CHAPTER ELEVEN
Summary: Nine years after the war, Hermione's the Head of the Auror Department that specialises in dealing with Magical Creatures and fugitive Death Eaters that are loose in the Muggle World. With the fugitive Death Eaters no longer hiding in Britain, she's tracking rogue Death Eaters in the United States, which leads her to The Winchester brothers. The Witch and The Hunters are a dynamic trio that no creature, being or beast wishes to mess with, Magical or Supernatural. Hermione/Dean pairing. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I don't own original canon characters or events, just those that I create myself. Everything belongs to J.K Rowling and the creators of Supernatural. I am not making a profit posting this fanfic.
Page count: 10
After another hour of Dean driving, Sam and Dean swapped so that Dean could have a break and he took an hour-long nap before waking up and pigging out on the food and confectionary that Hermione had bought them. After almost three hours of Sam driving, they stopped in Sioux City, Iowa, for the night. They pulled into a motel car park and whilst they busied themselves with getting their duffle bags, Hermione left to the front desk to get them their rooms.
Hermione entered the building and once again, it didn't give her much hope for a nice room, though she would give the owners this, the walls looked to have been given a new coat of paint, even if it was a disgusting colour.
The man behind the counter had his eyes on her as soon as she entered through the door. He looked to be in his late twenties, he had blonde hair and dark brown eyes, with pointed and angular features and he wore a blue button-down shirt and jeans.
"Hello," she said politely, stopping in front of the counter. "I would like to purchase two rooms for the night."
"Well then, Beautiful, I'll see what we have available," he said with a charming smile before tapping away on a computer. "I'm afraid we only have one room available."
"Again," she groaned.
"We are the closest motel to the roads," he said apologetically.
"I understand, I'll take it please, my friends and I will just have to share,"
His eyes lit up. "Girlfriends?" He winked suggestively. "What I wouldn't pay to see that."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her feet, something about him set her magic on edge. "No, male friends,"
"Lucky them," he muttered.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Nothing, how long will you be staying?"
"Just one night, we're just passing through."
He nodded, typing away at the keyboard. "Room 12, you'll find it to your right."
"Thank you," she said before paying for the night and taking the key from him.
"If you get bored of those friends of yours, you know where to find me, Beautiful," he smirked at her. "I know all the best spots around these parts, and I certainly know how to show a woman a good time," he winked before his eyes travelled down her form and lingered on her covered breasts.
"Err, good for you," she said nervously before she turned and practically ran to the Impala, where Dean and Sam were waiting for her. When she reached them she pulled her cardigan tighter around herself and gripped the fabric in her fists.
"Are you alright?" Sam asked. "You look a little pale," he said with a concerned frown.
"Yes, I'm fine," she said unconvincingly and she looked behind her where she saw the man stood at the door, staring at her. "Let's go, we're in Room 12, there was only one room again so we're sharing."
She grabbed their arms and pulled them towards their room. Their eyes fell to the spot Hermione had been staring at and they saw the man stood in the doorway, his eyes seeming to be glued to Hermione's retreating back or more specifically, her arse.
"Did he do something? Did he say something?" Dean asked.
If Hermione's senses weren't going haywire, she would've noticed the protectiveness in his voice. Something she would've never thought she'd hear coming from the man that had shot her on their first meeting, especially after the way he'd been treating her since the incident.
"Just leave it," she pleaded and tugged on their arms harder since they had stopped in their steps as they both stared at him unflinchingly.
"What did he say to you?" He demanded.
"Nothing, he just made me feel uncomfortable, that's all. I didn't like the way he was staring at me. Now if you don't mind, I want to get out of his line of sight, I can still feel his eyes on me," she shivered.
"I'll kill him," he growled lowly, pulling his arm free of her grip and turning, intending to stalk over to him.
"No, just leave it, please, let's just go," she pleaded, her hand once more reaching out to him and circling his wrist, preventing him from walking away.
He looked to her and her damn puppy dog eyes and he sighed and allowed her to pull him to their room as he was much stronger than her and if he really didn't want to go, there was no way she'd be able to stop him from leaving. It surprised him that her puppy dog eyes had worked on him, usually, it was only Sam that could affect him, being his little brother, there wasn't a lot he wouldn't do for him.
