger,” he begins, tilting his head, a plan beginning to formulate in his mind.
“Yes, Professor?”
“The first step to helping out house elves is to talk to one. How about I ask Limpy if he’d talk with you later this week?” he continues. “Maybe don’t leave any more freedom traps laying around until then, however. You’ll want him on your good side.”
At his words, her entire face lights up, and she pulls herself from her slump to grin at him brightly. “Really, Professor? You’d help me with this?” she squeals.
Sam chuckles quietly and nods in affirmation. “Why not? I think Hogwarts and wizarding society has gotten too comfortable with themselves being in charge. People like you change the world, Miss Granger.”
Now she looks closer to tears as she looks back at him. She bites her cheek in deliberation, and after a long moment, takes a deep breath for courage.
“Professor, would you be interested in joining the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare? It’s an organisation I founded to advocate for house elves, and since you’re going to help me out, I thought…”
Sam blinks, surprised. He considers it, and then after a moment, feels a smile stretch across his face.
“I’d be honoured, Miss Granger,” he says, injecting a professional amount of warmth into the words.
She quite literally sparkles at him in delight. “Thank you so much Professor! Ron and Harry have already filled the position of treasurer and secretary, but since you’re the only adult, perhaps you could be my deputy?”
He bites his lip to hide his laugh, and nods at her words. Sam honestly feels a bit bad for her. She’s bossy and a know-it-all, but maybe once she grows up, it’ll fade into something more moderate. He hopes so, at least. For her sake.
Said know-it-all is currently digging through her book-bag to pull out a badge, which she thrusts towards him with a face full of earnestness.
He looks down at it. It’s a putrid green colour and written on it, in cursive but clear writing is–
“Spew?” Sam asks, bewildered.
Hermione’s face flushes as he turns a confused face towards her. “It’s S.P.E.W and it stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, since the original name I wanted was too long to fit on a badge!” she mutters, expression mullish.
Sam adopts a serious expression, and without hesitation, pins it to his robes. “Well then, as the deputy of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, I guess I should wear my badge with honour. Are you finished with that rune there, Miss Granger?”
(–)
“So what, you’re some type of social justice warrior now?” Dean laughs at him when Sam appears with his S.P.E.W badge pinned proudly on his chest and has to explain the meaning behind it. “Sam Winchester, new saviour of the wizarding world, and freer from oppression.”
Sam flushes at the light teasing and punches Dean’s arm. “C’mon man, you gotta admit it’s not right. Besides, the kid made a good argument on why I should join. It’s nice to see kids with hobbies,” he defends himself sullenly.
Dean is starting to resemble a tomato with how hard he’s laughing. “This is gold, Sammy! You–” he cuts himself off with another wheeze.
Sam rolls his eyes and reclines backwards into the couch with his arms crossed. They’re in Dean’s quarters after dinner and before Dean’s patrol. There was no reason for why Sam showed up knocking at Dean’s door after they had separated at dinner, but here he was anyway. He hadn’t even realised he was there until Dean called “it’s open, Sammy!” without Sam even having to knock, and he was pushing his way in to collapse on the couch.
“It’s better than what we were doing at her age anyway,” Sam mutters.
Dean’s laughter dies down, and he sighs, a big smile still stretched across his cheeks. “You’re right ‘bout that one,” he agrees casually, before sinking further into the couch beside Sam.
They sit in relaxed silence for a while, Sam sorting through some runes that Hermione and a few other students had left him, and Dean resting his eyes before his patrol.
As Sam pulls apart a rune given to him by a Slytherin fifth-year (blond and clearly old money), he recalls the conclusion he had drawn about magic and its effectiveness on him.
He decides now is a better time than never, and angles his head towards Dean while keeping his eyes on the rune. “Hey Dean?”
At the question, Dean groans loudly. From his peripherals, he can see Dean throw a hand over his face as if to hide from the question.
“Hey!” Sam sputters, offended. “What’s the attitude for?”
