A/N: Thank you to my beta. And thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and followed. Enjoy the chapter. :)

This isn't just your war, this is war. Now, something big and bad is coming, and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards.
Now, at best, all we've got is us, together. No secrets or half-truths here.
— Ellen Harvelle, Season 2: Simon Said

10. Hermione's discovery

"She'll wake up soon," Sam said quietly from behind him. A comforting hand landed on Dean's shoulder, but he shook it off. He had done this! It was his fault that Hermione was still unconscious. He'd saved Sammy, and Hermione had been hurt. Badly hurt.

Dean still remembered her ghostly white face, and the blood that seeped through her clothes, dark in contrast. Small burns all over her body. The Wendigo had cut three diagonal lines from her right shoulder to her navel. At first, Dean had thought she was dead, and his heart had stopped. But then, he'd seen her chest moving.

Now, Hermione's skin was as good as new. No sign of the claw marks or the burns. Magic could obviously do that much.

"I still wonder how she managed to knock the creature out. Any bright ideas?" a voice rumbled behind them. The Auror guy – Mad-Eye or whatever – was talking to Harry only a few feet away, but now he was obviously also asking the Winchesters.

"How the hell should I know?" Dean snapped, only half-turning. He was angry, no seething. He felt the urge to punch something. Killing the monster who'd hurt his brother and friend hadn't been enough. He wanted to rip it apart. But, if he was being honest, he wasn't angry at the monster, he was angry at himself for letting Hermione get hurt.

"I haven't the faintest idea about your magic. I torched the monster. That's it," Dean added.

"Relax," Sam whispered, touching his shoulder again. But he didn't want Sam's comfort, so he casually stepped out of his reach.

"And we're glad you did," Harry said, his tone a little colder than usual, and Dean couldn't hold it against him. He'd also be angry if someone else had let his brother get hurt.

"Nobody's blaming you, Dean," Sam tried again, this time loud enough for everybody to hear.

Harry nodded. "Of course not."

Dean's eyes flickered to him, then back to Hermione, who looked too small and too fragile. Of course, they were blaming him, just like he was blaming himself. He was supposed to know how to handle these things, the monsters, that's why they had asked for his help... and he'd failed.

"Why isn't she waking up?" Sam asked, walking away from Dean and towards the two wizards.

Harry replied, "She exhausted her magic, the healers said. She needs rest to replenish her resources."

Dean's gaze suddenly paused at the small white lines that were faintly visible on Hermione's left arm, where her sleeve had ridden up. Slowly, he turned his head to read them.

-udblood.

More, he couldn't see. Oh god. Dean felt his inside grow cold. Had someone carved a word into the witch's skin? No wonder Hermione was traumatised and freaked out around knives. What could it mean? He faintly remembered the conversation he'd overheard where Hermione had explained to his brother the workings of the war.

Mudblood. That was the word.

Now Dean had allowed that she'd been carved up again. Because he'd been too slow. Because he'd put his brother first. The problem was that Dean would always put his brother first. Always.

Protect Sammy, his father's voice echoed through his head.

Hermione hadn't deserved that. He wished he could go back in time and save her. But he couldn't.

Why hadn't he looked out for her? Why hadn't he waited?

Dean was man enough to know he cared for her… surprisingly. He had noticed that his heart started pounding if she was near, that electricity flashed through him if they touched, that her lips just begged to be kissed sometimes.

But he couldn't do the hook-up-and-disappear-forever-act on her. She'd probably hunt him down and feed him his balls.

Hermione deserved someone who put her needs first. And Dean couldn't do that.

Not that she expected that of him. No, she probably still loathed him, and if not, she would after today. He'd abandoned her. That was unforgivable.

"Well, inform me as soon as she wakes up," Moody said and promptly left.

The urge to destroy something grew inside Dean and he clenched his fingers into fists. He needed to get out of here, out of the bloody hospital, out of the city.

He needed another hunt.

Making a split-second decision, Dean turned towards the others. "I need some fresh air."

"Dean –" Sam called after him, but he was already out the door. But Sam didn't give up so easily.

"Dean," he repeated, catching up with his brother.

"What?" Dean barked, stomping down the hallway, but Sam had no problems keeping up.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean was faster. "Back off, dude! I know how to take the freaking subway."

