Author's Note: This fic is very AU, since the idea of the Winchesters being at Hogwarts during the Marauder era always sounded like a really fun idea, but obviously wouldn't work with the canon Supernatural timeline. Also, because I wanted Sam to be easily out of Hogwarts by the time James and Lily died, I've made him slightly older than he would be in canon - he's only two and a bit years younger than Dean. Also, because the yellow-eyed demon was killed when the boys were a lot younger, John is a much more responsible adult throughout the story.

Happy Reading! And - on with the fic! xxx

Prologue

2nd February, 1968...

It was never meant to be like this. His boys had been supposed to be saving people from the supernatural, not becoming it! The death of that yellow-eyed demon had supposed to be what would bring their fractured family back together, and instead it was threatening to pull them apart. The journey to England was meant to have been their opportunity for a new life, a chance to leave the dangerous world of hunting behind so that John could raise his two young boys in as normal an environment as was possible, something which they had all been deprived of since that terrible night nearly six years ago. It was supposed to have been a chance to make a fresh start.

Well, it was certainly a fresh start, he had to admit. But it certainly wasn't the one he'd had in mind when he had looked up and seen his eldest son calmly standing over him with the smoking Colt held steadily in his hand. Naturally, his first reaction then had been sheer terror; while he would have been the first to admit that he hadn't been the most responsible father since Mary had been killed, the sight of Dean standing there with such a dangerous weapon in his hand almost froze his insides. But then he had turned to see his bitterest enemy lying crumpled and dead on the ground beside him, the hand that had been strangling him moments ago limp against the grass and any anger had faded to relief. It was finally all over and while John was a little beaten up, they were all alive. He had even laughed for joy when he heard Sam crying out from the car.

At last, it seemed as though they could have their happy ending, though at first, he had no idea where they were going to go to make a new start. He wasn't even sure he wanted to stay in America any more; after so long travelling the roads, so many of the memories associated with the country were just too painful. But at the same time, he knew that he couldn't just jump onto a plane without any further thought. He had to have a plan of action first; after so many years, he owed that to the boys, if nothing else.

Then, Bobby Singer, John's oldest and closest friend by a distance – or rather, the only person who seemed even slightly immune to John's unfortunate and unintentional habit of annoying almost everyone he met – had insisted that they stay at his salvage yard property in South Dakota for a while, until they could work out their plans and find somewhere more permanent to live. He said that it was just one friend helping out another, but John knew better. Bobby was extremely fond of the two boys and treated them like his own sons. That, and he was lonely and had been since his wife had been killed many years ago. Still, whatever the reason, he appreciated the gesture – it was a nice feeling to have someone who was watching out for your family – and he knew the boys felt the same, since both of them loved Bobby's place. Quite aside from it being the closest place they'd had to a real home since leaving Lawrence, both the boys had their own favourite places when they were there. Sam loved curling up in a chair pouring over some of Bobby's mythology books, despite some of them being far too complicated for a child of not quite six years old. Dean, on the other hand, didn't have as much patience for reading and would rush straight into the scrapyard and cast an unnervingly critical eye over whatever new wrecks Bobby had somehow managed to acquire. It at once amused and impressed John just how adapt his eldest son was with a tool kit and he couldn't help but think that one day, when he was older, he'd probably end up making a name for himself as a mechanic.

John's own relationship with Bobby had been somewhat more complicated. The older man was the 'go-to guy' for any leads or information on what they were hunting, since, despite having kept a diary of the supernatural for years, John hated research and would also freely admit that it wasn't his strongest point either. In fact, a lot of what was written in that diary was what Bobby had told him over the years that he had been hunting. Added to that, Bobby was also probably the only hunter who John trusted and who wouldn't be likely to punch him in the face the minute he saw him, which did tend to help matters, especially when you were chasing something as nasty as what the Winchesters seemed to face all too often.

At the same time, though, Bobby was almost like the older brother John had never had. They argued frequently, but no matter what happened, John knew that the other man would always leave the door open for them, even after that time two years ago when he had chased John off his property with a shotgun (which, he had to admit in hindsight, had been entirely his own fault, though at the time he had been too angry and stubborn to realise it). Despite all that, though, John knew that the older man would move Heaven and Hell for them if he had to – literally – and he was actually just as protective of John as Dean was of Sam, though he would never admit it, because they both had their pride which would never survive if John admitted that he needed protecting, even though he knew that Bobby knew it only too well.

