Chapter 3 - You’re a Wizard, Sammy

  28th of July 1971, Wembley

  After the vampire job went awry, Dean got to join in on more jobs. John couldn’t deny he would’ve been toast if Dean wasn’t there that day. But after months of odd jobs, with Dean in the passenger seat, John decided to really sink his teeth into The Job. And that was something Dean wasn’t allowed to join in on, despite his begging. That meant him and Sam had the motel room to themselves for the last bit of the summer. They were now in Wembley and would stay here for about another few weeks before heading to the next town their father had lined up. Sam thought Wembley was nice enough, and he and Dean had gone swimming more than once in the past week.

  They’d also met a few kids, who Sam got along with well enough. They thought he spoke funny, and after countless comments, Sam was so over them. He’d roll his eyes everytime they repeated how he pronounced a word, they thought it was hilarious. Apparently, Americans were in short supply. Every time a new kid would show up, they’d proudly introduce Sam as their “American mate.” That was so annoying too, Sam thought, how they all overused the word “mate.” He and Dean had turned it into an inside joke, and called each other “mate” at any given occasion. It was just so silly.

  Sam had also gotten a few more books, mostly fantasy stuff Dean had picked out for him, and he was currently sitting in the armchair reading one of the new ones. Dean was out, getting them something to eat. As if summoned by Sam just thinking of him, Dean was back. He opened the door, dropping the food bag on the floor, kicking off his hoes and tossing his leather jacket on the dresser.

  “Sammy, got a letter for you, mate,” Dean says casually, tossing Sam an already ripped open, cream colored envelope. Sam looks at it quizzically before staring back at his brother. A letter? Who would write Sam a letter?

  “Uh, what is this?” Sam asks as he looks at the envelope.

  Mr Samuel William Winchester

  Second bed from the door, Room number 16

  Mongoose Motel, Wembley, London

  Sam asks as he carefully flips it back over, touching the wax stamp. Woah.

  “I don’t know mate, it’s addressed to you. It even has our room number,” Dean says, grabbing the envelope from Sam’s hands, jabbing an angry finger at the address. “Who have you told?” Dean asks, an accusing tone to his words.

  “Wh- what do you mean? I didn’t do this! I haven’t told anyone!” Sam gets up now, can’t sit still, and just take these accusations. He would never endanger their position. And besides, it’s not like Sam has anyone to tell.

  “Read the rest,” Dean says, pointing to the papers Sam’s got clutched in his now shaking hands. Sam reluctantly looks down and reads the letter for himself.

  HOGWARTS SCHOOL

  OF

  WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

  Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

  Dear Mr Winchester,

  We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

  Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

  Yours sincerely,

  Minerva McGonagall

  Deputy Headmistress

  Sam stares down at the letter, completely dumbfounded. This is a joke, right? He looks up at Dean, who looks just as confused. He can’t be serious. Sam takes another look down at the letter.

  “How’d you even make this?” Sam asks, his fingers tracing the letters, admiring the meticulous handwriting that certainly does not belong to his brother. “A school for wizards? Very funny.”

  “Sam quit it,” Dean spits out, grabbing back the letter.

  “Hey!” Sam protests, trying to get it back from him, but Dean holds him back firmly, over his head.

  “Tell me right now, Sam, this isn’t funny, how does this person know where we’re staying?” Dean pushes his little brother backwards, and Sam stumbles to the bed, barely catching himself before falling over.

  “I haven’t told anyone you jerk, why would I? Who would I even tell?” Sam says, fingers itching to get the letter back. There were still a few pages he hadn't had time to read. A school for wizards? What kind of bad joke was this? Wizards aren’t real. Only “witches”, scammers, people who tricked idiots, as Dean would say. Could it have been from uncle Bobby?

  “Sam…” Dean grumbles, pinching his forehead. The way he’s holding the letter makes it crumple a bit, and it only freaks Sam out a little. Just a bit. After all, it’s not real, it’s just … some dumb prank. Maybe even a test from their father? But something in Sam is telling him that this is in fact real. “Have you told anyone about.. well, you know?”

  “No!” Sam is offended. He would never.

  “How’d you train that owl anyway? Honestly that’s impressive, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes, dropping the letter on the coffee table, which prompts Sam to immediately snatch it up before he can take it away again.

