Hermione stared at Sam who wailed defiantly, arms and legs kicking wildly.
Despite her bravado with John, her knowledge of small children was...limited. Dean wasn't such a problem, especially when you considered he was just a small person. He could tell her what he wanted easily enough and she'd babysat him often enough that she knew his habits.
Sam was another matter entirely.
Hermione was an accomplished woman, but maternal she was not. She'd never been one of those girls who flocked to babies, cooing and ahhing. She'd had work to do. In fact Sam was the only baby she'd ever really had contact with and even then Mary had been able to translates Sam's gargles with a fluency which came from a mother of two.
Sam's wails turned into screams and Hermione almost joined in.
"I'm going to hell for this." She muttered, raising her wand. "Ligillimens."
Hermione's mind filled with irritation, confusion and...
"Oh..."
Hermione summoned a blanket from across the room and swaddled Sam in it, tucking him against her shoulder. Dean was out in the garden so she could risk a little magic.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." She murmured as Sam finally stopped crying. "I don't know how to do these things."
It wasn't like she'd read his mind anyway. Sam didn't really have thoughts or at least not recognisable ones and Hermione wasn't good enough at the mind arts to be able to do much more than read surface thoughts. Sam sniffled and she smiled down at him. It had taken Sam some time to get used to a person who smelled different and didn't know him as well as his mother. They were both adjusting.
"'Mione?" Dean stumbled in from the garden, one small hand rubbing at a streak a dirt across his face. He navigated the boxes Hermione still hadn't unpacked from the move and clambered onto the sofa.
"What's wrong?" She whispered, trying not to wake Sam.
"Is Sammy sleeping?" Dean whispered, so quietly she almost missed it.
"Yes. Thank Merlin."
The little boy nodded seriously and curled up next to her.
"When's Daddy coming back?"
Hermione sighed. John had left two days ago, off after his first lead, with nothing more than a "Take care of Sammy." for Dean.
"I don't know, darling." She sifted her fingers through Dean's hair. It was fairly long, he'd need it cut soon. Sam snuffled in his sleep.
"An' Mommy?"
She winced, drawing in a hitched breath. Mary had only been gone three weeks and everyday Dean asked her the same question. She suspected he'd have asked John except the first time he had, John stormed out. Up until now she'd deflected the question, hoping, somewhat selfishly, he'd stop asking.
"She's not coming back." She whispered, heart breaking as his face crumpled.
"Doesn't she like us no more?" The boy cried.
"What?" Hermione reached out with one arm and lifted Dean into her lap, shifting Sam slightly. "Dean, your mummy loves you very much. So so much. Okay?" She dropped a kiss onto his head, trying to will away the tears. "Don't you ever forget that." She begged.
"Then why can't she come back?" He pleaded, tugging on her t shirt. "I want my mom, 'Mione!"
"I know, sweetie." Sam stirred, irritated at the noise. Hermione sighed. "You know about Heaven, don't you?"
Dean's forehead crinkled as he considered the question.
"Where the angels are? The ones that look at you?"
"Watch over you." She corrected, smiling. "But yes. That's where your mum's gone, okay. She's watching over you right now."
"So she's an angel?" He guessed.
Hermione laughed at that.
"If anyone would be, it'd be your mother." She told him fondly. "Now shall we go see if Sammy will sleep lying down?"
Please, she begged internally.
Hermione was purging. Not herself, of course, but her life.
She was sorting her possessions into two piles. What was safe to keep and what had to be hidden. All of her magic books were pacled away into boxes and warded shut. Her potions kit she could keep, although some of the more magical items had to be keep sealed away and put out of Dean's reach. Sneek-o-scopes, photographs, newspaper clippings all had to hidden away. Her subscription to the Daily Prophet was cancelled (again) and she sent out a letter to anyone concerned explaining the situation and asking that they refrained from using owl post.
In short anything that could give John the faintest clue to her past, was banished. She put muggle repelling charms on the basement to keep him out and warded the entire place from top to bottom. The only thing she could afford to keep were the things she could pass off as muggle.
Unfortunately this purge involved something a lot more personal as well. Carefully she sealed her engagement ring in an envelope and gave it to the waiting owl, who smacked her across the face with it's wing as it left.
Something told her Ron wasn't very happy about her decision.
Hermione cheated her rule occasionally. Simple things like magical cleaning products (because she had no idea what Dean had gotten down his front, but nothing short of a miracle was going to get it out) or magical remedies (Sam could catch a cold from half a mile away) went unnoticed. And if she sometimes cursed the occasional vindictive neighbour with a brown lawn, well who was to know?
It took time for the boys to get used to her. Sam didn't care either way as long as he had his brother and someone fed him. Dean on the other hand...Before his mothers death he'd been a mischievous boy who got on with everyone and was usually in some form of trouble. Mary used to say that he got that from her side of the family. But as his fifth birthday came around he slowly came back to him, talking more and more to Hermione. The happiest she saw him was the nights when John came to visit, where he'd follow his father around the house, grinning from ear to ear. Of course, because John wanted Dean to know what was out there, this caused problems.
"Mione?"
Hermione peered at the little boy who was peeping around the door frame.
"What's wrong, little one?"
"There's a monster under my bed."
She was going to kill him. John, not Dean. Wasn't the poor boy's fault his father didn't know better than to not give the boy nightmares.
"What sort of monster?"
"Witch."
Of course it was. John's latest, and deadliest, hunt had involved a witch in Montana who had almost killed him.
