CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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: 8
It was later that night when Hermione was half asleep and snuggled under the covers of her bed. They had returned to her apartment and Hermione spoke with the house-elves, appearing half an hour later and with a scowl on her face, the reason being the moment she stepped into the room, the kitchen table filled with food for lunch. The brothers had laughed at her.
Afterwards, Hermione had retrieved some books from her library on magical creatures and gave one each to the brothers, telling them to read up on every creature it mentioned as they were likely to cross paths with most of them.
Sam had all but ripped the book from her hand and was already reading the first page by the time she had finished speaking, Dean was calmer and simply took the book from her, his eyes scanning the words before him. Hermione took a seat and decided to catch up on some paperwork whilst she had the time. They had taken a break a couple of hours later and Hermione gave the brothers a tour of the building, taking them to the hidden rooms she knew about and introducing them to any of the children they ran into, before returning for dinner, which was waiting for them, and much to Dean's utter delight, there was not one, but two pies waiting for him.
They continued with reading until Hermione grew tired and she retreated to her bedroom, readying for bed and slipping under the covers. She was dozing off and on the verge of sleep when there was a knock on the door.
Somehow she knew it was Dean behind her door, she could feel it, and being too comfortable and not wanting to move, she found her wand and flicked it towards the door and it opened, revealing Dean.
He arched his brow at the door before walking into the room and closing the door behind him, walking over to the bed and slipping in behind her. His arms snaked around her and pulled her back against him. His hand trailed up the skin of her leg, stopping where her pale pink satin night gown laid against her mid-thigh, before he slipped it under her night gown and splayed it against her stomach, his fingers trailing lightly over her new tattoo before moving over to her scar.
She could tell he had forgone anything but his boxers. He had her held so tightly against him the heat of his skin was radiating off him and onto her. She could feel his bare skin pressed against her, his legs somehow finding themselves being entangled with hers and his head pressed into the crook of her neck.
"Comfortable?" She mumbled.
"Hmm," he hummed in response. He was so close to her, she could practically feel his eyelashes brush against the skin of her shoulder.
She felt his hand move lower and brush the lace waistband of her underwear.
"No sex tonight, I'm tired," she muttered.
"Okay," he mumbled against her skin and she sighed when he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, his tongue darting out to trace her phoenix tattoo, of which he had finally discovered. She shivered and then scowled.
"Dean, I mean it, if you carry on you can get out of my bed and sleep elsewhere," she warned him.
"Fine," he grumbled childishly and she could hear the pout in his voice.
"Good, now go to sleep, you never know when either of us will get a call, I can receive one at any hour, day or night and I need to be rested and prepared."
"I'll go to sleep," he promised, though his hand still traced the waistband of her underwear, and before she knew it, Dean had fallen asleep and she followed him into the land of slumber.
~000~~000~000~
Hermione awoke the next morning to the feel of a bulge pressed against her bottom. She managed to turn onto her back in the tight grip Dean had on her, and she stretched and groaned when her back seemed to click, before she climbed out of bed and quickly made her way to her bathroom. After showering and dressing for the day she exited her bathroom it was to see that Dean was still asleep, though now he clutched at her pillow.
She shook her head and left her room, intent on making breakfast, though before she could, Mimsy appeared and scolded Hermione, before disappearing to prepare breakfast for her. Sam appeared in the kitchen not long after, followed by Dean and they saw her sitting at the table with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.
"Why do you have that look on your face?" Sam asked as they both took seats at the table.
"Mimsy caught me trying to cook breakfast and she called me a 'Bad Mistress' for not listening to her in regards to me cooking in my own bloody apartment."
They both snorted at her and her scowl deepened.
Breakfast was on the table barely ten minutes later and there was enough for everyone, meaning Mimsy must've known the brothers were up, since the food on the table included some of the food they'd had asked for the day before.