Dean’s next words are muffled. “Whenever you use that tone, I just know you’re about to ask something that’s going to end up annoying me. You’ve got, like, a talent for it dude.”
Sam huffs at Dean’s words. “Fine, I won’t ask then,” he fires back.
Dean groans loudly again. “No, you’ve already started, you can’t just stop there.”
He spends a few seconds mulling over how he’s going to approach the subject, scratching a little at the rune in front of him, correcting where the kid had gotten a little too over-confident with his combinations. The room is starting to get a little cold, though that’s probably because they’re underground. At least it’s well-lit.
“Have you noticed anything, say, odd, about how magic acts around you?”
“Like how it doesn’t work on us?” Dean responds without missing a beat.
Sam snorts at the dry tone. “Yeah, like that. Got any bets before I give my own theories?”
Dean turns his head and makes an amused expression at Sam. There’s a mischievous and carefree kind of light in those familiar eyes, the stress lines on his face easing as they continue their casual banter.
It’s a well-worn way of dealing with their issues. Big conversations either end in someone getting punched, or, like tonight, with a beer being cracked open and quiet companionship afterwards. Sometimes, on special occasions, it’s both.
Sam supposes they don’t really have healthy ways of coping.
“Five bucks it’s some weird space-time magic since we aren’t from ‘round here,” Dean declares after some thought.
Sam stifles his laughter. “What, like we’re Dorothy and Toto?”
“Dibs on Dorothy,” Dean retorts. “It kinda makes sense though, doesn’t it? Maybe magic doesn’t work on us since we’re not exactly natives to it.”
Sam hums contemplatively, and then pushes away his papers so that he can focus more fully on his brother. It’s pretty close to his own theory, so he says as much.
“I was thinking something along those lines too. But I don’t think it’s us, at least not entirely. I think it might have to do with that enochian Cas slapped on us. Runes that are usually entirely useless back home are a lot stronger when we use them here, so…” Sam trails off and waits for Dean.
He watches as his brother’s expression grows contemplative, eyes turning to stare at the trunk he’s propping his feet up on casually. “The seals were to hide us from angels and their weird brainwave-tracking signals. So if it is that, enochian from back home is essentially just insanely strong magic when used here.”
“I’d say. Pretty neat, right?”
“That makes sense with the idea we had about summoning Cas on Yuletide as well,” Dean murmurs, still lost in thought.
Sam appreciates that he was included in having thought of the Yuletide idea, considering he was in no way, shape, or form part of the idea. He just did the research and completely missed out on the reason why. He’s certainly not going to correct Dean, anyway.
“I did some experimenting with Severus, but I think he started to get a little suspicious when the charm didn’t work for the third time in a row,” he adds.
Dean narrows his eyes. “You might wanna… keep an eye out on that guy. I ran into the Granger girl and her sidekicks today, and was very unsubtly told that you should stay away from him since he terrorises the saviour kid.”
“That doesn’t sound like Severus,” Sam argues with an eyebrow raised.
Dean shoots him a loaded look. Sam reconsiders.
“Okay so it sounds a little like Severus. I’ll keep an eye on him. You, however, need to focus on those kids and how to keep them out of trouble. I think Miss Granger has had a few run-ins with escaped convict Sirius Black, which isn’t exactly something that a normal fifteen-year-old generally does.”
Groaning, Dean climbs to his feet. “Don’t even start, dude. I do not want to deal with the pubescent demons more than I already do with this job. You get in their good graces and do babysitting duties, and in the meantime, I’ve got a castle to patrol and a poltergeist to scare into submission.”
Sam grins up at his big brother as he stretches his arms above his head and prepares for his patrol. Dean acts like the kids are a hassle, but Sam can already tell that he’s fond enough of them already. He doesn’t exactly know why, but maybe the general angst surrounding them endeared him, for whatever reason.
“Have fun. I’ll finish this up and head back,” he says in lieu of goodbye.