"Not all witches are bad." She pointed out.
Unsurprisingly, this didn't seem to console Dean, who stamped his foot on the kitchen floor.
"This one is!"
Hermione laid down her pen and nodded.
"Right. Okay, what hurts witches?"
The boy screwed up his face as he thought about it.
"Iron." she supplied when he didn't seem to have an answer. Sighing, Hermione grabbed the large iron poker she kept by the fireplace. Iron only weakened witches, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to tell Dean right now.
Dean jumped onto the middle of his bed, unwilling to leave his feet dangling over the side where anything might snatch at them. Hermione lay flat on her belly, slid half under his bed and then proceeded to pound the daylights out of the floor with the poker. Somewhat ruffled, she slid back out and peered up at Dean through her hair. Dean, who'd peered over the side of the bed to look at her, giggled.
"Is she gone?" Hermione asked. Dean had accepted early on that the monsters in his room were under some sort of spell which stopped Hermione from seeing them and therefore he had to give the all clear. And people said logic didn't work on children.
"Yep."
"Right." She got to her feet and tugged the duvet over him, tucking him in carefully. "You need to go to sleep, Dean. Okay?"
"Okay, 'Mione."
She huffed, propping the poker next to his bed.
"Night, trouble. Love you."
She'd clicked off the lights before he replied.
"Love you too, Aunt 'Mione."
And that made a battered hardwood floor worth it.
Hermione glanced across the crowded classroom, ignoring the interested glances the other parents shot her. She shifted Sam on her hip, who was watching the colourful room with interest.
"'Mione?" He whispered in her ear, worried by the crowds of people.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Hermione muttered distractedly, busy scanning the room for Dean.
"Dean?" He asked.
"He'll be here." she assured, used to his one word questions. This was the first time Sam had spent a day without seeing Dean and he'd been unhappy all morning.
Well unhappy was putting it lightly. Bloody impossible was being more honest.
"SAMMY!" Dean bounced up to her. "Look what I made, 'Mione." He held out a picture. Only through sheer determination did she not let her smile slip. It was unmistakably a demon trap done in bright green crayon, all squiggly lines. He must have copied the one under the rug at home.
Ignoring the accusing glare of Dean's school teacher and the mutterings of "Devil Worshippers" from the other adults, Hermione hurried her boys out of there and into the car.
"Shall I stick that to the fridge?" She asked, as they made their way across town. Dean frowned as though making a difficult choice. It was the face he wore when he had to choose between puddings.
"Yes." He said decisively, before going back to playing with Sam's toes.
"How was school?" She asked.
The temper tantrum she'd dealt with this morning when Dean realised Sam wasn't going with him, had almost made them late. Hermione had just managed to snap a picture of him before the bell rang (Mary would never have forgiven her if she hadn't) and the boy had stormed off, wearing a terrific scowl. At five and a half he was one of the oldest in his class, Hermione having preferred to keep him safe at home for as long as possible.
"It was really really really good!"
Hermione laughed.
"Was it? Wow."
"I met a guy called Barry an' we played on the grass an' the teacher let us do colouring in an'..." Dean kept up a steady chatter all the way home and Hermione smiled along, glad that something was going right in the boy's life.
"That's not my tiger, it's teeth are too bumpy."
Sam, sensing his cue, reached out with his finger to touch the corrugated cardboard which covered the illustrations teeth.
"You know what I want to know?" Hermione asked him. "I want to know why I'm teaching you to put your hand in a tiger mouth. Those teeth aren't bumpy, they're sharp and dangerous." She lifted Sam into the air, so she could stare into his eyes. "Here's an important life lesson, Sam. Run away! Do you know how much trouble I could have avoided if I'd just run away? Loads. So what do we do when we meet a tiger? We run away as fast as we can. Don't we?"
Sam reached out and grabbed her nose, giggling.
"Yeah, yeah. Here I am, trying to impart my wisdom and what are you doing?" She went cross eyed, much to Sam's amusement. "Pulling on my nose."
Carelessly she summoned a rather large leather tomb which had belonged to her father and settled him back down in her lap.
"If anything will get you down for your nap, it's this. Okay? Chapter one, "Among other public buildings in a certain town which, for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning..."
It took four chapters of Dickensian writing for Sam to fall asleep.
There were times when Hermione got the impression that real mothers went through some sort of metamorphic change when pregnant and blossomed into this wonderful maternal persona. Because she was almost certain she was doing something wrong when it came to raising Sam and Dean. John didn't seem to notice anything wrong, but that was probably because John was barely around. Several other hunters had taken pity on him, training him up and he'd been across the country at least twice on hunts. Worrying came naturally to Hermione, it always had. But this was different. These were real children and she could afford to not do her best because she could, quite possible, ruin their lives. Maybe it was because other mothers had friends...Hermione didn't have much compant ourside of the Winchesters. Was she going mad?
"Aunt 'Mione?"
Hermione gazed at Dean, not really seeing him. There was a lot of Mary in the boy, but a lot of John as well. It could be a rather disconcerting thing to see in a five year old.
"Yes?"
"Sam's eating crayons again."
"What!" She yelped, leaping across the room.
Dean followed her as she rescued the now soggy crayons from the toddler.
"Can't let you out of my sight for a second, can I?" She teased. Sam blew a raspberry at her. "Wonderful."
It had been a particularly tiring Tuesday and had taken the better part of two hours, three stories about Hogwarts and a mug of cocoa each to convince the boys to go to sleep.