Hermione quickly opened the door and stepped inside and she looked around. "Well, it's not much better than the last place but at least there's no blood on the carpet. Yay for no murders taking place here."
Sam snorted at her whilst Dean watched her carefully, whatever the guy had said to her affected her; she looked nervous, uncomfortable and she kept pulling her cardigan closed as she gripped the fabric tightly in her hands.
Hermione looked around the room once more, seeing the double bed in the centre of the room and pushed back against the grey walls, the dirty white carpet looked like it hadn't been cleaned since it was installed as it was now a hideous grey colour. In front of the window sat a small round table and two chairs tucked beneath. The bedside table sat a lap on top, a dark chest of drawers and an old looking TV sat on top of it where opposite the bed and a second door led to the bathroom.
"Hey, we've been upgraded, this place has a TV," she joked and Sam snorted at her statement. "Right then, let's get this place cleaned up so we don't catch a disease and die."
She pulled her wand from her hair and her curls spilt around her shoulders and down her back. Dean tilted his head at the action that wasn't meant to be sexy, but let's be honest, it was. She had a small crinkle in her forehead as she focused her attention on her task, muttering under her breath and waving her wand in intricate patterns that he could barely keep up with.
At that moment he realised that it seemed natural; he wasn't on edge around her. He wasn't disgusted by her or her magic. When the hell did that happen?
"Right, I'm done, I had to be careful so no noticeable changes were made. I cleaned everything and fumigated the room, but I couldn't change the colour of the carpet, I did change the sheets though, so we won't risk getting Tuberculosis."
"Lovely," Dean rolled his eyes.
"Well, you can sleep on the floor then," she huffed.
"Speaking of, we should discuss sleeping arrangements," Sam suggested, taking a seat on the bed.
"It's up to you, the floor, the bed, the car, whatever you want but I'm sleeping in the bed, I don't mind sharing."
"You don't mind sharing a bed with two guys?" Dean raised an eyebrow. He noticed her shift uncomfortably and pull at her cardigan again, what the hell did that guy say to her?
"Not really, I can enlarge the bed easily enough so we can all fit, and I trust you not to kill me in my sleep," she shrugged. "It wouldn't bother me, sharing I mean. I was on the run for a year with my two male best friends, we often shared an enlarged camp bed for comfort and warmth; it was bloody cold in the winter whilst living in a tent in the middle of nowhere. We all got used to sharing a bed, so much so that we all lived together for a little while after the war and we'd often wake in the same bed or squished together on the floor or couch, it was the only way we could sleep and deal with the nightmares," she smiled sadly. They both frowned at her words before turning to look at each other, as if silently communicating their thoughts. "I'll sleep in the middle, be a barrier between you if it bothers you," she offered. They looked at each other again before nodding slowly in agreement.
"Alright, but you sleep in the middle," Sam said and she nodded.
"Right, I want a shower so..."
"Wait," Hermione cut Dean off, "I'll clean the bathroom first, we don't want you getting ill from others people's waste and the bacteria that are bound to be breeding like rabbits," she said as she went into the bathroom. "Oh, this is disgusting, that bathroom back at the petrol station was cleaner than this one!" She cried in disgust and they chuckled at her.
"What do you think he said to her?" Dean asked, turning to look at his brother who frowned at his question.
"I don't know, but whatever it was had her worried. We'll have to keep watch," Sam replied and Dean was in agreement.
"Okay, you have less risk of dying now," Hermione said cheerfully as she stepped into the room. Dean shook his head at her and picked up his duffle bag and left for the bathroom.
"I'm going to go for a walk, stretch my legs a little, do you want to come?" Sam asked her, standing up from the bed.
"I'm alright thanks, I think I'll just get changed and do some research into any potential rituals the Death Eaters may be carrying out."
"Alright, I'll be back in about an hour, Dean knows how to contact me if you need me."