Dean doesn’t look back at Sam as he shrugs on his robe and grabs his wand, tucking into his jean pocket. “Just crash here tonight. It’s already late, anyway.”
Then, he walks out the door, not waiting for Sam’s response. Sam huffs a small laugh and kicks his feet up onto the trunk that had been operating as Dean’s footrest. He’s not looking forward to another night on the couch, but he can’t deny that staying in the same room as Dean makes it easier to sleep.
Maybe he’s overthinking it when he notes that Dean’s room is always warmer than his is, anyway.
(–)
Sam spends the next two weeks teaching his classes, entertaining Dean when he gets too antsy, avoiding Dolores wherever humanly possible, and continuing his afterschool tutorings.
While his sixth and seventh year slots had been almost entirely full with his NEWT students, his earlier year levels remained frustratingly empty. That being said, he did in fact gain two new students, both with platinum blond hair and entirely different attitudes.
Draco Malfoy was an elite, stuck-up snob, with an understanding of runes that rivalled Sam’s seventh years. He had introduced himself with his aristocratic nose upturned, and when Sam had apparently proven his worth as a professor, had taken to bugging him at any opportunity. The kid had a promising career ahead of him if he continued down the path, but he was a tad too conventional with his work, always playing by the book.
Compared to Draco, Hermione was practically reckless with her style of runes, always inventing something and having at least twelve backups in case something needed adjusting.
Luna Lovegood, on the other hand, was a much more appreciated addition to the tutoring than her snooty upperclassman. Just like in class, Luna’s understanding of runes was something intrinsic and constantly changing. Where concepts eluded the rule-abiding Granger and Malfoy, Luna connected them like it was the easiest thing in the world, and with a sweet smile on her face the whole while. Luna blossomed in the smaller class when Sam was able to correct her gently and engage in conversations that he honestly sometimes struggled to keep up with when compared to her innate ingenuity.
He was enjoying himself.
And he genuinely means it too. Maybe he was being selfish, but with how harsh things had been before he and Dean had ended up here, he finds himself pretty content with their lives here. Sure, it’s built on lies, and all it will take to pull it apart are a few cracks in their facade, but Sam hasn’t been this relaxed in more than a decade. He supposes it’s like a holiday of sorts.
He’s very masculinely scampering out of the Great Hall for the first Hogsmeade weekend to avoid Dolores (and her subsequent paranoia when her evil torture quill had gone missing), when a girl’s voice calls out from behind him.
“Professor Winchester! Can I speak with you for a moment?” Hermione Granger says as she jogs to catch up with him, curly hair tucked into the scarf wrapped around her neck.
Sam blinks in surprise but waves her over. Her two companions, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley follow sedately, seeming mildly interested in whatever business Hermione has with him.
When she catches up, they begin walking into Hogsmeade together, Hermione next to him and her minions on the other side of her. The wind blows harshly, and his hair whips into his face, stinging as it slaps against his ice-cold cheeks. Miserable weather in Scotland, but that’s really to be expected.
“What did you want to talk about, Miss Granger?” he prompts, raising his voice to be heard over the wind and the crunch of their shoes on gravel. Maybe he should think about getting a haircut? The length wasn’t doing him any favours in this type of weather.
Hermione smiles up at him.
“Right! First of all Professor, Harry, Ron and I would like to thank you for helping us out with the issue from Harry’s detentions a few weeks ago! Right, Harry?” she finishes her sentence at a hiss, and nudges Harry with a not-so-subtle elbow.
To his credit, the kid doesn’t so much as flinch, apparently used to it. Sam makes eye contact with him, and Harry nods gratefully. “Thank you, Professor. She hasn’t done anything other than make me write normal lines in my detentions since then.”
Sam smiles at him. “That’s good, Mr Potter. Has the wound healed alright?”
The kid is starting to look a bit embarrassed at the mention of it, but rubs his neck sheepishly and nods again. He must not be used to people caring. Ron comes to his rescue.
