Chapter 3:
Both Winchesters stared at the girl they had tucked between them and the wall. Dean began cleaning out his ears just to be sure that what she said wasn't just something he hallucinated up due to forty years in Hell. Sam just stuck with his stare.
"…What do you mean by 'normal humans,' Hermione?" Sam asked cautiously.
Dean took out his silver flask of holy water and a silver knife from his jacket pocket as subtly as he could – which really wasn't subtle at all. Hermione eyed his sudden movements warily before slowly reaching for something in her pocket as well.
"I mean exactly what I said. You two could see the Dementor and you're not supposed to!"
"So you're saying you're not normal either?" Dean demanded roughly before unclasping the flask and splashing Hermione straight in the face with the water.
Unfortunately, Hermione had just started to speak and her mouth was open enough to shape words. The water thus hit her not only in the face but also the back of her throat, causing a massive fit of coughing and wheezing.
"Dean, what the fuck?" Sam cried, panicking as she turned tomato red.
"She could be a demon, Sammy!" Dean protested. "Look at her, the water's affecting her and sizzling off!"
"No, it isn't! She's choking, dude!"
"Yeah, yeah, likely story. She's either pretending to be choking while actually being burned by holy water or somethin' like that! Demons trick people!"
"Um, are you alright?" Sam turned away from his brother. "Sorry, he's just a bit… overeager."
Hermione nodded, her breaths gradually returning to a normal pace. Her hand still didn't leave her pocket, but her arm seemed less stiff and ready to spring to action.
"S'okay, I have a lot of tolerance for this bullshit," she replied, still gasping a bit.
The curse fell from her lips awkwardly as if she didn't often use such language to express herself. It sounded odd paired with her accent, Sam thought, like seeing the Queen of England eating barbequed ribs with her hands. She gently rubbed at her chest again, trying to ease the burn in her lungs somehow.
"I just meant," Hermione continued. "You aren't normal humans. You're still humans, but you've got something else in you… Magic. Like me."
"Magic?" Sam inquired.
"Like you?" Dean said incredulously.
Hermione huffed a bit impatiently. "Yeah. Only those with magical blood can see Dementors. I can see them because I'm a witch. That makes you two of magical blood as well, okay?"
"You're a witch?" both brothers looked at her, the elder with a derisive tone and the younger with a curious glance.
"Yes, I'm a witch. I'm born magical and I guess you both are, too," she said, eyeing Dean cautiously as he crept slightly closer, silver dagger in hand. "You better not try to stab me with that. I've no problems with silver, but I don't like pointy things like that near me."
He snorted before grabbing her hand. "Born magical? Alright, just one more test, witchy witch."
Gingerly, he slid the finest edge of the knife down her index finger almost too delicately to be characteristic of Dean at all. A droplet of blood slid down the pale skin and Hermione quickly wiped it on Dean's leather jacket without a single flinch.
"What the fuck?"
"Serves you right. You just don't get rough with a girl like that on a first meeting," she told him primly. "I trust you're all satisfied with that?"
Dean glared at her while trying to get the blood out of his leather.
"As I was saying, you're clearly of magical descent like me. I don't understand how, because you don't seem like American wizards, but there's no way you aren't. I think I'll have to talk to the embassy about this…"
"Look, Hermione, we're not witches –" Sam cut in.
Hermione groaned. "– I should hope not –"
"We're ordinary humans, but we're hunters," he continued. "We hunt supernatural beings."
"Like witches," Dean added helpfully.
"Mm-hmm, I see," Hermione said, ignoring Dean. "My best speculation is that you're Squibs. You don't seem to have any outward magic at least, or any training. You use Muggle weapons."
The two looked slightly offended by being called Squibs though they had no idea what it meant. She continued muttering a bit to herself before finally swiveling something out of her pocket. Both brothers backed away and twitched towards their guns.
"Alright, it was quite lovely to chat with you and all, but I really must be going. Goodbye," she smiled sweetly at them before turning onto her heel and disappearing with a sharp crack, leaving the Winchesters frozen in shock.
