CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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: 9
The next morning found Sam waking before Hermione and Dean, and like the morning before, it was to see Dean wrapped tightly around Hermione, though this time Hermione appeared to be as equally clingy with her practically being draped across Dean in their slumber. He thought about possibly taking another photo to later use as blackmail material, but he quickly remembered the previous night's happenings and decided against it.
Sam climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, intending to clean himself up for the coming day of travel. When he exited the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he was surprised to see that Hermione was no longer present in the room, only Dean was and he was still asleep, though now he was clutching the pillow Hermione had previously used.
Sam threw the wet towel he had dried his hair with at Dean, waking him up. Dean sprang up with his silver knife clutched in his hand and when he saw it was only Sam he glared at him before sighing and running a hand through his hair.
"What the hell was that for?" He grumbled.
"Hermione's not here."
Sam's response had Dean jumping from the bed, tucking his knife away, grabbing his shoes and pulling them on before running to his shirt he'd taken off the night before and pulling it on along with his leather jacket and he headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked with a frown; he hadn't expected Dean's frantic reaction to hearing that Hermione wasn't present.
"To find her, anything could've happened to her." A genuine look of worry surfaced on his face.
"She'll be fine," Sam shrugged.
"How the fuck can you be so calm?" Dean demanded.
"Hermione wouldn't just leave us here, besides, her bag's still on the table."
Dean's head swivelled around to see that Sam was right; Hermione's beaded bag was still sat on the table.
"She wouldn't go anywhere without it," Dean spoke, calming himself down, he knew how important the bag was to her survival, her life, she would never leave without it.
"She wouldn't," Sam agreed. "Wherever she went, she'll be back, this case is important to her and she wouldn't abandon it. We just have to wait for her to return and then we can get back on the road."
Dean didn't look happy at the news but he walked to the bathroom and the door closed behind him. Sam shook his head and left the room, heading out to the Impala to sort everything away correctly, since he'd just thrown it in before the police arrived the night before and he knew Dean would be a pain in the ass if he saw the state of the weapons case.
It didn't take him long to have everything back in its rightful place and he removed Hermione's books from the trunk and placed them on the back seat for when she returned. When he returned to the room, Dean was sitting at the table, dressed in clean clothes and his leg bouncing nervously and his eyes were trained on the door. A look of relief appeared when Sam entered but it quickly disappeared; he was obviously waiting for Hermione.
"She'll be fine and she'll be back," Sam repeated.
Dean merely turned his attention to the window, his eyes scanning the parking lot outside and watching for Hermione. Sam busied himself by packing away their dirty clothes and placing them by the door ready to leave, before sitting himself down on the edge of the bed and joining Dean in the waiting game.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened and they both stood, ready to draw their weapons, Sam his gun and Dean his knife as his gun was in the Impala. Hermione entered the room with a tray of styrofoam cups and a brown paper bag. They both relaxed but they eyed her warily.
"How do we know it's really her?" Dean asked Sam.
"The trap under the mat," Sam reminded him.
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes were tired, her hair pulled up on top of her head in a bushy mess, she was wearing a pair of converse, matching grey tracksuit pants and an opened jacket, along with a grey scarf wrapped around her neck and she still wore Dean's t-shirt. She looked exhausted and defeated, Dean didn't like it.
"Stop being a wanker and take the bloody breakfast I bought you before I shove it down your throat and choke you to death," she glared at him.
"It's Hermione," Sam said amused, walking over to her to take the breakfast items from her and depositing them on the table. She walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
"Told you she'd be back," Sam said to Dean, pulling out the fruit salad she'd purchased for him and taking his coffee from the tray.
Dean didn't respond, he just took his coffee and the tray of bacon, sausages and eggs and began eating but when he noticed there were only two coffees and the brown bag was empty, he frowned.
When Hermione exited the bathroom, Dean said, "Have you already eaten?"
"No, I'm not hungry," she said quietly.
"When are you not hungry?" He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
She shrugged her shoulders and avoided his gaze. "I'm just not hungry," she muttered.
He eyed her closely as he ate his breakfast and Hermione grabbed her beaded bag from the table and made sure that she hadn't left anything behind.
"I'll check us out and wait for you in the car, we've still got around fourteen hours of travel left."
She exited the room, picking up their duffle bags and dropping them off at the car before quickly checking out and avoiding the gazes and whispers of other occupants mulling around, obviously talking about her and what had occurred the previous night.
The owner of the motel, an older woman, apologised profusely but Hermione waved off her words and assured her that it wasn't her fault, she refused to take the refund that was offered and told the woman that the room would be free in less than hour.
