The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Page count: 6

Moments passed, and then—as if something inside her snapped back into place—Hermione stiffened and shook her head hard.

"No," she whispered, more forcefully the second time. "No. I'm a witch. A Muggleborn witch."

"You are," Castiel agreed calmly. "But you are also part Angel. And that piece of you explains concerns I have carried for many years."

Her voice trembled. "What do you mean?"

"You have had far too many near-death experiences for a human," Castiel said gently. "You have died four times, Hermione. And though you are a powerful witch, your magic alone cannot pull you back from death. It is impossible. Something else was holding you here."

He didn't raise his voice, but the weight behind his words pressed into the room.

"The Angel within you kept you alive long enough for me to heal you. When Dean shot you, you should have died, but you didn't. During the battle, when your heart stopped, you should have passed on then too, and again, you didn't. All the torture and Dark Magic you endured during the war... it should have broken your mind. And yet it didn't. The Angel inside you protected you. Strengthened you. Kept you sane. It will prolong your life. "

Hermione stared at him, pale and trembling.

"I'm already long-lived, because of magic," she murmured weakly.

"That is true," Castiel nodded. "But your Angelic nature will extend your life far beyond that. You could surpass every witch and wizard in age."

Her breath stuttered. "What does this mean for me? What happens now?"

"Nothing changes," he assured her. "You will live your life. Your Angel side will guide and protect you. You are stronger, wiser, and resilient in ways most could never understand. You now know why Death has never claimed you."

"Were you assigned to me? To be my Guardian?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Castiel said simply. "My Father told me millennia ago that a child would be born, and I was to protect them. I did not know your parentage. I believed your parents mortal. I watched over you from the moment of your birth."

"Who else knows?" she asked faintly.

"Only two others. My Father—and one of my siblings, I trust beyond all others. After searching the archives, I found a reference to a similar case. A child born to an Angel and a human vessel. A Nephilim. Nephilim are extremely rare and extremely powerful. Too powerful. Should any be born, they are to be destroyed."

Hermione's face collapsed into fear.

"You are not in danger," Castiel said firmly. "If you were like those others, my Father would have intervened before your birth. He did not. And you are not quite a true Nephilim. You were conceived after your mother gave up her Grace. She was human. You do not possess Grace. He assigned me to you. You are different. Chosen. Meant to change the world—and you have."

"There is only a trace of grace within you—barely detectable," Castiel continued. "That is why I never sensed it. It magnifies your magic. It explains your natural talent for the mind arts—Angels are telepathic by nature. But know this: you are in no danger from my Father or my brethren."

Hermione wiped at her tears, breathing unsteadily.

She looked at Sam and Bobby—they were stunned, yes, but not horrified. Not pulling away from her. That alone loosened something in her chest.