  “I told you I didn’t-” Sam begins. “Wait. Did you say owl?”

  “Yeah, a freaking owl dropped it right outside. I was waiting for Dad y’know, he’ll be back in a few hours, but then that damn owl, I swear, almost crashed into me!” Dean shakes his head, hand flying to the back of his neck, face grimaced as he stretches on the chair.

  “Well, I obviously haven’t trained an owl Dean, don’t be stupid,”

  He shifts uncomfortably. This motel had been especially cheap, and the boys soon realized why. None of them wanted to sleep in the big bed, it had way too many suspicious looking stains. Sam had gotten the kid’s bed, and Dean took the couch. It also reeked from the bathroom, despite it looking relatively clean.

  “Okay so who did?” Dean crosses his arms. “Bobby?”

  “Maybe,” Sam thinks. “I don’t know though, this looks… very official. You think Bobby can write like that?” Dean nods, as if thinking it over, Sam does have a point there. If it was from Bobby, it might as well have been just frantic scribbles.

  “He could’ve gotten someone else to write it,” Dean suggests.

  “I guess? But why?” Sam asks. He looks back at the envelope. It has their exact location, the person who wrote it even knew where Sam was sleeping. Creepy.

  “Hell if I know Sammy, but this is weird, this is really fucking weird,” Dean says, frowning.

  “You tell me,” Sam mutters, wanting to read the rest of the letter. He knows it can’t be real, that.. that whatever it is, it’s some sort of joke, a test.

  “Dad won’t be happy about this,” Dean mumbles, eyes closed, already dreading his return.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t do this, how would I? You’ve seen my handwriting too, I couldn’t do this, where would I even get the wax?”

  Dean seems to agree on that one, it’s a good point after all. He sighs heavily and gets up, pacing around the room.

  “Okay sooo,” Dean gestures with his hands dramatically. “You expect me to just, what, believe that you’re a wizard now, that it? And that I have to take you shopping for a fucking cauldron?”

  “A what?”

  “Yeah, look at the list,” Dean points to the letter. Sam does indeed look. He skims through the list quickly, tracing the contents with his finger. None of the books seem familiar to him, and each title is more ridiculous than the next.

  “A wand?” Sam looks up and scrunches his nose. Dean just shrugs. Sam looks back down. Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomstick. What the hell? Broomsticks? Okay, Uncle Bobby was stretching it with this one. Sam laughs.

  “You think it’s funny?” Dean bites out.

  “N-no, I mean-” Sam stutters but stops himself. “Actually yeah, it’s pretty crazy Dean, I’m obviously not a wizard, and the person who sent this is just… you know, pulling our leg,”

  Dean doesn’t look convinced. Just then, the door slams open, both Sam and Dean gasp audibly, Dean already reaching for the gun lying on the nightstand.

  “Dad!” Dean exclaims, jumping up, not so subtly in front of Sam, who shuffles the papers quickly under his bag. He feels his blood run cold.

  “Boys,” John greets them, before dumping his own bag on the floor. “Been a good week?”

  “Yeah, great,” Dean begins, anxiously. “We went out a few times, but not far, and Sammy got a new book too, didn’t you Sam?”

  “Uh yeah, I did,” Sam says, nodding.

  “Great,” John replies, entirely uninterested. Dean takes a deep breath.

  “How did it go, Dad? Did you get-”

  John doesn’t let him finish. “I am beat. I’m gonna grab a shower then it’s lights out, boys.”

  Dean deflates. The brothers nod and watch as their father goes straight to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. A few seconds later, the water starts.

  “Not a word about this, yeah?” Dean points to the letter and stares Sam down. Sam swallows, then nods. He agrees, best not to tell his Dad anything. Last time he’d tried to talk to him about.. how Sam could.. make stuff happen, he had freaked out and wanted to test Sam in various, some of them even painful, ways. After passing them all, Sam managed to convince him that it was just a joke, and that he couldn’t actually “do” anything. He was just bored. Dean had backed him up there, saying Sam was getting a little stir crazy sitting inside all day long. They didn’t talk about it further, but Dean told him to “shut up about the power stuff”, and Sam had tried to. But when he was left to his own devices, when Dean and Dad were off on a job, Sam would sometimes play around with it a bit. He could actually move stuff with his mind if he concentrated hard enough. He could turn on and off the lights with a snap of his fingers, and make little whirlpools in the water bottles by spinning his finger above it. He wasn’t quite sure of this one thing, but he could swear dogs could actually understand him. Not just simple commands, but he could have conversations with them, and they understood. They couldn't talk back though, much to Sam’s disappointment. He’d told his favorite dog at the shelter, Bailey, that if he spoke to him, Sam wouldn’t tell anyone, he’d keep it a secret. But Bailey had just wagged his tail, and did not speak to him.

