Reborn as Sam Winchester in Supernatural TV

Rowena's Pov: 

Three days have passed since the Winchester boy's dramatic entrance. I've spent them researching, preparing, and most importantly, thinking.

In all my centuries, I've never encountered anything quite like him. Power that isn't quite demonic, yet isn't natural either - something that defies my considerable experience. It sets my teeth on edge even as it intrigues me.

The mansion's wards shift, announcing his arrival. Right on time - punctuality, at least, he possesses.

"Good evening," I greet him, maintaining my position at the spell table. No need to show how his presence makes every magical artifact in the room resonate. "I trust you weren't followed?"

"My family's handling a supposed haunting two towns over." He moves through my wards like they're mere suggestion. "We have until dawn."

His darkness spreads through the room, tasting my preparations. I've laid out basic testing spells, elementary grimoires - things to gauge a beginner's aptitude. Though something tells me 'beginner' might not be the right word.

"Shall we begin then?" I gesture to the table, watching how shadows curl around him like affectionate cats. "Though I must admit, I'm curious how someone of your... unique nature thinks they can learn mortal magic."

His smile carries knowledge far too old for his young face. "Why don't you find out?"

Indeed. Why don't I?

I've prepared a simple test - basic spell work that any witch should master first. A candle, some herbs, elementary incantations. Let's see what he makes of it.

"We'll start with something basic," I explain, arranging the components. "A simple illumination spell. The foundation of-"

His darkness touches the materials before I can finish, and the candle flares with perfect intensity. Not too bright, not too dim. Exactly right.

"Like that?" he asks innocently, though there's nothing innocent about the way his power moves through the room.

"Without the theatrics, if you please." I keep my voice steady. "Magic isn't about raw power. It's about understanding, control, precision."

"Show me."

I demonstrate the proper technique - the exact words, the precise gestures. He watches with unnerving intensity, his darkness settling like a waiting predator.

"Now you try," I instruct. "Properly this time. No... shortcuts."

He follows my movements exactly, speaking the Latin with perfect pronunciation. The candle lights again, this time through proper magical channels.

"Better," I acknowledge. "Though I suspect you're holding back quite a bit."

"Would you prefer I didn't?"

"I'd prefer," I meet his gaze directly, "to understand exactly what I'm dealing with. You're not just some supernatural creature wanting to learn parlor tricks. What are you really after?"

His darkness shifts, not threatening but... contemplative. "I told you - I want to learn real magic. The foundations, the theory, the art of it."

"Yes, dear, so you've said." I move to my personal grimoire, considering how much to reveal. "But beings of power rarely seek to learn lesser magics unless they have specific goals in mind."

"Lesser?" His smile carries centuries of knowledge that shouldn't exist in one so young. "Your magic isn't lesser, Rowena. It's refined. Precise. Beautiful in its complexity."

Flattery. But sincere flattery, which makes it more dangerous.

"Let's try something more challenging then." I draw a complex sigil in the air, watching his reaction. "Tell me what you see."

His eyes track the pattern, darkness curling around the magical construct. "Celtic base, but you've modified it. Added elements of... something older. Pre-Christian?"

Impressive. Most practitioners wouldn't catch those subtleties.

"And its purpose?"

"Power containment," he answers immediately. "But not just physical power. It's designed to trap knowledge, memories..." He pauses, studying the sigil closer. "You created this, didn't you? Modified existing spells to make something new."

Very impressive indeed. And somewhat concerning.

"You understand more than you should," I keep my tone light despite my unease. "Far more than any beginner could."

"I observe. I learn." His darkness traces the sigil perfectly. "And I recognize artistry when I see it." I could practically feel the smug refrence to the marks I purposefully left to draw him and his family in three days ago.

As if telling me, anything I do, he can, and will use to be on top.

"Very well," I begin pacing, a habit from centuries of thinking through complex situations. "Let's be frank, shall we? You have power - raw, primal, something I've never encountered in all my years. Yet here you are, asking to learn basic magical theory from a witch."

