The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Page count: 8

Eyes widened around the table as the weight of Hermione's name change sank in.

"Dean's not my boyfriend," Hermione said, voice steady but glinting with warning.

"He's my husband."

"You're married?" Mrs Weasley shrieked, clutching at her pearls like she was about to faint.

"Yes," Hermione said with remarkable calm. "And we have been for six weeks."

"But... you've only been together two months," Angelina said, forehead scrunching as she tried to do the maths.

"It was an unexpected bonding," Hermione explained. "But we wouldn't change it. We're happy."

"You can't possibly be stupid enough to marry someone you barely know," Mrs Weasley blurted.

Hermione's eyes iced over. Beside her, Dean's jaw locked, his fingers tightening around Hermione's under the table.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said, voice sharp as cut glass. "I know Dean very well—better than I know myself, frankly. And I'm not stupid. I love Dean."

"You loved Ryan," Mrs Weasley said without thinking.

Hermione flinched like she'd been struck. Dean's face went murderously still.

"That was below the belt," Hermione said quietly. Even the rest of the table winced.

"Dean is not Ryan. He would never hurt me. Ever."

Ron snorted. "Please. The only reason he married you is for your money."

Dean didn't move, but the temperature in the room dropped a solid ten degrees. Sam tensed. Harry muttered "shit" under his breath.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Harry groaned. "He didn't marry Hermione for her money. I've spoken with Dean. He didn't know she was wealthy until I told him. Didn't care then, doesn't care now. Their marriage was a bonding."

"Bonding?" Bill echoed, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

She lifted her left hand. Dean did the same.

Gasps filled the room. The runes glowed faintly. The women in the room practically melted with soft sighs.

"We're fated," Hermione said. "The bond formed the night we—well. You know. And we've been married since. Only found out a few days ago, but we're happy."

Ron barked a laugh. Ugly. Mean.

"Oh Merlin, this is priceless. You didn't even get a choice? Figures. No sane man would marry her by choice."

It happened faster than anyone could track.

Ron stumbled back with a strangled yelp. Blood bloomed across his shoulder. There was a hole in his shirt. A bullet hole.

Gasps erupted. Several chairs scraped back. The women shrieked. Mrs Weasley ran for Ron. Dean hadn't even moved. He was still seated. Still silent. Gun resting in his hand.

Hermione calmly walked over to Ron, who tried to recoil from her with a whimper.

"Oh, stop being dramatic," she said, pushing Ron onto his back. "Dean shot me the first time we met. You'll live. If you want it healed, let me work."

Ron tried to wriggle away, whining. She pushed harder. Dean gave a faint, wicked little smirk at that.

Ron whimpered but moved his hand away. Hermione cast diagnostic spells, summoned potions, and wrapped his shoulder with practised ease.