  The young man working at the shelter was shocked when little Sam Winchester walked into the yard with all the dogs and got them all to gather around him and obey his every word. Even the untrained, nervous dogs took to Sam very easily.

  There were other things too, minor stuff, but Sam hadn’t told anyone. So.. could the letter be real? He didn’t dare hope.

  “Sam,” Dean marches over to snatch the paper from his hands, but this time, Sam is faster.

  “No, it’s mine!” he says, jumping away on top of the bed. “I won’t show him, but it’s mine, Dean.”

  “Fine, fine,” he says, sounding irritated, but also, there’s a hint of worry in his voice. “I just.. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sam.”

  “What is?”

  “Believing that stuff. I won’t try to tell you that you’re not special or anything because you are, you really are, Sammy, but a wizard?” he shakes his head. “There’s no such thing. Don’t you think we would’ve come across one before?”

  Sam doesn’t have an answer for this. Dean’s sort of right.

  “It’s not real, Sammy.”

  “But I can.. I can do stuff, you know that.”

  “Yeah, but that’s.. that’s just … something you can do.”

  “Sure.” Sam isn’t convinced. He’s clutching the letter in his hands, looking down at it again.

  We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

  Your owl? Sam doesn’t have an owl. Why would he have an owl? Whoever sent this letter wanted him to respond within two days. They want him to start term a month later and go off to a school of magic. Was he really magic? He hadn’t let himself believe it all this time, but… Sam’s heart flutters dangerously; he’s… he is magic; he knows that now, with his entire being. And this school, maybe he’d finally belong somewhere! The letter, he needs to respond, he thinks, to tell them that yes, he wants to go– but how was he going to do that? He doesn’t know where to send it to, and he definitely doesn’t know what to write back, and–

  “Did you make this?” Sam asks then, feeling very small.

  “What?”

  “Did you make this just to make fun of me?”

  “What?! No way, I wouldn’t do that,” Dean’s eyebrows shoot sky high. Sam feels his eyes sting, and he just.. he really doesn’t want to cry. But he’s close to it.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I agree, this is serious.”

  “Dean–”

  “Like I said, whoever sent this knows where we are. That’s not good, I don’t like that. Regardless if this letter is.. real, or not.” Dean’s hand is at his chin now, he’s thinking. Hard. “Maybe we should tell Dad…”

  “No!” Sam almost yells. Dean shoots him an angry look, then nods his head towards the bathroom. The shower’s still on. He didn’t hear. Or at least, he’s not storming out, telling them off.

  “But what if these people are.. are dangerous, Sammy?” Dean says, his voice low.

  “They’re not.”

  “You don’t know that. We still don’t know what this.. this thing with you is about,” Dean is anxiously fiddling with the ring on his thumb. “It could be dangerous, and I don’t want-”

  “This thing?” Sam is getting angry. “Just say it, you think- you think I’m a freak!”

  “Sam, no, that’s not-”

  “Just admit it, Dean,” Sam spits out coldly. He looks away, not wanting to look at his brother. The pit in his stomach feels hollow.

  “Sam, you’re not a freak-”

  “But I am!” Sam cries. Dean’s jaw goes slack for a second, his brows raised, and his eyes soften. Then he closes his mouth, biting his lip, and takes a step forward.

  “No!” Sam holds up a hand to stop him. “Don’t.”

  “Sammy-”

  “If I’m a wizard, if I’m magic, Dean, that means, that means I’m not just some freak, some monster.” he is crying now and furiously wiping away the tears as they fall.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Sam..” Dean begins, feeling heartbroken. “You’re not-”

  “I know you think I am. I see how you look at me, whenever.. whenever I..”

  “No, you’re wrong,” he says, shutting down Sam’s attempt to dig himself deeper. “Sam, I’m just.. I’m just worried, because something is clearly up with you. You’ve always been… a little different, but that’s not a bad thing!”

