A/N: I'm sorry I didn't manage to post earlier. Normally, I have my stories written and only need to edit them. This one, however, is written and then posted instantly. I moved back to Germany, and then, I travelled two months through South America, so it was impossible for me to write anything.
Sorry.
Thank you for all your reviews and comments. Thank you for being so patient with me ;)
On another note, I went back to the first chapter to edit the information about Hermione's parents. I'd originally written that Hermione went to Australia and reversed the memory spell. The last chapter contradicted this, of course. Thank you to the fabulous Lauramichca, who pointed that out!
"It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here."
- Sam Winchester, 01x02 Wendigo
8. Evil That Devours
Dean's bedroom door suddenly banged open and he spun around. It was six thirty in the morning and he'd only just got up. Hermione stood in the doorframe, already fully dressed, beaming at him. There was a newspaper in her hand, which probably was the cause of her excitement.
"Dude, have you never heard of knocking?" Dean grunted before she could say a word. "I could've been naked."
She raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze travelling over the jeans and T-Shirt he'd slept in. The Winchesters, Harry, Hermione, and a bunch of other wizards had successfully hunted a Vampire nest last night, and he'd been dead on his feet when they'd come back. So he'd simply forgotten to change and just passed out on the bed, fully clothed.
"I'm not a dude," she said pointedly.
He waved her protest aside. "What's up?"
"Our monster hit again. The possible Wendigo," Hermione announced, the smile returning to her face.
"What? Where?" At once, Dean was at her side, trying to grab the paper.
"Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park. Not far from Helensburgh," she replied steadily, pointing at a small article in the Helensburgh Advertiser, the local newspaper.
Monster of Loch Lomond attacks
Family vanishes in Loch Lomond area. Hikers' disappearance baffles authorities.
Yesterday. A 44-year-old male, his wife (40) and two children (12 and 10) did not return from their trip to the area around Loch Lomond. The tourists were reported missing by the owner of a Bed-and-Breakfast in Helensburgh. Their car, a black VW Golf, was found at a parking lot near the Loch, and the family is believed to have gone for a day hike from there. Local authorities continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing […]
Dean had barely finished reading when Hermione snatched the paper away. "Get ready and wake Sam. I'm gonna tell Harry," she said and dashed down the stairs.
Dean didn't hesitate for a second. If it was a Wendigo, the chances were good that at least some family members were still alive. He walked over to Sam's door and pounded on it. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Get ready. We have a case."
A shuffling noise behind the door told him that Sam had heard him. That was enough. He quickly went back to his room and packed the weapons. Unfortunately, they hadn't brought the flamethrower from the Bunker, and he certainly didn't want to face the Wendigo – if it was a Wendigo – empty handed or trust the wizards to handle it. So, just in case, he'd prepared something else. Molotov cocktails.
The son of a bitch wouldn't know what hit him.
Even though, it were the beginnings of March, old snow still covered the ground in Southern Scotland. It was cold outside. Slate-coloured clouds came rolling over the Scottish mountains, and cold north wind blew the first raindrops towards the town.
Hermione placed her icy hands around a steaming cup of tea and exhaled a sigh of relief. After the Winchesters had interviewed the owner of the Bed-and-Breakfast and Hermione and Harry had talked with the police, they'd met up in a little pub. Hermione was glad to be finally inside.
"Anything new?" Sam asked, matter-of-fact.
Harry shook his head. "The police found the car at an empty parking lot. Not many people go for hikes these days. The weather is too unstable." He glanced outside, where – as if having listened to his words – it had started to pour. "Anyway, they scoured the surrounding areas and asked in all nearby villages and farms, but nobody had seen them. They're not even entirely sure which track the family has taken since various hiking paths start near the parking lot. I think–"
"Oh, the food!" Dean interrupted him, reaching for the cutlery, while a waitress put steaming pies in front of all of them.
"Dean, can you please think with your brain instead with your stomach for once?" Sam said, annoyed.
"What?!" Dean replied indignantly, his cheeks already full with pie.
Sam rolled his eyes, focusing back on Harry and Hermione.
