CHAPTER THIRTY
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: 11
"Morning," a sleepy voice mumbled into her ear.
She hummed in response. "What time is it?"
"No idea."
Hermione unwound Dean's arms from around her and then rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head and groaning when her joints clicked.
"Mimsy," Hermione called softly, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face and Dean followed her.
"What can Mimsy do for Mistress?" She asked after appearing in the room, bowing before them.
"Can you please tell me the time?"
"Yes, Mistress, its be 08:38."
"Thank you, is Sam up yet?"
"Yes, Mistress he bes eating breakfast in the kitchen. Mimsy caught Mr. Sam trying to cook his breakfast, Mimsy tell him he not cook when Mimsy here." Dean snorted. "Would Mistress and Sir be liking breakfast."
"Please, Mimsy," Hermione said; it was too early to argue about who would prepare breakfast and in the end, Hermione would lose anyway and Mimsy would make it. "I would like pancakes with my usual toppings, a cup of tea and a bacon, sausage, hash brown and egg sandwich please."
"A what?" Dean asked confused.
"A bacon, sausage, hash brown and egg sandwich, don't tell me you've never had one." She looked scandalised when he shook his head. "Mimsy, please prepare the same for Dean."
"Of course, Mistress, Mimsy be having everything ready in thirty minutes," she then disappeared from the room.
Hermione climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?"
"To shower and get ready, breakfast will be ready in half an hour."
"Can I come?"
"If you wish to," Hermione laughed when she was all but tackled into the shower, still fully clothed.
~000~000~000~
After a very pleasurable morning shower, in which Hermione's eyes had once again changed, her claws grew adding more scratches to Dean's back and a lot of purring and swearing, Hermione exited her bedroom feeling light and boneless and nothing could ruin her good mood.
She made her way to the kitchen and was stopped when she heard shouting.
"HERMIONE!"
She stopped in the corridor and popped her head into the room that Dean had chosen but never actually used. He stood there, a towel hung low on his hips and tipping one of his duffle bags upside down.
"What?" She asked, after tearing away her eyes from watching as his muscles rippled when he moved.
"Where the hell are my clothes?" He demanded.
She chuckled and shook her head. "Mittens," Hermione called softly and a house-elf appeared in the room.
This house-elf had a few less wrinkles than Mimsy and darker green skin. His eyes were larger and a golden colour. He had no hair on his ears, but he did on his knuckles and he had a smaller nose. He wore black pants and a white shirt.
"Mistress called for Mittens," he said, bowing unsteadily and she smiled at him.
"Good Morning, Mittens," Hermione greeted. "Did you have a good's night rest?" She asked him.
"Mittens sleep well, thank you, Mistress," he shifted on his feet nervously and she moved closer and crouched down in front of him.
"Mittens, I would like to introduce you to Dean Winchester, his brother, Sam, is in the kitchen."
"Pleasure to meet the Sir," Mittens said nervously and he bowed again.
"Yeah, you too," Dean replied, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the house-elf's nervous behaviour.
"Mittens, it seems Dean's clothes have gone missing, would you happen to know where they are?" She asked the nervous elf gently.
"Yes, Mistress, Mittens took them to clean, they be very dirty. Mittens check if they be dry and bring them back to the Sir."
"Thank you," she said softly and the house-elf disappeared from the room and she stood up.
"Well he acted differently to Mimsy," he noted.
She nodded and sighed. "Mittens is the newest of my house-elves. I rescued him six months ago from a truly awful family, when I found him he was underweight, covered in burns and half dead. He was scared of his own shadow. He used to wet the bed for the first month of being here, but he's starting to get more comfortable. The other house-elves are looking after him and he knows I wouldn't hurt him and that he's safe here. He's one of the younger ones, being on seventy-six in age."
"Mittens have the Sir's clothes," he snapped his fingers and they appeared in the room, landing softly on the bed and folded neatly.
"Thank you, Mittens, you've done a wonderful job as always. Have you had much laundry?"
"No, Mistress, Mittens be doing washing for one-hundred and three apartments, Mittens wish he had more to do."
"I'm sure if you speak to Mimsy she will be able to assign you a new chore or project."
"Yes, Mistress, would you be needing anything else?"
"No thank you, Mittens," she smiled and he left the room. "Right, Dean, get dressed, you're breakfast will be getting cold."
She headed to the kitchen and sat down at the table, seeing the food already there and waiting.