Sam's mouth closed with a clack and he stopped as if he'd walked against an invisible wall. Dean didn't turn or wait, just headed for the exit.

Hermione gasped awake, her eyes wide, her fingers clenched into the linen. At once, Harry was at her side.

"Mione. Mione, you're safe. You're okay," he said calmingly and slowly his voice seemed to reach her. She turned her head, and her eyes focused.

"Harry," she whispered. Then she looked down on herself, her shaking fingers searching for a wound that no longer existed. "The Wendigo. It got me."

"You're okay, Hermione. We healed you," Harry said. "Luckily, you always carry some Dittany around."

At that, the corners of her mouth twitched, but then her expression darkened. "What happened?" she asked, but her eyes were now focused on Sam, who waited a few paces away. "Are you okay?"

The younger Winchester nodded. "I'm as good as new. Dean too."

"You knocked the Wendigo out," Harry explained. "Dean was able to burn it."

Hermione frowned, trying to remember the situation. "I… did?"

Harry nodded. "What did you do?"

Her frown deepened and she looked down on her hands. "It attacked me, and I used Incendio but burnt myself. And… then…" She looked up. "The stunning spell, Harry. It worked!"

"Stupefy?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, that is good news. It means monsters can be affected by our magic." Harry turned towards Sam. "Right?"

Sam shrugged. "Probably. But we don't know if it was the spell, or the creature, or any other circumstance we don't know of."

Hermione suddenly gasped, "Harry!" She was suddenly pale, her eyes as big as plates. "I… oh my god, the Wendigo, it-!"

"Slow down, Hermione," Harry said, grabbing her trembling hands in an attempt to ground her. "What's going on?"

Sam was suddenly there as well, peering worriedly down on Hermione, who seemed to be hyperventilating. "Did you notice anything unusual with the creature?"

Hermione nodded shakily. "It…" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "It had a Dark Mark, Harry."

"It – what?" Sam asked, but she ignored him.

"That means… It has to mean that it was a… Death Eater."

Harry remained stunned for half a second, contemplating her words; it was not possible, was it? Voldemort was dead and gone! Why would a monster carry his mark? "How do you mean 'it was Death Eater'? What did you see?" he asked, leaping to his feet.

Hermione flinched back from his sudden forcefulness. "I saw a shadow on its arm, its left arm. I couldn't see it clearly, but… but I'm sure about what it was."

"I'm not doubting what you saw," Harry said, visibly trying to reign in his anger. He hadn't meant to question her, just the implications of it. A Dark Mark? How can a monster carry the Dark Mark? Had the Wendigo been a crazy back-up plan of the Dark Lord, one he'd never got around to implementing before the Battle of Hogwarts? Had he created the monster - or had any of his remaining followers anything to do with it instead.

"It means…" Hermione begun hesitantly, as if trying to explain the unvoiced questions in Harry's mind. "It means either Voldemort created the Wendigo, forcing one of the Death Eaters to eat human flesh."

"No doubt he'd be capable of that," Harry grit out between his teeth.

"Or?" Sam supplied, his gaze flickering rapidly between Hermione and Harry.

"Or he recruited a Wendigo, giving it the Dark Mark to be able to control it," Hermione replied. "But I don't think that's the case."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Well." She shifted her weight, tugging the blanket a little closer around herself. "The first explanation accounts for a number of things… firstly, why there's a Wendigo hunting in Britain. It was born here. We don't have to elaborately explain why it suddenly decided to leave the American continent and travel to Britain of all places. Simple. And according to Occam's razor –"

"The most simple explanation must be true," Sam completed her sentence, nodding. "What else?"

"It explains the unusual hunting habits, people going missing by day, and the hunger. It's the magic," she explained at Sam's questioning look. "It makes the Wendigo more powerful, but it also enhances everything else. The hunger for one."

Harry silently agreed with her. Now that she'd said it, it made perfect sense. Voldemort had dove deep into dark magic - no wonder, he'd also known about legends and monsters. Of course he hadn't hesitated to create them, to control them.

Disgust distorted Harry's features. Had it been a punishment for one of the Death Eaters, or had one of them volunteered? Had the person been forced to eat another human? Had the pureblood-minded follower known that they'd become less than human in the process?

