So this is an interesting crossover I thought of when I designed a Dean/Hermione graphic earlier today... I felt like this was quite necessary. Haha :) This is a one shot Supernatural/HP crossover fic, featuring primarily Hermione and Dean. I hope you like it :) Also, here is the link to the graphic http :/ sabrestar .deviantart .com /# /d4g127f (just take out the spaces)
It's A Wand, Not A Stick
Supernatural x HP - Dean/Hermione
They moved like shadows, light-footed and nimble. Take a look at the Winchester brothers any other time of the day and you'd think they were just two burly guys who weren't capable of walking across a room without making too much noise. Well, things aren't always what they seem.
Dean was in front – he always had a sharper eye than Sam. He'd been out of practice for those few years and it had done him no good whatsoever. Dean always made sure to remind him of it, too.
Looking ahead, past the trees, Dean could see light in the windows of the old farm house and shadows moving around inside. He and Sam had stumbled upon this little clan of sorcerers and made it their business to see them off. There had been reports in the paper about an unusual amount of stroke victims who had been found dead the past week in this little South Dakota town, and he and Sam had been in the area.
"Alright, Sam," Dean whispered, beckoning him forward. "What we're gonna do is distract them – get them outta there somehow. They'll have their magical whatsits so we can't let them see us. Shoot from behind, and always stay out of sight. Got that?"
"I'm the one who told you about that," Sam hissed, indignant as ever.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Just – come on."
They quickly made their way closer to the farm house, staying hidden behind a large hedge not far from the house. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the grenade that he and Sam had purchased that very afternoon. He handed it to Sam, who had a better throwing distance – they had tested that with some rocks – and Sam pulled the pin and quickly threw the grenade over to the other side of the farm house.
Dean was glad his brother had such a good throw. He watched the grenade bounce once, twice – and then it exploded. It was pretty spectacular, and they heard angry shouts coming from the house before the door opened and a few blokes in weird looking dark robes strode out of the house, to where the fire was starting.
This was the part when Dean and Sam pulled out their rifles and began to shoot from their hiding place. They wanted to wait until there were enough of them outside so they couldn't retreat again – but they had no real way of knowing. Dean had guessed there was about half a dozen, so once he saw six – no, seven sorcerers come out of the house, he nodded to his brother and they began to aim.
And…
Fire.
The first few dropped like flies. Both Sam and Dean's first targets had been killed – the others spun around, and then Dean fired another shot at the next one he saw – and then blinked when she waved a stick, and the bullet hit some sort of shield.
"Shit," he hissed, trying it again only to see the same thing happen. "Sam, get out of here. Stay low, get back to the car."
"No, Dean, I –"
"I'll be there in a second, just do it," Dean said, the commanding tone entering his voice. Sam nodded, knowing he'd be in charge of starting the car for a quick getaway. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen – these guys weren't like any sorcerers they'd ever seen before.
Sam dashed back to the cover of the trees, before he sprinted back to the small dirt road where they'd parked the Impala. Dean didn't dare fire any more shots, now that they knew which direction they were coming from. He held onto the rifle, though, just in case…
He waited for them to turn around, before he began to back away, and then he began to run, trying to keep low but moving as quickly as he could. He didn't know what happened next, but he heard a yell and there was a red flash of light. That was the last thing he saw before he fell to the ground, unconscious.
He was still lying on the ground when he was suddenly wrenched back into life, like somebody was physically forcing him to wake up and he had no power over it. His eyes focused and he saw a stick pointed at him – the holder of the stick was a gaunt-faced man with a hooked nose, staring at him with big dark eyes.
"Who are you?" the man spat, "What do you want?"
Dean groaned, shaking his head as his other hand moved to where he kept his knife, hoping the sorcerer wouldn't notice. "I - I was following the other guy. I didn't know what he was here for."
"Don't lie to me, you – ARGH!" the man screamed as Dean's arm shot forward and stabbed him in the thigh, burying the knife deeply into his flesh. Dean punched him, knocking him to the ground, and he was about to run when he felt a sudden excruciating pain, and he fell to the floor as a contorted cry left his lips. Every single nerve was on fire, and he was cramping, twitching on the floor.
