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The light of the Colorado sunset poured over the porch, bathing the woods surrounding the small cabin in a wash of liquid gold. Hermione would never tire of the kaleidoscope of colours that filled the skies over the Rocky Mountains on summer evenings. She cradled a mug of tea between her hands with a wool blanket wrapped over her shoulders. The last month at Twin Lakes had been a much-needed break from her hectic schedule as a lecturer at New Salem University in Marlborough, Massachusetts. She had been spending the last four weeks with a local pack of werewolves who had chosen to live in total isolation from society.
The stillness of the mountains was broken by the roar of an engine. Hermione frowned as she heard the engine die before hearing the squeak and slam of a car door. Curious, she walked down the path toward the commotion, hands still wrapped around the mug. The hut she had been staying in was obscured from the dirt road that ran up the mountainside by a copse of trees. Hermione’s colleague, Layla Kowalski, had recommended the place for that reason. It had been useful for her to be able to use magic freely without the worry of being caught.
As Hermione turned the corner, a black vintage muscle car parked at the side of the track came into view. Standing beside it was a tall man who looked around her age. The first thing that struck her was that he was very handsome; chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, broad shoulders. She thought that men like him only existed in the trashy romance novels her Mum would read. The second thing she noticed was that he was not dressed like most of the muggles she had encountered during her stay. He wore a heavy brown leather jacket over a t-shirt and flannel shirt with dark blue jeans and sturdy leather boots. While his attire was not impractical, it would not be advised for the kinds of hikes that most took in the area.
A frown on his face, the man glanced over to where Hermione stood. As soon as he spotted her, his lips twisted into a flirtatious smirk. His bright, forest green eyes drank her in slowly in a way that made her cheeks heat.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled and Hermione’s flush deepened. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“I could ask you the same,” she returned.
As though remembering something, the man reached into his pocket as he walked toward her, “Name’s Agent Scully,” he said before passing over an FBI badge. “Have you seen anything weird happening around here lately? Maybe the last couple of days?”
Hermione quirked her brow, “What like close encounters of the third kind?” The badge was a fake, though a good one, and with a name like Agent Scully, she was instantly suspicious. “Do FBI agents always drive vintage cars and wear leather jackets?”
“Off duty,” the ‘agent’ chuckled. “No, er, more like strange noises. Kinda like a dog or a wolf?”
Hermione’s guard went up immediately, “No, sorry, I only arrived a few days ago,” she lied, handing the fake ID back to the man. “Why do you ask? Should I be worried?”
“There have been reports of animal attacks in the area,” he replied, tucking the badge back in his pocket.
“Doesn’t sound like something the FBI would be concerned with,” she observed.
He shrugged, “I just go where I’m told there’s a case,” he explained. “Been told there’s a small camp around here that we’ve been tracking for a while now.”
Hermione’s heart froze. The pack. “Sorry,” she said. “Like I say, I’ve only been here a few days.”
“Okay, cool,” the man said before heading to the back of the car and unlocking the boot. Hermione heard some shuffling before he pulled out a duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Thanks anyway, sweetheart,” he said as he passed. “I think I’m gonna walk the rest of it.”
“My name’s Hermione,” she said, irritated by the moniker he kept using. “Are you sure? It’ll be dark soon.”
“Dean,” the man’s full lips turned up in another devastating smile, “I ain’t afraid of the dark.”
It had been a few days since the short conversation with the fake FBI agent. It had not taken Hermione long to work out what he was there for. Since moving to the States, she had heard rumours that the witch trials of North America never really ended. What started as witch hunters in the seventeenth century had grown and expanded to encompass anything that was creature or demi-human. Hunters were the scary bedtime story a lot of the magical the community told to their children. It was part of the reason that the werewolves with whom she had spent the last few weeks had decided to isolate themselves. Hermione could not blame them. Being a witch that lived alongside muggles was risky enough without the possibility of turning into an entirely different creature once a month.
Despite knowing that the man was a danger to her, she had found her mind drifting to him more often than it should. Forest green eyes and full, smirking lips haunted her most sordid dreams. She found herself wandering down the path to the main dirt road where his car remained abandoned several times a day. She was not entirely sure why. Was she hoping to bump into him when he came back for it? What then? If the rumours she heard about hunters were true it would likely end with a bullet in her gut.
Hermione was also concerned with how long he had been gone. Were the pack safe? Did he find them and kill them on site, or did he talk to them first? She wanted to Apparate to the peaceful people she had come to know over the last few weeks to ensure they were okay. What confused her most was that she seemed to be worrying about the hunter almost as often as she worried about what he may have done to the pack. It was clear that he was not the type that chose to spend their spare time wild camping. It was just as likely that without a guide, he had got lost in the rocky terrain. As the sun began to set on the fourth day, she made up her mind. With a sigh, Hermione grabbed her wand and trusty beaded bag before Apparating away.
Hermione landed on the outskirts of the reservation where the small community lived. Her shoulders relaxed slightly when she saw a small group of people harvesting Wolfsbane in preparation for the upcoming full moon.
“Hermione!” greeted Peter, the alpha of the pack. He was a man in his mid-sixties with short dark hair, kind grey eyes and an infectious smile. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Everything’s good, I hope?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Hermione beamed back. “Peter,” she said, her tone serious when she remembered the reason for her visit. “A man hasn’t passed through here in the last couple of days has he?”