  Sam scoffs, eyes down.

  “You’re special, Sammy, and yeah, maybe… maybe you’re even magic.”

  Their eyes meet, and it just makes Sam cry harder, because Dean is sincere. Sam could always tell when he lies, he has a tell. The right corner of his mouth would twitch, and he wouldn’t be able to keep his brows from burrowing. He doesn’t glance to the left, he doesn’t do anything but look at Sam with… with loving eyes. He’s concerned, sure, Sam can understand that, but..

  “So.. what do we do?” Sam sniffs. “With the letter, I mean.”

  Dean sighs, then strokes his chin again, resting his elbow in his other hand.

  “I’m gonna be honest with you, mate,” he winks at Sam. “I don’t know. We’ll have to figure it out. Seems like we have until the 1st of September, yeah?”

  “The letter says I need to send an owl by two days from now,”

  “We don’t have an owl.” Dean points out. Sam nods. “So for now, I think we just… wait?”

  “But-”

  “I’m sorry Sammy, but I don’t know what else to do. I also haven’t ever heard of Hogwart, have you?”

  “Hogwarts.” Sam corrects.

  “Whatever,” Dean wafts the correction away, and leans against the wall nonchalantly. “Magic school.”

  “Magic school.” Sam repeats, and his stomach does another somersault. Is this real? Can it be? If monsters are real - if vampires and, and werewolves, banshees, ghosts, skinwalkers, djinns, shapeshifters, wendigos, sirens and rugarus- the list goes on - then why can’t magic be real too?

  *

  August 4th, 1971, Wembley

  A week passes since Sam got the letter, and he’s done his best to try to figure out how he’s supposed to just.. go on with his life. No more letters arrive, no one shows up to take him away to Magic School. That’s what he and Dean have been inclined to call it. Sam spent an alarming amount of time staring at his hands, trying to do magic, but when you don’t really know what you can do, it’s pretty tricky. Dean suggested he try to disappear something, pull a pigeon out from his jacket, or find a lady to saw in half, but he didn’t come with any actual suggestions. The harder Sam tried to do magic, the less happened. He couldn’t even turn the light on now. And the laundromat didn’t work for him without coins. He was frustrated, to say the least. Had he just imagined it all?

  Every night before bed, he reads the letter. Over and over again. He traces his finger over the intricate lettering, amazed by its perfection. Nothing like his handwriting, which while neat, doesn’t come close to how nice this one looks. He even smelled the letter once, and Dean had caught him doing it, which resulted in more mockery. Fair enough, that was kind of a weird thing to do, Sam could admit that. It didn’t smell like magic, but then again, Sam didn’t know what magic smelled like. Or if it even had a smell at all. He closes his eyes and thinks about Magic School. Where would it be? In England? Was it big? How many students were there? What were the teachers like? What would he learn? Could Dean come? He wonders how it would work if it was far away, his Dad would definitely not drive him back and forth every day. He supposes he could ask very nicely for a bike, and ride it there himself. He hopes it’s nearby, and he hopes there are lots of boys his age there, too. Maybe he’ll finally get some real friends!

  “Sam,” Dean says, interrupting Sam’s daydream. There’s not a trace of a smile on his face. Sam furrows his brows and stares back at him, Dean’s in the doorway, holding it closed behind him. He only ever called him Sam when it was time to be serious. “There’s someone here to see you. And Dad.”

  Sam frowns. Dad isn’t here. Dean knows that.

  “Uh, okay?” Sam says, laughter building up. “Who?”

  “He says he’s a professor.” Dean raises his brows, and looks slowly to the letter on Sam’s nightstand, then he cocks his head slightly. Sam follows his gaze and his eyes go wide. Dean nods, as to confirm. Oh my god.

  “Dean-”

  “We’re gonna come in, okay?” Dean says, opening the door fully to reveal the man standing behind it. Sam has to work hard not to gasp out loud. The man’s beard is pure white, and reaches all the way to his waist. He’s so old! Sam almost laughs. The clothes he’s wearing too, are unlike anything Sam has ever seen. Dean steps inside, allowing the man- the professor, to follow him in. He’s wearing long, purple robes, reaching the ground and dragging behind him. He’s got a hat on, which is small and pointy, also in a royal purple color. His face looks kind; he’s got smile lines and lots of wrinkles. He’s wearing half-moon glasses, they’re far down on his nose, and the man leans forward to take a better look at Sam. The man must be over a hundred years old! He reminds Sam a little of Santa Claus, or- Oh. My. God. Is this Gandalf?! Sam can’t help but gape at the man, the wizard, in front of him. He’s speechless.