Hermione collapsed on the sofa and pulled the sheaf of parchments towards her. Her translation and Arithmancy work was the only thing that brought in any income for their family. She couldn't afford to shirk it. Her inheritance from her parents was substantial but there was nothing like having children to look after, to chip away at your funds.
But apparently the universe felt that she didn't have enough to worry about, because there was a knock on the door.
Hermione glanced at the wall clock, summoning her wand, her other hand pulling the handgun John had insisted she buy, from its hiding place.
She opened the door a crack, wedging her foot behind it.
"Hello dear."
Hermione almost dropped the gun in shock.
"Mrs Weasley." She gasped.
The older redhead smiled.
"We haven't seen you in a while, dear."
Hermione stared at her through the gap, carefully exchanging the gun for the bottle that now sat permanently on the hall stand.
"Mrs Weasley, I hate to ask, but could you stick your hand out for a moment?"
Looking slightly confused, Molly allowed her to pour Holy Water onto her palm.
"What did you ask me before we left that year?" Hermione demanded.
Molly frowned but answered anyway.
"I asked you to stay with Harry, no matter what."
Hermione smiled opening the door and allowed herself to be drawn into a bone crushing hug.
"Come in, please."
Molly smiled approvingly as they wandered through the house and into the kitchen.
"You have a lovely home."
"Er, thank you."
Hermione filled her large kettle and set it to boil, automatically setting out biscuits on a plate for the older woman.
"Not that I'm not pleased to see you, Mrs Weasley..."
"Molly. Please."
Hermione gave a strained smile, feeling utterly exhausted.
"Molly. But what are you doing here?"
The kettle whistled and Hermione filled the teapot setting it on the table with a pair of mugs that Dean had painted at school. Molly smiled at the childlike painting, tracing the letters of Sam's name.
"I came to visit my grandchildren." She said eventually. "And to see how you were coping." She took a long drink of tea and frowned. "And by the looks of things I'm glad that I did."
Hermione stiffened, eyes narrowing.
"Molly..."
"You look tired." The red haired witch said bluntly.
Hermione shrugged.
"The boys keep me busy. We're doing okay though." She tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, but knew she wasn't entirely successful.
Molly gave her a disbelieving look.
"I've raised six children, Hermione. I know exactly how tiring they are."
Hermione hummed at that.
"So tell me about them." Molly prompted.
Hermione gave a weary but proud smile.
"Sam and Dean are their names. Don't know if you knew. Dean's six now, in his first year at primary school, or whatever these Americans call it." She rolled her eyes. "I don't pretend to understand it. He's doing fine. Got lots of friends. Runs around like a lunatic most of the time. Sam's the little one. He's two." She smiled, tracing the rim of her mug with her finger. "He's a little sweetheart mostly. Very quiet, spends most of his time following Dean around."
Molly nodded happily.
"He sounds like Percy. That boy spent his entire childhood following William and Charlie around. Worshipped them, he did. Of course you wouldn't guess it now." Molly gave a deep sigh. "How are you coping? Really."
"I'm..." Hermione gave a half sob, almost two years of constant stress overwhelming her before she reined her emotions back in. "I'm doing all right. It's been a bit of an adjustment, having two kids to look after. I was never really the maternal type and to be honest I have no idea if I'm doing this right."
The older witch rubbed her shoulder consolingly.
"Hermione, dear. There's no right or wrong way to be a mother. Still...How's their father been?"
"John? Oh he's not around much. We haven't seen him in two months actually." Hermione gave a half hearted laugh. "Makes some things easier. Upsets Dean a bit though."
"Hmmm."
"Are you staying?" Hermione asked.
"Well if it's not too much bother...?"
Hermione shook her head.
"It's fine." She got to her feet. "I'll show you to the guest bedroom."
"'Mione."
Hermione groaned into her pillow in an attempt to ignore the tugging on her hair. Years of experience told her it was probably intolerably early in the morning.
"'Miiiione!"
"What's wrong, Sam?" She mumbled, untangling the small hand from her curls. Sam appeared to be sitting on her back. "Can you get off me, sweetheart?"
"Sorry." Sam rolled to the side so he was sitting by her head as she pushed herself up to look at him.
"What's wrong?" And how did you get out of your cot? She added silently.
"There's a lady. But Dean won't let me look!" The toddler whined, scowling.
Overprotective as always. Hermione sighed and swung her legs out of bed, ignoring her alarm clock which told her it was just after six.
"All right. Do you want to walk or be carried?"
"Carry."
Hermione laughed and scooped up the little boy. Sam could be a bit clingy sometimes, she was just lucky he was small for his age.
"Dean..." She called, startling the boy who'd been standing guard at the kitchen door. "It's all right, sweetheart. She's not here to hurt you."
"Course not." Molly added cheerfully, the smell of cooking breakfast wafting across the kitchen. "How much do these boys eat?"
Hermione settled Sam into his chair and shrugged.
"Ron and Ginny, respectively. You didn't have to make breakfast, Molly." She chided.
"Nonsense. Now..." Molly rested one hand on her hip and smiled at the boys. "Are you two going to introduce yourself?"
"'m Dean and that's Sammy." Dean mumbled.
"Well, it's very nice to meet you. You can call me Grandma Weasley. That's what James calls me." She added significantly.
Hermione frowned, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Who?"
Molly stared at her.
"Don't you know?"
She shook her head, one eye on Sam, who was making faces at his brother.
