The Witch and The Hunters

EPILOGUE

Page count: 16

Eight years later...

"GLINDA!"

"I'm okay!" Hermione called, gripping the back of the couch she'd ducked behind. She hauled herself upright—only to sway as a sudden wave of dizziness hit.

"Whoa," she muttered, blinking hard.

The moment passed as quickly as it came.

She barely had time to register it before the coffee table hurtled toward her.

Her eyes widened. She sucked in a sharp breath and cast Protego Totalum, the shield flaring into existence just as the table slammed into it. The impact echoed through the room, wood splintering as the table shattered and crashed to the floor in pieces.

Hermione's gaze snapped around the room.

Her wand—gone.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement.

The woman snarled, fangs elongating as venom dripped onto the floor in thick, glistening drops. She lunged.

Hermione darted around the couch, keeping the furniture between them as the supernatural creature swiped for her, missing by inches.

With a furious growl, the couch lifted clean off the ground.

Hermione dropped flat, catching herself on her hands as the couch sailed over her head and smashed into the wall behind her—taking the television with it. The screen shattered, sparks bursting as the unit tore free from its bracket and hit the floor with a deafening crash.

"HERMIONE!" Dean shouted from somewhere above.

She didn't answer.

Her focus locked onto the woman stalking toward her now, slow and deliberate, eyes alight with hunger. Hermione's breath came fast and shallow, her heart hammering as adrenaline flooded her system.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," the woman hissed.

Hermione said nothing.

Her mind raced—calculating, assessing, searching.

Then she saw it.

Sunlight glinted off something bright beneath the armchair. Relief surged through her.

The woman sprang.

Hermione kicked out hard, her foot connecting with the back of the woman's knees. She went down with a snarl, crashing to the floor in a fury of limbs and venom.

Hermione was on her feet instantly.

Gunshots rang out somewhere nearby, but she ignored them, sprinting across the room. She dropped to one knee, reaching beneath the armchair and dragging her knife free by the blade's tip.

Silver flashed.

With a precision born of years in the field, Hermione hurled the knife.

Time seemed to stall.

The blade struck true—burying itself deep in the woman's heart.

A final, furious hiss tore from her throat before her body cracked apart, collapsing into fragments like crumbling stone that scattered across the floor.

Silence followed.

Hermione stood there for a moment, chest heaving, ears ringing.

Her knife clattered to the wooden floor.