"You remind me so much of Ron sometimes," Hermione suddenly said, a look between awe and disgust on her face.
"Who's 'On?" Dean asked.
Hermione blushed, realising she'd said that out loud. Normally, she avoided thinking about her ex-boyfriend. They hadn't spoken since Christmas, she realised, and a spark of hurt and regret shot through her. Lifting her gaze, she saw that Dean's eyes were focused on her, and she quickly looked away. She felt like he'd been able to see inside her, to see the pain, the regret, the brokenness.
"A friend of ours," Harry helped her out. "He has… similar eating habits."
Sam snorted.
"Anyway," the wizard added, "I think –"
"You Brits eat weird food, you know that?" Dean interrupted Harry again, who glared at the older man. "But the pie is awesome. I love pie."
His gaze was still on Hermione, his eyes sparkling with mirth, and Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She marvelled in the fact that something as simple as pie could make the older Winchester so happy, so content. If they managed to hunt that Wendigo, she'd make some of her mother's famous apple pie for him.
"As I was saying," Harry continued slightly louder than necessary, "we should go to the parking lot. Maybe magic can reveal the path they've taken."
Hermione quickly focused back on the actual conversation and nodded in agreement. "Exactly. What have you guys found out?"
Sam chewed, swallowed, and replied, "Not much more. Nice family, apparently. From Manchester. Come here every year."
"So they should know their way around," Dean added between two forks of pie. "It's unlikely they've just gotten lost."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "So it's our monster, then."
"Looks like it." Sam shrugged.
"Any idea what it could be?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "We think Wendigo."
Hermione took a sip from her tea, trying to calm her nerves. The Wendigo certainly seemed like one of the more dangerous monsters since you couldn't reason with it. Just like the Dementors.
"Peachy," she murmured under her breath.
"It didn't snow or rain for two days. But the rain now will destroy all the hard evidence and wash away the scent of the hikers," Sam warned, looking out of the window. Although it was barely noon, it was almost dark outside. A thick blanket of clouds covered the sky; there was no lone ray of sunlight as sharp, flowing sheets of water crashed down on the earth like bullets. "The police won't find anything."
"Magic will," Harry reassured him.
Hermione took a bite of her vegetable pie, trying to conceal her nervousness, and asked as soberly as possible, "So, what's the plan?"
An hour later, they stood at the same parking lot where the police had found the black VW. The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle that moistened their hats and jackets and clung to their exposed skin. They'd had to wait until the sky had cleared enough for them to start the hunt. Sam knew that a Wendigo was practically unbeatable at night, and the purple twilight of a thunderstorm was not the best condition to hunt the perfect hunter.
"Okay, witch, do your magic trick," Dean said, his arms crossed. Sam had to suppress rolling his eyes at his brother's antics. He found that the filthy look Hermione shot his brother was totally justified.
"Homenum revelio," she then whispered. Nothing happened.
"Well, wasn't that spectacular," Dean said dryly.
"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped. "It tells us that there're no other humans in a certain radius. As soon was we're near the lost family, the spell will lead us to them. Right now, we're too far away."
"What now?" Sam asked, eyeing the two paths that lead deeper into the woods, starting at the parking lot.
Hermione rolled her shoulders, as if to brace herself, then conducted a complicated wand movement, saying, "Tempum revelio."
Suddenly, Sam caught a glimpse of a black VW entering the parking lot. Then, the image flickered and jumped forward; four people in brightly coloured rain jackets exited the car. The doors closed without sound. They looked oddly real, almost touchable, their lips moving in silent conversation. But Sam knew that there was nothing but air. What he was seeing was … the past? Another jump; and the group entered the path on the left. Then the illusion faded.
"That way," Hermione said calmly, lowering her wand.
"Was that…?" Sam began uncertainly.
The witch nodded. "We saw a short glimpse of what happened here."
"But… how?" Dean asked, wide-eyed.
Hermione shrugged. "Magic."
"Come on," Harry said, turning to the correct path.
The ground was covered in heavy, half molten snow, and Sam's socks were wet within seconds. Harry and Hermione walked a few paces ahead of him, and he was able to hear their conversation.
"What kind of spell was that?" Harry asked quietly.