They were half way through eating when an owl suddenly swooped in to the apartment through an open window and left without a second look, dropping a letter in front of Hermione.
She picked it up and looked at the brothers when she saw The Ministry seal and they arched their eyebrows at her. She broke the seal and her eyes scanned the words before she set down the letter and the file that had been included and shrunken down and looked at them both.
"Well, boys, it seems respite is over."
"You have a case?" Sam asked intrigued.
"Yes, four victims, all male and with different physical appearances, no other connections that I am aware of yet. The creature responsible is not yet known, though there have been a few muggle witnesses who are being detained before being given a psych evaluation. We'll have to get there before it happens, I need to know what they saw in order to better determine the one responsible."
"How did the victims die?" Dean asked her with a thoughtful look on his face.
"They were covered in claw marks and torn to pieces, this could be a number of things and we need to narrow it down. The book I gave you yesterday is one of thousands, and each book may contradict what another says, or may not even include a creature or being. Once we are able to identify the one responsible, you may not even know what it is."
"Where are we headed?"
"Connecticut, some place called Hartford," she shrugged.
"That's about two hours from here," Sam frowned in thought.
"Alright then, you take the lead on this one, Glinda."
"You really do need to come up with something better," Hermione rolled her eyes and he shrugged in reply. "Finish breakfast and then grab what you need to, we leave in thirty minutes."
~000~000~000~
"Do you want to find a motel?" Dean asked her as they reached their destination of Hartford, which had taken slightly over two hours with traffic.
"I suppose so, I don't know how long it'll take to solve the case, it could take hours, it could take days, depending on what the witnesses have to say. I should probably see the bodies, too, so I can rule out any culprits based on strength or claw size. If we just put down for one night and we end up staying longer, we either pay for longer or find another motel," she shrugged.
They pulled into the first motel they seen and Dean disappeared to the reception counter whilst Hermione and Sam got their belongings from the car.
Dean returned and threw the room key to Sam. "Room 14," he spoke.
"Was there only one room available?" Sam asked with an arched eyebrow; every time Dean went to the reception area there was always one room available.
"Yes, they're supposedly always busy since there's a museum for some famous author nearby," he shrugged.
Sam turned and headed for the room with Dean and Hermione following behind him at a distance.
"Was there really only one room available?" She asked him, knowing that Sam wouldn't hear.
"Yes," he lied, but neither she nor Sam needed to know that.
They entered the room to see it was minimalistic. It had light walls and a dark carpet, with two single beds and a bedside table with a lamp sat atop, separating them. There was a small rounded table with two chairs and a slightly bigger table against the back wall that sat the TV. Rather than there being a chest of drawers, there was a small closet and a bathroom. Hermione cleaned and fumigated the room for good measure, though it was by far the cleanest of the motels they had stayed at.
"So, what's first?" Sam asked, plopping himself down onto the bed closet to the bathroom.
"We'll start with the bodies, before moving onto the witnesses. Can one of you do some background research on our victims, please?" She asked them.
Dean and Sam barely shared a look before Sam spoke, "I'll do it." Dean agreed with him, research was Sam's forte, not his.
"Thanks," she said, before pulling out the file from her pocket and resizing it. "In the file you should find the victims names and addresses, the rest is up to you to find, if you can find a possible motive for the killing that would be tremendously helpful."
"On it," he said, before leaving the motel and taking Dean's car to find the latest newspapers, when he returned he would turn to his laptop for help.
"What's our excuse?" Dean asked her.
"FBI, I know they have the Behavioural Analysis Unit and this is the type of case they would work, due to its violent nature, it'll be a good cover for us."
He nodded in agreement. "I still have the rental suit we got a while back."
She rose an eyebrow but didn't answer him, instead she found her own suit and pulled it out from her beaded bag and proceeded to head into the bathroom.
"Why are you going to change in there?" He asked her.
She turned back to look at him. "Can you control yourself?"
"Can you?" He shot back.