"Morning," he greeted.
"Morning, Sam, I hear you had a run in with Mimsy."
"She's terrifying, all I did was try and cook breakfast, I thought she was going to hit me with the spatula with the way she was waving it around and pointing it at me."
She snorted at him. "That was your first mistake," Hermione said amused. "Did any of your clothing happen to go missing this morning?"
"Yes, though before I could come and find you, Mimsy found me and told me someone called Mittens had done my laundry for me, and she gave me them back," he explained, just as Dean waltzed into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table and Sam noticed that he looked decidedly joyful that morning.
"Do you have anything for us, Sammy?" Dean asked.
"I do actually, Bobby called twenty minutes ago. He wants us to head over to Columbus, Indiana. He's got a contact over there that says they've been a few weird incidences happening at one of the schools."
"Such as?" Hermione asked.
"He didn't go into much detail knowing we'd look into things, but some students have started falling ill and some are having freak accidents."
"Sounds promising," Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Bobby's contact have any idea what it is?"
"No, that's for us to figure out. Luckily two of the teachers at the school have also fallen ill, so there's our entry."
"What subjects?" Hermione asked.
"English and PE."
Dean started laughing.
"I guess it's time to break out the whistle."
"If you even think of wearing anything similar to those red shorts, I will stick your head down the toilet," Sam warned, Dean smirked in challenge.
"Boys, play nicely," she interrupted them. "So Dean's cover is set, that just leaves the English teacher."
"You should do it," Dean shrugged.
"What?" Both Sam and Hermione questioned.
"Sorry, Sammy, I know you're a big book lover, but the students are more likely to talk to her than you. She's less intimidating since they don't know her or what she's capable of."
"I guess I'm the janitor again," he muttered, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
"We'll leave after breakfast then, I'll be right back," she stood and made her way to the fireplace.
"Where are you going?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well we're taking a case in a school where we're posing as teachers, we're going to need some paperwork and fake indentifies," she answered, before stepping into the flames and leaving the brothers confused.
"You know, now that you suggested she be the English Sub, she's going to have a lot of male attention," Sam smirked.
"What do you mean?" Dean frowned.
"Well, we're going to a high school, filled with hundreds of teenage boys and their hormones, and Hermione is rather good looking."
A look of realisation crossed Dean's face.
"You be the English Sub, she can be the janitor, no one will take a second look at her if she's wearing coveralls and boots."
Sam laughed at him, seeing that Dean was completely serious.
~000~000~000~
She stepped out of the floo brushing off the soot from her clothing.
"Boys," Hermione called and they entered the living room, carrying their duffle bags.
"Your new identities," she handed Dean a file and Sam a small wallet with fake ID.
"What are these?" Dean asked her.
"Your transcripts detailing your career as a PE teacher, including references from some of your previous employers and a background check."
"How did you get those?" Sam asked amazed.
"I work for a Magical Government that has but a few limitations. You can easily get these done in this world, though it'd likely cost a fortune and you risk the chance of being caught if they aren't done correctly. I didn't have to pay for these and I have a high security clearance, and everyone is too afraid to ask why I need them anyway. They're done perfectly; even a fraud expert wouldn't be able to tell they were falsified. Once we're in the car, I'll phone ahead so the school knows to expect us. Right then boys, I'll just grab my bag and we can go."
They stared after her as she left them.
"She's handy," Sam said and Dean snorted, looking over the forged documents impressed.
~000~000~000~
"Okay, room keys, Hermione, you're Room 17, and we're Room 18."
She took the key with a smile, noticing that stood behind Sam was Dean, and he was currently burning a hole in the back of his brother's head with his glare and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.
"Do you want me to..." She made a swishing motion with her hand, as if she had a wand in it.
"Thank God," Sam sighed. "The motels we stay in aren't as bad when you've," he made the same motion with his hand and she laughed at him.
Sam lead the way to their rooms, Hermione fell in step with Dean, who was still glaring at his brother.
"You do realise that he doesn't know about us, don't you?"
"He suspects, and if it's one thing Sammy's not, it's stupid," he muttered.
"I don't see why you're so upset by this, I now have a room to myself," she walked off, leaving him to catch up with Sam, and when she saw Dean enter the motel room, he looked a lot less like murdering his brother and more like hugging him.
