The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FIFTY

Page count: 5

Dean hit the spot where Hermione had vanished so fast he nearly slid on the asphalt. And then his heart stopped cold.

Her wand lay on the ground. Her magic bag beside it.

Hermione—powerful, terrifying, brilliant Hermione—was gone.

And she'd been taken without her wand.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, voice cracking as his stomach bottomed out. "No, no, no—Hermione..."

He crouched, grabbed her wand first—and froze.

It vibrated in his palm. Not violently. Just enough to prickle every nerve in his hand, like it was... reaching for him. Like it knew she was in danger.

Like it wanted him to listen.

He scooped up both items and sprinted to the Impala. He threw himself in, tossed her wand and bag onto the passenger seat, and jammed the battery back into his phone. The screen flared to life:

5 new voicemails.7 missed calls.

He ignored all of them and dialled Sam.

Sam picked up on the first ring.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?" Sam exploded, voice so loud Dean jerked the phone away. "YOU IDIOT—HERMIONE'S LEAVING! SHE THINKS YOU DON'T WANT—"

"Crowley kidnapped Hermione."

The car went silent. Dead silent.

"What?" Sam breathed, voice dropping to a horrified whisper.

Bobby's distant bellow—"FUCKING DEMON SON OF A—"

Pages slamming. Footsteps pounding.

"When? Why? Where?" Sam demanded.

"Just now," Dean said, fighting to breathe. "She found me at a bar. I went after her, and Crowley just—popped in. Took her. She's got no wand, no bag—she's defenceless."

"Fuck," Sam muttered. "Just—okay, did he say anything? Any clues? Do we know why—"

"Don't ask me stupid fucking questions, Sam!" Dean snapped. "We need to find her."

"If we understand why he took her," Sam said, calmer than Dean wanted, "we might figure out where he brought her. We need details."

Dean pressed his fist to his forehead, eyes stinging with fury and fear. His gaze fell to the wand resting beside him.

And something inside him... pulled.

He picked it up.

The wand vibrated harder—Hermione's magic brushing across his skin, warm and familiar, like she was reaching out to him from wherever the hell she'd been dragged to.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Did Crowley say—"

"What was that spell Hermione used?" Dean cut in. "The tracking one. The one for the Death Eater hideout."

"What? Why does that matter? You're not a wizard—"

"Just tell me the goddamn spell!"

Sam hesitated. Then—

"Point Me."

Dean exhaled slowly, clutched her wand with both hands, and closed his eyes.

And prayed.

"Point Me," he whispered.

For a beat, nothing.

Then the wand ripped itself free of his grip, spinning violently in midair, faster, faster—until it snapped to a stop, pointing due south with the force of a compass needle locking onto true north.