"Probably not," she admitted and he smirked as the door closed behind her.
~000~000~000~
"Well, that was disgusting," Dean commented as they left the morgue, referring to the bodies of the victims they had seen, and even Hermione had to admit that it hadn't been pleasant.
"I did warn you," she shrugged.
"Have you narrowed it down?"
"Yes, it isn't a werewolf since there hasn't been a full moon and the time of death was three days ago. It isn't a hippogriff since the claw markings were too small and they don't generally tear things apart. It's definitely not a dragon, although they do have the strength and claws to cause that damage, but they tend to flay their food before eating it," she spoke with a thoughtful frown on her face.
"Do you have any idea what it is?"
"I have my suspicions; we'll speak to the witnesses first and see if they can shed some light on the situation."
~000~000~000~
"She was beautiful, so beautiful," the middle aged man whispered, rocking back and forth in the corner of his cell. Hermione and Dean stood before him with all the appropriate privacy charms surrounding them.
"Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was so pale that she all but shimmered in the moonlight. She was not of this world; no one is that beautiful, it's impossible."
Dean snorted and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.
"Mr. Collins," Hermione said softly, taking a step forward and kneeling down in front of him. "Can you tell me what you saw, I promise, I am not like the others, I will believe anything you wish to share."
His unfocused eyes flew up to hers, fearful blue meeting soft brown. "She wore strange clothing," his voice was quiet and shook slightly. "A type of dress you would see centuries ago and she had on what looked to be graduation robes over the top." His eyes once more looked onto hers as they had fallen downcast when he spoke.
"It's alright, is there anything else you are able to tell me?" She asked him gently.
"I saw her, I saw her tear those men apart, all four of them without even breaking a sweat. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and then she changed. She... She..." He started crying.
"What did she do?" She coaxed.
"She grew claws, and feathered wings, and a large beak, her eyes turned black and she made a loud screeching sound, something you'd expect to hear from a pterodactyl. She clawed at them, ripped them to shreds, and then tore them apart, two of them were still alive." His eyes begged her to believe him. "She saw me, her black eyes turned on me and when I thought I'd be next, she flew off, leaving behind the bodies and the blood."
"I believe you."
"You do?"
"I do," she promised him and when she stood up, he came out of the corner and kneeled in front of her, gripping her tightly around the waist and clinging to her as his cries were muffled by her clothing.
Dean looked less than impressed that he was touching her. He handed her the styrofoam cup of coffee she gestured to, whilst pulling back from the man and handing it to him.
"Drink this, it'll make you feel better," she instructed.
He reluctantly took it from her and took a large gulp, within seconds he crumbled to the ground, fast asleep. She levitated him onto the thin mattress of the cell and then crouched down beside him, obliviating his memories and changing a few, so that he would forget everything he saw. She then stood and vanished the spilled coffee from the floor and they both left the cell, heading to the detective in charge of the investigation.
The detective in question was an average looking man. He was taller than Hermione but shorter than Dean, making him around five-foot-ten. He was obviously not young, his face showing some wrinkles, his black hair beginning to bald. He had thin lips and chubby cheeks, and a rounded belly which wasn't hidden by his grey suit.
"I told you he was nuts," the balding detective said cruelly as he lounged against his chair, propping his feet up on his desk, whilst deliberately looking Hermione up and down with his blue eyes. She could feel the heat of Dean's glare on the detective they hadn't bothered to learn the name of, and she felt him stiffen beside her.
"He's not nuts," she said coldly and loud enough that everyone sat at desks nearby could hear, and the room went quiet, all except for ringing phones which no one answered.
"If you were more observant you would have realised that Mr. Collins is suffering from sleep deprivation. It is my belief that he once served in the US Armed Forces, and as a result he is likely suffering from PTSD, and insomnia is a common consequence which affects the mind in many different ways, hallucinations being one of them. He is a war veteran and you should be treating him with more respect, it's because of people like him that you are able to sit here, thinking that you are better than everyone else. You should stop being such a judgemental prick and do your job, which I believe is supposed to require the qualities of empathy and observation, which I can see you do not have. I suggest you allow Mr. Collins a chance to sleep and once he wakes, help him find the help he needs."