  “Mr Samuel Winchester?” he asks, his voice calm, and warm. Sam doesn’t say anything, he just looks at the man in front of him, jaw still slack. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts.”

  Sam still doesn’t say anything.

  “Right, yeah, that’s Sam,” Dean says and gives Sam a stern look as if to tell him to get it together. Sam clears his throat.

  “Yes, I’m Sam,” Sam manages. “Uh, sir.”

  “You can call me Professor,” Professor Dumbledore says with a warm, reassuring smile.

  “Okay,” Sam says. “Professor.” He adds quickly, blushing.

  “Do you know why I am here, Samuel?”

  “Uh, I don’t-” Sam attempts to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “It’s just Sam, by the way.”

  “Just Sam,” repeats the professor. “I am here because we haven’t gotten a response from you regarding your acceptance to Hogwarts. Did you not get the letter?” his eyes search the little room they’re in, which now feels even smaller. Sam feels embarrassed. His gaze quickly lands on the letter, tucked neatly into the envelope on Sam’s nightstand. Professor Dumbledore sees it too.

  “I did,” Sam confirms, now feeling guilty for ever thinking it was a prank. “I just, I don’t have an, uh.. an owl, sir- I mean professor, sir.” Sam cringes. “Just. Professor.”

  Professor Dumbledore chuckles at that.

  “No owl? That’s unusual. Young Dean here told me your father is out on a…” he pauses, looks to Dean and says: “Job?”

  “Yes, he’s a uh, he’s a hunter, Professor.” Sam says, before he can stop himself. Dean looks like he’s about to lose it. Why did Sam say that!? “Uhm, I mean, he’s-”

  “A hunter.” Professor Dumbledore repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “What does he hunt, Sam?”

  “Uh..” Sam looks to Dean, who shakes his head in obvious disapproval. Sam bites his tongue. When no response comes, Professor Dumbledore looks to Dean again. He holds his hands up in mock defeat, as if showing him that he has no idea what Sam is on about.

  “Dad works odd jobs, like handiwork and stuff. He’s a mechanic,” Dean says. “So we move around a lot. He’ll be back in a few days.”

  “A mechanic.” Dumbledore repeats ass if mulling it over.

  “That’s right,” Dean confirms, head held high. It was semi-true. Their father was a mechanic, but he hadn’t worked as one in many, many years.

  “And your mother?” he asks, and Sam shrinks.

  “Dead.” Dean simply replies.

  “Ah,” Professor Dumbledore says and thinks for a minute. “Sam, do you know you’re a wizard?”

  The world stops spinning. Did he just..

  “Sam?” it’s Dean this time. He’s waving his hand in front of Sam’s face.

  “I..” Sam begins, searching for the words. “I’m a wizard.”

  “Yes,” Dumbledore confirms, even though it wasn’t a question. “I should’ve come sooner, my apologies.”

  “What- what do you mean?” Sam asks now, worried. Was it too late? He hadn’t responded to the letter after all. Would he not get to go? He so really wanted to go. Magic School… is real?

  “Usually, with muggle-born students, we send a representative to hand deliver the letter, but with you? Well, obviously something was overlooked.” he muses, and looks away, deep in thought all of a sudden. Dean looks like one big question mark.

  “Uh, muggle-born?” Sam asks.

  “A person with no magical abilities is called a muggle. You, being a wizard, yet not knowing so yourself, leads me to believe that your father, and perhaps also your mother, were both muggles, thus making you, Sam, a muggle-born wizard,” he explains, searching Sam’s eyes for a reaction.

  “Sorry, what?” Dean cuts in. “So that makes me, what, a muggle?”

  “I believe so, yes.” Professor Dumbledore replies easily.

  “And Sam’s a wizard,” Dean says, slowly, enunciating each word carefully.