“‘Mione and I made sure it healed up alright. We don’t think it’ll scar or anything!”
“You’re both very good friends,” Sam comments kindly. He doesn’t really have much to say in response. He didn’t have friends like this growing up, only Dean, who would’ve been a lot more overbearing in that situation.
Though, maybe being overbearing is the correct option when being faced with teachers who are torturing their students in detention. He’s probably being a bit too casual about it. He resolves to fix that, immediately.
“If she gives you any more trouble, you’ll come to me, right? I’m sure there are more… direct ways I can deal with it,” he says in a low voice, making sure that the threat is loud and clear. “Hurting kids isn’t something that should be in the job description for professors. It’s a-given that I should protect you guys.”
He’s expecting to see three flustered teenagers who’ll sputter and rush to reassure him that violence isn’t the answer, but is surprised to see quite the opposite. Instead, he’s faced with brown, green, and blue eyes that are open wide in awe as they stare up at him.
Once again, Sam gets the impression that these kids mustn’t be used to this kind of treatment. His heart aches a little at the thought. He remembers being their age once. For him, it had been humiliating that he had been so awed by simple acts of kindness.
That’s clearly not the case for Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Sam had always had Dean in his corner, no matter what, which is probably why he was able to feel embarrassed about it. But this feeling might be entirely new to the three of them, having someone back them up unconditionally.
“Um,” he starts when none of them speak for a very awkward minute. “You mentioned you had a question for me, Miss Granger?”
That seems to snap them out of their reverie instantly. Ron stumbles and nearly drags Harry down with him when he tries to catch himself. Hermione is sporting a furious blush as she stammers loudly, Harry using her as an anchor point to pull Ron upright before he falls and keep them walking.
“W-well, you see! It’s more of uh, an inquiry, than an outright question,” the girl says as she adjusts her scarf frantically.
Sam nods understandingly, very carefully trying not to notice their combined embarrassment. “Go ahead.”
Hermione seems to rally herself to speak, biting her lip and twisting her hands into her scarf. Then, her Gryffindor courage seems to show, and she looks up at him with a steely look in those brown eyes.
“Your brother, Mr Winchester, hinted that you’ve had experience in… um, being tortured. Which implies a history with combat, or at least I think so! So what I’m trying to ask is that–” Hermione rushes to say, words jumbling together.
She cuts herself off when Sam abruptly stops his walking, freezing in the middle of the path.
All three of them keep walking for a moment before they realise he’s not next to them, and spin around to face him, confused. Sam himself is looking behind them frantically to confirm that no one heard that. The path is blissfully empty, the rest of the students going down to Hogsmeade being back near the castle.
Then, once he’s confirmed they won’t be overheard, he schools his expression into something carefully neutral before approaching them.
“What exactly did Dean tell you?” he quizzes, voice quiet but making sure to keep his body language open. He doesn’t want to scare them off. “It’s not something I generally like to talk about. Dean and I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”
Hermione is biting her lip anxiously, and Ron is looking around, checking to see if anyone has heard anything like Sam had just done.
“He said that people have tried torturing information out of you, and you didn’t budge,” Harry pipes up when it’s clear that Hermione isn’t going to say anything just yet.
Ron whirls around to hiss at Hermione. “Is this about the Defence thing? We can’t ask a professor!”
Sam ignores that, clearly not meant to have heard it. Instead, he keeps eye contact with Harry’s wary ones, and shrugs. He gestures for them all to keep walking. This time, when they do, Harry is the one closest to Sam, and Ron inserts himself as a final layer of protection between Sam and Hermione. It’s unconscious, the way they manoeuvre everything around to keep her safe from his perceived threat. No doubt, they’ve done something similar before.
“As I said before, I don’t really like talking about it. But, yeah, I’ve got combat experience. Do I want to know why you’re asking?”
There’s a soft snort from Ron at his words.
“What type of combat experience?” Ron then asks, before Hermione can jump in.
