The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Page count: 8

"Is this place safe?" Sam whispered, staring up at The Burrow like it might sigh too hard and fall over. The house leaned at an angle that defied physics, windows jutting in odd directions, and a thick cloud of smoke puffing cheerfully from the chimney like it had opinions.

Harry snorted. "Everyone asks that the first time they see it. Yes, it's structurally safe. It was rebuilt after the war exactly as it used to be—right down to the absolute disregard for symmetry."

Sam nodded slowly. Dean just looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

Beside him, Hermione wasn't doing much better. Her face had gone pale, her hands cold where she clutched his.

"Relax," Harry murmured. "They'll freak out, yes. But they'll see sense. Probably."

"Thanks, that helps," Hermione muttered.

"Are you telling them you're married? Fated? Both?" Harry asked as they walked.

"I haven't decided," she whispered. "I was hoping to... ease them into it."

Dean leaned down, lips brushing her ear. "I've got your back."

"I'm going to need it," she muttered. "How many weapons do you have on you?"

"Two handguns and a silver knife. Sammy's got the same. Why?"

"No reason," she said too quickly. "Just... curiosity."

Harry gave Dean a look that said Get ready for impact.

She squared her shoulders, slid her arm through Sam's, and grabbed Dean's hand like a lifeline before dragging both Winchesters straight into the house.

Inside, warm light and loud chatter filled the space. The mismatched furniture, the crooked shelves, the overflowing photographs—it all screamed "home," and also "fire hazard," but Hermione loved it.

The kitchen door swung open.

Dean froze.

Fourteen people sat shoulder-to-shoulder around a magically expanded table—red hair everywhere, except where it wasn't. Draco and Luna. Harry and Ginny. A blonde with a newborn. Men Dean didn't recognise. Women, he really didn't recognise. And Ron Weasley staring at Dean like someone had just handed him a live grenade and told him to juggle.

Hermione squeezed Dean's hand. "Breathe," she whispered.

"Hello, everyone," she said brightly.

The room fell silent. Not hostile—just alert.

"I appreciate you all coming on such short notice," she continued. "We don't have much time, so let's get right to it."

She took a small breath.

"First, yes, I'm feeling much better. Thank you for your concern. It was just a bad case of the Muggle flu."

Several people sagged in relief; Molly even clutched her chest.

"Now—these two very important people in my life." She gestured to the Winchesters. "This is Dean and Sam Winchester."

Dean nodded stiffly. Sam waved, friendly as ever.

Hermione smiled. "Right, boys, try to keep up. This is Molly and Arthur Weasley—"

Molly beamed.

"Bill and Fleur. Charlie—"

"Claire's on nights," Charlie cut in apologetically.

Hermione waved that off. "Percy and Audrey. George and Angelina. Ronald."