The most important thing, however, was that Bobby loved Sam and Dean and treated them as though they were his own children. At first, this had bred a deep resentment and bitterness inside John, stemming from the fear that the older man would try and take his sons away from him, as well as drawing attention to the unwanted knowledge that he had failed completely and utterly as a father. Obviously, he knew that – the resentment he had seen in Sam's eyes as soon as his youngest son was old enough to know what it meant was enough of a giveaway – but it still didn't make it something that he wanted to admit. So, three years ago, when Bobby had taken him aside and offered to look after the boys while John went on a particularly dangerous hunt, to say that the suggestion hadn't gone over very well had been an understatement. John had been furious by what he perceived as his friend trying to replace him as a father and had stated in no uncertain terms that he knew what was best for Sam and Dean, and no one else. He had left in a storm of fury, his sons in the back of the car, with Bobby's shout about how Mary would have been turning in her grave ringing in his ears. Needless to say, with John in such a bad mood and the boys so shaken up by the argument which had made the floorboards tremble, the hunt had been a disaster – they had caught the demon, but not before six people, one of them a boy barely Dean's age, had been killed right in front of their eyes. Sam had, as much as a three-year-old could, made his feelings on the matter emphatically known while Dean had shrunk down in the back seat without a word and hadn't spoken during the entire journey back to South Dakota. Naturally, the first thing John did when they got back was rather nervously help Bobby clean the house, which they both knew was as close to an apology as John would be likely to offer.

Since then, John had come to realise that Bobby had no intention of taking his place as a father, but simply that he cared very deeply for him and his family, and that he was just as important to Sam and Dean as John himself was. It had taken time for him to understand that, but now that he did, he didn't know how they could have managed without Bobby. The man had always been the one constant in all their lives and, even when John hoped that, now the demon was dead, they could live a more normal life free from fear, he would still be just as close to them as he always had been.

But then, on Dean's eighth birthday, everything John had known suddenly changed.

24th January, 1968...

The day had started off normally, by anyone's standards. Sam, John and Bobby had each given Dean a gift, as had a couple of other hunters who they had met on their travels, though these had been sent in the post rather than delivered in person. Apparently, wanting John's head on a plate didn't mean that they didn't like his children, though even that wasn't enough for them to want to voluntarily spend time with the man. Still, Dean didn't seem to mind as he wheeled the little car Sam had made him – the car John secretly thought looked like a hat with wheels – across Bobby's floor, leaving thin white lines in the wood behind him. Sam, in his five-year-old innocence, was watching with wide eyes and an enormous grin as he clapped his hands, and Bobby was chuckling in amusement from the doorway.

"They're great kids, John, y'know that," he remarked. "Really great kids."

"I know they are," said John. "But, Bobby, I wish you –"

"John, you know why I gave Dean that amulet. Just because you're finally out of the hunting business, it doesn't mean that helpers or friends of everything you've killed or pissed off over the years will care. Your boys need to be kept safe."

"I know that," hissed John through gritted teeth. "It's just that I'm trying to give my boys the normal life that they should have had from the start. I don't want them to have to be reminded of hunting for the rest of their lives. I want them to play games like baseball and basketball, not have them be haunted by this crap."

"I know," said Bobby. "I get that, and that's great. You deserve it, you really do. But just because you're out of the game, it doesn't mean that what you've done will be forgotten." He dropped his voice. "I hate to bring her up, but look what happened to Mary. She got out, but it didn't help her in the end, did it?"

John tensed briefly, but sighed. "I know. And...you're right, but..."

"It's for the best. Trust me." Smiling, Bobby awkwardly patted John's shoulder before raising his voice and calling out to the boys, "Hey, who wants cake?"

"Duh!" Dean leapt up from the floor, rolling his eyes. "Is there anyone in the world who doesn't like cake, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby snorted. "Only idjits, kid," he said. "Only idjits, and since we are not, it must follow that we love cake. John, if you would do the honours?"

"With pleasure." John backed into the kitchen and lit the candles on the cake before turning out the lights. But before he could open his mouth, Sam clapped his hands over his ears and Dean's eyes widened in something very much like panic. "What?" he asked. "Why're you staring at me like that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dad, I love you, but –"

"Please don't sing," Sam continued. "You can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"But...but..." spluttered John as Bobby roared with laughter. "But it's a tradition! It's what families usually do on birthdays!"

"Yeah, but I'd rather not have to listen to a parade of dying cats, thanks," said Dean with a laugh. "And that includes you, Uncle Bobby."

"Oi!" protested Bobby. "And what about your little brother? I doubt he's exactly the next Elvis Presley, is he?"

"No, but he's not even six years old yet," said Dean. "He's got an excuse. What's yours?"

John burst out laughing. "Oh, Dean, you are a little rascal, you know that!" Just like your mother, he added silently. "All right, no singing. But now can you look at the cake?"

