The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Page count: 8

Hermione padded into the kitchen, dressed in blue skinny jeans, pink Converse, and a matching pink t-shirt. She slid into her seat, offering a sleepy "Morning" to both brothers—though she immediately ducked her gaze to her plate when Dean shot her a look hot enough to scorch her clothes right back off.

She cleared her throat. "Anything, Sam?"

Sam set the newspaper down. "No. One car-crash fatality, a couple accidental deaths, few natural causes. Nothing that screams supernatural."

"Anything online?" Dean asked, already inhaling bacon like it offended him.

Sam frowned. "Laptop won't turn on."

"That's my fault," Hermione said, raising a hand before either could accuse her of witchy sabotage.

Both Winchesters raised their eyebrows in perfect synchronised judgment.

"Technology won't function around me," she explained. "Magic interferes. Anything running on electricity or radio waves short-circuits. You're in a magical building—you're lucky the laptop didn't explode. That's why you won't see a TV, fridge, or electrical lights here."

Sam blinked. "But you've used our phones."

"They're small, low-powered. I can use them for a few minutes. Ten if I push it. Anything longer and they're toast."

Both brothers looked mildly horrified—as if losing technology was a fate worse than death.

"So what do kids even do growing up here?" Dean asked, suspicious.

Hermione snorted. "Play Quidditch. Fly brooms. Outdoor games. Wizard's chess. Exploding snap. Read. Make up stories. You know—use their imaginations. Most of them grow up not knowing what a TV even is, so they're not missing much."

Dean looked personally offended by the idea of a childhood without TV.

She took a sip of her tea. "Anyway... should we get the tattoos today?"

"Tattoos?" Sam echoed.

"Hermione's getting the anti-possession tattoo," Dean said around a mouthful of eggs.

Sam nodded. "Good call. You'll need it if you're riding with us."

"And in return," Hermione added, "you're both getting a magical tattoo."

"A magical tattoo of what?" Sam asked slowly.

"The runes I drew on your arms before the battle. They offer protection—especially when charged with magic. You'll need that if you help me with my cases. Some of the creatures I deal with are... unpleasant."

Dean snorted. "I doubt some fluffy little critter beats a Vampire."

Hermione looked at him with the calm, sweet expression that usually preceded homicide.

"Tell me, Dean... have you ever met a Dementor?"

He froze. "...A what now?"

"A soul-sucking creature invisible to Muggles. I see a black, rotting mist in tattered robes with skeletal hands. Beneath the hood—no eyes. Just a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. And they use those to suck out your soul."

Dean paled. Visibly.

Sam turned away to hide a grin.

Hermione continued sweetly, "Ever heard of a Boggart? A Veela? Doxys? Grindylows? A Graphorn?"

Dean shook his head like a chastised child. Sam made a strangled sound that might have been laughter.

"Well," Hermione finished, voice sugar-sweet and dangerous, "they're all capable of maiming or killing you. Size isn't everything."