The décor of Shell Cottage left something to be desired in Hermione's mind. She had once, in her youth, read a book on sea dwelling creatures and obviously some of the information had stuck with her, as her tired brain threw out the name of the various remnants which lined the walls.

It was odd how things stayed with you.

She couldn't remember the name of the well meaning relative who'd given her the book, just that her mother had passed it to her on her birthday.

A spasm of pain flitted along her ragged nerves and she stiffened slightly.

Yes the décor was really horrible. Not a very kind observation perhaps, but Hermione wasn't in a very forgiving mood.

In fact she had never been so angry in her life. Not even at Umbridge in her fifth year, not even at Ronald a year ago, not even at Ronald three months ago...Well she was angry at Ron a lot.

The cotton sheets bunched under her as she clenched her hands into fists and collected her thoughts, ignoring the twinge the action brought. She was so angry.

Angry at herself. Angry that she hadn't run faster, fought harder, tried to apparate. Angry that they'd been caught in the first place and for the stupidest of reasons. One verbal slip had caused...this? It seemed preposterous. She was furious with Harry and Ron, her so called best friends. Oh yes they'd been concerned and sympathetic but they just expected her to be okay? After being tortured?

One of her fathers medical journals slipped to the forefront of her mind. People who went through terrible ordeals were emotionally scarred for years later. They suffered panic attacks, hallucinations, phobias. They had numerous problems. She wouldn't just be okay.

A nearby lamp exploded and Hermione breathed in to try and rein in her emotions. She was panicking and her magic was out of control. She could only imagine what a full blown anxiety attack might do.

Hermione focused on her problem as she would a homework assignment. If she could just pretend this was happening to somebody else, perhaps she would be able to function.

What would she do at Hogwarts?

Ah yes.

Look up the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Well there was the obvious. The pain caused by the Curse was enough to send people mad. It had in fact, Alice and Frank Longbottom being prime examples. Short term of exposure, that being under two minuets, needed only a days rest and one does of potion (Anti-Cruciatus pg 238 Advanced Healing Potions), and rarely had any lasting effects. Been two and three minuets was a slightly greyer area and generally patients were treated as needed. However a continuous spell kept up, without respite, for over three minuets was a different matter. Hermione had been under for nearly eight, with only one break, when Bellatrix paused for breath. The patient would suffer severe muscle and nerve damage. Some victims broke bones or tore ligaments in their writhing. In that respect Hermione had been rather lucky.

She laughed quietly and it echoed emptily around the room.

Lucky.

That was the thing about the Unforgivable. The feeling that every cell in your body was on fire, wasn't imagined. The curse actually caused the pain. It was real.

Hermione hummed and twitched her fingers, as though rubbing out a mistake. That wasn't relevant.

Treatment courses...Not only would a continuous dosage of Anti-Cruciatus for several months by completely necessary, but also pain relief, Pepper-Up, muscle relaxant and bed rest. As well as that the patient would be in pain for several weeks and experience phantom pains throughout their life as well as random muscle spasms. These would never go away due to the permanent damage done to the nerves.

As if on cue Hermione's arm twitched and a spike of pain, tensed her exhausted body. She didn't look down. She didn't need to. The sight was already seared into her brain, etched permanently onto her memory. And this...this was what made her truly furious. Because of what Bellatrix had done to her she would have to live with the memory of how bloody scared she had been everyday. Because she was scared. Hermione had no doubt that had Harry been five minuets later, Bella would have lost interest and she would have been dead.

A dead witch walking.

Never had mortality been so close. She'd been through a lot in her seven years in the magical world but never in all their adventures had Hermione seriously considered she would die. Not even when Dolohov had cursed her in the Department of Mysteries.

Because it didn't happen to you. It never crossed your mind as a teenager that you might die. Hell Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, but that nor any of the thousands of books she'd read would have stopped Bella from slitting her throat.

One Avada was all it took and then... who knows?

"Can I help you?" She asked quietly, her voice was broken from screaming. The man who'd been standing in the corner for the last three minuets, blinked and glanced around, searching for another being.

