The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Page count: 8

"Why do you have that look on your face?" Dean asked, brow raised as the three of them stepped out of the Floo and into the Cambridge apartment.

They'd spent the morning packing, cleaning, and pretending not to be tense about Kingsley's visit. After lunch, Hermione Floo'd them back to the US — and now she was staring at Sam like she'd caught him committing war crimes.

"Why didn't you tell me I missed your birthday?" she demanded, turning on him so sharply that Dean actually took a step back.

Sam blinked. "I'm sorry... what?"

"Your birthday," she said, crossing her arms. "It's the second of May."

"...and?"

"And I missed your birthday by two weeks," she exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

Sam frowned, baffled. "Honestly? I forgot. We don't really celebrate birthdays or holidays. Not our thing. How did you even know?"

"I asked Bobby," she said. "Which is when I learned that both of your birthdays passed me by. And this—" she pointed between them like they were misbehaving children "—this 'no celebrating holidays' thing? That's over. Finished. Done."

Dean looked alarmed. Sam looked confused.

Hermione continued, dead serious:

"We'll be celebrating everything. Birthdays. Christmas. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Your adopt-a-cat anniversary, if you ever get one. And Pancake Day."

Both brothers stared.

"Pancake... Day?" Sam repeated.

"Yes," Hermione snapped. "A full day dedicated to eating pancakes. And I am not missing out on pancakes because you two don't understand basic joy."

Dean snorted. Sam's mouth twitched.

"And I'm still mad you didn't tell me it was your birthday," she continued, pointing accusingly at Sam. "You only turn twenty-five once."

Dean muttered, "Barely."

Hermione ignored him. Her scowl melted into an excited grin.

"Which is why I have a surprise for you. For both of you."

The Winchesters exchanged a wary glance.

Hermione grabbed each of their arms and hauled them down the hallway, stopping in front of one of the bedrooms.

"Open it," she said, practically vibrating.

Sam frowned. "We've seen it. It's a bedroom. Black and white. Very you."

"Just open it," she said, rocking on her toes, her grin edging dangerously close to manic. "Please. Before I explode."

Dean stepped forward cautiously — like he was approaching a potential witch curse — and pushed open the door.

He froze. Sam froze.

Hermione slipped past them, drinking in the sight like she was seeing it for the first time.

The room was unrecognisable.

What had once been a sleek black-and-white bedroom was now a massive library-meets-armoury, expanded with magic into something three times its original size.

Pale green walls. Rich brown furniture. White and silver accents. No windows, only warm lantern lighting.

And the bookshelves — God, the bookshelves.