Since I have set this story in the timeline with Deathly Hallows and season 8, some of the events are going to be adjusted to make space for the other characters. This chapter is really the first example of that so I guess this is slightly AU- I am not 100% sure how that works but from this point on major events in the various story lines will be altered.
Also, I'm going to post 2 chapters, because I can't help it - you are just such lovely people. Also - I won't be able to update for the next three days (see how I sugared that up first :) ? )
\o/o\o/
Just another job done. The brothers strolled into the bunker, dropping their bags as they went, exhausted from the hunt. They had been working jobs as they found them, here and there, to keep busy. Sam had been able to shake much of the effects of the Trials, when it had first happened. But it seemed that with each day that passed, whatever had taken hold of him that night was sinking in.
His sleep was more and more restless; he rarely slept more than a few hours at a time. He kept up the pretense of eating to keep his brother from asking questions but everything tasted awful and he had no appetite. He could tell he was loosing weight so he took to wearing more layers to try and hide it from Dean.
Just this once, he wanted to pull it off. He wanted to come through for his brother. I mean - closing the gates of hell! That was more than a game changer. He just hoped he lived long enough to see it through.
Nearly a month had passed since the trio had vanished into that early January morning. Sam and Dean hadn't heard a word from them and they tried to convince themselves that was the best news. Cas was also becoming more distant, like he was distracted by something the brothers couldn't see. And meanwhile, Sam and Dean continued to plug away at this life of theirs, waiting for Kevin to decipher the rest of the demon tablet so that Sam could slam the gates of hell shut.
They had taken some time to dig through the lore that the Men of Letters had on blood-born, or high magic. Hermione was right - there had been other witches and wizards here before. Some of the Men of Letters had worked with various witches and wizards in their time. The brothers were pleasantly surprised to see Dumbledores name in the files; the trio had spoken fondly of their former mentor and headmaster. It seems he had taught the Men of the Letters a great deal about the warding magic that was wrapped around the bunker.
The brothers sat in the half lit kitchen, taking sips from their bottles, when a huge echoing crack sounded through the bunker. Their eyes connected, remembering the last time they had heard that sound and the anti-apparation spells Hermione had put up. Standing slowly, they each quietly drew their guns, cocking them softly. As they crept through the dark library to the atrium at the other end of the bunker, there was another loud crack, followed by screaming.
"HELP! SAM! DEAN! CAS!" It was Ron. Forgetting any caution, Sam and Dean tore through the remainder of the library, spilling into the atrium. In a heap at the foot of the metal stairs laid Hermione, looking like she had been beat to death. Her arm was pouring blood, she was pale and there were deep purple contusion marks blossoming across her skin. Ron was soaked in sweat and looked scared out of his wits, cradling his damaged friend in his arms. In Harry's arms was a small wrinkly creature with a long nose and huge, batlike ears. There was dark purple blood spreading across its sweater, oozing from beneath the hilt of a foul looking knife. Racked with sobs, Harry was cradling this small, broken creature, his tears splashing onto its skin.
The brothers rushed to the side of their young friends, crashing to their knees. Sam and Dean had hardly registered the three figures that were standing a few feet behind the trio- a man that seemed impossibly old and looked as though he were starving and homeless, a young girl with luminous eyes and cascades of white-blonde hair, streaked with dirt and blood, and another strange creature that looked like something between an imp and a troll.
"Dean... Sam..." Ron looked up at the brothers, tears streaking his face as he pushed the wet hair off Hermione's face; she didn't even flinch.
"What happened?" Sam asked, panicked at feeling her pale skin.
"We... we got caught and... I don't know what they did to her... she was up there for hours," his voice cracked as he finished, looking back at his damaged friend in his arms.
Dean's eyes were tight with concern and panic. He knelt by his brother, feeling Hermione's face. Sam had ripped part of his plaid shirt off and was trying to tourniquet her arm to stem the flow of blood.
"CAS!" Sam shouted. Nothing happened.
"CAS!" Dean echoed and still nothing happened, "CASTIEL, GET DOWN HERE! IT IS HERMIONE!" he bellowed, fed up with this half-on, half-off crap with Cas. A few seconds later Cas appeared. He still had that hazy far away look that he had been sporting the last few weeks but he seemed to be trying to fight it; to see what was happening.