Hermione nodded and smiled at him and he left the room. Hermione locked the door behind him out of habit and then she picked up her beaded bag from the table and made her way over to the bed, dropping the bag before opening it and rummaging around for some clean clothes.
She pulled out a comfortable pair of leggings and an old t-shirt that used to belong to Harry. Happy with her choice, she kicked off her boots before she removed her cardigan and then she crossed her arms and pulled her top over her head. She didn't realise that someone had opened the door and was now stood in the doorway, leering at her as she unknowingly revealed more of herself to the intruder. She pulled the top over her head before bringing her hands down to undo the button and zip on her jeans.
She knocked her t-shirt off the bed and onto the floor and she bent down to pick it up but when she heard a sound, she stood, turning around to look behind her. In the doorway stood the man from the front desk and his eyes roamed her breasts, flat stomach and curves with a look of animalistic hunger in his eyes. Hermione screamed loudly and grabbed her t-shirt, wrapping it around herself and holding it to her chest to protect her body from his wondering eyes.
Dean came barrelling out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets and soap suds roaming down his well-defined chest and lathered shampoo still in his hair, one hand gripped his towel and in the other, he held his trusty handgun.
He saw Hermione trying to cover herself with a t-shirt and the man in the doorway to their room and he wasn't the smartest of people but it didn't take a genius to put the pieces together and understand what had happened. Dean rushed forward and without thought he stood in front of Hermione protectively, both to protect her modesty and to act as a shield.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean demanded, his gun pointed in the man's direction. The man's eyes had widened and he held up his hands in surrender. "Did you open the door for him?" He asked her, his head tilting towards her but his eyes remained forward.
"No, I locked it behind Sam, I was changing and when I turned around he was there," her voice shook.
"You let yourself into the room?" Dean spoke coldly.
"I forgot to give you the controller for the TV," he explained.
"The controller's on the table," Hermione said to Dean. His eyes flickered to the table and she was right, it was sat in the middle of the surface and clear to see.
"Ah, honest mistake," the man said, but they both could tell he didn't mean it.
"Leave now!" Dean ordered.
"I should call the police, you're threatening me with a deadly weapon," the man spoke, a smirk on his face and a coldness in his eyes.
"I said leave, if you don't I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you. I'll inform the police that you let yourself into an occupied room and watched a woman undress, all without her consent or knowledge," Dean threatened. "And I have a license to carry a weapon, I'm a Hunter."
A small smile pulled at her mouth at the double meaning of his words.
"Sorry, man, I won't bother you again," he stepped out of the room and closed the door after him.
Dean waited until he was sure the man was gone before he lowered his gun and turned to face Hermione, seeing that her body shook slightly and she had a pale, nauseous look on her face.
"You alright? He didn't touch you, did he?" He asked, his voice softening and his eyes searched her face in concern.
"No, I'm fine thank you, he just frightened me. I locked the door but I forgot they would have a copy in the office," she shook her head. "It's my fault."
"No, it's not," he frowned at her.
"I let my guard down, I should've put alert wards up," she shook her head again. "I'll remember next time, get back to your shower, it's freezing in here and you'll catch a cold."
"Worried about me?" His mouth twitched at the corners as he tried to fight off the smirk threatening to make an appearance.
"Not when you keep your handgun with you in the shower," she arched her eyebrow at him and he chuckled before heading back into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Hermione released a slow breath before crossing over to the door, taking a quick peek outside to ensure there was no one around and then she relocked the door before quickly changing into her t-shirt and leggings and securing her hair into a mass of curls on top of her head.
She searched through her beaded bag and pulled out all the books she had on magical rituals, moving them over to the table and taking a seat, making herself comfortable. She spread them out around her and grabbed a notebook and pen to make notes.
When Dean exited the shower, dried and dressed, it was to see Hermione immersed in several books, all of them covering the table. One hand would turn a page of a book and the other would make notes and he saw that she was reading several books at once. She hadn't even noticed that Dean had entered the room, much to his amusement, he realised she was a bigger bookworm than Sam, and that was saying something, she put him to shame reading eight books at once. Deciding not to disturb her as she seemed perfectly happy and engrossed with what she was doing, Dean busied himself with cleaning the guns and knives he had with him.