Sam briefly considers lying to them. But something tells him that his dishonesty, if ever found out, wouldn’t be appreciated. Plus, if he’s going to protect these kids, they should at least trust him to do so in the first place.
“Most types, I guess. Hand-to-hand, guns, melee, you name it.” He jolts as he remembers magic exists. “Uh, I’m not very good at magical combat, if that’s what you’re asking. I lived as a muggle for a while, and got used to it.”
He finds it funny when he says he’s not good at magical combat, considering it’s just impossible for him. There’s three varyingly different sounds of incredulity from next to him.
“You can use a gun?”
“What kind of runes nerd knows how to fight?!”
“You lived as a muggle despite knowing magic, willingly?”
He blinks in the face of the questions, trying to compute them all. Hermione turns to Ron, face aghast.
“Ron! You can’t call a professor a ‘runes nerd’!” she berates, slapping his arm once in warning.
The kid looks appropriately shamed and mumbles an apology in his direction.
“It’s alright. It’s true, anyway. But don’t tell my brother I said so,” Sam replies good-naturedly. “So, are you going to tell me why this is relevant?”
He keeps his eyes forward on the path, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter anyway. Even if he had tried to spy on the kids’ reactions, the wind has picked up again, and most of what he can see is his own hair. That haircut is looking more appealing by the second.
Hermione once again speaks up, the unofficial spokesperson of the group.
“Well, since you’re one of the only people we know with combat experience, we wanted to ask your opinions on what you think should be most important for kids like us to learn about defending ourselves! Hypothetically, of course.”
Sam takes a moment to mull the question over. What reason do young wizards have to ask him about how to protect themselves?
The answer is pretty obvious when Sam thinks about it. He’s heard quite a lot of dissatisfaction at Dolores Umbridge’s teaching methods. Dean and him had clocked early on that her presence was a Ministry bid for control, so it’s unsurprising to hear that she’s not too popular with the student body due to her less than practical coursework.
Combine that information with social justice warrior Hermione Granger, living trouble magnet Harry Potter, and the over-protectiveness of Ron Weasley, and you’ve got a group of kids who want to take their learning into their own hands.
And the person Hermione has chosen to come to for help is Sam. Privately, he’s a little flattered, but also a little suspicious. He had been trying to be lowkey, but seems like helping Harry has drawn some attention to him and his brother.
They’re starting to near Hogsmeade, so he decides to hurry up with his answer, placing a hand on his chin contemplatively.
“I think that wizards spend so much time focusing on their magic, that they neglect physical attributes. A punch is just as effective as a spell, and both can be dodged in an emergency,” he supplies slowly, making sure that the underlying message is heard. “That being said, if I were in your shoes, I’d focus more on less traditional methods of fighting. People will underestimate you, and you should press that advantage and catch them off guard.”
Hermione whips out a piece of parchment from who knows where and starts scribbling down what he’s said. “I didn’t think of that!”
Once they’ve finally entered Hogsmeade, he stops walking and looks down at them with a pointed grin. “But this is all hypothetical right, Miss Granger?”
She squeaks and looks up from her parchment to nod frantically at him. “Of course Professor Winchester!”
The boys nod along with her, a calculating glint in Ron’s eye and a wary one in Harry’s. Sam spots the bookstore further down the street, and gestures his intent to head towards it once he’s satisfied by the amount of plausible deniability he gains from their reassurance.
“For the sake of hypotheticals, Miss Granger, I think it’s important to say that if you were to punch someone, the nose is going to be your best bet for the most damage, and that you should never tuck your thumb into your fist,” he suggests, and with one last smile, walks off towards his bookstore, without waiting for a response.
(–)
When Dean asks Sam if he wants to accompany him for his evening patrol on Wednesday night, Sam stands up from his grading and follows without hesitation. He needs to let out a little steam anyway, he’s been going crazy with all his extra marking.