His darkness follows my movement, but respectfully, like a student awaiting instruction. "Is that so strange?"

"Strange?" I laugh softly. "Dear boy, it's unprecedented. And in my experience, unprecedented usually means dangerous."

"Yet you're still considering teaching me."

"Perhaps because you intrigue me." I stop at my spell table, running fingers over ancient texts. "Or perhaps because I recognize the value of having someone like you... indebted to me."

He smiles at that - a knowing smile that makes me wonder who's really trying to create indebtedness here.

"Shall we make a deal then?" His darkness settles, becoming almost comfortable in my workspace. "You teach me real magic - not just spells, but understanding. And in return..."

"Yes?" I arch an eyebrow. "What exactly does a being of your nature offer in exchange for magical tutelage?"

"Information. Protection. Advanced warning about certain... events that might interest you."

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine - not of fear, but of recognition. Power recognizes power, after all. And whatever this boy is, he has access to knowledge that even I, with all my centuries, might find valuable.

"Let's try something more... challenging." I select an ancient text from my collection, one that's caused even experienced witches difficulty. "Read this passage."

His darkness shifts as he examines the grimoire. The text is written in pre-Celtic runes, modified with elements of ancient Mesopotamian script - a hybrid language I created centuries ago.

"Interesting cipher," he comments, fingers hovering over the pages. "You've woven protection spells into the text itself. Anyone trying to read it without proper preparation would find their memories... adjusted."

I can't quite hide my surprise. "You can see the spell matrix?"

"It's elegant work." His darkness traces the patterns without triggering them. "The way you've layered the protections, making them seem like simple decoration to untrained eyes."

Again, that knowledge that shouldn't exist. That understanding that goes beyond mere power or talent.

"Tell me," I lean forward, genuinely curious now. "What else do you see?"

He reads for several minutes, his darkness interacting with my spelled text in ways I've never witnessed. "This isn't just a spellbook, is it? It's a theory text. You're describing how magic actually works, how reality can be... adjusted."

"Very good." I watch him carefully. "And the warnings hidden in the third chapter?"

"About the price of certain types of magic?" His smile is knowing. "Or about the beings that might notice if those magics are used?"

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"You understand," I say slowly, "that if I agree to teach you, there will be similar warnings. Similar prices."

"I understand perfectly." His darkness settles, almost respectful. "Shall we begin?"

"Very well." I close the grimoire, making a decision. "But first, a demonstration of your... restraint."

I weave a complex spell matrix in the air - one designed to react violently to supernatural energy.

Most beings of his apparent power would either trigger it or destroy it. Let's see what he does.

His darkness observes but doesn't touch. Instead, he studies the pattern, then with careful precision, uses purely magical energy to mirror my construction.

"Acceptable?" he asks, maintaining the delicate magical structure without letting his other power interfere.

"Promising," I admit. "Though I'm curious - why go to such lengths? With your power, you could simply..."

"Break things?" His smile carries understanding beyond his years. "Force my way through? That's exactly why I came to you, Rowena. Power without precision is just chaos."

I wave away both spell matrices, considering. He's right, of course. And that level of self-awareness is... unexpected.

"Three nights a week," I decide. "Basic theory first, then practical application. No shortcuts, no using your... other abilities unless specifically instructed."

"And in exchange?"

"You'll tell me more about these changes you sense coming. These powers you claim are waking." I pour another drink. "Information for information. Power for power."

His darkness ripples with what might be approval. "Agreed. Though you should know - some knowledge comes with its own price."

"Dear boy," I smile sharply, "everything worthwhile does. The question is whether the price is worth paying."

Looking at him - this impossible being choosing to learn mortal magic - I wonder exactly what price we'll both end up paying for this arrangement.

But then, I've never let potential danger stop me from pursuing power.

This should prove interesting indeed.