The pain left, just as quickly as it had come, and Dean let out a shaky breath. He saw another figure approaching him out of the corner of his eye, but then his body gave up and he fell back into darkness once more.
After they had taken his weapons, taken his bag, bound his hands and blindfolded him, the sorcerers told Dean to move as they began to direct him to some other location. They walked for about a minute, and then Dean felt a rough pair of hands on his back, shoving him forward - something caught his foot, and he fell, landing awkwardly on his bound hands as he heard a door close behind him. He groaned in pain, and he froze when he heard movement nearby.
"Who's there?" he demanded, struggling to sit up. He knew he probably looked stupid, hands bound and a dirty rag around his eyes serving as a blindfold, lifting his head to try to see under the material.
He heard a voice reply, "Only another prisoner."
He could tell it was a girl, and from the accent he knew she was British - but it was not a voice he'd heard before, not a voice he recognised.
"Did you need help with those?" he heard her say, a lot closer than before, her footsteps stopping in front of him, and then he felt hands beginning to untie the blindfold around his head. He hesitated, not knowing what to do, but he let her take the blindfold off, and he could feel her soft, warm breath on his forehead. It was a little unnerving when he couldn't see her – but then the blindfold was gone. The dim light made him squint for a moment, before his eyes focused and he saw her.
She was quite young, and had thick, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and warm brown eyes framed with thick eyelashes on her heart-shaped face. Her nose was small and pointed, and she had round, soft lips. She was average height, of slight build and had delicate hands. She was wearing a pale pink sweater and jeans, and dirty brown sneakers on her feet. He looked at her, blinking the light away, and he said, "Who are you?"
She began to untie the messy knots which bound his wrists, and she said, "Hermione Granger. Who are you?"
"Dean," he replied. "Dean Winchester."
"Nice to meet you," she said, with a small smile as she freed him from the ropes.
He didn't thank her as he flexed his hands and rubbed the sore skin of his wrists - he wasn't sure about her just yet. She got up and moved away, sitting down on a stool in front of a large pile of hay - he looked around, and realised they were in a large, old barn, and all the windows were boarded and the doors were locked.
"So why did they put you here?" she asked.
Dean stood up, looking around to see if there was any chance of escape. "I, uh – I specialise in the supernatural," he said. "We - I was having a nosy and they caught me." He was still a little disoriented – he guessed he had a bit of concussion.
"Those were your gunshots and explosions?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"So you know about the stuff that's been happening here?" Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Course," Dean snorted. "Why are you here, anyway?"
The girl shrugged. "I'm a witch."
Dean thought he'd heard her wrong, and he turned to look at her again. She looked very normal. "You sure about that?" he asked, frowning.
She laughed. "Of course I'm sure."
"You ain't like any witch I've ever seen," Dean muttered, before he said a little louder, "So, you gonna magic us outta here or what?"
Hermione glanced at him. "It's not that easy," she said, as she crossed her arms across her chest. "They took my wand."
"So now you can't pull a rabbit outta your hat," Dean teased. He saw the angry flash in her eyes and knew he'd hit a nerve. "Come on, sweetheart. You can't be serious."
"I am very serious," she retorted, her previously soft voice becoming sharp and less friendly. "I can't channel my magic without my wand. And they've taken it away."
Dean snorted. "You ain't a witch. You can't even get us out of this stupid barn." She glared daggers at him, and he sighed and turned away. "Plan B it is."
"What's plan B?"
He looked at her, and grinned, watching the way her eyes widened when he pulled a lighter out of his pocket. "We have ourselves a big old bonfire tonight."
She looked from the lighter back to his green-grey eyes, and a smile crept onto her lips. Maybe they'd get along after all...
Dean had explained his plan to this Hermione girl – she questioned some of his methods a few times, to which his response had been rolling his eyes and saying, "Just trust me, okay?"
To which her response had been a small frown of disapproval, but otherwise no real objections.