Dean smirked a little, but when he looked at the cake in John's hands, his mouth dropped. "Oh, wow!" His green eyes lit up. "Dad, that's awesome! Where did you get it?"

"What, you don't think I could have made it myself?" asked John.

"No," said Sam.

"Not a chance," said Bobby.

"Dad, you can't even work a stove," finished Dean.

"Oh, that stings," snorted John, but he set the cake down on the table, allowing everyone to admire it. "But you're right; I didn't make it." Wish I could have though, he thought, but he knew that something like this was way beyond his skill set in the kitchen.

Indeed, the cake really was a wonder to behold. It was made in the shape of a sleek black car – a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, to be precise – with flame designs snaking out from behind the front wheels and trailing across the body, eight candles added in at different points, making the pattern look almost alive. Dean could barely breathe with excitement as he stared at it and even Sam, who wasn't anything like as interested in classic cars as his brother was, couldn't help but look impressed.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, go on, kid, blow them candles out."

"And don't forget to make a wish!" piped up Sam, who was gripping his brother's hand and bouncing around so excitedly you might have thought it was his birthday.

"Come on, Sammy, give the birthday boy some room to blow his candles out!" laughed John, gently nudging Sam back a bit. "Go on, Dean, then we can cut it."

"Yes, sir!" Dean teasingly saluted his family and leaned over to blow out the candles.

And that was when everything started to happen at once.

Instead of the expected small cloud of smoke, as soon as Dean blew the last candle out, the space filled with a thin silver mist, so thick that John couldn't see anything past the end of his nose. He could hear Dean squeaking in apparent excitement and confusion and Bobby muttering a colourful assortment of curses under his breath.

"Dean!" he heard Sam groaning. "What've you done this time?"

"I dunno!" Dean called back, though he still sounded more excited than worried. "It just happened! But it looks really cool!"

John let out a groan, but before he could say anything, the smoke suddenly changed into a deep shade of blue before it vanished altogether, leaving four very confused people staring at each other. It was Sam who spoke first.

"The cake!"

"Huh?" Bobby frowned. "What about the – oh."

The cake was now no longer sat in pride of place on the table. Instead, it had risen nearly four feet in the air and was now calmly floating across the room, leaving smudges of icing in places on the walls as it bounced off them. Dean, a wide grin on his face, was watching it like a hawk and following it everywhere it moved – although, it looked to John more like the cake was following Dean rather than the other way round...and judging by the perturbed look on Bobby's face, he was thinking the same thing.

"Bobby," he whispered, as the cake performed quite a stunning loop-the-loop around Dean's head, "what the hell is going on here?"

"Well," Bobby whispered back, his face full of anxiety. "I could be wrong, but it looks like –"

SPLAT.

"Dad!" cried Sam. "The cake exploded!"

Indeed it had. The walls and the floor were liberally splattered with jam, icing, cream and lumps of chocolate cake and Sam himself also had it in his hair and all over his hands. Dean, however, seemed to have caught the full blast of it and was almost unrecognisable underneath all the mess.

"Oh dear," said Bobby, raising an eyebrow. "That was...unfortunate."

"I'm not quite sure unfortunate is exactly the word for it, Bobby," growled John.

Dean's eyes snapped open at that point. "Oh," he said, blinking. Then, with a shrug, he scooped some off the wall and licked it off his hand. "Still, tastes good."

Sam rolled his eyes in his own special not-quite-six-year-old way. "Dean, that's disgusting."

"Oh, really?" asked Dean innocently. "Then I guess you won't be wanting any." Smirking, he reached out and caught a scoopful of cake out of Sam's hand.

"Hey, that's my cake!" cried Sam.

"Oh, so you don't think it's too disgusting to eat, then?"

Sam scowled. "You're a jerk."

Dean shrugged. "I'm your big brother, Sammy. It's part of the job description." He rolled his eyes again and then looked up at the adults, his smile quickly turning into a frown. "Woah, who died?"

"No one, kid," said Bobby quickly. "John, why don't we go out and get some pie? We can stick the candles in that when we get back."

John worked his mouth a few times, but nodded. "Sure. Boys, make sure you clean that up," he waved at the mess on the walls. "And try not to make yourselves sick eating the icing."

He didn't wait around long enough to hear his sons agree and quickly shut the door of Bobby's truck, burying his head in his hands. "Fuck, Bobby..."

"As much as I agree with you, now isn't the time." Bobby started the engine. "Come on, let's go get the pie. We can talk about it on the way home."

"You sure you've got enough pie there?" asked Bobby with a raised eyebrow, nodding at the pile of boxes in John's arms. "I mean, you look like you've got enough to feed an entire army."