It wasn't long later when Sam returned, knocking on the door to alert them to his presence and Dean let him into the room. Hermione hadn't noticed or looked up from the table since Dean had left the bathroom. When he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, Sam immediately saw the concerned, suspicious expression on Dean's face and it worried him.
"What's wrong?"
Dean's eyes flickered over to Hermione before he gestured for Sam to follow him to the other end of the room, putting them out of earshot of Hermione.
"Seriously, what happened?"
"We had a Peeping Tom," Dean muttered.
"What?" Sam hissed quietly.
"The guy that we saw watching her, he turned up here. I was in the shower and I heard her screaming. I almost put a bullet in him. He was just staring at her whilst she hid behind a t-shirt." Sam looked confused. "She was changing,"
"How did he get in?" Sam frowned.
"He let himself in with a key, she'd locked the door behind you and he used the copy they keep in the office. She didn't even know he was there, his excuse being that he'd forgotten to give her the TV controller. The fucker tried to threaten me with the police since I had my gun pointed in his face."
They both turned to look at Hermione, seeing that she was still immersed in her world of books with a concentrated frown on her face and her hand poised above the notepad as her eyes scanned the books before her, until she found what she was looking for and she nodded to herself as she wrote down her notes.
"How is she?" Sam asked.
"Before I left her she was shaken up but otherwise seemed fine, when I came out of the bathroom I found that," he gestured to her. "I don't know how long she's been like that. I'm telling you, Sammy, I've got a bad feeling about this guy."
"You think he's supernatural?"
"Either that or a shitty human being, I don't trust him. Get the salt and line the doors and windows, just to be sure. And paint a trap under the doormat. I'm not risking him being anywhere near her again."
Sam tilted his head as he watched Dean watch Hermione and his brother couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her. A small smile tugged at his mouth before he grabbed the salt from his duffle bag and went about demon proofing the room.
It was two hours later when Hermione finally looked up from her books, seeing Sam and Dean both sat on the bed and watching what appeared to be a dreadful soap opera on TV.
"Sam? When did you get back?" She blinked in surprise.
"Two and a half hours ago," he replied, sending her an amused glance.
"Oh, I never heard you come in," she frowned before giving her head a shake. She dropped her pen onto her notepad and made a start at rubbing away the cramp in her hand and fingers. "I'm hungry, is anyone else hungry?"
"When are you not hungry?" Dean snorted.
"When I'm eating, which I should be doing relatively soon," she shot back. "Besides, I've seen how much food you can put away so you don't have a leg to stand on."
"But I'm a guy," he shrugged.
"Well spotted," she muttered, "And what does that have to do with anything? You're saying that because I'm female, I'm not allowed to have a healthy appetite? Are you calling me fat?"
"What? No! How did we even go from me being a guy to you being offended that I called you fat?"
"So you do think I'm fat?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"Dean, shut up before you dig yourself an even deeper hole," Sam chuckled.
"I'm still hungry," Hermione said, sending a scowl to Dean before turning her gaze to Sam.
"Grab your coat and we'll head out for a drink and something to eat," Dean shrugged, standing from the bed and grabbing his leather jacket. "It's almost eleven; the bars will still be open."
"No, if you don't mind, I think I want to stay in tonight." She shifted in her seat nervously and her eyes darted down to the surface of the table.
Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam beat him to it. "That's alright, it's been a long day, we'll pick up some takeout and bring it back, pizza okay?" He sent Dean a look he didn't understand until the metaphorical light bulb seemed to go off and he nodded his head in agreement.
"I could eat pizza," Dean agreed.
"As long as it doesn't have pineapple on it, fruit is not meant to be on a pizza, it's just wrong on so many levels I can't even begin to comprehend," she grimaced.
"We won't be too long," Sam promised.
"Take all the time you need, you don't have to rush. My eyes are hurting from staring at my books for too long so I'll take a little break."
"Alright, lock the door behind us," Sam instructed and she nodded; she had every intention of doing so.
"I'll even put up some wards to alert me to intruders."
"You can do that?" He asked surprised.