Sam narrowed his eyes. Harry was a wizard, too. Why didn't he know the spell Hermione had used? A second later, the girl answered both their questions.
"I invented it. It's not perfect yet, but… it'll be extremely helpful in crime-solving."
"You… what?" Harry gasped.
"I can't go back more than 36 hours. And it doesn't work if I have no connections to the place or the people," she explained hastily. "It's a very personal spell; that's its main problem. Therefore, I read everything I could find on the family, so I could establish a connection."
"But how does it work?"
Sam strained his ears to hear the answer. The constant drizzle of the rain almost covered Hermione's hushed voice. "It picks up on the caster's intended target, using their magic to…" she paused. "To force the past into the present, to coexist. We perceive time as linear, but it's not."
"You're bloody brilliant, you know that, Hermione?" Harry said, the smile obvious in his voice.
"No, the physicist of the last century were brilliant, who explained time theory in a much more convincing way than the alchemists who invented the time turner," the girl deadpanned, the sighed. "It's a quite exhausting spell, really."
Sam exchanged a glance with his brother. What were time-turners? Did that mean these people had the ability to influence time? It was scary enough that Castiel had been able to zap them into the past, but… turning back time? That seemed different.
Then, another though occurred to him: So the natural witches and wizards could invent spells? Maybe they could invent some monster-killing spell? So far, the Aurors had trained to combine their magic with the weapons provided by the Winchesters. But wouldn't it be much easier if a simple spell could kill the demon, or vampire, or rougarou? He needed to talk to Hermione about that.
Sam had to admit that he was quite impressed by the young witch. She was barely twenty, was an accomplished war heroine – from what he gathered from the history books he'd found in Harry's library – studied every night until late for those weird exams – NEWTs or whatever – and had time to invent spells. On the other hand, she didn't seem to have much of a social life. She'd gone to that school once or twice, but more to talk to teachers than to friends. From what he'd understood, Harry had gone up to Hogwarts every weekend to visit his girlfriend; in the evenings, he sometimes went to a place called 'the Burrow' or to visit his godson. Sometimes, Hermione accompanied him, but more often she'd stay locked up in her room with books as her only company.
"Our Wendigo's behaving a bit strangely," Dean suddenly said, forcing Sam to focus back on the present. "So many kills in so few months. It's starving."
"That only makes it more dangerous," Sam replied, climbing over a rogue tree root that grew over the small path.
"How do you think it got here? Did it swim?" Dean wondered.
"Possible. That would explain the hunger."
Dean slowed down a bit, so the two wizards couldn't hear the conversation. "But not why it came. It normally stays in the cooler areas of the U.S. and Canada. The one we killed in Lost Creek was … rare."
"I know." Sam shrugged. "And either, the hikers didn't make it back before sunset or the creature hunted by day."
"Which would be… off."
Sam nodded.
"And... look around." Dean made a sweeping gesture. "It's freaking winter. These sons of bitches hate winter; they go into hibernation."
Sam paused. "So… you think…"
Dean stopped and turned to look at his brother. "It's not a Wendigo."
–
"Fuck."
They started moving again to not lose the two figures climbing up the path ahead.
"Should we tell them?" Sam asked quietly, his mind spinning, ideas of possible monsters shooting through his head. He wished he had his laptop or at least some lore books, but they were far away on another continent.
"No," Dean replied. "I mean, what should we tell them? We have no idea what it could be."
Sam shot his brother an angry glare. "And lie to them?"
"It's not lying exactly…" the other Winchester replied cagily. "It's for their own good."
"To let them go in blind?"
"No. Now they feel like they have control over the situation. We don't need to worry them. We can handle whatever it is," Dean said confidently and lengthened his strides until he was well ahead of his younger brother. Sam knew what that meant – the conversation was over, Dean had decided, no matter if Sam agreed or not.
And for the record, Sam did not agree, not at all.
Tada! I hope you liked it. :)
Btw, the spell is my own invention. Helensburgh and the National Park really exist, but I've never been there. I just chose a spot on the map. The newspaper also exists. The headline is paraphrased from SPN 01x02 (Wendigo).