"You have seen Dean eat pie, right?" asked John with a snort, placing the boxes into the back seat before he sat in the driving seat beside his friend. "I mean, he didn't seem to have a problem eating that cake off the walls." At that thought, however, he sobered rather quickly.

Bobby noticed this and sighed. "John, you know what this means, don't you? Dean is –"

"Don't, Bobby!" John half-shouted. "Don't say it! I know, all right? I know. I get it." He slumped back in his seat with a groan. "God, this is such a mess..."

"I know. But, John," Bobby sighed, "you can't stay here. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I bloody know that!" shouted John. "But where the fuck am I supposed to go? There's nowhere here that they'll be safe and I don't want to totally uproot them!"

Bobby took a huge breath. "You can go to England. There are people – wizards – there who can help you. When they're eleven, Sam and Dean can be taught properly at a school. Hogwarts, it's called, run by the most powerful wizard in centuries, possibly millenia – Albus Dumbledore. He'll keep them safe, you have my word on that."

"How do you know all this, Bobby?" asked John sharply. "How can you be so sure of it?"

"Because I'm a part of that world too, John," said Bobby simply, wincing when John swerved so violently he nearly crashed into a lampost. "Okay, maybe I should drive –"

"Are you telling me that you're a wizard?" John almost shrieked.

"I'm a Squib, actually," said Bobby stiffly. "It means that my parents were wizards, but I haven't got any magical powers of my own. Sort of the opposite to what Sam and Dean are, really; wizards but with Muggle – non-magic – parents. And let me tell you," his eyes hardened, "Albus Dumbledore is the one man I would trust with my life and Hogwarts is the safest place in the wizarding world under his rule."

"I just...I can't take all this in," whispered John, pulling over and rubbing his face. "It was hard enough when it was just Sam, but...but now Dean too and..." he buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders trembling. "How...how did this happen?" he sobbed.

"You know how it happened," said Bobby, not unkindly, as he leaned over to rub John's back. "But it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known how things would turn out. Now, you've just got to make the best of it. Go to England. I've got some friends there who can help you, people I've been in touch with."

John lifted his tear-stained face slowly. "And they'll be safe there?" he asked shakily.

"They'll be safer there than they will be here," said Bobby. "But you have to leave quickly – within the next couple of days. You know how fast news travels in our circles, John; the sooner you leave, the safer Sam and Dean will be."

"And," John bit his lip and swallowed hard, "what about you? Will you...be safe?"

"I'll be as safe as I always am," said Bobby gruffly. "Don't worry, John, I promise I'll be careful and I won't go getting myself killed any time soon."

"Good enough, I guess," said John tiredly, wiping his eyes.

"John, I coped just fine before you and your boys came into my life and I'll cope just fine after you've gone," snorted Bobby. "Just make sure you get in touch with me occasionally. I don't want you to be complete strangers."

"I think I can manage that," agreed John with an attempt at humour. "Now, come on, let's get these pies back to the house before Dean starts trying to eat everything in sight."

2nd February 1968...

Looking out of the aeroplane window as the lights of Chicago disappeared from view, John let out a small sigh and drew his jacket closer to him. He hoped against hope that he was doing the right thing in bringing his boys here. It might be a new start, but, despite himself, he was terrified of what he might face or what his sons might face here. Sam and Dean were more precious to him than anything and he didn't know what he'd do if he lost them. Even when he had dragged them on hunts, the thought of losing them had always been there, but the desire for revenge had consumed him too strongly for him to notice anything else. But now that was over, the realisation that either one of them – or even both of them – could have been killed at any moment was overwhelming him and making him feel sick to his stomach. It was a miracle that they were even all alive at this moment, if he was completely honest.

"Hey." Dean was quietly talking to Sam who was looking around with wide frightened eyes. "Get some sleep, okay? It's late."

"What's gonna happen to us?" asked Sam quietly. "Where are we going?"

"Don't be scared," whispered Dean, pulling his little brother close to him. "This is a new start now, Sammy. All that," he waved his hand out of the window, "it's over now. We've got a new life ahead of us."

"Yeah?" A small flicker of hope appeared in Sam's eyes.

"Yeah," John put in, forcing a smile. "A new start."

"See?" Dean grinned and tightened his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Everything's gonna be fine. Trust me."

Once Sam was curled up and fast asleep, however, Dean turned to look at John, his green eyes strangely serious for someone so young. "It is going to be all right, isn't it, Dad?" he asked.

John blinked and then let out a soft sigh. "I hope so, Dean," he said quietly, sliding his arm around his son's shoulder. "I really do hope so."

Thanks for reading and reviews make my day!

Love, Ash xxx