CHAPTER FORTY
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: 5
Hermione stood in the shower of her motel room, her head pressed to the tiled wall and the hot water running down her back, washing away the tension in her muscles.
She had killed a teenage girl. That was the only thought that kept running through her mind. She had killed a seventeen year old girl.
But what got to her the most wasn't that she had killed a teenage girl, it was that she knew she would do it again if it meant keeping Dean safe. She needed him to be safe. She needed him alive and healthy. She needed him to not be hurt.
She cared for him. Deeply. She was more than just attracted to him, she was attached to him. She couldn't even contemplate not waking up to his wandering hands or his breath disturbing her curls, tickling her. She couldn't contemplate not hearing his teasing comments, his amused laughter or even seeing that damn irritating smirk of his.
He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She knew it. She could feel it. She could see it. The way he acted around her and towards her spoke volumes.
She needed him and she knew it. She needed him to lessen the affect of her nightmares. She was more rested than she had ever been, her nightmares being nowhere near as vivid as they once were, and occasionally, she would have a nice dream, of which Dean was of course present in. She needed him to comfort her, which he did without even realising he was doing it, and without her realising that she had needed it. She always felt better in his presence. Lighter. Happier. Cared for.
She was screwed and she knew it. Because, she was falling madly in love with Dean Winchester. This wasn't going to end well, she should just break things off between them and leave to protect herself from getting hurt in the long run. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave him.
She would kill for him and she had, a teenage girl, and she would do it again.
Arms snaked around her stomach and a warm body pressed against her. She sighed when a kiss was placed to the back of her neck and she reached up and changed the angle of the shower head, so the water would cover the both of them.
"We didn't go there to kill her," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder and looking at the tiled wall, watching her face's reflection in the surface. "We tried to reason with her, you gave her the chance to redeem herself. Her actions caused her death, it wasn't your fault."
"I know," she replied, sounding tired. "I don't feel guilty for killing her," she confessed and she turned in his arms to face him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing his runic and anti-possession tattoos.
"I feel guilty that I would do it again." She refused to look at him. He brought a hand up to her chin, tilting her head so she was forced to look at him, his green eyes staring into her very soul, searching for something. "I would do it again," she repeated. "If it meant that you were safe, then I would kill anyone that ever threatened your safety."
"You would?" He questioned quietly, sounding almost vulnerable and her heart all but melted.
"I would," she confirmed. "I killed Jane for you. To keep you safe. I couldn't control it. I wasn't in control of my actions, my mind fogged over and I couldn't think coherently, I was no longer in control of myself, it was as if I was stood on the sidelines, watching myself act to save you, but I wasn't actually the one to do it," she frowned slightly. "I can't explain it, but I needed you to be safe, I need you to be safe."
She sighed, pulling her eyes from his gaze and looking down at his chest, watching her fingers as they traced over the ink. His hand on her chin tilted her head up once more. His eyes locked onto her, once again searching for something.
She blinked and when she opened her eyes, Dean's mouth was upon hers, kissing her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue probed her mouth, her arms wrapped around his neck and she rose onto her tiptoes as he held her close to him.
Something was different. She knew it instantly.
Usually when Dean kissed her, he attacked her with a fiery passion that had her feeling as though she were being consumed by flames. He stole her breath, he made her dizzy, he made her lose all coherent thought.
But this time, he kissed her softly, slowly, sensually, exploring her mouth although he was more than acquainted with it by this point. His kiss, this kiss, ignited a slow burning within her, and she knew it was going to drive her crazy.
His arms moved lower, scooping her up until she wrapped herself around him. His hand fumbled blindly until he was able to turn the shower off. He stepped out of the shower, leaving the bathroom and depositing Hermione on the bed, all without pulling his mouth from hers.
He covered her body with his and although they were taking their time to explore each other's mouths, there was a sense of urgency in their needing to be connected. With a few strokes and a little pressure on her nub, Hermione was more than ready for him, and he wasted no time, and he slowly entered her, her silky warmth enveloping him and they both let out soft noises, being caught in the other's mouth.
Dean's hands found hers, his fingers lacing through hers and he held her hands on either side of her head, as he set a slow and steady pace with deep, purposeful strokes.
His lungs were burning with the need for oxygen and even though he didn't want to, he was forced to pull his mouth from her, but he quickly latched onto her skin, kissing and suckling at her skin, tugging at ear lobe, nibbling her jaw and licking at her scars. Nothing was left untouched. She arched up into him, her head titled to the side as soft sounds left her and she huffed and panted.
He mumbled against her skin, she couldn't understand what he was saying, but the vibrations ran through her and she shuddered beneath him, her hands tightening on his. The slow burn that had ignited was now hotter than ever and burning away within her.
The slight change in the angle of his hips hit the spot inside of her and she purred softly, as she clamped around him and the fire within her was suddenly flooded by a wave of pleasure. She relaxed into the mattress, but when she realised Dean had been holding back and hadn't found release, she forced herself to meet each of his thrusts, and although he had changed the rhythm, it wasn't by much and the slow burn within her began to climb once again.
