The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER THIRTY

Page count: 15

"Morning," a sleepy voice mumbled into her ear.

Hermione hummed. "What time is it?"

"No idea." Dean's voice was gravelly, warm against her skin.

She carefully unwound his arms from around her and rolled onto her back, stretching until her joints gave a series of satisfying clicks. Dean made a noise of approval at the sound, like it was weirdly attractive.

"Mimsy," Hermione called softly as she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Dean dragged himself upright beside her.

With a sharp pop, Mimsy appeared. "What can Mimsy do for Mistress?" she asked, bowing low.

"Can you tell me the time, please?"

"Yes, Mistress. It be eight-thirty-eight."

"Thank you. Is Sam up yet?"

"Yes, Mistress. Mr Sam be eating breakfast in the kitchen. Mimsy caught Mr Sam trying to cook his breakfast. Mimsy tell him he not cook when Mimsy here."

Dean snorted, already amused.

"Would Mistress and Sir be liking breakfast?" Mimsy asked.

"Please, Mimsy," Hermione said—too tired to fight the inevitable battle of Who Cooks Breakfast Today. Mimsy always won anyway. "I'd like pancakes with my usual toppings, a cup of tea, and a bacon, sausage, hash brown and egg sandwich, please."

"A what?" Dean blinked at her.

"A bacon, sausage, hash brown and egg sandwich," she repeated slowly, as if he'd just told her he'd never heard of bread. "Don't tell me you've never had one."

When he shook his head, she looked personally offended.

"Mimsy," Hermione said quickly, "please prepare the same for Dean."

"Of course, Mistress. Mimsy be having everything ready in thirty minutes."

And with another pop, she vanished.

Hermione climbed out of bed and headed towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked suspiciously, already crawling across the mattress like a large, hungry cat.

"To shower and get ready—breakfast will be ready in half an hour."

"Can I come?"

"If you wish to—"

She didn't even finish the sentence before she was practically tackled into the shower—still fully clothed.

"Dean!" she yelped, laughing as water sprayed everywhere.

"What?" he smirked, tugging her closer. "You said I could."

~000~000~000~

After a very pleasurable morning shower—one in which Hermione's eyes had changed again, her claws had made even more scratches down Dean's back, and there'd been an embarrassing amount of purring...and swearing—Hermione floated out of her bedroom feeling light, boneless, and almost offensively content.

Nothing could ruin her mood. At least, that's what she thought—right up until someone bellowed:

"HERMIONE!"

She froze in the corridor, poked her head into the room Dean had claimed but never actually slept in, and found him standing there in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips—upending his duffel bag like a raccoon ransacking the bins.