~000~000~000~
After cleaning and fumigating the room, Hermione was now settled into her motel room. It had a table and two chairs in the corner of the room by the window. A chest of drawers was against the wall with an old looking TV sat on top of it. The double bed was opposite it, the headboard against the wall and two bedside tables on either side with lamps perched on top. There was a small closet which Hermione had already hung up her clothing for the next few days, seeing as she wasn't sure how long they would be staying for, and that just left the bathroom. The walls were red-brown and she wasn't particularly fond of the patterned carpet, nor was she of the bedding which she changed anyway, using her own duvet and pillows.
She had pulled her hair on top of her head in a mess to keep it out of her face and she wore nothing but an old t-shirt -that once belonged to Charlie, falling to her mid-thigh- since it was a warm night in the motel. She was just turning down the duvet when there was a knock at the door.
She walked over to the door and opened it, revealing Dean, still wearing his jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket. She stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him and locking it, casting wards around the room, including the windows; she was not making that mistake again.
"You didn't question me," he pointed out, not looking happy that she'd let him into her room without bothering to check it was actually him.
"There wasn't any point," she shrugged. "You've got your anti-possession tattoo and you walked through the demon trap."
"What demon trap?" He asked surprised.
"Sam drew me a demon trap on some parchment when we stopped for dinner. I enlarged it, placed a few charms around it to preserve it and then I stuck it to the ceiling in the corridor outside my door and then I cast a Disillusionment Charm on it, to make it invisible to anyone who didn't know what to look for."
"You can do that?" He asked, looking amazed.
"I can, saves a lot of time, too. I can also have all of the entrances and exits lined with salt with a simple wave of my wand," she said amused at his surprised face.
"And why didn't you tell us this before? Do you know how much time we could've saved?"
"A lot, and I thought I'd leave you to it, I didn't want to intrude on your ritual," she patted his chest as she walked past him, heading to the bed.
He muttered under his breath and then turned and followed her.
"Who's shirt is that?" He asked her.
"Charlie's," she shrugged.
"And why the hell are you wearing another man's shirt?"
"Bloody hell, you are a possessive prat," she said, finally realising the true extent of his confession the night before.
"I don't like you wearing another man's clothing," he crossed his arms, a look on his face as though he were about to endure an argument with her.
She arched her brow at him. "Charlie's my brother, well sort of, his mother practically adopted me and I grew up with him and his brothers and sister, although I didn't meet him until I was fifteen. If you want to continue this relationship between us, you'll have to get used to seeing me in other men's clothing, Dean. Half of my wardrobe consists of clothing I've stolen from my brothers since they don't fit them anymore and they're comfortable. Harry says I'm a magpie for men's clothing, and to some extent, I agree with him," she shrugged. He still didn't look happy about it. She sighed. "Give me your bloody t-shirt," she held her hand out expectantly.
"What?" He asked dumbly.
"Give me your bloody shirt," she repeated.
He was clearly confused by her response, but he removed his leather jacket and placed it on the table, pulling his shirt over his head and holding it out to her.
She pulled her shirt over her head and his eyes zeroed in when her body was revealed to him. Her breasts held snugly in the red lace bra and she wore the matching knickers, her flat stomach and feminine curves and her scars that stood out against her ivory skin bare to his gaze.
She took the shirt from him and pulled it over her head, covering herself from his view far too quickly for his liking. She looked up at him and saw the heated gaze in eyes, and he took a step towards her, so she took a step back.
"Nope," she shook her head. "You've been jealous for no reason and you don't deserve sex."
"What?" He spoke, visibly surprised by her answer.
"You heard me."
"But..."
"No, silly boys don't get rewarded."
She stalked into the bathroom, sniggering to herself when she heard Dean take a few deep breaths, before grumbling to himself. She walked out of the bathroom to see Dean scowling at her, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his underwear. She had to mentally slap herself upside the head to stop herself from staring at him; she had to stick to her guns and not give in, no matter how devilishly handsome he was.
He made to speak but she shook her head at him, his scowl deepening further.
"Come on, Winchester, we have school in the morning, wow, never thought I'd say those words again," she spoke shaking her head slightly, before climbing into bed.
Despite Dean's grumblings of "wicked witches" and "teasing temptresses" he climbed in bed behind her and wrapped himself around her.
"If you're a good boy, Mr. Winchester, we'll see what tomorrow brings," Hermione mumbled, he muttered obscenities and insults against the skin of her neck and she sniggered.
