The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

Page count: 11

One month later...

"Not pregnant."

The words landed like a blade.

Dean didn't move at first. Just stood there, staring at his wife where she sat on the closed toilet lid, shoulders bowed. Her wand lay abandoned on the bathroom floor, its faint, useless glow already fading.

Hermione covered her face with both hands.

Her shoulders shook.

Dean swallowed hard. Whatever he was feeling—whatever cracked open in his chest—he shoved it down. There would be time for that later. Right now, she needed him steady.

He crossed the small bathroom in two steps and knelt in front of her. Gently, he pulled her hands away.

She looked at him, eyes red and shining, tears tracking down her cheeks.

That was what broke him.

He forced the ache back, jaw tightening as his throat burned. He didn't let it show. Couldn't.

"Hey," he murmured softly.

He stood, pulled her up with him, and guided her out of the bathroom without a word. Sat her on the bed. Then climbed in behind her as she turned onto her side, curling in on herself.

Dean wrapped around her instinctively—arm over her waist, chest to her back. She reached for his hand, clutched it tight, and pulled it up beneath her cheek like it anchored her there.

She cried quietly.

Dean pressed his forehead to the back of her head, breathing her in, holding her together because she couldn't do it herself right now.

She didn't see the tear that slipped free at the corner of his eye.

He let it fall silently—then wiped it away and held her tighter.

~000~000~000~

Two days later...

A sharp bang echoed through the dining room as Hermione flung a spell over her shoulder. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, rattling in their frames.

"That's not gonna stop him," Sam panted, dumping a roll of knives onto the table and rifling through them with frantic precision.

"I know," Hermione snapped, back against the wall as she fought to steady her breathing. "Reflex."

"Fair."

The doors burst open.

Hermione barely had time to scream before the ghost surged into the room, the doors slamming shut behind it as a table tore free from the floor and hurtled straight at her.

She dropped instantly, magic snapping into place.

"Protego!"

Wood exploded above her in a rain of splinters.

"I'm okay!" she shouted before Sam could ask.

She looked up just in time to see a chair rip free and launch toward Sam, who was still digging through the knives without even looking up.

Hermione reacted without thinking.

"Protego!"

The chair slammed into the shield and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, never breaking focus.

He didn't need to look at her. Didn't need to check. He trusted her—completely. The same way she trusted them. Magic or not, this only worked because they did.