CHAPTER FIVE
Summary: Hermione Granger, an accomplished witch is working a particularly trying case and is in need of help. Deputy Sheriff Jordan Parrish is a hellhound and just the one she needs. When a fiery witch and a fire-proof supernatural being work together, sparks are sure to fly and Hermione and the Deputy find that they need each other for more than one reason. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon events and characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and the creators of Teen Wolf and MTV. This is purely for entertainment purposes and I am not making a profit from the posting of this. This is set after The Wild Hunt but disregards everything afterwards, so there was no war between the supernatural and humans, there is no Monroe or Gerard and there are no hunters. At least for now! Also, Parrish is 23 and Hermione is 24. Oh, and I'm fudging the time line a bit, too. This will be written mostly in Parrish's POV.
Page count: 6
It was not long after ten o'clock when Parrish realised he'd been reading the book Hermione had given him for several hours without even putting it down. He'd looked through the contents page first, seeing the different sections that caught his curiosity, but he decided it best to read through the chapters on the war first.
He'd been so focused on his task, that he hadn't realised he'd gotten a stiff neck from staring down at the pages for hours on end. It was only when he'd finished the last paragraph explaining the wars that had taken place, that he moved his neck and felt a crippling pain shoot through him and he winced.
After checking the time on his phone, he decided to take a quick shower, hoping the hot water would help to ease the ache in his neck. Once he'd showered and dried, he dressed in only a t-shirt and his underwear and climbed into bed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not with the knowledge of everything he had learned being fresh in his mind.
He couldn't believe that the young woman in the room next to him had not only fought in a war, but that she had been pulled into it when she was a young child of twelve. He couldn't believe some of the things she'd been forced to do and forced to endure over the years; the several near death experiences, the being hunted as if she was an abomination, the darkness and hatred she'd been forced to fight against, the massacre and attempted genocide she'd been forced to witness. And after learning that at the age of eighteen, she'd been instrumental in the ending of the war and the dark wizard that was the leader of the opposing side, he couldn't help but be impressed by her. He couldn't help be impressed by her fighting spirit, by her willingness to fight for herself and others, he found himself being drawn into her fire.
It had taken him a little while to see it, but now he did. There was fire in her, and not in the sense that she was passionate or spirited –which he got the feeling she most certainly was- but there was actual fire in her, much like there was in him. His reason being his hellhound side, so he wondered what it was that caused such a thing in her and why it was he felt drawn to her.
Shaking his head of his thoughts, he knew he really ought to get a few hours sleep before they caught their flight to Britain, especially knowing that the twelve hour flight and the jet lag was going to be hard to deal with, but he didn't feel tired, so instead he retrieved Hogwarts, a History and turned his attention to learning more about the hidden Wizarding World and the magical school Hermione had attended.
He'd fallen asleep whilst reading, strange dreams of fire and heat and laughter and ashes flittering through his mind, until he found himself bolting awake when a blood curdling scream carried through the walls and into his room.
Without thought he jumped out of bed and ran to his duffle bag, once he retrieved his gun he exited his own room and took the few steps towards Hermione's. The screams hadn't stopped and he tried the door, realising that she hadn't locked it and it opened for him.
With his heart beating quickly and adrenaline being pumped through his body, he slowly stepped into the room, his eyes searching his surroundings for any sign of an intruder, but there was none. The bathroom light was on and the door left open, that being the only light source in the dark room. His eyes moved to the bed, seeing Hermione tossing and turning in the centre and screams continued to leave her.
He lowered his gun and made his way over to the bed and just as his fingers touched her shoulder, Hermione had bolted up with a silent scream and he'd flinched back in surprise at the way her wand was suddenly in her hand and aimed directly at his face.
Her eyes were mesmerising to him, he'd expected to see chocolate brown, only they weren't. They were wide with fear and desperation, and they shone a bright amber colour, glowing in the darkness of the room.
He remained quiet and still, understanding exactly what she was feeling and allowing her time to gain her bearings and realise that she wasn't in any danger and that the war was long since over.