She headed back to the Impala, seeing that Dean and Sam were both stood waiting for her. Dean caught the whispers and the stares of those mulling around and standing by their cars and he glared in their direction.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," he snapped, the others quickly averted their gaze. "It could've been any one of you last night, just remember that." The women present all paled and horrified looks crossed their faces. "You alright?" Dean asked Hermione as she approached him, this time his voice a whole different level of soft, one Sam didn't even know Dean was capable of.
"Peachy," she muttered. "Let's get going, I'm tired of everyone looking at me like I'm a freak show, it's like being back in England."
She opened the door and climbed into the back seat, Sam and Dean shared a look before both climbing into their seats, Dean started the ignition and they left the motel, setting off on their long day of travel.
Half an hour into the journey, Hermione had cast a Silencio around Sam and handed him the book he had been reading the previous day and Dean was free to listen to his music as loud as he wished to and Hermione remained quiet in the back seat.
Dean's eyes strayed to Hermione in the rearview mirror and he frowned when he saw that she wasn't reading as she usually was. Instead, she had a pillow in a purple cover tucked under her head and a single duvet -also purple- which she had cocooned herself in and she was staring at the back of Sam's seat. He didn't even know where she'd gotten those items from; he hadn't even noticed her shuffling about in the back.
He debated talking to her but decided against it and turned his attention back to the road. An hour later, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Hermione shifting and he turned the music down a little. It was ten minutes after that when he heard something, but it was very faint. He turned the music to silent.
"Dean?" Hermione said quietly, her attention still on the back of Sam's seat.
"Yeah?" He replied, looking over his shoulder before turning his eyes back to the road.
"Will you teach me to fight?" She asked him.
"What?" He blurted out in shock.
"If we have time, will you teach me to fight?" She repeated.
"Why would you ask me that? Why do you need me to teach you anything? Why didn't you ask Sam?" He fired off confused.
"Because I need your help; I'm weak. Without my wand I'm helpless and I can barely defend myself. I don't ever want to find myself in that situation again, I barely got out unscathed. I didn't ask Sam because I know he would worry about me, I may not have known either of you for long, four days at most, but I have learned a lot about the both of you. I know that you wouldn't hesitate to hold back, I know that you won't treat me with kid gloves because I don't need that. What I need is to know that I can defend myself both with and without magic," she spoke softly. "So, will you teach me, please?" She whispered.
He looked back at her over his shoulder and she finally looked up at him and he felt any thought of saying no vanish at the vulnerable expression on her face. "I'll help you," he agreed.
She gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she whispered.
He nodded at her and turned his attention back to the road, reaching over to turn the music up once more.
~000~000~000~
After driving for three hours, they stopped to allow them to stretch their legs and to use the restroom. Sam entered the car with a bag of beverages and food for lunch and Dean eyed Hermione in concern when she declared that she wasn't hungry, but left her be. Sam took over driving for a few hours to give Dean a rest before swapping back over and after seven hours, Hermione was asleep in the back of the car, Sam was driving and Dean was sat in the passenger's seat, staring out of the window as they approached their destination.
"You've been quiet," Sam observed, thankful that they were almost at Cleveland. Fourteen hours in a confined space was a long time. Dean didn't reply. "Seriously, what's gotten into you?"
"Do you think she'll be alright?"
"Hermione? She'll be fine," Sam assured him.
"You don't know that."
"I do, she's told us about her life and I've read about her in that book she gave me, she's been through a lot, she's survived a lot and she's a fighter. Witch or not, she's just like us, she's still a Hunter."
"Hunters have a death wish," Dean muttered.
Sam snorted. "Her more so than usual apparently," he said amused, remembering when he'd learned about her four previous deaths. "But yeah, she'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
"You check us into the motel and I'll wake Sleeping Beauty," Dean said, not wanting to discuss the topic anymore.
"She's jumpy," Sam warned him.
"I've seen," he sighed when they passed the sign welcoming them to Cleveland and twenty minutes later Sam parked the car in the parking lot of a motel. He went to check them in and Dean turned around in his seat and prepared himself to have a wand in his face for waking Hermione.
He reached out and just as he touched her shoulder, she bolted upright and her wand was pressed against his throat. Dean remained still and quiet as he waited for her to come back to her senses, to realise that he wasn't a threat to her and she was safe.
"Sorry," she muttered, lowering her wand and rubbing her hand over her face.
"It's alright; those reflexes will help to keep you alive."
"Believe me, I know how to stay alive. Death hates me more than he does Harry and that's saying something."
Dean's eyes wandered down to her neck when he noticed that her scarf was no longer in place and he realised why she'd been wearing the scarf in the first place. His eyes narrowed on her throat and his face hardened when he saw the hand-shaped bruises, consistent with strangulation.
"I've had worse injuries," she whispered, looking down and away from him.
He chose not to respond to that. "Come on, Sammy's checking in, get that handy bag of yours and we'll get something to eat, we'll start fresh in the morning."