“Somehow, despite all the evidence saying otherwise, I held out hope that those three knew how to be subtle when planning to go against the ministry’s wishes for their Defence education. But of course, my expectations were too high,” Sam rants dramatically as he keeps pace with Dean while they patrol corridors.
“They’ve got the ability to catch everyone off guard, that’s for sure,” Dean supplies very unhelpfully from beside him. He must be getting sick of Sam bringing it up all the time in the two days it’s been since the decree was made public.
Because the decree banned organisations of students, his tutoring sessions were included in that, which has temporarily stopped them. Of course, all he has to do is ask Dolores, and she’d definitely let him continue, but he’s been avoiding her as much as possible. Actively asking her for that puts him in her debt and that is not somewhere he wants to be.
To counter it, he’s been upping the amount of homework he’s been giving, and spends every moment of free time he has marking it with suggestions and handing it to his students as soon as possible.
Sam throws up his hands, incredulous. “That’s an understatement! When they asked me about how to fight, I for sure thought they were just taking some initiative. But then that stupid degree came out, and now I have to go ask Dolores for permission to do my job and teach my students. Severus has been giving me glares ever since he found out I haven’t reinstated them yet either, and I’m honestly partly to blame for the whole thing in the first place!”
Dean hums, not really paying attention. “C’mon Sammy, all you gotta do is flutter those big eyes at her and she’ll crumble.”
“That’s not actually the problem, Dean. It’s that the kids have no idea how to be subtle! How am I supposed to deny my role in this, when I caught Ron Weasley teaching a first-year how to throw a punch in the Charms corridor this morning!”
At that, Dean seems to focus back onto the conversation. Those green eyes have a familiar glint in them, the one Dean always gets when he’s thinking up something that’s either entirely stupid, or the smartest thing Sam’s heard in months.
“Weasley is from an old family, right? Purebloods and all that jazz,” he starts, waving his hand around noncommittally while they turn down a corridor on the seventh floor.
Sam blinks, surprised. “Where’d you learn that?”
“You bought a book on blood purity or something on the weekend, and I skimmed it this morning,” Dean explains. He gives Sam an indignant look. “Did you think I was incapable of research, dude?”
Laughing, Sam shrugs. “You said it, not me. But continue with that train of thought.”
Dean sticks his tongue out at him childishly, but continues anyway. “Well, since they’re old purebloods, there’s always the possibility that they know about Yuletide rituals.”
Sam considers it. “They’re also noted as being blood-traitors, though. They might not follow the customs.”
“Yeah, but they might know about them enough to give us a hint.”
“And we’re supposed to get this hint, how? Last I checked, the only Weasley that we’ve spoken to is very suspicious of us.”
“But at least he’s spoken to us. We can build on that, Sammy,” Dean says, exasperated and continues walking down the corridor.
Sam takes a moment to think it over. His easiest way of getting close to the kid was through Hermione, since they were friends. She already trusts him quite a bit, and if she vouches for him, he might be able to work with the situation. The hard part would be catching them together. For a seemingly inseparable trio, Sam rarely saw Hermione with Harry or Ron, since she was always at his Ancient Runes classes by herself.
“I could try talking to them about whatever it is they wanted on that Hogsmeade weekend. Paired with Dolores’ educational decree, they’re definitely up to something.”
Dean snaps his fingers at Sam. “There you go! Knew I wasn’t keeping you around just for your luscious hair,” he snarks.
Sam boxes his brother’s ear for that, entirely unrepentant as Dean swears at him. “You’re keeping me around because you’ve got no choice, jerk,” he replies with an eye roll and a huff of air from his nose.
Dean laughs at that. He doesn’t disagree. Sam is silent the rest of the patrol.
(–)
Thursday morning dawns as cloudy and miserably cold as every other day at Hogwarts so far, the only exception being the slightly hopeful glint in Sam’s eyes.
Of course, he knows there’s no sparkling light in them, just Dean being dramatic and teasing him about his interaction with Dolores earlier.
