The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Page count: 6

A high-pitched pop shattered the silence.

Dean was on his feet before he knew it, gun drawn and aimed toward the sound. The sudden movement sent a dizzy rush to his head, but he didn't lower the weapon.

"Whoa, calm down, mate."

Harry froze by the bathroom door, both hands lifted in surrender, his green eyes wide behind cracked glasses. "I come in peace."

Dean muttered under his breath, clicked the safety back on, and sank into the chair beside the bed with a weary sigh. "How the hell did you find us?"

Harry stepped cautiously into the room, his gaze drifting toward Hermione's still form on the bed. "We've got a trace on each other," he said quietly. "In case one of us gets captured or injured. She set it up years ago."

He sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed a few curls from her face. Dean's body went rigid at the simple touch — his jaw clenched, hands gripping his knees until the leather of his chair creaked.

Harry ignored it. He held his wand above her, murmured a soft Scourgify, and in a shimmer of light, the grime and dried blood disappeared from her skin.

"How is she?" he asked gently. "That angel of hers — Cas, was it? — was he able to heal her?"

Dean blinked, surprised. "You know about Cas?"

Harry gave a short nod. "Met him a few times. Once before the war, twice after. Strange bloke."

"He healed her," Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face, "but there were... complications. Said the dark magic was eating her from the inside out — her organs were shutting down. He fixed it, but he warned that if she ever gets hit with that curse again, it'll kill her instantly."

Harry went pale. Even under the room's dim light, Dean could see the colour drain from his face. His voice was soft when he finally spoke. "Then she's lucky. Again."

He adjusted his cracked glasses, trying to shake it off. "The Death Eater faction's finished," he said. "What's left are stragglers — they'll scatter once word spreads. Hermione's work will shift to magical creature regulation now. Still dangerous, but... not that kind of dangerous."

He hesitated, then gave a small laugh. "Of course, knowing Kingsley, he'll try to ground her — but he's terrified of her, so that won't stick. Hell, most of us are scared of her."

Dean's gaze darkened, landing on their joined hands. "You two seem... close." The words came out rough, edged with something that wasn't quite an accusation but close enough.

Harry looked up sharply, reading between the lines instantly. "We're not — and never have been — anything romantic," he said firmly.

Dean's posture eased a little, his shoulders dropping a fraction.

Harry smiled faintly, his tone softening. "Hermione and I have... a bond. Hard to explain. She probably told you about the war — about how we grew up."

Dean nodded once.

"Well," Harry continued, "my aunt and uncle weren't exactly loving people. Hated magic. Hated me. Told me my parents died in a car crash when really, they were murdered protecting me. I grew up unwanted." His gaze flicked down to Hermione, and something gentle passed over his face. "And then she came along. Eleven years old, all bossy and brilliant — the first person who ever hugged me. The first to show me what family felt like."

Dean stayed quiet, watching him.

"She's been that for me ever since," Harry said. "Family. My best friend. My sister in every way that counts. We've been through hell — literally — and she's saved my life more times than I can count. When the world expected a seventeen-year-old to save it, she was the one who kept me from giving up."