"James is Harry's son. He's almost a year old now."
Hermione blinked furiously.
"What?" She gasped. "I didn't..."
"They didn't tell you, did they?" Molly attacked the frying pan with a furious energy, glaring at it as though it was personally responsible. "I told them to."
"Harry and Ron...They never understood my decision to move out here." She handed Dean a glass of orange juice. "I haven't heard from them since Ron broke off the engagement. Fleur sends letters occasionally, Luna and Neville too. And I got the Christmas cards."
"Well, that's going to change." Molly dropped two plates onto the table, a fond smile coming across her as Dean whooped in delight. "You've got a life out here, Hermione. It might not be the one they wanted for you but these boys need you. I'll set them straight."
Hermione chuckled.
"Molly, they're grown men."
"And I'm their mother!" Molly grinned at her, looking youthful despite her greying hair. "You remember this, Hermione. Your sons will never be too tall to be told off by their mother."
"They're not my sons." Hermione pointed out.
"Yes, they are, dear. As sure as you're my daughter."
"Hermione why aren't you using magic?"
Hermione stared at Molly.
"Keep your voice down." she hissed.
Molly stared back, unimpressed.
"The only other person in this house is Sam and he's two. I think you'll be fine. So, tell me?"
The younger witch sighed and went back to scrubbing the frying pan.
"It's too risky. I'm living in a muggle neighbourhood, Molly. If the boys were to see and they told John...Let's say I don't want to find out how fireproof I am."
It was a testament to the lack of proper education about the muggle world, that this statement went unchallenged. Witches as a whole were still very upset about the entire trials catastrophe.
"You've still got your wand on you?"
"Molly, I am not fifteen any more." Hermione sincerely wished she sounded less childish when she said that. "I always have it on me and the house is fully warded."
Molly nodded and accepted the tea towel to wipe the dishes dry.
"What happened to your degree?"
Somewhat ruefully Hermione thought back to the law degree she'd been studying for and had left abandoned in Kansas.
"I had to drop it. I didn't have the time and..." she shrugged. "It wasn't practical or necessary to keep studying."
"But you've found work?" Molly prompted.
"Yes. I do translation work for a number of muggle universities and I run an arithmancy business. Sometimes people need a good potion brewer. I get by." Hermione gave a long sigh and rubbed her bare left ring finger. "Molly, I have to ask. Why are you being so supportive? I thought you were all for the engagement."
Molly folded her arms over her apron and frowned.
"No. I wanted you settled and you marrying Ron would have achieved that. To be honest, I always thought you and Percy would be a much better match, but he's found himself a nice girl. She's a secretary or something. Sensible head on her shoulders at least." Molly blinked and seemed to catch up with herself. "I'm supportive because you need support, in part at least. This is an incredible burden for you to have taken on, completely selfless too. But also because you're settled."
"I don't follow."
"Hermione, all I want for my children is for them to be settled. It doesn't mean married necessarily, it means safe. People who are settled having something to live for, a reason, if you like. Something that keeps them going, gets them up in the morning. My brothers, Gideon and Fabien...they were a bit like Fred and George in some respects. Jokers, life of the party. But they never settled. Said our family motto was a load of rubbish."
"Family motto...?" Hermione asked, now rather curious as to where this was going.
"The Prewitt family motto "For home and hearth". It's why family so important to me, dear. Anyway...my brothers. They never settled and there was a war on and of course they jumped right into battle." She stared off out the window. "You know the people who fight hardest are the people who have something to go home to. My brothers died and I always thought, if maybe they'd settled, they wouldn't have taken so many risks..." She wiped a tear away from her face. "Still...You're settled here. You've got yourself two boys to look after and I reckon they'll look after you too. Family is more than blood, you know."
"I know, Molly."
"Right, well I'd best be off."
Sam and Dean glanced up horrified, having grown used to Molly's cooking.
"But why...?" Dean grumbled.
Molly smiled indulgently.
"I've got my own boys to look after, you know. Charlie especially. Silly bot is lost without me."
Hermione helped Molly get her things together and soon they were standing at the front door, lit by the setting sun.
"Now you two be good?" Molly asked.
Dean nodded dutifully, well aware of how such goodbyes were supposed to go. Molly gave him a kiss on the cheek before she turned to Sam.
"You look after your mother, okay Sam?"
Sam's forehead crinkled in confusion but he nodded as well and received another kiss.
"You take care, Hermione."
"Yes, Molly." No Molly, three bags full Molly.
Molly gave her a frown that told Hermione that the older witch had probably guessed what she was thinking and set off down the garden path.
Hermione wouldn't hear from Harry and Ron for another two years and even then it took sometime before their friendship was anywhere near what it used to be. Still she forgave them. Molly became Sam and Dean's surrogate grandmother, showering them with birthday gifts, jumpers and, when she found out about Dean's favourite pudding, more pie than the boy could ever eat.
"Why is my son drinking tea?"
Hermione eyed John warily. It was one of the rare occasions where he stayed for lunch and as happened every day, Sam got a cup full of juice and Hermione and Dean drank tea. Although Dean's was heavily doctored with milk and sugar. Hermione may have had her doubts about her ability to raise children but by Merlin she was going to raise them the way her parents raised her.
"Because he likes it." She knew better than to ask Dean to confirm this. At the first sign of his father's disapproval, Dean would come to heel faster than a puppy dog.
John lapsed into muttering and Hermione occasionally caught words like "damned British" and "brainwashing."