She didn't respond but wrestled her pillow and duvet into her beaded bag and when she was finished they both stepped out of the car, just as Sam approached them.
"Alright, Hermione, you're in Room 3, we're in Room 7, just down the hall," Sam handed her the key and she took it hesitantly.
"Thank you," she spoke.
Dean had already removed both his and Sam's duffle bags from the car. "You take Baby and get us some food." He gave the keys to Sam who nodded and they left to go their separate ways, Hermione and Dean going to their rooms and Sam leaving to find them something to eat.
Hermione entered her room and she looked around, seeing that it was a lot cleaner than the previous motels they had stayed at and better decorated, too. The walls were white with black accents and a black carpet covered the ground. She had a table and two chairs sat in front of the window and a chest of drawers nearby with the TV sat on top and the queen-sized bed had black bedding and it dominated the room and was against the back wall facing the TV.
Without thought, Hermione cast Cleaning Charms around the room and did the same in the bathroom; she cast Locking Charms on the door and window and used a Caterwauling Charm, too. She placed her beaded bag on the table and dug around inside and pulled out her research and books, setting them upon the table and continuing with where she'd left off the previous night.
It was half an hour later when there was a knock on the door and with her wand held tightly in her hand, she opened it to see Sam standing on the opposite with dinner as on offering. After a stern look from him and threats, she promised she would eat and he left her alone with her research. She picked at her food as she researched the rituals and when she ate half and could eat no more, she banished it.
It was the early hours of the morning when her eyes were hurting from staring at her books for hours on end and she knew she needed to sleep, besides, she believed that she had possibly found the ritual the Death Eaters were planning to use.
She stood and walked over to the bed and she changed into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of leggings and she pulled back the covers, but didn't climb into bed; she just stared at it. After several minutes, she forced herself to get into bed and lay down and it wasn't long until she fell asleep.
Barely an hour later she bolted upright, sweating and panting, tears falling down her face and her wand gripped tightly in her hand until her knuckles turned white.
Without thought, she climbed out of bed and removed the Locking Charm on the door, she exited her room and quickly made her way down the hall to Room 7. She had no idea what time it was but that didn't stop her from knocking on the door. She heard shuffling from inside and the door opened, Dean peeked around the door and she saw the tip of his gun. He took one look at her and he pulled the door open wider and she walked through the door and into the room.
His room was similar to hers except for the two double beds, one of which Sam was currently occupying and he was dead to the world. The TV was turned on and an old action film was showing, the second bed's covers were ruffled but the bed didn't look slept in, so she hadn't woken Dean as it seemed he had already been awake.
He shut the door and nodded to his bed in invitation and Hermione didn't respond, she just walked over to the bed and climbed over to the other side and burrowed under the covers. The mattress dipped as Dean reclined back beside her, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankle as he turned his attention back to the TV.
Neither of them spoke, they just watched the awful film in silence. It was when the credits began rolling that Dean reached over for the controller and turned off the TV, plunging the room into silence and darkness.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean's voice cut through the silence and when she didn't answer he continued. "If you even think about telling Sammy that I said this I won't hesitate to shoot you..."
"Again," she corrected.
"Again," he confirmed, but she could hear the amusement in his voice, "Sometimes it's best to talk about these things, it helps to process it when you admit that it happened."
Silence fell upon them for several minutes until Hermione spoke. "It brought back memories that I blocked out," she said quietly, he didn't interrupt and he allowed her to gather her thoughts. "The attack last night brought back memories from the war when I was captured. We wanted to know about the mark of the Deathly Hallows and at the time we didn't know what it meant and Harry had seen the symbol before. It was on a necklace that belonged to Luna Lovegood's father, she was one of our friends from Hogwarts. We travelled to his home and he told us about the Deathly Hallows and that's when I remembered the tale of The Three Brothers. He was acting strangely and it didn't take us long to find out why; he'd double-crossed us. Luna had been captured by Voldemort's forces and he was going to hand us over in exchange for her freedom. We managed to escape and just when we thought we were safe, Harry said the taboo."
"Taboo?" He asked her confused.
"It's a form of magic in which a summons is tied into a word, if anyone were to say Voldemort, Snatchers and Death Eaters would automatically be brought to your location. Harry forgot about the taboo and in a fit of rage, he said His name. We were chased through the woods and captured. When we arrived at Malfoy Manor we were separated, Harry and Ron were taken to the dungeons and I was kept in the drawing-room. I was tortured with dark magic and within an inch of my life."
She felt the bed shift and knew that he had moved; she turned over so that they were facing each other, even in the darkness she could still his piercing green eyes staring at her.
