This...this was just wrong. On so many levels. Castiel and Death had returned from their brief sabbatical just in time to witness this newest of the Hat's atrocities, and it had the angel positively flummoxed.
Cas had declined the wings, as he already owned a perfectly serviceable set of his own, thank you very much, and the halo, which...no, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the rather cheaply-constructed and out-of-tune harp he'd been presented with. (His only participation in the Music of the Spheres had been as part of the Heavenly Choirs, and even then only when protocol had demanded. His brothers had wisely relegated him to the very back.)
The fact that he found Hogwarts cosplaying as Heaven and awash in chaos still a vastly more peaceful, comforting and all-around pleasant place to be than the actual place itself probably wasn't doing much to improve his mood. Neither did catching sight of his own wax sculpture again. While it wasn't a bad likeness, he was fairly certain he hadn't been armed with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher when they battled the terrorbear, and he certainly hadn't had a winged Shoggoth gnawing at his ankles.
"I suppose it could be worse," he said resignedly, ducking an unspecified Shoggy who was badly in need of flight lessons. "At least he didn't decide the place is Hell." He wondered what Crowley was making of all this.
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Cas had declined the wings, as he already owned a perfectly serviceable set of his own, thank you very much, and the halo, which...no, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the rather cheaply-constructed and out-of-tune harp he'd been presented with. (His only participation in the Music of the Spheres had been as part of the Heavenly Choirs, and even then only when protocol had demanded. His brothers had wisely relegated him to the very back.)
The fact that he found Hogwarts cosplaying as Heaven and awash in chaos still a vastly more peaceful, comforting and all-around pleasant place to be than the actual place itself probably wasn't doing much to improve his mood. Neither did catching sight of his own wax sculpture again. While it wasn't a bad likeness, he was fairly certain he hadn't been armed with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher when they battled the terrorbear, and he certainly hadn't had a winged Shoggoth gnawing at his ankles.
"I suppose it could be worse," he said resignedly, ducking an unspecified Shoggy who was badly in need of flight lessons. "At least he didn't decide the place is Hell." He wondered what Crowley was making of all this.