She took several deep breaths and shut her eyes tightly, and once they opened, the amber had gone and returned to chocolate brown and a horrified look crossed her face when noticing that she had him at wand point. The wand fell from her fingers and landed on the bed before rolling onto the ground and she brought both her hands up to her mouth.
"Merlin, I am so sorry," she apologised profusely.
"It's alright," he said calmly, placing his gun on the bedside table and sitting down on the chair that was still close to the bed. "I understand, you know from my file that I was a soldier of war too," he spoke, giving her a gentle but sad smile which seemed to calm her.
She nodded slowly and wiped away the last of her fallen tears, before pushing herself backwards so she was propped up against the pillows.
"Are you alright?" He asked softly. "I know how vivid some dreams can be, especially when reliving past events."
"I'm fine, thank you, I'm sorry for waking you."
He shrugged in response and watched the way her eyes darted about the room, her hands patting down the bedding and a look of panic crossing her face when she couldn't find what she was looking for. Allowing his instincts to take over, he found himself standing from the chair and crossing the room over to where her wand had rolled to a stop on the ground. He returned to his chair and placed her wand in her hand, feeling pleased that his assumptions had been correct when he saw the way a relieved look crossed her face and her body relaxed.
She flicked the wooden stick and a small vial flew out of her bag and across the room to land in her outstretched hand. She unstopped the vial and downed the entire contents before it was sent back to her bag.
"Calming Draught," she explained, and although he was intrigued by the subject of potions and spell work –which had been mentioned in the book- he knew it would be better to ask her about it later.
"Why was your door unlocked? Anyone could've gotten in," he spoke and Hermione's lip twitched at the light chiding he gave her.
"I felt no need to lock it; I've got several magical barriers around the room that will prevent anyone that wishes to harm me from entering."
He was going to ask her to elaborate further until something else caught his attention. In the little light that was in the room, his eyes were drawn to her left forearm which was uncovered by the t-shirt she wore, and to his complete horror, he realised that she'd been carved into. There was no mistaking it being done with anything but a knife and the way it had healed made it appear to be red and angry, as if it was still healing.
"What's a Mudblood?"
He wasn't blind to the way she flinched and he felt the other part of him, the hellhound, rise up inside of him, almost protectively.
"You read the book?" She spoke and he nodded slowly in reply. "Then you know of what happened during my childhood. What isn't mentioned is that whilst my friends and I were on the run, we were captured and taken to His base of operations. Whilst my friends were taken to the dungeons, I was kept upstairs where I was magically tortured for information regarding the resistance group I belonged to."
He felt himself bristle and his hands came up to grip the arm rests on the chair. He could feel the hellhound clawing at him, trying to break free.
"Do you know what The Unforgivables are?" She asked him quietly, her eyes focused on her hand that was picking at the stitching of the bedding.
"They were briefly mentioned in the book," he frowned, trying to recall the information he'd learned. "They're illegal; the use of any one of them is an automatic prison sentence. There's three of them, one kills instantly, one controls your mind and the other is used for torture and it can and has drove some to insanity."
She nodded slowly. "Yes, well I was hit with the Torture Curse repeatedly, I'm not sure how long I was there to be honest, I blacked out several times. When the bat-shit crazy witch realised that despite the unbearable pain I was in I wouldn't give up our secrets, she turned to other measures. Using a cursed blade, she carved this into me. Mudblood is a derogatory term for someone like me, for someone who is born with magic but to none magical parents. It means that I don't deserve the magic I have within me. That I am fifth that is nothing better than something on the bottom of their shoes."
He startled himself when the wood of the arm rests splintered into pieces and fell to the ground. He hadn't realised he'd had such a tight grip or that he could cause such damage when his hellhound side was firmly locked away. He blinked slowly and his eyes looked to Hermione, seeing that although he had startled her, too, with the loud noise it had made, she wasn't surprise or annoyed by what he'd done.
Much to his surprise, with a gentle swish of her wand the chair repaired itself under Hermione's hand, as if it hadn't been broken at all, and she didn't even mention what he'd done.