He latched himself back onto her mouth, groaning into her mouth when her sensitive body began to flutter around him. She found the strength to roll them, yet she kept herself flat against him and her mouth on his, even as she moved over him and he thrust into her from beneath her.
She pulled her hands from his and they ran down over his neck and throat, down his shoulders and arms and in-between them to run over his chest. His hands roamed the soft skin of her back as he held her against him, and he could feel the slightly raised scars under his fingertips.
A purr left her as her walls suddenly clamped around him and her nails dug into his chest and scrapped downwards, removing skin and causing it to bleed. He groaned into her mouth as his thrusting became erratic and he found his release.
He didn't stop kissing her, not until he absolutely needed oxygen. When that happened he placed a kiss to her forehead as she snuggled into him and slipped her arms under and around his neck, hugging him tightly. One of his hands was buried in her hair and the other had taken to running over the skin of her back.
Hermione barely had enough energy to whisper a spell to cover them with the blanket, but it was cold in the room so she forced herself to do so.
They lay in silence, cuddling each other and revelling in the presence of the other.
They both knew things between them had changed. It wasn't as it was before. Things were now different. They both knew it, they both could feel it, yet neither of them commented on the fact, letting it go unsaid, but known.
~000~000~000~
Hermione had long since fallen asleep and although Dean knew he should be sleeping, too, he couldn't find it in him to tear his eyes away from her. She was still sprawled across his chest, her weight being a welcome feeling. He could hear every one of her deep breaths, he could feel every puff of air leaving her mouth and ghosting over his skin, he could feel her steady heartbeat against his own skin. He could see the light freckles on her nose, the bushiness of her curls and his hand was still buried in it and it would be for as long as he could get away with it.
He loved her hair. And her body. And her wittiness. And her seemingly endless appetite. And her honesty. And her kindness. And her sex drive that even he was impressed with. The only flaw he could see within her was her lack of self-preservation.
She was special.
She was his.
She was perfect for him. His Angel.
He blinked in surprise at the turn his thoughts had taken and he frowned, but it softened when she shifted slightly and sighed in her sleep.
Things between them had changed. He wasn't quite sure how, but he knew they had. He was no longer just attracted to her, she had wormed her way under his skin, all without trying, and he cared for her. He didn't want any harm to come to her. He thought about telling her to leave, he didn't want her to get hurt because people around him always ended up dead. Yet he couldn't do it, he couldn't bring himself to tell her to leave him, not only did he know she would tell him were to shove his words, he couldn't imagine his days without her.
He couldn't imagine not waking up next her, not being able to touch her or tease her. Not being able to muss up her hair or playfully arguing with her. She had changed him, and not wanting to admit it, but it was for the better.
Now, he was open minded about the magical world he hadn't known existed, nor the witches and wizards that were born with their magic. He was amazed by the compassion she showed, the way people opened up to her. The way she was delicate and kind, yet also deadly and fierce.
Now, he didn't drink as much. He didn't have to since he no longer dealt with vividly detailed nightmares, not only from his time in hell, but because he knew that monsters did, in fact, exist. She kept his nightmares bearable, he didn't wake from them. He slept through the night and every now and again, he would have a peaceful dream centred around Hermione.
He didn't sleep around. Again, he didn't have to because he had Hermione, and to be honest, Hermione kept him on his toes, she kept his attention –which was a miracle in itself since he had always had a wandering eye before meeting her- and she kept him busy. He had a very healthy sex life, almost every day in fact, whereas before it was different women every couple of weeks. He found that he wasn't as tired, he wasn't as stressed, he wasn't lonely or empty inside.
Hermione didn't look at him as though he were stupid, if she or Sam were speaking of something that he didn't understand. She just explained to him in terms he would understand until he knew exactly what they had been saying. She didn't yell at him for his admittedly possessive behaviour, which wasn't normal for him. She didn't force him to talk about things he didn't want to. She didn't care that he was a Hunter. She didn't care that he had killed people and creature and demons, even Angels. She didn't care that he was scarred and tainted.
She was perfect.
She was all he needed. She was all he wanted.
And after contemplating the fact, he came to realise that not only did he care for her, his feelings for her were...Different. Stronger.
He knew what love felt like. He loved Sammy. He loved Bobby. And he loved his parents, despite both being dead.
But he had never been in love, and because he had never felt it, he didn't believe in it. Until, he met Hermione. The Little Witch had turned his already fucked up life upside down, but it was better now.
He cared for her. He didn't want her to leave him. He didn't want anyone but him to have her. He wanted her safe. He didn't want to hurt her. And, he would kill for her, to keep her safe, just as she had for him.
He had never had anyone care for him so much, well, apart from Sammy and Bobby, but they didn't count.
And he found himself believing that maybe, just maybe, he was falling in love with her.