Harry was fuming. He couldn't stand being cooped up any longer. He had Ron and Hermione to keep him company, but he could no longer stand not knowing what was going on.

For the past two weeks he had been stuck at Number Twelve Grimmuald Place. Its dark dusty corners were making him feel claustrophobic and his body screamed for fresh air and a long relaxing ride on his Firebolt. He longed for exploration and a change of scenery, but ever since the return of Lord Voldemort he was getting less and less of each.

He was pulled from his lazy stupor when the door slammed open. "Sorry," Ron said apologetically. "Fred and George somehow managed to magically glue the door shut. It wouldn't open."

"So you kicked it open?" Harry asked, only vaguely interested.

"No," a high voice behind Ron answered. "I did." Hermione marched out from behind Ron, her bushy hair bouncing. "Ronald was afraid to hurt his foot."

"I have weak ankles!" Ron exclaimed as Harry tried to stifle his burst of laughter. "For Merlin's sake Hermione, how many times do I have to tell you? Besides, I'm not exactly wearing the proper shoes for kicking down doors-"

"Yes, yes, you're right. You're always right…" Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. She plopped gracefully down onto the bed beside Harry.

Harry was extremely eager for information. "Did you find out anything? He asked the two of them.

Ron leaned against the bed-post. "Well, we went downstairs to the kitchen when the Order was having one of their meetings. There was no one keeping guard so we used one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears to listen in. They didn't say much 'cause the meeting was just about finished but we did hear something…"

"Sirius isn't as cautious as the others, you know." Hermione continued. "He thinks that you have every right to know what's after you. Which you do." She added quickly, seeing Harry's sudden angry expression. "He was yelling about the thing that the Order believes has been sent by You-Know-Who, and then something about hunting it."

Harry felt neither dread nor fear at the thought of something terrible being sent after him by Voldemort; just curiosity and a slight frustration. "Did Sirius say what it was?"

Hermione looked to Ron, who shrugged. "He was just calling it a demon." Hermione continued. "Now, I don't know anything about demons but-"

"You think it's actually a demon?" Ron asked, quizzically. "Sirius was probably just calling it a demon just because it's evil."

"Are demons even real?" Harry questioned. "I mean we've never heard anything about them in Defense Against the Dark Arts or Care of Magical Creatures."

Hermione frowned. "Well we haven't exactly had a consistent teacher in Defense Against the Dark Arts, have we? And with Hagrid teaching Care of Magical Creatures…"

Harry rounded on her. "What are you saying, Hermione? That Hagrid's a bad teacher?"

She flushed a light crimson. "No!" she exclaimed quickly. "No, I was just thinking that with Hagrid's love of dangerous magical creatures that we- that we might have heard of them if they were real. I mean, they are supposed to be extremely dangerous, right? But of course there's a chance they might be."

Harry knew Hermione was lying, but he didn't call her on it. He suddenly felt very sluggish and had no fight left in him.

"Demon's aren't real, Harry." Ron cut in. "They're just in stories to scare kids so they don't lie to their Mummies and Daddies." He rolled his eyes. "It's all a bunch of mythology."

"How can you say anything's 'mythology'?" Hermione laughed, gesturing about her. "Witches and wizards and vampires are supposed to be myths, but here we stand! There's evidence of demonic lore is everywhere! The Bible, the Torah-"

"Yeah- both of which are books made by Muggles." Ron added, chuckling.

"Oh, just because Muggles wrote them their lore can't be based on fact?" Hermione countered.

"Sirius was just using 'demons' as a figure of speech, 'Mione! He didn't really mean actual demons!"

"You think so? Then how do you explain what Lupin said back to Sirius?"

Harry had drifted off in thought during their argument, but perked up again. "What did Lupin say? He asked.

Hermione and Ron turned to each other again. "Lupin said Dumbledore had hired someone to protect you. He said that Dumbledore had hired 'experts' to 'take care' of the demon. He said they were hunters."

************************************************************************

Sam was unhappy. Ok, that was an understatement. He was furious. This was the third time this year he was being forced to move. It was always the same old story- he'd move to a new town, be the new kid at school, and then when he finally fit in and made new friends, his father would announce that he, Sam, and Dean had to travel cross-country again, and then the cycle would repeat itself. At fifteen, Sam still felt shy and awkward around new people and new classmates. He was nothing like his older brother Dean, who had graduated early this year and had a confidence Sam could never even hope to have.

Sam noticed Dean eying him concerned. "You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam answered quickly, hoping his eyes didn't look too glassy. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean nodded, keeping his hazel eyes on the road as he followed Dad. "Good." He said back. It was dark, as they drove in the Impala. Their father was in his truck ahead, and Sam noticed that around them there was more and more traffic whizzing by. He and Dean were used to wide open roads, less respect for speed limits, and not so many people. So they were a bit alarmed at the fact that they were headed into a city.