"Luckily I was rescued before my sanity was ripped from me," she finished quietly.
"And why is this not mentioned in the book?" He asked her, clasping his hands together so he couldn't accidentally break any more furniture.
"Would you want people to know what happened to you? Would you want them to look at you in pity, to see you as fragile and broken, or would you prefer for them to see you as strong and powerful, to see you for your achievements and accomplishments rather than your failures and the horrors you'd faced in your past? My friends and I made a pact, there are very few that know of what happened to me during the war and we would like to keep it that way."
"I won't tell anyone," he promised.
"I know. Despite only knowing you for a short time, I can't help but trust you, but it's more than that. My magic trusts you."
He was going to reply when her wand started buzzing and it drew her attention.
"Right, that's our cue that our flight is due to leave in just over an hour, so we better get ourselves on the road."
~000~000~000~
After arriving at the airport ten minutes before they were due to board the plane, Parrish now found himself sitting on a comfortable, spacious seat beside Hermione and in first class, too. He'd been impressed when she'd gotten them into the airport and through airport security measures with a few flicks of her wand, especially when his hand gun hadn't been detected despite the fact he had all the correct paperwork that allowed him to travel with one.
She'd ushered him onto the plane and he'd taken the window seat, seeing the way she eyed it nervously and he'd received a thankful smile from her. They'd barely sat down when a flight attendant approached them, offering complimentary food and drink and they'd both opted for a bottle of water and declined food, after having stopped at a drive thru Burger King on the way to the airport.
When the attendant was gone, Hermione had cast some spells around them, explaining that unless someone was looking for them for a specific reason, they wouldn't be bothered by anyone.
When the plane took off, Hermione gripped the arm rests of her seat in her hands tightly and her breathing quickened to the point where she was gasping. Unable to stop himself at seeing her in such distress, his own hand moved to cover hers, his fingers lightly curling around her own and feeling the way that the temperature of her hand seemed to heat up until it matched his own.
At his touch she seemed to calm a little, her breathing slowing and her heart beat calming, but her grip did not loosen. Once they were safe to remove their seat belts, he took his hand from hers and when she took her hand away from the arm rest, his eyes widened to see the grey-white leather arm rests covered in black soot.
Her eyes fell down to it and without giving him an explanation, she waved her wand and the soot was gone.
"I hate flying," she muttered.
He could understand why, after learning that witches not only flew on brooms but that she had flown on the back of a creature known as a thestral and a dragon –which he still couldn't believe were real- it wasn't much of a stretch that she would dislike it.
She dug into the pocket of her blazer -this one white with black lining- and she removed Hogwarts, a History and held it out to him and he stared in amazement, as she removed another book, equally as large as the other and placed it on her knee.
"Magic," she shrugged.
He heard the laugh of disbelief leave him before he shook his head and took the book, opening it up to the where he had left off, learning about The Founders of Hogwarts School.
They'd only been in the air an hour when Hermione had fallen asleep. He'd steal glances at her every once in a while, feeling a sense of calmness and peace at the way her face was relaxed, some of her hair covering her face and it being disturbed with every breath she took.
There was something different about her and he wasn't quite sure what it was, but he did know it had nothing to do with her being a witch. It was something else.
He'd been watching her closely since leaving the motel and he honestly didn't know how he hadn't noticed that she had been a solider before, especially when meeting her at the station for the first time. He'd seen the way her eyes scanned her surroundings carefully, checking for any threats and taking note of entry and exit points. He'd seen the way she was cautious when in public places, like at the airport or the school. He'd seen the way her hand went to her sleeve -where he now knew she kept her wand- when she was startled by a noise or if someone bumped into her. She was a soldier, a survivor of war much like he was. She had fire in her, much like he did and he realised that she was very much like him.
Hermione made a noise in her sleep and she shifted slightly, her head turning towards him until it rested lightly against his shoulder. He felt a small smile pulling at his mouth and his hellhound seemed content with her presence.
He got the feeling his hellhound was quite fond of her and he wasn't the only one, Jordan Parrish the human, found himself drawn to her, too.