She ignored him and stopped Dean from adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup.
They had their danger nights. Unfortunately Hermione couldn't indulge in her favourite unhealthy coping method, which involved a bottle of fire whiskey and some dedication. Halloween, which none of the family celebrated, was particulary bad. It hit too close to home for the boys and brought up too many bad memories for Hermione. But May the first and November the second were worse.
So whenever an anniversary came around, Hermione would put on the happiest children's movie she could find (as long as it didn't involve clowns), make a large bowl of popcorn (without sugar, because old habits die hard) and settle down with the boys in front of the TV with the sound turned up. It wasn't a fool proof method. Dean got nightmares whenever November came around, that left the boy screaming. Sam didn't really understand what all the fuss what about but seemed content to go along with it anyway. Hermione envied him sometimes.
Hermione flicked her wand, filling the trench with more mixture. They had just moved into their third house since Mary's death and Hermione was fulfilling what had become an irritating but necessary ritual. The boys were asleep upstairs on camp beds and Hermione had snuck out with her wand and a large sack.
"Stupid demons." She muttered vindictively. Luckily she had magic but that didn't make the work any less tiring. Her sack contained rock salt, iron filings, dried wolfsbane, gravedirt and anything else she thought might be useful. Wiping the dirt from her jeans she aimed another duplication spell at the sack and watched as it refilled. Definitely cheaper than buying fresh ingredients. Next, she took four stones from her pocket and set them at each corner of the perimeter. Hermione always chose a house which was secluded, near a town which had a magical community, and was easy to ward.
And John just thought she picked any old place.
The string of charms she used, protecting them from anything she could think of, were almost as long and as complicated as the wards protecting Hogwarts.
She slumped when she'd finished, the magic having taken a lot out of her. Stepping over the trench told her the enchantments were holding up. The iron might weaken her slightly, but it was a price she was willing to pay to keep ghosts and wiccae out. Hopefully it would be enough to keep the boys safe.
"You're an idiot, John Winchester." Hermione grumbled.
"Just sow up the damn wound."
John was covered with blood, most of it his. He'd taken a bullet to the shoulder from a particularly over zealous landowner.
"I'm trying but..."
"DAD!"
John and Hermione stared horrified at Dean, who stood frozen in the doorway.
"Dammit." John muttered.
Hermione ignored him, instead dropping the needle onto the table and walking over to Dean.
"I thought you were in bed." She asked gently.
Dean finally pulled his eyes away from his bloody father and shrugged.
"I heard voices. What wrong? Is Dad gonna be okay?"
"Your Dad'll be fine." she promised. "Why don't you head upstairs and he'll be up to put you to bed in a minute?"
Dean nodded reluctantly and left.
"He doesn't need to be put to bed, he's eight." John's temper, never the longest at the best of times, was made even shorter by the blood loss.
"He's a child." she chided, deftly sowing up his shoulder. She'd had to get used to the smell of blood in her kitchen and she hated it.
"He's not going to get that luxury." He sighed. "How have they been?"
"The boys? Fine. Training is going well, Dean doing well at school. Made some friends. They miss you though." She tied off the stitches. "You're done."
"I miss them too, but I've been busy."
"So you said."
"I'm getting closer, Hermione. I can feel it."
"You said that last year."
They stared each other down.
"Just go say goodnight to your son." She said at last, dismissing him.
"What's going on?"
Hermione froze, staring at him.
"What are you doing here?"
John blinked.
"I'm here to see my boys. It's Sam's birthday."
Hermione stepped out onto the step, pulling the door closed behind her.
"Yes, but you never make it for Sam's birthday."
John winced.
"Yeah, I know. I'm not exactly father of the year material."
Hermione narrowed her eyes but gave in.
"I hope you like cake." She said, instead of the vicious lecture about John's shocking lack of paternal skills which she so desperately wanted to give.
Sam was turning five, which meant cake and presents and lots of sugar and no training and running around in circles. Or at least as far as Sam was concerned.
"Dad!" John almost stumbled when Sam hit him full force in the knees.
"Hey there, kiddo. Hey, Dean."
Dean smiled nervously from the bottom of the stairs. He would have hugged his father too, had it not been for the speech John had given him about growing up and acting like a real man. Hermione hugged him instead.
"It's okay." She whispered. Dean nodded.
For once everything went without a hitch and John stayed for several days. Hermione watched, horrified as John gave Dean his first knife and showed him how to use it.
"I'm sorry, Mary." She whispered wondering, not for the first time, if the mother was watching her sons as much as Lily had watched Harry.
"'Mione!"
Hermione frowned, listening out for another shout.
"'MIONE!" Dean yelled.
She got to her feet, heading for the back garden.
"What's wrong...SAM!"
Hermione sprinted across the garden, skidding to a stop by Sam's prone form. Both boys were crying and had tea towels tied around their necks. The breeze caught Dean's and sent it fluttering across his shoulders.
"What's wrong?" She demanded, smoothing one hand across Sam's forehead.
Dean hiccuped, tears streaming down his face..
"We were playing in the tree and I jumped and he followed me and..."
"It's all right, Dean." She soothed. "Sammy, what hurts?"
"My arm." He whimpered.
"Okay darling." She scooped him up in her arms, trying to avoid jostling his arm to much. "Dean, go get my keys!"
"I'm sorry, Sam!"
"DEAN! Keys, now!"
"What the hell happened?"