"Dude, where are we going?" Sam asked his brother.

"I dunno, man, maybe Dad made a wrong turn?"

But that didn't seem to be the case. John Winchester seemed to know exactly where they were headed.

Sam questioned Dean further, wondering why Dad hadn't told either of them where they were moving to.

"I have no idea! He didn't tell me squat! I thought maybe he 'd told you!" Dean insisted.

Sam shook his head. "Dad never tells me anything except, 'Pack your bags, boy, we've got another job.' Or 'Why don't you cut your hair? You look like a girl.'"

Dean smirked. "Well it is getting a little long there, Samantha. Dad's totally right about you being a girl."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. "Shut up, man." He grumbled, putting a hand through his hair subconsciously.

Half an hour later, they were practically stopped in traffic, and Dean looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "God dammit!" he exclaimed, as another car cut him off. "Did you see how close that idiot got to my baby?! You jerk!" he yelled out the window and flipped the other car the bird. At a red light, Dean slid a hand down his aggravated face. "I honestly have no idea how people can live in places like this! It's insane!"

"Well Dean, some people might call hunting ghosts and demons and monsters insane, but here we are." Sam pointed out.

"Yeah well, at least we get to kill our problems. If I killed the sons-a-'bitches 'round here I'd be the monster…" he slammed an angry hand on his steering wheel as another car ran a red light. "I mean, c'mon! That's just wrong!" He slammed his fist on the horn again.

Sam was less interested in the traffic on the road and paying more attention to the traffic in the sky. He noticed that there were more and more planes taking off and landing somewhere nearby. The Impala began to shake a bit every time one flew overhead. A realization then dawned upon him and Sam knew that if his realization was truth, in a matter of minutes Dean would be even more upset.

"Why don't we put on a little Metallica, huh?" Sam suggested, rifling through Dean's cassette tape collection.

"Sound's good to me." Dean answered gruffly. As soon as the music began to play, Dean visibly relaxed. That is, until they pulled into the airport.

Luckily no one was too close behind them, because Dean slammed on the brakes. "Oh nah-uh, you gotta be KIDDING ME!" The older Winchester let out a stream of vulgar curses and in a panic, pulled onto the side of the road, no longer following their father's truck. "You knew about this didn't you, Sam!" Dean shouted, accusingly.

"Dean, I swear I didn't! I have no idea what we're doing here." Sam admitted. Sam definitely would have told Dean if John had told him they were flying somewhere. Sam had always thought his brother wasn't afraid of anything- until last year when they had flown from California to Pennsylvania and Dean had positively freaked out. His brother was deathly afraid of planes and flying and nothing could quell that fear.

John Winchester apparently had noticed that his boys were no longer following him. He too pulled onto the side of the road, and walked back to the still Impala.

Dean turned off the car and leaped out, slamming the door behind him, Sam followed suit.

"What the hell, Dad? You can't be serious!" Dean bellowed.

"Son," John began calmly. "Settle down-"

"No way, Dad! Not this time!" Dean was nineteen, and tall, but he still looked small compared to his father. Nevertheless, he approached the older man aggressively, and John looked intimidated for a nanosecond. "You cannot honestly be serious about flying somewhere."

Sam could tell John was trying to be reasonable, but Dean never disobeyed him so he looked at a loss of what to say. "You're going, Dean, and that's final."

Dean was defiant, but he was so shaken, he couldn't seem to string together a good argument. "Why didn't you tell us where we were going?" he questioned, more softly.

John frowned. "Why? 'Cause I knew if I told you, you'd hightail it outta here. And I didn't tell Sammy 'cause I knew he'd tell you and then you'd both hightail it outta here."

Sam sighed. He knew there was no arguing with his father at this point. "Where are we going, Dad?" Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw that Dean was staring him, looking betrayed.

"A little further than usual." John answered simply, scratching the rough stubble on his chin.

Dean blanched. "Further meaning..?"

"London, England." Sam noticed that as John said this, he looked more worried than he'd been in awhile. "I got a… call… from a friend a few days ago. Needs help with a demon."

"Our demon?" Sam asked quickly.

John acknowledged Sam for the first time. "Could be. Either way, I told my friend we'd take care of it. This case is extremely important."

"Why's that?" Sam was curious. "What makes this case more important than any other?"

"It just is." His father answered, causing him to frown.

"Fine, let's just take a boat then." Dean suggested, his eyes wide and pleading.

John sighed, obviously annoyed. "No Dean. A boat would take to long. We're flying to London. Our flight leaves in two hours." John began walking back to his truck, his back turned to his boys. "We've got work to do." He said over his shoulder.