Dean took the small flask of whiskey he had in his top pocket that he had nicked from the hotel they were at (which for some reason, the stupid sorcerers hadn't noticed) and he poured it over the door. Hermione had prepared a small bundle of hay, which Dean dipped the end of into the whiskey, before he asked her if she was ready.
Hermione nodded, and said, "Go on, then."
Dean grinned, before he flicked open his lighter and set fire to the small bundle of hay, waiting for it to catch before he threw it at the door and took a few steps back. It took a moment to catch, but it began to burn pretty quickly. Dean knew that it would burn away some of the wood, and he'd be able to kick a hole in the door. Hermione's main objection was running through the door that was on fire, but Dean told her it was totally foolproof.
The door began to burn quickly, and he could hear the wood crackling and burning. He saw the smoke rising, and he looked to Hermione again. "Ready?"
She nodded, and he could see the fire burning in her eyes. Not just the reflection, but – oh god, now he was getting all poetic.
Dean shook his head, before he took a step forward towards the flaming door, and with all of his strength and door-kicking-down expertise, he threw out his food and slammed it against the door. He felt it nearly break – very nearly. He clenched his teeth and let out a yell as he kicked out at it again, and this time a large portion of the door broke off. The door itself didn't break down, as there was a chain and lock, but he had removed a large part of the centre.
Dean wanted to make sure Hermione would go through, so he turned to tell her to go through, but he didn't have to bother. She was already running past him, and she had jumped out of the hole with a feline-like grace he hadn't expected from her.
Dean raised his eyebrows. Well, that was – pretty good. For a girl. He followed her quickly, rolling on the grass outside to make sure he hadn't caught fire, and he saw Hermione not far away, waiting for him.
"Come on, this way," he said, once he'd figured out where they were and which direction the road was at, but Hermione shook her head.
"No, you go," she said. "I'll catch up with you in a second. I need my wand."
"Christ, girl, leave it," Dean yelled. "You can get another one later."
"I can't!" she cried, "Just go, I'll be there in a second."
Dean clenched his fists and growled, frustrated by her idiocy. "Fine, die! See if I care!" he yelled, before he took off, sprinting towards the road and not looking back.
He knew that Sam wouldn't be too close, but close enough to pick him up. He'd probably be back at the main road, waiting for him. Sam could run that few miles easily. He kept up the fast pace, hearing yells from the farm house but not looking back. He cut across the field, jumping over fences as he went, and he could see the Impala parked out on the main road.
Thank Christ those sorcerers weren't especially brainy, thought Dean as he moved even faster than before. He could see Sam in the car, watching – he'd seen him, and he had started the car, ready to go.
What Dean didn't expect to see was the girl suddenly appear out of thin air, and fall to the ground by the side of the car. Sam hadn't seen her, as she was on the rear-passenger's side door, but Dean could see her and she looked hurt. He hurdled over the last fence, and he quickly picked her up and threw both of them into the back seat and yelled at Sam, "Drive, drive!"
Dean reached up and flicked on the light, and then looked down at Hermione – his eyes widened as he saw the slash through her sweater and the shirt beneath, and he saw a large gash in her skin down her left side. She groaned in pain, and he could see the blood was already soaking through the material of her shirt.
"Quick, we gotta get to a hospital, Sam –"
"No," Hermione suddenly said, "No, it's okay. Just – " She took the stick she was holding in her hand, and she held it to her wound, and then she whispered a few words that Dean didn't understand – and he watched as the blood began to seep back into her body, and the skin pulled itself back together.
Dean saw Hermione's face contort as it did so, and she groaned again, obviously in pain, when it finally finished and she slumped back down, lying on the seat. Dean frowned, looking from the stick to her face, and then he shrugged and said, "I've seen stranger things happen."
Hermione glanced up at him and she sighed, a relieved smile on her face. "God, Dean. Did you really think I was lying when I said I was a witch?"
Sam's head spun around and he stared at the girl, and then at Dean, eyes wide and worried. "A witch?" he repeated.
"Watch the road, dummy!"