  “Sam’s a wizard.” Professor Dumbledore offers Dean a kind, and understanding smile. “This must be very strange for you both.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again,” Dean says and slumps down in one of the armchairs. He gestures to the other one, letting the Professor also take a seat. He does. There being no chairs left, Sam is left to awkwardly sit on the edge of the bed.

  “You are from America.” Professor Dumbledore states, and again, it’s not a question, but Sam feels the need to answer.

  “Yeah, Kansas,” Sam says. “Does that mean I can’t.. uh.. go?”

  “Go?”

  “To Magic Sch- to, uh, to Hogwarts, sir, fuck- I mean, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he bites his lip and cringes. “Professor.” Sam squeezes his eyes closed and wishes he could just melt into the floor. Dumbledore seems amused, he’s got a mischievous smile on his face.

  “The Quill wrote your name down in the book, and you received your letter in the year you turned 11; admittance is already permitted. You are going to Hogwarts. If you wish to accept, of course.”

  “I do,” Sam says then, the words spilling out. “I want to go.”

  “Wonderful. Just wonderful,” Dumbledore smiles. It is a kind smile, one that Sam is unfamiliar with. Most grown-ups find him annoying and spare no time to talk to him or listen when he speaks.

  “It’s not.. It’s not a joke, is it, sir?” Sam asks cautiously. “I mean, Professor, sorry.”

  “It’s quite alright, Sam. And no, it is not a joke.” Dumbledore assures him, and as if to prove his point, he pulls out a stick from his robes; a black, quite bumpy stick, about the length of Sam’s forearm. He looks at the professor, curiosity almost spewing out through his ears. What was he doing? Sam scooched a little backward on the bed as if to give the professor room to do. well, that wasn’t something Sam knew just yet, he just didn’t want to be in the way. So now, Sam sits criss cross applesauce (he almost laughs) on the bed, looking expectantly at the old man before him. Still smiling,

  “Would you like to see some magic, Sam?”

  “Yes.” He says, holding his breath. He really does.

  “Very well.” Professor Dumbledore says, and with a flick of his wrist, out through the tip of his stick comes a shimmery, glowing sort of liquid- or was it even liquid? Well, whatever it is floats up, up, up, and suddenly, it’s a - it’s a bird! A water bird! Sam can’t believe his eyes, and is sure his jaw is on the floor by now. The bird is see-through, but the way the light hits it, Sam can see all sorts of colors, like a rainbow! The bird flaps its wings and flies higher, circling the room, and the droplets that fall off it form into more birds and more, and suddenly, five little water birds are flying around the dingy motel room. Sam is beaming, looking at them. Dean has lost all control of his face too, and is staring, awestruck as well. Dumbledore doesn’t say anything, but he snaps his fingers, and suddenly, the curtains shut by themselves, and the lights go out too- Sam gasps, as the birds are now glowing!

  “What…” Sam is searching his mind, where does this sentence he’s trying to form want to go? He stops trying to find out because, just then, one of the birds is gliding down towards him. Sam looks to Dumbledore, who is holding out his own hand and encouraging Sam to do the same. He does. And the little water bird, it- no way! It perches down on Sam’s index finger! It feels .. well, it feels solid, but wet, and cold at the same time. It almost tickles a little as the bird hops closer to the edge of his finger. It’s not much bigger than a peach, Sam thinks, and it is oh-so-cute! He giggles, can’t contain the childish glee, and sees Dean mirror his own emotions, beaming at his little brother.

  “Wow..” Sam manages, and Professor Dumbledore smiles. He flicks the stick again, and the birds all gather into one, and- and turns into a horse. Sam blinks rapidly. The water horse gallops around the room, above their heads, splashing water as it runs. Dean gets some on him and immediately scoffs, hands flying up to fix his hair. Sam laughs loudly and watches the horse gallop, mesmerized by it. Dumbledore points his stick at the door, and it opens and outruns the horse. Sam almost falls off the bed as he leans after it, not wanting to see it go. It rises higher and higher, and then Sam can’t see it anymore. Dumbledore lowers his stick, looking at Sam expectedly.

  “That was…”

  “So cool!” Dean finishes, excited too now.

  “Yeah!” Sam exclaims, happy to see his brother in such a good mood for once.

  “And .. and that was magic, right?”

  “Quite right.” Dumbledore nods.

