The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER TWENTY

Page count: 10

Dean stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung over his shoulder and the faint scent of soap and steam still clinging to him. The motel room was quiet except for the steady hum of the old AC unit and Hermione's soft breathing.

She was still asleep.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing toward the table where sunlight glinted off something metallic. Curious, he moved closer and found the ring from a soda can sitting there. Harry's words echoed in his mind—something about an activation phrase to contact him when Hermione woke.

Dean frowned, picking up the little piece of metal and turning it between his fingers.

"Chocolate cake?" he guessed aloud.

Nothing.
"Cupcake?"

Still nothing.

"Apple pie?"

He was running out of desserts when he muttered, "Treacle tart?"

There was a crack and a loud thud from behind him. Dean jumped, instinctively grabbing his gun from the bedside table and whirling around.

Standing in the doorway of the bathroom was Harry Potter himself—robes askew, glasses crooked, looking mildly dishevelled and completely unbothered.

"Bloody hell," Dean breathed, lowering his gun but not his glare. "You ever think of knocking?"

Harry blinked at him. "I came from London." He shrugged, as if that explained everything.

Dean scowled. "Yeah, of course you did."

Harry looked around, eyes landing on Hermione. "So, I take it she woke up?"

"She woke last night for maybe half an hour," Dean said, sliding the gun back onto the table. "Passed out again, not long after. Still out cold."

"Actually," came a sleepy voice, muffled by the pillow, "I'm awake now."

Both men turned as Hermione groaned softly and rolled onto her back. She stretched her arms above her head, yawned, and rubbed at her eyes. Her curls were a wild halo around her head, and despite everything she'd been through, there was colour in her cheeks again.

"How long have you been awake?" Dean asked, trying—and failing—to hide the worry in his voice.

"You woke me," she said with a small smile, "trying to remember the activation code."

Dean coughed. "Yeah, well. You could've said something before I summoned a British wizard into the bathroom."

"I was curious how long it would take you," she teased, and Harry chuckled as he crossed to the bed, sitting down beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone gentle, concern etched into his features as he took her hand.

Hermione smiled tiredly. "Better. I'd kill for a shower and a toothbrush, and I could probably murder someone for food, but otherwise? Perfectly fine."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You gave everyone quite the scare, you know."

Hermione's smirk softened into something fonder. "I've been told," she said, glancing briefly at Dean. "Castiel's message has already been relayed, and I'm sure Kingsley will tear into me the second I'm back. And Draco—please tell me you didn't tell Draco."

"Relax," Harry said, adjusting his crooked glasses. "He's in France, not back yet. Ginny doesn't know, nor do Molly or the kids. You're safe."

She let out a dramatic sigh. "Thank Merlin."