Chapter Text
September 1st.
A black ’67 Chevy Impala skittered to a halt with an aching groan ten minutes to eleven in front of King’s Cross station. A fifteen year old boy, Dean Winchester, jumped out of the passenger seat with a loud, “Jesus, Dad, cutting it close this year aren’t we?”
His younger brother, Sam, quickly followed Dean to the back and helped him pull out their identical rustic brown trunks along with a pair of smaller suitcases. Their father, John Winchester, looking harassed and uncomfortable, already had the owls—a cage in each hand. Dean slammed the trunk and then they were shoving their way into the station and through the tumultuous late morning crowd.
They heard several other protesting squawks amidst the thundering din and they knew they weren’t the only ones cutting it close. Quickly, they passed nine platforms and came upon the seemingly solid brick wall. A young girl, younger than Sam even, was ushered by her mother right through the barrier, disappearing from sight.
“Sam, you first,” Dean urged.
Sam disappeared within seconds and soon after Dean and his father followed through. Completely different from the station before, this one looks shiny and pristine with gold-laced windows and a single, red and black train on the tracks. There was a huge crowd on platform nine and three-quarters—filled with last minute arrivals and the multitude of parents, some teary-eyed and nervous and some just waving off their children before—pop—disapparating out of the station.
“Come on.” Dean pushed his brother forward. They had their luggage and owls quickly dispatched to one of the back carts and then they were boarding the train.
Just as Dean was about to step on, his father stopped him. He looked back with a nervous frown. “Yeah, Dad?”
John looked even more uncomfortable. He’d never gotten used to it—magic, that is. Their mother was a witch and had died in a fire before she actually got around to telling their father. Dean often wondered if maybe their mother hadn’t died, John would be more open about the whole thing. As it is, they hardly mentioned it only to talk about when school was starting and when they’d have to get their books.
“Look, uh,” John said, glancing around, “I know this year is that big test year so…” He shrugged, “Your mother would’ve wanted you to work hard.”
Dean nodded, back stiffening. “Thanks, Dad. Um, don’t drink too much?”
John rolled his eyes and shoved his son into the train.
“What was that all about?” Sam asked once Dean was following down the train to find an empty compartment.
“He wanted to tell me to nut up about my O.W.L.s. Did you tell him about that?”
Sam smiled. “Yep. You need a kick in the butt, Dean.”
They found an empty compartment and settled down inside, shoving their carry-on suitcases in the overhead shelf.
“You should focus on your own schooling. Second year is pretty tough,” Dean warned.
Sam ignored him, preferring to open up one of his books—History of Magic no less. “I also told Cas about your little fantasy about being one of those wizard cops I hope you don’t mind.” And then the train was rolling forward, picking up speed, and rocketing down the tracks.
Dean blanched. “You told Cas what?”
Suddenly the compartment door slid open and—speak of the devil—there stood Castiel. A tall, lean boy with messy black hair and piercing blue eyes—and who was also Dean’s best friend. “Hello, Dean,” he said simply before plopping down next to him.
“Cas!” Dean grinned from ear to ear—not even caring about the last two minutes of his life. He hooked an arm around Cas’ neck, pulled him close to his side, ruffled his hair, and then let him go.
Dean felt his cheeks flush with excitement as he got a really good look at his best friend. And he did look good. His face was a lot more chiseled out this year but he was still as tall and lean as ever. Maybe a bit more muscle this year, though; he had written about how he practiced a lot this summer for Quidditch, determined to beat the other houses this time. And damn, it looked good on him. The only work out Dean got was working in his father’s automobile shop, fixing up muggle cars. And although Dean would never in a million years fly a broomstick, he had to admit that practicing for Quidditch was probably more exciting.
In any case, Cas looked good. Really good. And his stomach did a little back flip—that’s new—every time they caught each other’s eye.
Cas let a small smile curve his lips before patting down his hair—which actually did nothing. “I didn’t see you on the platform. I thought we were going to meet there.”
“Oh yeah, we were running late. Sorry.” Dean smiled apologetically and then brightened. He got up opened his suitcase above his head. “I almost forgot. We didn’t get to see each other this summer like we wanted, so instead I got you a present.”
“You’re going to love it,” Sam added from behind his book. “Shows how much a nerd Dean is.”
“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean reached around and latched onto a long cardboard box. He quickly passed it into Cas’ hands. He bit his lip expectantly and discreetly wiped his palms on his jeans. Why was he so damn nervous?
Cas carefully opened the wrapping and slid it off to reveal a blue box with a plastic window showing a metal-looking wand of some sorts. “What is it?” Cas asked.
“Open it,” Dean insisted.
Cas painstakingly got the thing out of the box—damn packaging—and then it was in his hand. Sam slowly peeked over his book with a sly smile and watched as Cas turned over the metallic wand in his hand. It was silver, mostly, with blue accents and a bright blue tip that looked like a bulb. He found a spot that looked like a button and he pressed it. The tip lit up with a loud zinging sound. Cas, shocked, let the thing topple from his grasp. It clattered onto the train floor with Dean and Sam laughing wildly.
“What is it?” Cas exclaimed, turning wide blue eyes onto Dean.
Dean, doubled over laughing, picked it back up. “It’s a sonic screwdriver,” he said when he finally controlled his breathing and collapsed back into the seat. “From the television show, Doctor Who.”
“Muggle TV,” Cas muttered, eyes bright again. He gingerly took the sonic screwdriver back into his hands and turned it around again, marveling. “Amazing. And it just—lights up?” It zinged in his hands as he pointed the light around the train cart.
Dean grinned. “Well, in the show, the Doctor—that’s the main character—uses it for different things. Like, it’ll fix things with the sonic power or analyze situations. That kind of thing. It’s sort of like a wand—except it doesn’t blast anything and it can’t hurt anyone.”
Cas smiled then, happily pushing the button just to hear the noise.
“So?” Dean pressed.
“I love it. Thank you.”
Dean’s cheeks colored a bit and he scratched the back of his neck. “Well…you’re welcome.”
Later, when the three of them had finished talking about all they did that summer, changed into their respective uniforms, and Dean had settled comfortably on the seat with his legs propped up over Cas’, the trolley came around. Cas grinned, slipped out from under Dean’s legs, and came back a second later with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.
“Here,” Cas said, extending the box to Dean, “I know you like these.”
“You don’t—”
Cas waved the sonic screwdriver.
“Okay then.”
They settled back, the train rumbling easily around them. Sam just shook his head behind his book, holding it up higher so the two couldn’t see his smirk. Dean smiled, oblivious to everything but the jelly beans in his hand and the fluttering in his chest. He picked a bean out of the box and popped it into his mouth. He grinned. “Apple pie.”