He had woken up early to ask her for permission to re-form his study sessions, under the watchful eye of Severus. She had enthusiastically agreed, felt up his arm under the guise of reassuring him he never had to ask for anything like that again, and then flounced off to do whatever evil things she does in her free time. Severus had nodded approvingly at him (the closest thing Sam has ever gotten to anything remotely companionable from his fellow Slytherin) and Dean had shot him a thumbs up and a wink. Sam had nodded politely back to Severus and discreetly sent his brother the finger. Times were good.
Which brings him to how he’s waiting in the Great Hall for Hermione and her henchmen to show up for breakfast.
He spots them stumble in, Harry dragging a half-asleep Ron behind him and a vengeful Hermione nipping at their heels like a particularly nasty chihuahua. None of them look very well rested, which isn’t something entirely unexpected on Harry’s part (the kid has a certain hauntedness to him constantly), but seems a little odd that all three of them were dead on their feet.
Sam gives them time to adjust and start to pep up before he begins his rounds.
First, he stops by the Slytherin table, first at the seventh year end, and then downward to the only other participant that has shown any interest in his afterschool study sessions, Draco Malfoy.
The kid is surrounded by his actual lackeys, clearly in the middle of telling some grand tale when Sam approaches. He clears his throat when he’s nearby, and the kid stops his tale and turns around angrily. The scowl on his face is immediately replaced with sweet innocence when he realises it's Sam standing behind him and not someone else.
Sam smiles with his eyes. “Mr Malfoy, I reviewed the runes you gave me yesterday. I’ve written down my thoughts, but you’ve done well. If you want to discuss them more, my Monday’s are open for after school tutoring sessions.”
Draco looks suitably smug at Sam’s not-quite glowing review. “Thank you, Professor Winchester. In the unlikely event my grades slip, I’ll come find you.”
Sam holds back his sigh with practised patience. “You’re welcome, Mr Malfoy.”
Then, he makes his way down the Ravenclaw (Luna was ecstatic at her invitation) and Hufflepuff tables, before finally stopping at the Gryffindor one.
Once there, he stops behind Hermione, who is currently conversing in hushed whispers with her boys. “Miss Granger?”
She jerks to attention and Harry and Ron both flinch and whirl around to face them as best they can. Ron’s got a piece of toast stuffed in his mouth, and Harry looks to be halfway through a sip of his juice.
“Yes, Professor?” she stammers after realising it’s just him. “How can I help?”
He raises an eyebrow at the sweat beading on her forehead and the suspicious darting of her eyes, but regardless, hands her the runes she had given him yesterday. “I marked the work you handed in. You did an excellent job at combining those runes. I think you’ll be ready for more practical applications soon.”
She blushes and accepts her work back bashfully. “You flatter me, Professor. Everything you’ve been teaching has been a level above what we were learning previously, so I’ve been trying to step up my game!”
Sam huffs a laugh and waves a hand. “Who’s flattering who now? Anyway, I got permission to start tutoring afterschool on Mondays again. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about why educational decree twenty-four came to be, right?”
It’s with a twisted kind of amusement that he watches them squirm. He hopes they can feel his vicious vindication. With the guilty looks they’re all very clearly trying to hide, he can infer it definitely was their fault.
“Nope, sorry Professor!” mophead jumps in when it’s clear Hermione is too busy drowning in her desire to not outright lie to him but also keep her friends' secrets safe.
He snorts, and makes sure they see his disbelief. “Alright then. I’ll see you Monday, Miss Granger.”
She nods erratically, still not speaking a word, while Harry and Ron seem to forcefully relax themselves. Then, he walks back up to the teaching table.
When he passes Dean, he pinches ear as he walks behind, relishing in the startled yelp he gets. Dean then spends the next five minutes reassuring Wilhemina and Aurora that yes, he’s completely fine, no he’s not hurt or having an allergic reaction, he just forgot something important.
Sam smiles. Things aren’t too bad, he guesses.