"What happened?" his voice ground out.
"She - she was tortured. Cruciatous curse. And... and Bellatrix stabbed her with something on her arm," Ron was trying to explain everything to the angel. As he took her arm, he rubbed his hand over it to wipe some of the blood away. Suddenly visible were crudely carved gouges still spilling blood. They spelled out the word "Mudblood".
Cas furrowed his brows tightly, closing his eyes, he placed his fingers on Hermiones' forehead. After a few seconds, he spread his hand, placing his palm and fingers across the top of her head. No one moved for several moments. But nothing happened - she kept bleeding, some of the purple marks were turning blue and green, and her breathing was still irregular.
"It's not working," Cas said, looking alarmed.
"What - what do you mean, "It's not working?" Dean pried, angrily.
"I mean, this is damage from dark blood-born magic. It's old and deep. I cannot heal it," without asking or continuing, Castiel scooped the small, broken witch into his arms and sped to the kitchen laying her body across the empty island.
Castiel worked feverishly to patch and bandage Hermione, fluttering in and out returning with herbs, oils; anything he could think of to staunch the flow of blood and heal her body. The whole time he worked, a soft blue glow came to his eyes and Hermiones eyes fluttered rapidly under closed lids. Eventually the blood stopped pouring and started to clot. She coughed hard several times, eyes slowly opening. She saw Castiel, smiled, and then faded back into the black. Her breathing leveled and the bruises stopped darkening, although they didn't go away. Castiel had finally stilled, standing like a statue near her feet, eyes never leaving her face, still glowing soft blue.
"I've done all there is to do. She is stable and resting," he spoke without moving. Everyone had been standing breathless in the doorway, watching the angel work. They all remembered to breathe when he spoke.
"What the heck happened?" Dean said in a low, gritty voice, looking at Harry, who was still cradling the corpse of the small wrinkled creature.
\o/o\o/
Sam had brewed some strong tea and passed steaming cups out to the bloody, defeated looking guests. Dean brought Harry a clean white sheet so he could wrap the small broken body up neatly. Sam and Dean held their empty hands clasped together, over their knees, leaning forward, listening to the tale. Harry, Ron and the blonde, slightly odd girl explained what had happened. The girl introduced herself as Luna, the old man as Ollivander and the small surly looking creature as Griphook, a goblin. She had been in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor with Ollivander for months.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione had slipped up with the taboo and gotten snatched. Hermione had tried to hide who Harry was with a jinx but it hadn't worked. They had been dragged to Malfoy Manor, where some of Voldemorts most loyal had been, including Bellatrix Lestrange. She had freaked out when she saw one of the Snatchers with this sword they had pulled from Hermione's bag. Throwing Ron and Harry into the dungeon, she had tortured Hermione for information... for hours. After screaming and trying to escape the entire time, Harry had desperately looked into this scrap of mirror that he carried in his sock. It had helped him before and he was out of his mind from hearing Hermione scream.
That was when Dobby had appeared; they looked sadly to the small body under the white sheet. He had been a friend of Harry's for years and, since elf magic was different than wizard magic, he had been able to get them out of the charmed dungeon, and past Hermione's wards into the bunker. But not before Bellatrix had hurled her knife, end over end, after them. It had sunk deep into their saviors chest as they'd apparated out.
Harry had told Dobby to bring them here, unable to think of anywhere else to go. He had brought Luna and Ollivander ahead and they had been able to magic Griphook, another captive from that night, out with the trio.
Dean and Sam sat in silence, absorbing the information, having a hard time processing everything that had happened.
"I'm sorry for..." Harry began. Dean held up him hand with his eyes shut.
"You don't need to say anything. You did the right thing. Even if they track you here, we're ready," Dean reassured them.
"They can't track us here - you can't follow elf magic. He saved us - in more than one way," Ron said heavily.
"We need to bury him," Harry said hoarsely, "Properly, without magic." Sam nodded and shuffled toward the closet in the kitchen to collect the tools they needed.