Hermione flinched, almost dropping her mug. She whirled to face the hunter, swallowing back a slight twinge of fear. An angry John Winchester wasn't something she liked facing and she'd been facing it far too much recently.
"When did you get here?" She demanded, certain she'd locked all the doors.
John shrugged, dumping his duffel bag onto the table.
"Not long ago. What happened to Sammy?"
She sighed, following his gaze out the kitchen window, where Dean was colouring in Sam's cast.
"They were tree climbing and Dean thought he was Superman and jumped, and then Sam did too."
John glared at her.
"That's not what I meant. You're supposed to be taking care of them. How can he train with a broken arm?"
She ground her teeth.
"It was an accident. Sometimes children get hurt, there's nothing I can do to stop that. If anything he learned a valuable lesson."
John snorted in disgust.
"Oh yeah, and what's that?"
She smiled, eyeing him maliciously.
"Batman can't fly."
"Ghost?"
"Salt and silver?"
Hermione smiled at Dean.
"Half right. Why does the poker work on Ghosts as well as witches?"
Dean beamed at her.
"IRON!"
"Clever boy."
Hermione Granger and Sam Winchester were laid flat on their backs in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the ceiling.
"We're screwed."
"We're not screwed." Hermione corrected, turning her head to look at him. "We're just...stuck." She scowled. "Besides, it's all right for you. You could get him a flobberworm and he'd love it."
"What's a flobberworm?"
"A worm that's flobbily."
He giggled before turning back to the problem at hand.
"You're a grown up." Sam complained. "You're supposed to know these things."
"No, I'm not." She teased, reaching out to tickle him. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly immature when you want to be...Immature." She grinned. "I've had an idea. I had these friends when I was younger..."
"Ages and ages ago."
"Hey! How old do you think I am?"
Sam shrugged.
"You're my mum. That makes you older-er-er-er-er than me."
Hermione and Dean had had a shock the first time Sam had called her that. Sam, with the ineffable logic of a four year old, had turned around and told them quite clearly, that she was his mum and his mom was in heaven with the angels and could he have some more carrot sticks please. After asking Dean if it bothered him, Hermione let it slide. She quite liked the title after all.
"Thanks a bunch." She chuckled to herself. "Anyway, I had these friends and they owned a joke shop..."
"What sort of joke shop?"
"An amazing one. It had fireworks and things whizzing around. But don't tell them I said so because I used to yell at them when I was at school."
"You went to school!"
Hermione frowned at the boy.
"You're doing that on purpose now, aren't you?" Sam nodded. "Let me tell my story, you impossible heathen. Anyway I bet they've got something for Dean."
So Hermione wrote a letter to Messrs Weasley and Jordan and two days later received a parcel of their finest muggle-safe stock and a box of sugar quills (because they knew how much she'd missed them), on the condition that she sent them a picture of the inevitable mayhem.
Dean's tenth birthday was, to any responsible adult, an utter disaster, and to any child, the best day of their lives.
"Sam, what are you doing with that worm?"
That is never a good sentence to start the day with. Hermione blinked away the sleep and stared at the boy who was sitting on the foot of her bed, holding a worm on a saucer.
Sam frowned at her, apparently somewhat confused.
"How do you make a worm flobbily?"
"Miss Granger, we're sorry to call you away from work, but the situation requires a parent or guardian." The principal glared at her as though she was personally responsible. Which she supposed she was.
Hermione nodded, frowning at the pair of worried faces watching her through the glass door.
"It's quite all right. If you could possibly explain?" Although she had a fairly good idea what this was about.
"Sam and Dean were caught fighting today."
"Did they start it?"
"The other boys say that Dean started it and Sam joined in."
Hermione winced.
"That sounds...plausible."
"We've given them detentions. Thankfully none of the boys were seriously hurt. We have to ask you to discipline the boys yourself. Exclusion isn't practical at the moment, what with the holidays just around the corner."
She nodded and rubbed at her temples.
"Yes, of course."
"Miss Granger, we understand that you are very young and this is a lot of pressure placed on you, especially considering that these aren't your children. However if this behaviour continues we may have to inform social services who will find an appropriate action to take."
Hermione's gaze went glacially cold.
"I assure you, that that won't be necessary. My boys will sort this out. We'll be going now."
Without waiting to be dismissed, Hermione left the office. Sam and Dean followed her quietly, each shooting her worried glances.
Hermione rested her head on her hands, once they were safely home and groaned, loudly.
"Boys, why did you get into a fight?" She asked quietly, not looking up at them.
Dean glared at Sam when he opened his mouth to speak and the younger boy snapped his mouth shut again with an audible click.
"Okay. Dean, go wait in your room." Hermione glanced up and glared at him when he didn't move. "Now!" She ordered.
Dean left, kicking at the floor as he did so.
Hermione knelt down in front of the six year old, frowning. Sam looked at the carpet.
"Sammy, you need to tell me what happened." She said sternly.
Sam crumpled.
"They were making fun of you and Dean got upset and hit one of them." Sam tugged at the strap of his school bag. "And then they all came after Dean and...I just wanted to help him." He added, eyes wide and on the verge of tears.
Hermione sighed and hugged him.
"Of course you did, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
"I know you are." Hermione sat back and smiled at him. "I need to go have a talk with Dean. Why don't you get yourself a snack from the cupboard and read your book for a bit? We can make biscuits later."
"No training?"
Hermione smiled at him.
"Sam, it'll be Christmas in a few weeks. We can stay up a bit later and eat lots of snacks and watch lots of TV."