"Yes you." Hermione yawned slightly. "Mr Accountant in the corner." He frowned and stepped forward, tugging on the tie of his trench coat as though nervous. He stood at the foot of the bed and cocked his head to the side as though studying her. "The wings would suggest that, contrary to your quite ordinary manner of dress, that you are some sort of magical creature. The wings would normally indicate a Veela nature but there are several holes in that theory." Hermione fixed her gaze on his ear and continued in what Ron would call her lecture tone. "Firstly you are not blond. The fine blond hair is a key characteristic of the Veela, as shown by Fleur downstairs and curiously Draco...Malfoy. Something I have always wondered about." She muttered under her breath. "Secondly wings only become apparent when a Veela is fully transformed and you lack the claws and beak. Besides you seem to be quite calm to me." She coughed slightly. "And finally we have the wings themselves. In my admittedly limited experience, Veela's have feathered wings. Yours appear to be made of more shadow and ash than anything else. They are there but they are also not. So in conclusion I really don't know what you are. And unless you're a friend of Luna's, I must come to the somewhat unwelcome realisation that I am hallucinating. Am I correct?"

The man stared at her.

"You can see me?" His voice was very low, like gravel and whiskey.

"Of course I can see you. What is the point of a hallucination that I can't see?" Hermione chuckled. "Honestly only I could imagine up such a dull conservationist. Perhaps Ronald is onto something when he says that I'm boring." Hermione lost interest in the man and returned to her essay composition, only to be interrupted.

"I assure you I am very real. I just wonder how it is you can see me. Especially my..wings."

"Your speech is odd." Hermione commented. "And it's rude to interrupt me when I'm obviously busy. But I'll humour you. If you are real then you must be magical, at least on some level. If this invisibility normally works on muggles, then my magic reveals you to me. It's called Mage sight, first hypothesised by Merlin himself, who couldn't understand why muggles weren't tripping over magical plants and animals all the time. Surprisingly he was the first to question it. Wizards can be so obtuse sometimes."

"I'm not magical."

Hermione sighed slightly.

"Obviously you are. You're my hallucination you have to comply with the laws of the universe." She only just resisted the urge to add "So there!"

"I am not a hallucination." The man seemed faintly insulted by the idea. "I am an Angel of the Lord."

Hermione snorted.

"An Angel? With capitalisation and everything? That was the best I could come up with? A Hippogryph I could believe, but not an angel."

"Why won't you believe that I'm real?"

"Because if you're real, if you are an angel in the biblical sense of the word, then why only come to me now and not when I really needed you?"

"Do you not need me now?" He asked an adorable expression of confusion on his face. Hermione only shrugged.

"Now the only problem is my steadying decline in mental health, of which you are a worrying symptom. Previously I was being tortured by a lunatic with a wand. A wand I now hold." Hermione stared balefully at the dark wand sitting on the bedside table. "It's an ugly thing isn't it?" She asked.

"I wouldn't know. I am here to help." He moved closer, looking earnest as he tried to get her to believe.

Hermione smirked.

"What is your name apparition?"

"Castiel and I assure you..."

"Yes, yes you've already said that. We can't both be in denial you know." She watched him for a moment. "You may sit."

"Thank you." He tucked his trench coat beneath him, and sat quietly with his hands clasped.

"You are hurt." He stated.

It wasn't a question so Hermione didn't bother to answer, just rolled her eyes and slumped back against her pillows.

"I can help you."

Hermione chuckled darkly.

"How, exactly can you help me?"

"I can heal the nerve damage. There is nothing I can do for your scar."

Hermione snorted.

"There is nothing anyone can do for this scar. Least of all a fictional character, who is the product of a witch whose grip on reality grows steadily weaker." Hermione blinked. "Oh dear. I do believe I'm monologuing."

The angel sat quietly, playing with the buckle on his trench coat.

"I have heard, that it is considered a social norm to tell stories to the injured. I have a story if you would wish to hear it although I must leave certain things unsaid."

"I'll indulge you, although I warn you I was never very good at fantasy."

"There were once two brothers..."

She groaned.

"Oh why are they always brothers?"

"Because their mother and father copulated to produce two sons, sharing the same name and of the same DNA making them siblings. There were once two brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester. Dean was the elder, by several years and Sam his younger brother. Both boys were born into a normal household, with a mother and a father who loved and cared for them. However one day a terrible tragedy struck the house of Winchester. Their mother, who had been a good and loving woman, was killed by a demon with yellow eyes. Their father, blinded by grief, took his two sons and brought them up hunters, killers of evil monsters."