  “And I’m.. I’m magic?” Sam looks down at his hands, palms up. He feels like he’s buzzing with it just then.

  “You’re a wizard, yes. And you can do magic, Sam. That I am certain of.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle. Sam smiles; no, he beams up at Dumbledore.

  “How do you know?” Sam asks, skeptical himself now.

  “Hold out your hand.” Dumbledore says, and Sam does so immediately. Dumbledore reaches into his robes again, this time retrieving a leaf. Sam can’t help but feel a bit disappointed at this. He tries to shrug it off. Dumbledore places the crumpled-up, brown leaf in Sam’s palm. Then he says nothing, just looks at Sam. He feels awkward. Uh, what now? Sam starts panicking. That’s it, he thinks; he’ll know I’m a fraud now. Just some freak who sometimes gets something to happen. He can’t exactly control it, and it worries him that- wait. The leaf, it’s.. it’s uncrumpling. It’s regaining its color, turning first a sickly yellow, then a rich orange, and lastly, a mellow, sagely green. Sam’s jaw drops. What- did he?

  “Did I?” he hears himself say.

  “Yes, you did, Sam. I just helped a little, but it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t intend it to,” he tells him, looking down at the leaf. Sam had intended for the leaf to change colors? To do that? What? He hadn’t done anything; he just- “Go ahead, make it float.”

  “I can’t!” Sam says then, horrified. It’s true, sometimes he was able to lift things with his mind, or so he’d convinced himself; he never managed to do it when he’d finally grown the courage to tell Dean about it. It never worked when anyone was watching.

  “You can,” Dumbledore says, smiling. “Just try.”

  Sam tries, then. Nothing happens at first, and Sam wants to cry. Dean’s brows are furrowed; he’s not looking happy. Maybe Sam was faking all this. Perhaps it was some sort of horrible mistake, and he’d be found out any second and-

  “Holy shit!” Dean exclaims. Sam blinks. The leaf is not only floating, but it’s multiplying, flying higher and higher above Sam’s head. Is his hair flowing in- in the wind? What? The wind picks up speed, swirling the leaves around, and around, all sorts of colors, red, orange, yellow, green, none are brown. Sam, himself, is starting to float.

  “Whoa!” he shouts but realizes it’s just his clothes, not all of him, that is floating. The wind, his wind, he realizes now, is whirling all around him, making the leaves dance and his hair stand out in all directions. Dumbledore looks very pleased and looks at Dean. So does Sam, which makes the leaves fly over to him as well. Dean quickly tenses but doesn’t swat the leaves away, which was Sam’s fear at first. He just stands there, staring at Sam in awe.

  “I’m doing this?” Sam asks the Professor, pure bliss on his face, so shocked and just so damn happy at the same time. He nods.

  “Yes, I’m just amplifying your power to get you going, but this is all you, Sam.” he smiles and holds his arms out, and the leaves begin circling him as well. It’s so beautiful, Sam thinks, and he’s so proud. A freak wouldn’t do this; a monster couldn’t. He.. he was a wizard. He really was.

  “I think this is enough to convince you, is it?” Dumbledore asks, winking at him. Sam nods fervently. Dumbledore points his stick at the door, which again swings open.

  “Go on, send it out,” Dumbledore says, cocking his head at the door.

  “How?”

  “Just do it.” Dumbledore responds, and Sam, well? He just does it. He’s using his hands, and pushes the wind to go forward in the direction he’s pointing, and it just, obeys him, that easily, taking all the leaves with it. The door closes. Sam is.. speechless.

  “There are many things one can do with magic, all of which you will learn at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore tells him. “If that is what you decide.”

  “I do- I mean, I’ve decided,” Sam says quickly, and Dean smiles proudly at him, his hair a mess. Sam giggles at this, and Dean looks at him suspiciously. He follows Sam’s line of sight and reaches up to touch his hair. His eyes widen in shock, and he clenches his jaw and shakes his head in disapproval - but the smile on his lips gives him away; he’s not really upset. He’s just as amazed as Sam is. Sam just did magic! And Dean saw this time!

  “Wonderful. I feel I should tell you that Hogwarts is a boarding school, which means you will be living at the castle throughout most of the year. But you can return home in the breaks and, of course, over summer.” Dumbledore explains fingers interlocked with each other. Sam’s heart is beating fast. Dean’s smile falters. He is back to looking skeptical.