Sam grinned at her, showing the gap where his baby teeth had fallen out.
"Aunt 'Mione?" He called as she left the room.
"Yeah?"
"Is Dad coming home for Christmas?"
Hermione stiffened, closing her eyes for a moment.
"I don't know. Maybe."
Hermione sighed as she climbed the stairs. The boys never knew when he was coming home. He usually made it home once every couple of months but it was never regular and never forewarned.
Dean's door was still open but he had collapsed face down on his bed.
"Dean?" She called gently.
"What!"
Hermione chuckled, sitting down on the bed beside him.
"Believe me Dean, I've dealt with more angst in my life than you, aged ten, can possibly dish up. Why did you punch that boy?"
Dean mumbled something into his pillow.
"Try again."
"He called you a whore."
Hermione froze.
It wasn't the first time she'd dealt with opinions like this. Hermione worked from home, had no significant other and was raising two boys, one of who was old enough to have been born when she was eighteen. She had no friends and didn't socialise with others and she was English. In the more conservative parts of America arch looks were the least of what she got.
Most of the other mothers didn't speak to her on principle but this was the first time Dean had had to deal with it.
She sighed and rubbed his shoulder.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that."
He sat up and stared at her, brilliant green eyes watering.
"You're not mad?"
"I'm a little mad." she chided. She was furious, but not with him."But you lost your temper and that's okay. You were doing it to protect someone you loved, which is perhaps the best reason to lose your temper. I'm not saying what you did was right but I can understand why." She looked at her very bare left hand. "I think it's time we moved, Dean."
Dean pushed himself up fully, looking horrified.
"Is it because I started a fight?"
Hermione chuckled sadly and hugged him close.
"Of course not. We have to move around every so often anyway, you know that."
"Will Dad be able to find us?"
"I suspect so."
Before they arrived in the next town a week later, Hermione made sure to buy herself a gold wedding ring. Nothing ostentatious, but enough to dissuade any claims about her marital status. She taught the boys to say that her husband was dead.
Hermione stood out side the new house with Sam and Dean on either side of her. Sam was holding her hand, Dean had just decided that ten was too old for hand holding and refused. He still stood pretty close by though. The house was large, but just about affordable for Hermione. On the outskirts of town they were far enough away from anyone that any strange noises wouldn't cause a problem. It would need a bit of work but there were four bedrooms and a large garden. A room they could turn into a library and a basement that could easily be converted into a panic room.
The boys loved it, which was the important thing.
"I think..." She said, watching the removal men unload the van, "that this might be it boys."
Sam cheered.
"Where the hell are you?"
Hermione gave a long suffering sigh as she cradled the phone between her shoulder, stirring a large pot of soup. They'd finally settled into the new house and had unpacked in time for the boys to start school when the term restarted.
"We've moved. If you hadn't changed your number you'd have known."
John swore.
"Are the boys okay?"
Hermione crossed to the window, watching Sam and Dean sparring on the wet grass. She'd enrolled them in self defence and martial arts classes. They loved it.
"They're fine. Dean got onto the sports team at school..." She waited, hoping that this would get some kind of response from him.
"How's their training going?"
Hermione scowled bitterly. This was the part of their agreement that she struggled the most with. John was convinced that the boys should grow up to be hunters. So convinced in fact that the only way they could stay with Hermione was if she trained them, both in theory and combat. The boys would go to school and get qualifications and when John did eventually take them on a hunt, they'd be ready.
"It's going fine." She murmured, eyes fixed on Sam, who'd given up on sparring and was instead just running away from his brother. "Are you going to make it for the 24th?" She asked, one eye on the calender.
"What happens then?" John asked.
Hermione hung up out of disgust.
"Strange smell of sulphur, victim suffered blackouts..."
"Possession?"
Hermione grinned and tossed Dean another chocolate.
"He's catching you up, Sammy. Okay, next one...Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus..."
"Omnis Satanica Potestas, Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii, Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica, Ergo Draco Maledicte, Ut Ecclesiam Tuam Secura, Tibi Facias Libertate Servire, Te Rogamus, Audi Nos!" The boys recited together and Hermione cheered.
"That'll do for tonight boys." She handed them a handful of sweets. Teaching hunting wasn't something that was easy, but Hermione had taught Ronald Weasley Transfiguration for almost six years and that took a miracle. You just needed the right motivation to get the information to stick. With Ron it had been fear. For Sam and Dean, it was chocolate.
"'Mione!" Sam pleaded.
"What?"
"Can I have a story?"
Hermione chuckled, tucking the duvet around the squirming boy.
"What do you think, Dean?" She asked, the elder boy peering around the doorway, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. His bedtime wasn't for another two hours. He nodded though and sat next to Sam against the headboard.
"Well what story do you want?"
"Hogwarts!" Sam demanded, puppy dog eyes out in full force.
"Hmmm. Okay."
Telling the boys out right about what she was, would be impossible. So she told them about the magical society and about witches and wizards who didn't get their powers from hell and wrapped it up as a fairytale instead of the truth.
She reasoned that it was about giving them both sides of the story.
A smaller part of herself quietly believed that if she told them now, there was a chance they wouldn't try to kill her when they were older.
"Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were she was taught to use her magic for good. When she was a little older than you are Dean, she was in her first year. She boarded a big red stream train, like the ones you see in films, which took her all the way to Hogwarts. Now this girl was very shy and didn't make friends easily. But on that train ride she met two boys who would become very special to her. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. They didn't become friends immediately though. When they arrived at the school all of the new students were sorted into houses. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, Hufflepuff for the loyal and Slytherin for the cunning. The girl and Harry and Ron were sorted into Gryffindor..."
