The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER EIGHT

Page count: 8

"This is it. Pull over here," Sam said, pointing to a neat two-story suburban house. The lawn was perfectly mowed, the driveway clean, the picture of quiet, ordinary life.

They climbed out of the Impala. Hermione led the way up the driveway, Dean and Sam following, and pressed the doorbell. A woman in her late forties answered—blonde hair, warm brown eyes, a polite but cautious expression.

"Hello," Hermione said, offering a kind smile. "I'm FBI Agent Jenny Morgan, and these are my colleagues, Agents Kyle Reed and Parker Banks." She held up her ID. Sam and Dean followed suit.

"I was wondering if we might have a moment to ask a few questions regarding Jack Binns."

The woman stepped aside. "Of course. Come in," she said. She led them through the hallway, past a tidy living room, and into the kitchen.

At the table sat another woman, head in her hands. When she looked up, Hermione saw her eyes—puffy, red-rimmed, brimming with grief. Her blonde hair streaked with grey, her face pale from exhaustion.

"Karen, can you pick Henry up from soccer practice?" the woman asked, voice hoarse.

"Of course," Karen said, quickly gathering her jacket and bag. "I'll take him to the diner he likes for dinner before bringing him home."

"Thank you," whispered the first woman. Karen smiled faintly and left, closing the door behind her.

Hermione stepped forward. "Ms Binns, I am FBI Agent Jenny Morgan, and these are—"

"No, you're not," the woman interrupted sharply.

Hermione froze. "Excuse me?"

"You're not FBI Agent Jenny Morgan."

Sam and Dean stiffened behind her.

"I assure you —" Hermione began, voice steady but cautious.

"Your name's Hermione Granger."

Her hand shot to the hidden wand under her sleeve. "How do you know that?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"I've seen photos. Read articles about you in the magical newspaper," the woman said, her voice tired but unwavering.

Hermione's eyes scanned her carefully. "You're not a witch," she said flatly, sensing no magical aura.

"Jack was a wizard," the woman replied.

"A Muggleborn?" Hermione asked softly, relaxing her grip on her wand.

"Yes," the woman said quietly, her voice tight with emotion. "Just like yourself."

Hermione stepped forward and gestured to a chair. The woman hesitated briefly, then nodded, and Hermione sat down opposite her. Sam and Dean moved closer but stayed standing, silently agreeing to let her take the lead—especially since it seemed the victim had been magical.

"Jack loved you," the distraught mother began, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. "He always talked about you. He said he wanted to be just like you. I heard him over and over—how one day he would meet you and ask for your autograph, how he wanted to be like Hermione Granger... someone with courage and honour. It... it gives me some small comfort to know that my son admired someone so remarkable."

Hermione's own eyes glistened as she nodded softly. "I'm deeply honoured to hear that. And I promise, we're going to do everything we can to find out what happened."

The mother sniffled and wiped her tears away. "I... I assume he didn't die of natural causes?"

"We don't believe so," Hermione said gently. "I will need to cast diagnostic spells to be certain, but I am currently investigating a series of deaths that appear to be connected to a group of Death Eaters."