~000~000~000~
The next morning it wasn't the alarm she had set on her wand that woke her up, although it was buzzing on the bedside table, no, it was the feel of hands trailing up and down her skin and under the t-shirt she wore.
She could feel his body pressed against her, including the bulge in his underwear against her bum. She could feel his warm breath ghosting her neck and partially her ear. She could feel his hands, exploring every piece of her skin slowly and softly, yet unrestrained and quickly.
And despite herself her breath hitched.
He chuckled and she felt him smirk against the skin of his neck.
"So, Miss. Hart, has the day brought good things?" He asked her and she could hear the amusement in his voice.
"The day is only beginning," she responded, and she was proud that she had managed to sound so calm. "There's still time, besides, we have to get ready, we need to be there an hour earlier than usual so we can meet with the principal and secure our cover story."
"I guess we don't have a lot of time then," he replied, his hands coming away from her breasts which he had been kneading, and slipping them lower towards her underwear.
"We have to get ready," she protested weakly.
"If you just use magic like you did before, you can have us ready in no time, meaning we can spend our time doing something a lot more pleasurable," his voice turned husky as he whispered against her ear and her breath caught.
Her eyes fell closed as his hand dipped under the waistband and slipped through her folds. Despite her protests and avoidance of the matter, he was amused to find that she was more than ready for him, and he had barely touched her!
His thumb found her nub, whilst he slipped two fingers into her entrance. She let out a little moan, her back bowing whilst her bum pressed against his erection and he took a deep, calming breath.
He wasn't sure he was going to be able to tease her. He had been thinking about her all night, to the point where she had entered his dreams, and he believed she'd also dreamt of him, as he'd woken up during the night to her shifting in her sleep, her bum wriggling against him whilst quiet little moans and mumbles of his name escaped her. It was fair to say he hadn't gotten much sleep after that. It was the Little Witch's fault and he wasn't going to complain, especially since she was now putty in his hands, whimpering and mewling as her hips moved against his hand and her hand gripped at his arm, her nails biting into him.
He slipped his hand out of her underwear and she gave a whine of disapproval. He chuckled and placed a kiss to her neck. And whilst she was still distracted and coming down from the edge Dean had pulled her towards, he pulled her to face him and crashed his mouth against hers. She gave a noise of surprise but moaned when his tongue brushed against hers.
His hand pulled her leg to rest over his hip, bringing their lower halves together and she gasped and mewled when he bucked into her. Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair, tugging on his strands, while his hands slipped to her hips, gripping her tightly.
His hands fell down to her knickers and he ripped the flimsy material, pulling it from between them and dropping it to the ground, so all that separated them was his boxers. She pulled back with heavy breathing, and she tried to glare at him, but failed with her feline-like eyes shining, and he knew exactly what she was feeling when he saw them, and it certainly wasn't anger or disapproval.
Before she could scold him for ruining a pair of what were sure to be expensive underwear given her wealth, his mouth found hers once more and within seconds, she was melting against him.
Her hands came from his hair and trailed over his shoulders and chest, scratching her nails down his abdomen and he bucked into her at the action. She stopped at his underwear and slipped her hand around his length, squeezing before beginning to pump her hand over him, using the liquid leaking from his slit as lubrication.
He groaned into her mouth and pushed his hips against her hand. It wasn't long until he felt his pending release and he pulled her hand from him and somehow managed to get his boxers off and onto the floor without having to stop kissing her.
He pulled her leg back over his hip once more, before lining himself up and slowly pushing into her teasingly, inch by inch.
She pulled her mouth from him and mewled softly, her forehead resting against his, while he groaned and focused on not slamming into her. Despite the little time they had before they were due at the school, he wanted to take his time with her.
She cursed in a whisper when he was buried deep inside of her and he chuckled in agreement; he didn't think he'd ever get used to her warm, wet, silkiness, to her tightness, to the way she cursed and purred his name, or whimpered and mewled when he was inside of her.
The only time he felt at ease was when he was with Hermione and he knew that he would do anything he could to not screw things up with her. He couldn't lose the feelings she made him feel. For years he had barely been coping, but since his father had died and he almost lost Sam, everything got worse. He often drank until he passed out, in hopes it would help with the nightmares. He often had one night stands, in hopes that it would allow him to feel something different, in hopes it would dull the pain. He was overly annoying and teasing to hide the fact that he wasn't coping with things, and it had worked, for a short while.