-oOo-
"Yes, may I speak to whomever is in charge of the magical being archives?" Hermione asked the receptionist cordially.
The woman behind the desk smirked. She was dressed in Muggle clothes – a lot more skillfully than many back in England – that consisted of a leather jacket and a low-cut crop-top. Hermione wondered if this was really the dress-code here in America or if professionalism was just as nonexistent as the woman's skirt.
"Sorry, Mr. Churchill isn't here at the moment," the tart said. "I can relay a message, maybe, or make you an appointment?"
"Tell Robert that it's Hermione Granger asking for him," Hermione smiled saccharinely. "Or perhaps I'll Floo him myself later."
The receptionist blanched. "Perhaps he's still in, I'll send a message. May I interest you in a gillywater as you wait?"
Hermione shook her head, wishing that her American counterpart would just hurry and sate her curiosity about the two men she had met earlier. They were of magical descent and yet they hadn't a clue about it and reacted very badly to the fact that she was a witch. There was murderous intent in Dean's eyes when he heard the word fall from her lips and Hermione recognized it immediately as it formed in his green eyes. It was the same kind of violent hatred felt by Death Eaters towards her, the same kind of piercing disgust. Sam seemed a bit more agreeable, but she couldn't deny the mistrust in his gaze either. It was strange how repulsed they seemed to be towards witches and apparently being possible magical beings themselves.
"Hermione, how's America?"
She looked up and saw Robert Churchill, her rank equivalent at the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the American wizarding government. He smiled when she stood up and shook his hand.
"It's been lovely," Hermione told him. "Except for the part where I found a Dementor in the middle of a children's daycare center, actually. I had to go up and send a Patronus at it with a couple of children watching me. Of course, everything was taken care of properly, but I wanted to know about something."
He chuckled as he led her to his office. "Yeah, Hermione Granger wanting to know something is totally unusual. Well, what is it?"
"I met two men earlier today. They were at the Dementor scene, with guns in their hands and apparently they could see it. They called themselves hunters of the supernatural," she said.
Robert quirked a grey brow. "Ah, they're hunters."
"But they said they were humans and they… tried to hurt me when they heard I was a witch. I told them that they must've had magical blood in them, too, if they could see it."
Nodding, the middle-aged wizard waved his wand with a light flourish. "Yep, they're descended from Squibs. Most of these hunters are from long bloodlines of Squibs, actually. Funny how they hate the magical world so much when they're part of it. Their blood attracts supernatural problems and they deal with it by killin' anything supernatural.
"Their ancestors were most likely Squibs exiled from magical societies in Europe. Belief in magic was easy wipe out after a few generations, a conditioned dislike of magic, and the witch-hunts that happened a lot in this country. The population of magical-born folk is too small and stretched across a lot of space, too, so I suppose that played a role as well."
She frowned. "But that doesn't explain their strong aversion to me. This all happened to their ancestors, not them."
"Well, actually, we have a small problem with Muggles trading their souls with demons... As you know, we're given our magic through blood. I'm guessing that we were rewarded by angels, since we're just so completely different from this other strain of magical-practitioners. They sell their souls for power, you see, while we're born with it. They're normal humans but the demons tempt them enough to commit all sorts of crazy things… Murder, fatal curses, that kind of thing. And in the end, these humans are utterly corrupted and then dragged to hell."
"Oh," Hermione nodded in understanding. Her eyes widened. "But I don't seem to have heard of cases like this back in England."
"It's unique to most of the decentralized wizarding governments, I think. We don't have a big magical population here either so man-power isn't our forte. We can't cover much ground," Robert said regretfully. "You guys are able to protect your Muggles from demons without having anyone really learn much about the fake witches. I think it's under your Department of Mysteries…"
Hermione nodded. "So, those guys don't know about witches and wizards like us, then?"
Robert shook his head. "Nah, we lay low around hunters. They choose to shoot first, ask questions later."
-oOo-