"I can," she confirmed.
"Okay, we'll be back as soon as we can."
"Get out," she pointed to the door and Sam snorted at her.
"Make sure to re-salt the door," Dean reminded her.
When they left, Hermione cast a Locking Charm on the door before re-salting it and then she crossed over to the bed and slipped under the covers, turning her attention to the TV and watching whatever Sam and Dean had been watching. Before she knew it, her eyes had closed and she'd drifted into sleep.
~000~000~000~
Jackson Bowman was an attractive man, he knew that, and he was very successful with the ladies. It wasn't often that someone caught his attention in a way that he couldn't stop thinking about her, but the occupant of Room 12, Hermione Jones, she had burned herself into his brain.
As soon as he saw her he knew he had to have her. She was exactly his type; slender and curvaceous, flawless skin, mahogany curls and chocolate brown eyes. He wasn't prejudiced, he loved all women but brunettes with brown eyes were his weakness. They were special; they were special because they reminded him of her. The one woman that he'd loved dearly but she'd never reciprocated.
Well, he was going to show her what she was missing.
He flicked the 'No Vacancy' sign on before heading to Room 12. He'd never actually been inside the room and he wanted to get a look at the environment so he knew what he was working with.
He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open and it was his lucky day as Hermione Jones was in the process of undressing. His eyes were glued to her as she dragged the tank top up her stomach, slowly and teasingly revealing every inch of her soft-looking skin to his eyes. Her tank top cleared her breasts and his eyes locked on the ample mounds held snugly in the light pink lace bra. She dropped the item of clothing and moved her hands down to her jeans, swiftly undoing the zip and button and he caught sight of the matching pink lace of her underwear, before she bent down to pick up a fallen t-shirt from the ground. His gaze fell to her ass, wrapped in tight denim. He shifted on his feet and his presence was then known.
Before he knew it there was a guy wrapped in a towel and stood protectively in front of the beautiful brunette and a fucking gun was pointed in his face. Just who were these people?
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The guy demanded. "Did you open the door for him?" He asked the brunette.
"No, I locked it behind Sam, I was changing and when I turned around he was there," her voice shook.
"You let yourself into the room?" The guy spoke coldly.
"I forgot to give you the controller for the TV," he quickly explained, mentally patting himself on the back for coming up with a quick excuse.
"The controller's on the table," the brunette whispered.
Shit!
"Ah, honest mistake," he said with a shrug, acting sincere.
"Leave now!"
"I should call the police, you're threatening me with a deadly weapon," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets casually. He felt like riling him up a little, showing him that he wasn't afraid or threatened by his or his weapon.
"I said leave, if you don't I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you. I'll inform the police that you let yourself into an occupied room and watched a woman undress, all without her consent or knowledge," the guy threatened. "And I have a license to carry a weapon, I'm a Hunter."
"Sorry, man, I won't bother you again," he stepped out of the room and closed the door after him.
Now he would watch and wait, hopefully, she would be left alone and then she would be his. And that time came almost three hours later when from his place sitting at the front desk, he saw two men leaving Room 12 before jumping into a car and driving away. She was alone.
He waited another ten minutes to see if they would come back and they didn't. He left the desk with the key to Room 12 in hand and he crossed the parking lot with only one destination in mind. He knew the other rooms were all empty, the occupants drinking at different bars nearby as they'd asked him for directions to the best drinking and partying spots. That meant she was the only person currently at the motel. She truly was alone.
He tried to open the door but couldn't; he sighed, it was just his luck that the door would choose that particular moment to jam. Back-up plan.
He made his way to the window and saw that the curtains were closed. He hoped it wasn't locked and it wasn't. With little effort, he opened the window from the outside and climbed into the room as quietly as possible, stepping out from behind the curtains and his eyes scanning his surroundings quickly.
The only sounds were that of the TV and the lamp gave the only light in the otherwise dark room. He found her; she was sleeping in the bed with the blanket pulled up to her waist and her curls fanned out on the pillow.
He smirked; he would show her a good time, better than anyone else and certainly better than her friends.
He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor, silently stalking over to the bed.