“No,” the older man’s brow furrowed. “Is everything okay?” he asked when he spotted her wringing her hands.
“I hope so,” Hermione confessed, biting her lip. “I’m going to put up some wards around your camp,” when Peter began to protest she cut him off. “I know you don’t like magical interference, but this is for your safety.” She was not sure if she was referring to the hunter or whatever he was hunting, “It’s the least I can do for you after you’ve been so welcoming.”
The look of concern did not leave the werewolf’s face but he nodded his assent. Hermione made quick work of the spells she had perfected while on the run over a decade ago, before heading off into the woodland. It was not until the sun sunk behind the mountains and the trees were bathed in the silver light of the moon that she realised that she had no idea how to find the hunter. The Colorado Rockies were vast and she could just as easily get lost out there by herself.
Just as she was contemplating Apparating back to her cabin the crack of a gunshot echoed through the night sky. Instantly, she raced towards the sound, ignoring the branches that whipped her face and tugged at her trousers. Her lungs burned and her legs ached as she ran, but when another louder blast rang out she sprinted faster. Eventually, she reached the bank of a lake where she found two figures.
Looming over the hunter she met a few days before was a strange creature, unlike anything she had ever seen. It was large and hairy, with yellow eyes and long, sharp teeth. It reminded Hermione of the descriptions of werewolves she had read in muggle fantasy novels. The man on the ground was struggling beneath the creature, fumbling for the gun that was just out of his reach. Hoping to Merlin that she would not regret it later, she raised her wand at the hulking beast.
“Bombarda,” she cast, throwing the creature back and off the man. While he scrambled for his gun, Hermione aimed again.
“Sectumsempra Argenti,” she yelled, remembering the myth about silver bullets. Slashes bloomed across the monster’s fur, silver oozing from the wounds, as it collapsed to the ground. A final bang filled the night air as the hunter’s bullet landed between the beast’s glowing eyes.
In a move so swift Hermione had barely registered it, the hunter turned and aimed his gun at her.
“Is this what I get for saving your life?” she asked.
“I was doin’ fine,” he growled.
“Looked like it,” she deadpanned.
“Listen, the only reason you’re breathin’ is because you helped with that thing.”
Hermione scoffed, “If it weren’t for me, you would have been on the dinner menu. And here I was worried you got lost in the woods.”
Forest green eyes narrowed in concentration. “Hermione, right? If that’s your real name.”
“That’s rich, Agent Scully. Seriously? Could you be more obvious? Where’s Mulder?”
The man flinched and a look crossed his features that made Hermione regret the question. “Look,” she said, all venom leaving her voice, “you were gone for days. Don’t ask why, but I was worried about you out here.”
The man relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon. He glanced down at the body at his feet which had long since morphed into the naked form of a middle-aged man. “Can that stick of yours make fire? Should probably get rid of this.”
Understanding the question as an offer of truce, Hermione nodded and stepped forward with her wand raised.
Following the incident at the lake, Hermione spent her days with the werewolf pack and the nights getting to know her new guest. Dean Winchester had been staying on her sofa since she had suggested he sleep there that night a week prior. In that time, they had got to know each other quite well. They were not completely open about everything, but he had told her about demons, angels and an apocalypse that claimed his brother. In turn, she had told him about Horcrux hunts and battles that destroyed castles.
“Sammy wanted me to have the apple pie life,” Dean confessed one evening on the cabin’s front porch. “But I couldn’t do it. All those things I’d seen, you can’t just leave that at the door.”
“Yeah,” Hermione said, “that’s what my ex could never understand. I wanted to change the world, to be sure what I went through didn’t happen again. I couldn’t just settle down and have a family and not learn from it.”
The hunter surprised her the more she learned about him. Hermione was unconvinced when she went to sleep the first night that Dean would not change his mind and kill her in her bed. When she woke the next morning to see him with a tea towel over his shoulder, cooking pancakes in the small kitchen, she was unable to hold back a laugh. As the week ticked by, Hermione began to feel a part of her healing that she did not realise was broken. She did not want to leave the tiny cabin, unwilling to break the spell that had been cast over the two of them.
“Hey,” he said from beside her, breaking her out of her thoughts.
“Hey.” She smiled when he passed her a mug of tea.
“You have to go back soon.” It was a statement that sounded more like a question.
“Yeah,” she took a sip of tea, unwilling to look over at him. “Term starts in five days.”
“Right.” There was a beat where neither of them knew what to say. “Hermione, I… thanks… The last few days… since… fuck… I…”
Hermione glanced over at him then and her breath hitched. The man would have made Michaelangelo’s art feel like a cartoon doodle in a textbook margin. In the light of the setting sun, his hair was almost blond and she was sure that she could count the constellations amongst the freckles across his face.
Without thinking, she reached out to cup his cheek and turn his face to hers. “Dean,” she breathed. His forest green eyes met hers, shining brightly in the twilight sun. “I… This week…” she suddenly understood his inability to form words. “I would like to see you more…”
In one, swift movement, Dean wrapped her up in his arms and captured her lips. The kiss was warm and inviting, speaking of a promise for more. All too soon, he broke away, resting his forehead against hers. The look of pure adoration and grin on his face was blinding. Brilliant. Like she was the sun and he was only happy to bask in her.
In the years that followed, Hermione would remember that as the moment she gave her heart to someone who would keep it safe.