The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Page count: 11

After Hermione and Dean changed back into their clothes — and yes, Dean one-hundred percent paused to appreciate her in that leather jacket like it was a religious experience — they headed into the living room. They sat together on the couch, bodies angled just slightly toward each other in that unconscious married way.

Romilda perched on the armchair, activating her quill with a flourish that screamed look at me. The photographer had taken over the kitchen table and was muttering to himself like a man questioning his career choices.

"Right," Romilda said, bright and fake. "Let's begin."

Hermione didn't bother hiding the steel in her tone.
"You know the rules. Step outside the approved questions even once, and this interview ends. Immediately. And you will leave — empty-handed."

"Of course," Romilda simpered, like butter wouldn't melt.

"First question," she continued, "just to clarify — you are now Hermione Winchester?"

"Yes," Hermione said, calm and poised. "And this is my husband, Dean Winchester."

Dean gave a small nod — polite on the surface, but the underlying vibe was: say something stupid, I dare you.

"And how did the two of you meet?" Romilda asked.

"I often divide my time between Britain and the US," Hermione said. "I met Dean on a case. He and his brother assisted me."

"Was it love at first sight?" Romilda leaned forward, her eyes shamelessly drifting over Dean.

Dean huffed out a laugh. "Not unless 'love at first sight' means she wanted to hex me into next week. And I wasn't exactly sending her flowers either."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

"But," Dean continued, more sincerely, "it didn't take long for me to see who she really is. Brave. Smart. Too good for me, but somehow stuck with me anyway. And... that was that. We got married."

Romilda blinked, momentarily stunned by the honesty. Or possibly the idea that Hermione had married someone who wasn't Ron or Ryan or whatever disposable bloke came next.

"And how long were you together before you popped the question?" she asked. "And how did you do it?"

Hermione didn't even flinch. They'd rehearsed this.

"We don't think the length of time matters," she said. "Only that we knew we were right for each other."

Dean nodded, leaning forward a little. "The proposal wasn't planned. She got hurt on a job. I was taking care of her. Thought she was asleep, and I... just said it. Figured if anything happened to her and I hadn't told her I wanted forever with her, I'd never forgive myself."

Romilda looked irritated that the story was actually sweet.

"And how long have you been married?" she asked.

"Six weeks," Hermione replied.

Romilda's eyebrows shot up. "Six weeks? Then why keep it secret? Why hide your relationship?"

Hermione held her gaze steadily.

"I didn't hide anything. In America, I'm not followed by paparazzi. I could have privacy. Dean and I didn't need the world watching us — we just needed the people who mattered to know."

Dean squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles.

"As for the wedding," Hermione continued, "we wanted something intimate. Something ours. No spectacle. Just family and close friends. And when a day came when we were all free, we took it. We got married on a friend's land. It was simple. And perfect."