"Did they have a home?" She asked, inexplicably concerned for these boys. "Did someone look after them?"

Castiel shook his head.

"They grew up on the road surrounded by violence and uncertainty. Dean, began to hunt from a young age, taking down monsters, all to protect his little brother. His father taught him that the family business was the only thing in life. Sam grew up wanting to be normal. Eventually he left his family and went to study the law. Their father cut him out of his life, but Dean was proud. Proud that his little brother had managed to escape." Castiel smiled slightly. "Dean loved his brother so much and always tried to look out for him. But when their father went missing Sam began hunting with Dean to try and release him from the demons."

"When you say demons? Do you mean alcohol?"

"It was a curious decision of my fathers to create a liquid from the fermentation of fruit which causes in inebriation. I have never understood the attraction. No I refer to the demons my brother Lucifer created when he fell from Heaven. They are evil and plot the downfall of mankind as their creator designed them to do."

"Oh."

"Eventually they tracked down John Winchester, but he died and the brothers were left alone again. They continued to hunt until a time came when Dean felt it was necessary to sell his soul to a demon. He went to hell for a year and then he was rescued by an Angel of the Garrison. Dean Winchester had a destiny awaiting him and he couldn't be in hell for that to happen."

"Who saved him?"

"I did. I clasped him tight and raised him from perdition. Dean says I shouldn't tell girls that. I don't understand why."

He frowned slightly and Hermione giggled. He was just so adorable.

"What happened then?"

Castiel shrugged.

"They faced many battles. But there is a battle coming that they will not be able to face alone. The scripture says so. There will come a time and a place where the brothers will need to be saved and it will not be by a force of heaven or hell but from the earth itself."

Hermione stiffened slightly.

"It is hypothesised that magic came from earth. Morgana was a great believer in acknowledging our roots." Hermione frowned. "Quite literally in fact. That's why you're here. You need a magic user, whose not connected to Heaven or Hell."

Castiel nodded and chewed his lip.

"It is said to be so."

Hermione sighed.

"I don't see how I can help you. For one thing you're not real and for another I have just survived being tortured. I'm in no position to gallivanting off anywhere. Despite what Harry and Ron think."

"What will it take for you to believe me?" He asked. "And where are you going?"

"I'm going to break into a bank, dressed up as the woman who tortured me, in order to steal a highly dangerous object from a heavily protected vault. I will probably be seriously injured in the process and possibly killed. It's a fool errand but probably necessary. Only a madwoman would agree to it."

"Why do you believe you are going mad?"

"Is that the only thing you got from that? I am planning to break hundreds of laws and you're worried about my mental health?"

"There are only ten laws with which I am concerned." He reached out suddenly and Hermione flinched back.

"Please...don't." She whispered. "I can still remember...her."

"I can dull the memories if you would like. Remove their potency."

"How?"

"I am an Angel. It is my duty to protect and heal human kind." He frowned. "And yes I know I've not been doing a very good job. Dean yells at me for that too."

"Dean yells at you a lot."

Castiel shrugged, his expression almost vacant.

"Why won't you let me heal you?"

She blinked.

"Because it's not possible."

"Hermione you live in a world filled with wonder and power. This is possible and you are aware of it. You are a lot like Dean. Why can't either of you have faith?"

"Because it's hard." Hermione whispered. "Because I'm afraid."

"There is nothing to be afraid of."

"There are many things to be afraid of angel. Do you feel fear?"

"Yes. I fear for the Winchesters and for my siblings in the Garrison, and for the fate of the world."

"I had no idea celestial beings could feel fear." Hermione reached out hesitantly and poked his hand with one finger. She shrank back, ignoring the pain as self preservation kicked in.

"Hermione?"

"You're real." She gasped, her eyes widening. "So powerful. What are you?!"

Castiel frowned.

"I am an angel."

"You really are... Were you telling me the truth? About the Winchesters?"

"Yes."

Hermione felt the anger that had lowered to a simmer, boil over again and her face twisted in rage.

"WHY? Why is it always me who has to go in and save people? Idiots with hero complex's. I didn't ask for this. But I kept going anyway, I did what was right. And look where it got me!" Hermione brandished her arm in his face, making sure his eyes focused on the jagged lettering.