Hermione paused before explaining the final argument of her reasoning. "I'd need the case files to confirm it, but it also explains another detail." She exchanged a glance with Harry, who nodded encouragingly. "The victims."

Harry groaned internally. Of course.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"The victims were mostly Muggles, people without magic," Hermione replied softly. "I don't remember if there was a witch or wizard among the victims, but if… I bet it's a Muggleborn."

"Bloody hell," Harry suddenly cursed, kicking one of the chairs across the room. Rage bubble up inside him. Death Eaters had continued to kill and torture people right under his nose, and he hadn't noticed, hadn't even suspected them.

Hermione flinched and even Sam twitched a little at his little outburst, but Harry didn't care.

"He's haunting us from the grave!" he snarled. "Using his creatures to torment Muggles, to hunt Muggleborns and Halfbloods. I can't believe it."

"We need to go through the profiles of all the cases again," Hermione said, her voice sounding almost detached, her mind going through the case files. "Maybe there are more that fit the profile."

Harry's head snapped around towards her. Of course! She was right - there might be more cases like this. If Voldemort had created one monster, what would've stopped him from creating more?

A thousand possibilities ran through Harry's mind. Was there a leader among the monsters? Or was it all unorganised and basic satisfaction of needs, chaos?

"I'll go to the Ministry now. Moody and Kingsley need to know." Harry was almost at the door when he paused, looking back to his friend. "I can stay if you –"

"Go!" Hermione said hastily. "I'm fine."

Harry nodded, hoping to convey his thanks with just one look - what would he do without Hermione? - and disappeared through the door.

Sam watched him leave, his mind still trying to grasp the turn of events. Slowly, he picked up the chair Harry had manhandled and sat down next to Hermione's bed. "I don't fully understand," he finally said.

Hermione nodded. "It's a lot to take in." She rubbed her temples. "I don't think I fully understand it either."

"Are you okay? Any lingering headaches?" Sam asked worriedly, and she instantly dropped her hands.

"I'm okay, Sam. This is much bigger than my well-being." Her eyes suddenly pierced him as she came to another abrupt realisation. "Sam, it could mean there's a conspiracy to overthrow the ministry."

"The Death Eaters?" he guessed, remembering the term. He'd read about them in Harry's books. Dark wizards, purebloods, and the followers of Voldemort.

Hermione nodded feverishly. "Yes! Maybe they can – to a degree – still influence the creatures, or maybe they don't even need to. They only need to set them loose, create more and more until Britain is swamped." She threw the blanket aside, revealing what looked like a hospital issued pyjama. "The Aurors and the Ministry are in over their heads, their attention diverted. A negative press campaign about how the current administration is unable to handle the threat would be all it takes," she explained, climbing out of bed before Sam could protest or help. She swayed for a second, then steadied herself. "There could be new elections, and the sacred twenty-eight would be able to reclaim the power they lost in the war." She grabbed her wand and turned towards Sam, a deadly serious expression on her face. "Or – and far, far worse – they stage a coup d'état."

"But I thought the Death Eaters were all arrested?" Sam asked slowly, trying to catch up with her thought process. When Hermione swayed again, he leapt to his feet and caught her elbow just in time. Only a few hours ago, she'd been on the verge of death. She should not be on her feet already.

"Some. Most," Hermione replied, pale and breathing heavily. She leaned into Sam, letting him steady her; then waved her wand over herself. The pants suddenly transformed into jeans and the shirt into a sweater. "This will do for now. We've got to go!"

He didn't react when she stepped away and towards the exit, beyond staring at her, his mouth agape. Did she just transform her clothes? He still couldn't wrap his head around magic sometimes.

"Come on," Hermione urged, having almost reached the door. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes about what she'd just been through, but he could tell she wouldn't surrender to it. There was a fire in her eyes, a core of steel below, and Sam couldn't help but admire her in that moment.

"Sam!"she startled him out of his musings. "Transfigured clothes only last for half an hour or so. I need to go to Grimmauld Place quickly!"

Together they walked out the door.

I'm having a bit of a writer's block with this story right now. I have an outline, but I don't know exactly where the next chapter should go. Any ideas or input?
Thanks :)