  “Castle? Hogwarts is a castle?” Sam asks; he can’t believe it; he needs to hear Dumbledore repeat it.

  “It is a castle, yes. A quite big one, actually,” he says proudly in the last part.

  “And you’re the headmaster?” Sam asks, nervous now, all of a sudden.

  “I am.”

  “And I.. I can go?” Sam asks worriedly, glancing over at Dean, who looks pretty uncomfortable.

  “You can. If you wish to accept, of course.”

  “I do!” Sam bursts out, and he can’t catch the words before they spill out. Dean looks stricken. He looks hurt. He looks away from Sam quickly, staring daggers at the wall, jaw clenched. Sam can see the muscles in his upper arm tense and then untense.

  “Wonderful. Now I’m sure you have plenty of questions--”

  “When can I leave?”

  Dumbledore just looks at him then, still smiling. Dean doesn’t say anything.

  “I mean, when, uhm, when does school start?” Sam tries, fumbling with his words, not daring to look in Dean’s direction.

  “Term begins September 1st, which is when you also will leave for King’s Cross Station,” Dumbledore smiles. “That’s in London.” He adds when he sees Sam’s confusion.

  “The train, the Hogwarts Express, will leave at 11am, and it is essential you are there in due time. It is the only way you’ll get to Hogwarts. Will that be a problem?” he asks, searching Sam’s eyes. He doesn’t face Dean, who is too busy trying to kill the lamp on the wall with just a look.

  “No, no, that’s- that works,” Sam says, smiling despite himself.

  “Good. Seeing as you are muggle-born, I will have a representative from the school come and take you to Diagon Alley, where you will be able to shop for school supplies. You’ve got the list, yes?” Dumbledore gestures to the letter. Sam nods excitedly.

  “Very well. When does your father return? I would very much like to speak to him as well.” Dumbledore asks, and turns to Dean this time. “Did you say he’d be another week? Long time for a mechanical job, isn’t it?”

  “He’ll be back in a week, yeah,” says Dean, finally looking at the old man, though not in a friendly way. The words come out harshly, and Sam feels embarrassed again. “But I’ve got the address where he’s staying, if you want it.”

  Sam gapes at him. The last thing Sam wanted was for Dad to know.

  “Wonderful, thank you, I would like that.”

  Dean walks over to the coffee table, grabbing the memo pad and a pen.

  “I can pop by on my way back to the castle,” Dumbledore says and accepts the note Dean had scribbled the address down on. He smiles kindly, looking at Dean through his low glasses.

  “So you’re leaving then? Now?” Dean asks rudely, getting up to open the door.

  “Not quite yet, if that’s alright with you, Mr Winches-”

  “Dean is fine.”

  “Dean.”

  Sam takes a deep breath. He really wants to start yelling at his brother. But he won’t. He sits still, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “The list...” Sam begins carefully, reaching for the letter. He unfolds it as he carefully takes it out of the envelope.

  “Yes?”

  “You said someone would take me shopping?”

  “Yes, I will send someone.” Dumbledore’s kind smile feels very reassuring.

  “Oh, okay. When?” Sam hopes he isn’t asking too many questions, though he feels like every time one is answered, his mind comes up with at least three more.

  “August 23rd, a week before the train leaves the station,” Dumbledore says. “They will meet you outside of the Leaky Cauldron in London. Or will you be here still?”

  “We can be in London then,” Sam says, not sure how he’ll convince his father to go, but absolutely sure that he will succeed. He has to.

  “Wonderful, just wonderful.” Dumbledore smiles. “I will not be expecting your owl then, and I will inform the rest of the board you have accepted and will be joining us in the coming term.”

  Sam is giddy and nods eagerly. He can’t wait.

  “Very well, I will leave you boys to it then. It was a pleasure meeting you both,” Dumbledore says, shaking their hands one by one. “I’ll give your father your best, yes?”

  They nod. He was going to find their dad now? Sam’s stomach ties itself into a knot. He’s kind of thankful he doesn’t have to be there for that.

  “Goodbye for now, Sam.” Dumbledore smiles at him, tipping his head down in a small bow. “Dean.” He gives Dean a curt nod as well, and then he leaves. Just like that.

  And just like that, Sam’s life is forever changed.