Sam turned back to the road, but he glanced at Dean in the rear-view mirror, with a concerned look in his eyes. "Hey, it's okay," Dean said. "I helped her escape, I'm sure Hermione won't feel like killing me with her magic stick. Will you, sweetheart?"
"I will if you keep calling me sweetheart," she muttered.
It was later on that night when they came to Dean and Sam's hotel room – they had asked if Hermione had a place to stay but she said she didn't. She kept all of her belongings in one tiny purse, which had been left by the sorcerers – who she called 'Death Eaters' – on the kitchen bench in the barn.
"You'd think they'd keep a closer eye on it, honestly," she sighed. "It's only got all of my possessions in it."
"All of them?" Dean frowned.
Hermione handed it to him and he had a look inside, raising his eyebrows again. "Oh. Like a Mary Poppins bag."
Hermione snatched it back, not impressed by his little joke. Dean grinned at her. "What? You're the one who said you were a good witch."
"I am a good witch," she said. "It's those Death Eaters you have to look out for."
Sam came back into the motel room after he had gone down to get his bag from the car. Dean saw him wearing that concerned frown of his. He supposed he should be a little more cautious of this Hermione girl too. After all, he hardly knew her, and she had that damn stick.
Dean took a small step back from Hermione, and then he said, "So, we're not usually really chummy with witches. I'm not sure how comfortable I am with having you here tonight, especially with that stick of yours."
"It's a wand," she said. "Not a stick."
"That's not the point," Sam said, and Hermione turned towards him. "We're used to dealing with nasty witches, not nice ones. I don't know about Dean but I'm having trouble trusting that you won't hurt us."
Hermione shook her head. "That's okay. I'm going back home tonight anyway so I don't need to bother you."
"Home?" Dean repeated.
"Home to where?" Sam asked, at the same time.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "England," she said.
"Do you need a ride to the airport?"
"Nope," she said. "Magic stick, remember?"
"You can teleport with that thing?" Sam asked, frowning as he studied the fairly nondescript wooden object she held in her hand.
"Of course," Hermione said with a smile, but she could see the brothers were still a little wary of her presence. She sighed. "Look, I'm a part of a community of witches and wizards who aren't bad, like the ones you know. It's different in England. We have different creatures, not as savage as they are in America. Our main problem isn't ghosts or werewolves – it's Death Eaters. Witches and wizards who go bad."
"So – you're like a Jedi, and they're like Siths."
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's simplified version of Hermione's explanation. Hermione paused to think about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah. I don't know much about Star Wars but that sounds pretty spot on."
"Okay," Sam said. "So why are your 'Death Eaters' here in Dakota?"
"There was a war," Hermione said, as though it were that simple. "The Death Eaters lost, and now we're searching to find the ones who ran away when they were defeated."
"We?"
"The Jedis," she said with a smile.
The brothers glanced at each other, and Sam shrugged. "Well, it sounds – believable."
Hermione reached into her bag, and dug around for a moment, the bag up to her elbow, before she pulled out a business card. "Here," she said, handing it to Sam. "You can contact me at that number. It's the Ministry of Magic, it's who I work for."
"You're an – Auror?" Sam said, frowning at the unknown word.
"Like the magic police."
"Right," he said, placing the card on the table.
"Call me if you find any Death Eaters," she said. "We need to get rid of them all, and I'm afraid your guns just won't do the trick."
Dean pulled an unimpressed face. He didn't like being told he wasn't allowed to use his guns.
Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'd better be going back, they were expecting me around now – thank you, both of you," she said, turning back to the Winchester brothers. "I wouldn't have been able to finish that up as cleanly without your help."
Sam held out his hand and shook hers carefully, and when Dean moved to shake her hand, she stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Dean," she said, a shy smile creeping onto her face.
Before Dean could say anything, she took a step back, closed her eyes and with a loud snap, she disappeared.
"Jesus," Sam exclaimed, staring at the place Hermione had been a second ago.
Dean was still preoccupied by the ghost of a kiss on his cheek. He felt a grin creep onto his face, and he took the card off the table where Sam had placed it. "I have a feeling I will be giving Hermione a call very soon…"