Soon the one night stands didn't have the affects they once had, and the drinking just left him with a monstrous hangover. He was sure Sam had noticed his behaviour and he could tell he had been gearing up to talk to him about it, but that's when they met Hermione.
She came into their lives with her wand and spells and magic blazing. Literally. He knew she was changing him even if she didn't. She had changed his view of the world. Of magic. Of true born witchcraft. She made him feel things he didn't think he was able to feel, or things he hadn't felt since a small child, before his mother had been murdered. Even Cassie, his longest lasting and only relationship –if he could call it that- hadn't been able to do that, but Hermione had after a mere few days. She made him feel young again, without any worries or cares. She understood his need to be a Hunter and rather than yelling at him or leaving, she'd decided to go with him. She made him feel alive.
He couldn't lose that. He wouldn't.
"Where's your head at?"
His eyes which had glazed over returned to normal and he saw that although she had a pleasure filled look on her face, her feline-like eyes were looking at him worriedly and she had a crease in her forehead.
He didn't answer her question, instead he captured her lips with his own, and he began to slowly move his hips whilst pouring all of his thanks and gratitude into the kiss.
She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pulling back from the kiss to look down at him. Both of their chests heaving and he stared up at her with dark eyes filled with lust and another emotion she couldn't quite decipher. She rested her hands on his chest for balance and began to slowly move over him, moving her hips in circles as she did so.
He wanted to see her. He had to see all of her.
His hands moved from her hips to grip the edge of her shirt. His shirt. She would wear his shirts more often, he decided. He sat up, bringing them face to face and pulled the material over her head and dropping it to the floor, before quickly undoing her bra and dropping that to the floor, too.
He watched her, as her face down to her breasts had flushed pink, as her feline eyes were wide open and locked on to his. As her breathing came out in pants and her lips were parted, mewls and whimpers escaping. She was beautiful.
His hands came up to her hair and he untied the bobble keeping her unruly curls back from her face. He preferred her hair down; he liked to see the untameable mess unbound, as to him it was a perfect representation of her. Wild, untameable, natural, beautiful. He liked the idea of being able to bury his hands in her hair, of her curls tangling around his fingers. He liked to see them sway as she walked and he found it funny when the wind would blow her hair into her face and she would push it back into place with a huff.
He watched in wonder as they suddenly spilled down her back and over her shoulders, surrounding her like a halo. And that's when he realised. She was an Angel. Did what she say about being fated have any merit? Had the big man upstairs intended for them to meet?
Because to him, she was an Angel. She had saved his life in more ways than one and she had barely done anything.
He was brought out of his thoughts when her nails, no claws, dug into him and she had begun to purr. He flipped them, putting her on her back and he crushed her into the mattress with his weight. She let out a long purr and her nails clawed at his back until he could feel warm liquid beginning to run down his skin and her walls were beginning to flutter around him.
He took her hands and laced his fingers through hers, pinning them on either side of her head and he kept her gaze, watching as the emotions flickered through her feline eyes.
'Mine! Mine! Mine!' He thought over and over and over again.
A loud purr left her and he didn't try to catch the sound in his mouth, he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear what he did to her. He was so enraptured with watching her face and listening to her purring, he was taken by surprise when she suddenly clamped down onto him and she was squeezing him so tightly that his breath hitched and he was unable to hold back even if he tried, and he released inside of her.
They laid there, staring at each other as they regained their breathing.
Their eyes were drawn to the door when there was a knock on it.
"Hermione! Have you seen Dean?" Sam's voice called.
She and Dean shared a look and he started laughing, burying his head into her neck and hair to muffle the sound.
"No," she called back through a giggle. "He probably went to get breakfast!"
"His car's still here!"
"Maybe he walked; the diner's only five minutes from here!"
"Yeah, you're right; we have to leave in fifteen minutes, with or without him!"
"Okay, I'll meet you by the car!" She waited until she heard his boots against the metal staircase before she started laughing.
~000~000~000~
Sam walked away from Hermione's motel room with an amused smirk on his face. He knew exactly where Dean was and where he had been all night for that matter. Not only had he heard Dean leave when he thought he was sleeping, he hadn't come back.
And what Hermione and Dean didn't realise was that the walls of the motel were very thin, and for that reason, he had heard everything; from Hermione calling Dean a possessive prat the previous night, to their obvious morning activities.