Dean was shaking in silent laughter and she knew as he was stood so close to her she could feel it.
"As for Mr. Murphy, he's not nuts either, just a teenage boy that drank too much at a party, and likely partook in the smoking of some Marijuana. You could arrest him for underage drinking and smoking an illegal substance, but let's be honest, it's his first offence and he's a teenager, celebrating his final year at school. I think the hangover he went through is more than enough punishment." She then turned and made her way towards the exit with Dean following behind her.
"I can have your badge for this," the nameless detective stood, glaring at her.
She turned to face him with a bored look on her face. "You could try, but I hate to point out the fact that my current employer has a far larger budget than you, and we work high profile cases. Without sounding too arrogant, I am the best at what I do, for that reason I have a very high security clearance."
If you read between the lines you would see her meaning of her words, that she was better than him, and the government would choose her over him if it came down to it. She knew she was being bitchy and mean, but at this point she didn't care, she didn't like the man, she got a bad feeling from him. And, she was hungry; she was always a bitch when she was hungry.
"As for this case, you are no longer working it, I am taking over."
"You are not!" He bellowed, storming over to her menacingly.
She remained to look bored and unthreatened, but before he could get any closer, Dean's hand was pressed against the detective's chest, not allowing him to any closer to Hermione.
"Remove your hand or I will arrest you for assault," he sneered.
Dean looked for too amused with the situation he was currently in.
"Like Agent Burlen said, we are of a higher security clearance than you, how do you expect to arrest us? And if you are to pull that card, I could just as easily arrest you for threatening behaviour towards a federal government's employee." Dean pulled his hand back and slipped both of them into his pockets.
"You have had this case for what? Three days?" Hermione questioned. "And you have done nothing but arrest and detain a war veteran and a drunken teenager, I have been here all of an hour, if that, and I have already made far more progress than you."
"What have you learned?" He demanded to know.
"I'm afraid that is classified," she smiled sweetly, "You are no longer working this case and we have taken over, making it a high security case. If I find that you attempt to integrate yourself into this case, I will have charges brought up against you."
Her eyes scanned the almost silent room, and she was surprised to see that none of the people present looked outraged at her behaviour or at her telling off of one of their colleagues, in fact, they looked rather pleased and amused. Well then, that answered her question. Was this man liked? No.
She turned and walked away with Dean by her side. "Do as I suggest with Mr. Collins and Mr. Murphy, I do not wish to return here and converse with you again, I will not be happy if I am forced to do so," were her final words as she stepped out of the police station and climbed into the Impala.
"What?" She asked, noticing the way Dean's gaze was locked on her, his eyes full of heat and lust and amusement and pride. "Seriously, what is it?"
His response was to bury his hands in her hair and around the back of her neck and to pull her forward, meeting his lips as his tongue delved into her mouth. She gave a sound of surprise, followed by a soft little moan when he nibbled at her bottom lip. Her own hands were gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him to her and keeping him close.
When their lungs burned for the need of oxygen Dean's mouth made a path across her cheek and down her neck, and when he noticed that the possessive marks he had left where no more -likely her doing- he proceeded to rectify that situation.
"We can't, not here," she protested weakly, her breathing heavy and trying to push him back from her. "If we're caught they can arrest us for indecent behaviour in a public place, a bloody police station at that."
"I don't care," he muttered against her neck, his mouth moving lower to where her collar bone was on show.
"Well I do, and we're in the middle of a case, Sam's waiting for us back at the motel and I want to know what he's learned." She pulled back from him and he gave a ridiculous pout which she snorted at. "Now, either drive or you're walking back to the motel."