Castiel reached out and pressed two fingers to her forehead, ignoring her protests. Her whole body stiffened, before she collapsed onto the bed, curling in on herself.

"I am sorry. There was more damage to your nerves than I anticipated."

"What did you..." She whispered.

"I healed you." He cocked his head slightly as though listening to a voice only he could hear. "I cannot stay much longer. Dean is looking for me." Castiel stood and pulled a grubby piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "What ever you decide...Go in peace."

There was a sound like a flapping curtain and he vanished.

She opened the paper, smoothing it against her leg as she did so.

There was a date, a time and an address for somewhere in America.

Six months later and the war was over. People were recovering. She'd brought her parents home form Australia. The reunion had been tense but she'd been forgiven.

Hogwarts was now returned to its former glory, the boys were safe and though the memory of her hallucination was faded, the date on that scrap of paper was getting steadily closer.

She went because she wasn't sure it was real. She took a week off work and an international portkey, without telling anyone at work or in the Order where she was going. How could she tell Harry and Ron that she'd dreamed up an angel? Ron would think she was insane, Harry would just look guilty and blame himself for her unstable mental state.

Which, in his defence, was true. All three of them woke up with nightmares. A full nights sleep was a thing of the past. Especially for Hermione. And although they were dating, Ronald and her had yet to actually discuss how they were coping after the war. Harry was doing what he did best and bottling it up inside.

She expected a meltdown any day.

She had, however, told her parents everything. She wasn't completely lacking in self preservation. They'd encouraged her to go. They had spouted, as she had know they would, several case studies in which sufferers of PTSD had had vivid hallucinations. The only solution, they said, was to confront it.

The address itself wasn't really an address.

It was a clearing in the middle of a wood, which had been named, The Witches Circle. She tried not to think too much about that.

Hermione arrived a good hour earlier than necessary and climbed up one of the tall pine trees, ignoring the pine needles which stuck in her braided hair. She kept low enough that she could jump down if needed, but high enough that she was hidden from view. The tree cover was enough that it blocked out the sunlight, but it wasn't dark or even oppressing like the Forbidden Forest.

The timing however was impeccable.

It was down to the second.

"Dammit man." A gruff voice called. "Slow down already."

Three men walked into view, the one in the lead wearing the familiar trench coat.

"Just who are we meeting anyway."

"A friend." Castiel's voice hadn't changed. It was as distinctive as she remembered. It reminded her of the noise the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's Office would make when it opened. Stone scraping against stone.

"Wait a second. You have friends?" It was the shorter one that had spoken. He was obviously uneasy, glancing around him, eyes hard and a hand in his jacket pocket. His hair was cropped close to his head but he was handsome, in a rugged kind of way.

The other, obviously a relation of some kind, appeared to slightly more relaxed. From what she could see through the branches, he was taller with long hair that curled against his collar. He reminded her of a puppy his neighbour had owned once.

Sam and Dean.

"Look Cas there's no one here."

"She's here. I can feel it." Castiel smiled faintly and stared straight at her, through the branches.

"We're here for a chick?"

"It's all right Hermione." He called.

"Dude there's no one here."

Gripping her wand tightly, she pushed off from the branch, grateful she had her dragon hide boots to absorb the impact. The instant her feet touch the earth, there were two guns pointed at head, paired with flinty eyes and stiff shoulders.

Hermione flinched, raising her wand at the brothers.

"Castiel." She whispered.

"I'm sorry Hermione. The Winchesters have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. Please, lower your weapons."

"Who is she Cas?" The shorter one demanded. His gun didn't waver.

"Hermione Granger. I asked for her help." Castiel held out a hand. "Please Dean."

Dean scowled and lowered his gun slightly. The taller one, Sam presumably, relaxed completely, straightening from his hunched position to his full hight. Hermione's eyes widened slightly. She'd never felt so small. She tucked her wand into the holster as the adrenaline wore off.

She giggled, some what hysterically.

"I can't believe it."

"What?"

"I can't believe you're real. I thought..."

"You thought I was a hallucination. You kept telling me." Castiel took a step towards her.

"I just..." Hermione smiled, months of worry taken off her shoulders. "You're my angel."

A/N

This is the back story to a longer fic that I'm working on.

I hope you like it.

I'm unbeta'd for this.

Next chapter of History of Soul Bonds will be up soon.

Please review,

Hood Out