The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Page count: 6

They landed hard in the centre of the living room.

"What the fuck happened!"

Sam's shout snapped through the space. His book lay forgotten on the floor, eyes huge as he took in Dean — bloodied, bruised, clothes half-ruined. But Hermione barely registered it.

What she did notice, however, was Harry sitting in the armchair, staring at Dean like he'd just walked in wearing Voldemort's skin.

Hermione didn't waste a second. She hauled Dean down onto the couch and dropped to her knees in front of him. Her wand was already out, muttering under her breath as she pressed it carefully to the swelling on his cheek. She summoned potions with a sharp flick.

Dean barely flinched as she tipped vials to his lips. He downed them without protest, keeping his eyes locked with hers the entire time. Hermione's hands never shook once.

Sam watched with wide-eyed fascination as Dean's split knuckles knit themselves together, skin smoothing over fresh pink. The cut on his lip sealed. The bruise along his cheek faded under the thick green paste Hermione applied with practiced care.

Dean looked like he only ever looked for her — focused, soft, grounded.

Harry and Sam didn't dare speak. They'd both seen the look on Hermione's face: fix Dean first, ask questions after.

When she was done, Hermione banished the empty vials and stood. Dean immediately pulled her into his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck, arms locked around her like he needed her heartbeat to stay sane.

Only then did Harry dare breathe again.

"Now that the injuries have been dealt with," Harry said sharply, "what the bloody hell happened!"

Hermione didn't even look up.

"Ryan."

Harry froze.

Then — impossibly — his face twisted into something dark. Something deeply, disturbingly satisfied. Sam stared at Harry like he'd suddenly sprouted horns.

"You ran into him?" Harry asked, voice low. Hermione nodded.

Harry turned to Dean, meeting his eyes with something that looked suspiciously like approval.

"You teach him a lesson?"

Dean didn't bother hiding it. "Yes."

Harry's gaze dipped to the blood staining Dean's shirt, jeans, and even his boots. A slow, vicious smile curled onto his lips.

"Is he alive?"

"Barely," Dean said bluntly. "The fucker didn't know what hit him."

"Shame you didn't kill him," Harry muttered.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione shrieked.

All three men winced like soldiers conditioned to the sound — but Dean and Harry didn't look sorry, and Sam looked utterly lost.

Sam finally managed, "I'm sorry — why are we happy Dean almost killed a guy? And Ryan? Didn't your family freak out when his name came up before?"

Hermione exhaled slowly, bracing herself.

"Ryan Newton, one of my ex-boyfriends," she said. Dean's arms tightened around her without even thinking. Sam leaned forward, frowning. "He was emotionally and mentally abusive. Then one night he got drunk and shoved me down a flight of stairs." Her voice faltered. "I spent three days in St. Mungo's. He walked away because he had a better lawyer."