"The Torture Curse, it's one of the Unforgivables and it's so named for a reason. It's like being stabbed with white-hot knives, your bones being shattered, your organs rupturing, your blood boiling, blood filling your lungs, suffocating, like your skull's going to explode. I felt all of that at the same time. The Torture Curse has been known to break the mind, to render you incapable of anything, to leave you a shell of a human being. The healers say that it's a miracle I survived after the prolonged torture I was subjected to..." She trailed off, giving her head a light shake.
"When they decided that they'd had enough of using the Cruciatus on me, they turned to blades, cursed blades. They carved a word into me and I will forever have it; it will never truly heal and it still looks to be only a couple of months old, but it was nine years ago now. When I still wouldn't answer their questions they decided to let the men have a turn at trying to get me to talk."
He felt himself stiffen at the implication of her words and he clenched his hands into tight fists, hoping it would help to calm his anger.
"I was a bloody, quivering and sobbing mess on the floor, my blood staining their precious Persian rug and as I was there, slowly dying, they taunted me. They described to me every detail of how they planned to violate me, to defile me in every way possible. Of how they planned to take turns and watch as I slowly died. They even brought in Fenrir Greyback, Alpha of a truly dark werewolf pack, he didn't even look human when he was in his human form," she said quietly, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes. "They advanced on me and they started grabbing at my clothes, thankfully before things progressed further, Harry and Ron burst into the drawing-room. I was pulled up and the cursed blade was held against my throat and Harry and Ron were forced to lower their stolen wands. Dobby, a house-elf, arrived and he saved our lives and took us to a safe house that belonged to one of the Weasley boys and his wife. Dobby died that day. He was a good friend and he risked his life for ours. I was healed the best I could be given the times and we couldn't trust anyone to have it done professionally as Voldemort controlled St, Mungo's hospital, too. What Bowman did, his attack brought back the memories of what the Death Eaters were planning to do to me, and I just kept reliving them over and over and over again, only this time, I didn't escape and I wasn't rescued."
He stared at her in worry, anger, disbelief, horror, too many emotions to name, and with her declaration, he made a decision.
"Last year, I made a deal with a demon to save Sam's life and rather than giving me ten years before taking my soul, I was given one year due to the high demand for my soul down in hell. We spent a year trying to break my contract but ultimately we failed and I was dragged down to hell," he went quiet but she didn't interrupt, giving him time to collect his thoughts. "I don't remember everything, the most horrifying memories were taken from me by Castiel, but there are still some things that I do remember. They changed me down there, they tortured me in ways I didn't even think possible, they broke my body, my mind, my soul, and when I was on the verge of 'dying' they allowed me to slowly heal, and then it started again. I held out for years but I couldn't take it anymore and the only way to stop the pain was to torture other innocent soles myself. I learned how to inflict pain in ways I didn't even know existed. For Sam and Bobby, I was gone for four months, but time moves differently down in hell, I was there for forty years."
In the silence Hermione reached out and she found Dean's hand. She took it and gave it a comforting squeeze and he returned the gesture.
"You and I, we're not that different," she stated softly. "We have different backgrounds, we've had different influences and we have different beliefs, but put that aside and you'll see that we're both in the business of protecting people from the supernatural and dark magic, we just do it in different ways. We both have difficult and traumatising pasts. We both fight to protect those that we care for, no matter how few. We've both seen and faced evil at its truest form and we've both survived it. The only real difference between you and I, is that I possess magic and you don't. I was gifted with the ability to practice magic you would never dream of existing. I was gifted with the ability to see magical creatures, both pure and beautiful and dark and horrifying and you weren't. My point being, you and I, we're not that different and I can't for the life of me understand why you hate me so much." She let go of his hand and pulled hers away from him.
Before she could retreat fully his hand reached out and grabbed hers, keeping a tight hold of it. "I... I," he sighed. "I don't hate you," he admitted quietly, surprising her. "As much as I want to hate you, as much as my head's telling me to, as much as it's been engraved into me that I should hate you, I don't and I can't. My instincts have kept me alive and they're telling me that you're not evil, dangerous, yes, but not evil. We're going to need you, weapons and knives are helpful but we need your magic to take these bastards down. You're not a bad person."
"If I'm not a bad person, then neither are you," she whispered, her eyes closed in exhaustion.
"That's where you're wrong,"
"No, I'm not,"
"I've killed people,"
"So have I, and my kills weren't demon-possessed or shifters. My kills were human beings that were truly evil, that knew what they were doing, even if I only killed them in self-defence I still took their lives. No matter what they did, they were human beings. I'm an excellent judge of character, it comes from years of fighting a war followed by years of tracking, battling and capturing murderers, rapists, psychopaths and complete nut-jobs. You're not a bad person, Dean Winchester, and believe it or not, I trust you," were her last words before sleep claimed her.