The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

Page count: 17

Three weeks later...

"Just think," Dean said, lacing his fingers through Hermione's as they walked down Diagon Alley, "one more week and we're moving."

Hermione smiled, tired but warm. The last week alone had seen them close three cases—nothing catastrophic, only a handful of cuts and bruises—and it had been enough to convince them both that a few days in England was overdue. Once Evander arrived, travelling would be... complicated. Best to take the time now. Family time. Breathing room.

They'd been back in London for three days, and the moment Hermione had set foot in Diagon Alley—barely an hour after arriving—she'd been ambushed by paparazzi. Dean had not taken it well.

If Harry hadn't been with them, restraining Dean and Sam while Hermione Obliviate'd memories and destroyed photographic evidence, someone would have ended up hexed, shot, or both. Two days later, Hermione's pregnancy was still a secret—and that was exactly how they wanted it.

Hermione had seen what the press had done to Ginny during her pregnancies. Add in her mother's fertility struggles and how long it had taken Hermione to conceive, and neither she nor Dean was willing to risk the stress. They'd agreed early on: no announcement. Not until Evander was safely in their arms and Hermione was well. Whether the press allowed that plan to survive was another matter entirely.

September had settled in gently. With Hogwarts back in session, Diagon Alley was quieter than usual, the summer crowds gone. The air held a crisp edge, autumn beginning to creep in. Hermione drew her robes tightly around herself—not just against the chill, but to better conceal her nearly seven-month bump from anyone who didn't already know to look.

Sam had been left at the apartment that morning, still dead to the world. The night before, Dean and Sam had joined Harry, Draco, and the Weasley men at Malfoy Manor for poker and drinking. Dean had returned mostly sober. Sam had been delivered back unconscious by a Malfoy House-elf.

"I know," Hermione said softly. "It feels like we've been waiting forever."

"Not much longer," Dean replied, squeezing her hand. "The decorators finish in a few days. Then the house and land get magic-proofed. Cas'll handle the demon warding and Enochian sigils—it's easier for him, and he knows the symbols better than we do."

"The more protection, the better," Hermione agreed. "The House-elves are already preparing to move Bobby's things."

Dean snorted. "He's still gonna shoot you. He'll just wait until after the baby's born."

"He wouldn't shoot me," she said lightly. "He might swat me upside the head—but it needs to happen. He's not getting any younger, Dean. You saw his medical records. He's running himself into the ground."

Dean didn't argue. He couldn't.

"And if we keep hunting—as a family—he won't be alone," she continued. "The House-elves will look after him. Even Bobby can't say no to Mimsy."

Dean huffed a laugh. No one could.

"And that's why," Hermione added calmly, "I altered the design specs."

Dean blinked. "You... what?"

"I originally planned to have Bobby move into the house with us," Hermione said, matter-of-factly, "but I realised it might be too much for him. He's lived alone for a long time, and I don't want to strip him of his independence or privacy."

Dean frowned slightly. "So... he's not staying with us?"

"No—he is," she corrected calmly. "Just not in the house."