The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Page count: 6

Hermione woke to the feel of Dean's hands tracing slow, aimless paths down her back—soft, soothing, almost tender. The kind of touch that didn't demand anything of her, only offered. Warmth blossomed in her chest, tugging a sleepy smile to her lips as she blinked away the fog of sleep.

A kiss pressed to the top of her head.
"Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"Morning," she sighed, snuggling into his chest and wrapping herself around him like he was a human furnace.

He chuckled at her clinginess and shifted, slipping the arm beneath his head around her waist and pulling her closer. His other hand continued its lazy path down her back.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, lifting her head just enough to look up at him.

"About half an hour," he said casually, shoulders giving the faintest shrug beneath her.

"You should've woken me."

"I'm comfortable," he smirked. "And I'm not gonna complain about a beautiful, naked woman draped over me."

Heat crept up her cheeks, and of course, Dean laughed at her silence. For a few perfect minutes, they lay there in quiet, steady breathing and soft touches, until Hermione finally exhaled and lifted her head to meet his eyes.

Dean Winchester never realised how much he said without speaking—but Hermione did. His eyes, bright green and unguarded in the morning light, were softer than usual. Peaceful. Content.

Happy.

"We have to be at the school soon," she murmured, resting her chin on his chest.

"The case is over—we don't need to go back."

She shook her head. "We do. Just for today. If we disappear suddenly, everyone will notice. And we can't leave the school two teachers down, even if we aren't... technically teachers. It's Friday, the last day. Harrow and Wellers should be recovering, so this will be our final day."

Dean frowned, a line forming between his brows. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"

She lifted a finger and smoothed away the crease before resting her chin back on his chest.

"It is," she admitted softly. "Education is an essential part of life. It shapes people. It gives them opportunities and teaches them who they can become. Those first years—those formative years—are everything."

Dean listened, eyes fixed on her, thumb brushing her hip.

"I may not be a real teacher," she continued, "but this is my last day with these students. If I can help them—just a little—by showing up, reading their work, correcting them, encouraging them... then I'm going to do it. If it wasn't for my own professors, pushing me, believing in me, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have survived the war, or become... well, me."

His hand rose to tuck a curl behind her ear, fingers trailing down her jaw.

Her voice dropped. "Please, Dean. Just one more day?"

He looked conflicted—and that was when she leaned up with a spark of mischief in her eyes.

Before he could ask, she straddled him.

Dean's eyes immediately dropped, raking over her body, darkening in seconds. His hands slid to her hips like it was instinct.

Hermione bit her lip, amused by how fast he reacted, and by the very obvious way he was already hard beneath her.