The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Page count: 8

Hermione was almost asleep when a thought tugged her awake. A heavy, frightening thought. One she couldn't shove away.

"Dean?" she whispered into the quiet hum of the Impala.

"Mm?" His voice was low, warm... already half under.

"Do you... Want children?"

Dean jolted from drowsy to fully awake so fast the car might as well have hit a pothole.

"...I didn't," he admitted after a long breath, "not until I met you."

She felt his heartbeat shift beneath her cheek, steady but heavier now. Her breathing hitched, but she stayed quiet, listening.

"Hunting isn't exactly the PTA lifestyle," he continued quietly. "I swore I'd never drag a kid into the kind of crap I grew up in. But with you? With you I can actually picture it—kids who laugh more than they cry, kids who know they're safe... kids who know their parents love them." He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. "And believe it or not, I actually started thinking about little Dean-and-Hermione hybrids running around wreaking havoc."

Her breath hitched, her vision blurring as tears slipped down and dotted his chest. Dean frowned instantly, thumb lifting her chin so he could see her properly.

"Hey—hey. Why're you crying?"

"There's something I have to tell you," she whispered.

"Then tell me," he said gently, thumb brushing her cheek.

She closed her eyes, bracing herself she couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment again. When she opened them again, hers were full of fear and resignation.

"You asked why I let my ex-partners treat me poorly," she murmured. "I said it was because I wanted a family. A real one. But I lied to you about something." She swallowed. "When you asked why I couldn't be pregnant, I told you magical contraception made it impossible. But the truth is... I can't have children. At all."

Dean froze.

"What?" he breathed, barely audible.

"I'm infertile, Dean." Her voice cracked, and the dam broke—she cried openly, helplessly.

The words left her lips like something torn out. She folded into herself, tears falling faster, and he pulled her into him without hesitation, wrapping her up like he could shield her from the memory alone.

He didn't say a word—just pulled her in tighter, one hand splayed warm and steady against her back, the other cupping the back of her head as if shielding her from the whole world.

"What happened?" he asked finally—soft, tender, horrified on her behalf.

She sniffled, voice small.

"When I got with Ron, I was paranoid he might've given me something—he'd been with someone else, someone who didn't say no often. Those tests came back clear...but they found irregularities in my scans. More tests followed. Then—right before my nineteenth birthday—they told me the damage was permanent. Too much dark magic exposure. Too much torture."
Her voice cracked. "My womb, my fallopian tubes—none of them function the way they're supposed to."

"I made the mistake of telling Ron," she continued, "he cheated on me because of it. Said he deserved a family I couldn't give him."

Dean's jaw clenched so hard she could feel it. But he didn't interrupt—he just held her, rubbing slow circles along her spine.

"I kept trying," she whispered. "Treatments—Muggle and Wizarding. Regular Healer check-ups, constant tests and diagnostics, hormone therapy... I even considered IVF, but could never go through with it because of my magic. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed." Her voice wavered. "And wizards... they don't want wives who can't continue their magical bloodline."