She stopped talking when she got to the troll in the girls bathroom. Sam had fallen asleep and even Dean was starting to look drowsy.
"C'mon, soldier." She muttered, lifting the boy. She almost sagged under his weight. "Have you grown again Dean?" She asked rhetorically, dropping him onto his own bed.
Hermione left him to get changed and headed downstairs. She had three pages of rune work to be done and she'd have to be up early the next day. Sam had started swimming lessons and they were at an obscenely early hour of the morning. It was okay though. She and Dean sat in the little café for an hour talking and eating bacon sandwiches. She smiled at the picture of Mary that was always kept on their mantelpiece.
"Your boys are doing fine." She whispered, wiping away tears.
"Hey, 'Mione."
Hermione closed one eye and stared at the boy, causing him to giggle.
"I'm not in right now. Leave a message."
Sam stamped his foot, scowling.
"'Miiiiione. I know you're there."
"No, you don't."
Sam glared at her.
"I can see you."
"Since when does that mean I'm there?" She pointed out, setting the bowl she'd been washing on the draining board.
Sam prodded her arm.
"See! You're real."
Hermione chuckled.
"Oh, all right. What's wrong?"
"What does mudblood mean?"
Porcelain flew everywhere as Hermione dropped the mug she'd been washing. Sam shrieked and jumped backwards.
"What?" She gasped, shaking.
Sam skirted around the broken china to tug on her arm.
"Mudblood. You've got it written on your arm."
Hermione yanked her arm away from him, pulling her sleeve down to cover the scar.
"Nothing. Leave it, Sam."
"But...?"
"Sam..." She warned. "Go outside or something."
"But...!"
"GO!"
Sam gave her an utterly betrayed look and sped off, crying.
Hermione sunk to the floor cradling her arm to her chest. She wore long sleeves usually, but she'd rolled them up to do the washing up. She sobbed quietly, feeling the old scar twinge. It had never healed, would never heal.
It was just something she had to live with.
There weren't many benevolent magical creatures in America. To be honest at the rate John was going their wouldn't be many malevolent ones either but that was beside the point.
So Hermione was surprised when she opened the back door of the house one morning and a large black shadow streaked past her into the kitchen. She spun to face it, one hand reaching for the wand she still kept on her at all times. The large black cat blinked at her from atop the table, looking for all the world as though he'd lived there his entire life.
Hermione sighed and looked into the bright green eyes sceptically.
"Cat food?" She asked.
Hermione received a look only those of a feline persuasion could manage, which told her he couldn't believe she'd be so stupid as to even ask. She rolled her eyes in response and set the large frying pan down on the stove.
"I hope you like bacon." She murmured instead.
"Hermione! Have you seen my..." Sam slid several feet across the floor in his socks, before catching himself on a chair. "Whoah... is that a cat?"
Hermione chuckled, tipping bacon onto a plate.
"Not exactly."
"What's his name?" He asked, holding out his hand to be sniffed like she'd taught him.
Hermione smiled at the emerald green eyes and black fur which reminded her heavily of an old friend.
"Harry."
Sam's eyes widened.
"Like the boy in the story?"
"Exactly like that. Your trainers are under the kitchen table. Grab Dean and we'll have breakfast."
"Dean's allergic to cats." Sam pointed out, retrieving his shoes. "He sneezes."
Hermione laughed quietly.
"He won't be allergic to this one." She promised.
"ARGH!" Dean threw himself backwards, much to his brother's amusement.
"I told you there was a cat." Sam smirked, slipping into his seat at the table. Sam was becoming the sort of sarcastic that only those approaching seven can manage.
"Bitch." Dean grumbled.
"Dean Winchester! Language!" Hermione scolded.
"Sorry, Aunt 'Mione."
Sam snickered into his cereal, earning himself under a kick under the table.
"I saw that." Hermione warned as she sat in the last chair and Harry jumped into her lap, watching the boys. "This is Harry. He's not a cat, he's a Kneazle. You shouldn't be allergic to him."
"Like the one in the story?" Sam asked excitedly.
Hermione smiled sadly.
"Almost. Crookshanks was a half Kneezle. Still very intelligent. However, Harry here is a wild Kneazle. I didn't know there were any in America." Harry sneezed. "Kneazles choose their companions."
"So you own him?" Dean asked, still eyeing the feline suspiciously.
"You cannot own another magical creature, Dean. That's slavery. He's here because he wants to be."
Dean shrugged.
"Cool."
Kneazles are, amongst their many talents, impeccable judges of character. There were several times when Hermione wouldn't let someone into the house simply because Harry didn't like him. He could also smell a demon a mile off. Dean could remember multiple times in his childhood when the house was on lock down because the cat was acting funny.
John hated Harry.
The feeling was mutual.
Harry had a particular habit of stealing John's duffle bag and hiding it in strange places. Like the garden flower bed. Or under the porch. Or in the field next door. Or halfway up a tree.
Sam always thought it was hilarious.
Told you I'd update soon.
Thank you to all my reviewers.
I'm unbeta'd for this so if you could point out any glaring mistakes...you know the drill.
Special thanks to: LeonaMasha (for offering to help me chase people), PunkyRedHead and chris7100.
I've got a funeral tomorrow, sigh.
Hood