It was nearly blinding when the purplish-grey dust flew around you and Dean. Before it could all clear out, and the two of you could actually see, Sam had nailed the witch. One bullet, directly through the back of her head, and you were fine. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, and that was that.
Sam’s nose scrunched up as he approached the two of you. “What the hell did she douse you guys with?”
“Some of her freak weirdo witch juice,” Dean grumbled, practically gagging at the stench that was coming from the dust. “I need to shower, like now.”
“Good thing we’re not far from the motel,” you chimed in. “So what do we do with Bellatrix over there?”
Dean scoffed, “really? Out of all the iconic witches, you pick the one from Harry Potter?”
I’m not sure why I hate the epilogue of Harry Potter so much, but I always imagine Harry getting completely BORED of normal life a year into it. He can’t handle it. His life has always been filled with trouble, kind of like Lord Tennyson’s view of Ulysses, and he goes stir-crazy, engaging in reckless behaviour almost daily. Hermione is worried sick because it’s causing Harry and Ginny to fight. ‘You got through all you went through in your 19 years just to kill yourself on some bloody dare?!’
Draco Malfoy shows up on Hermione’s twentieth birthday with a story of how he can’t handle how he was a coward and talks of how he killed a demon that tried to devour an old lady on the outskirts of muggle London. He says he wants to do this again; the thrill of it was amazing but he needs a partner or two. Harry and Hermione are all for it. Hermione, too, has grown tired of the Ministry life. After all, she has already secured rights for elves and goblins if they want them; that only took her a year. Hunting evil things is appealing, and she’ll be helping not only the wizarding community but the non-magical one as well.
Ginny is furious and leaves Harry for Blaise Zambini. Ron is not keen on more adventure, either. He decides he would rather help George at the joke shop than work with a Malfoy, although he, Harry, and Hermione will stay in touch. ‘Write to me every week,’ he threatens, 'or else.’
Harry, Hermione, and Draco go on to live their lives doing the things Gilderoy Lockhart only claimed to do: battling demons, ghosts, poltergeists, sirens, urban legends, vampires, and more –all with a magical tent and three wands instead of a Chevy Impala and guns.
They call on Luna Lovegood whenever they encounter a creature they know next to nothing about, pop in on the Weasleys from time to time, and even allow Ginny to write books of their travels based on Hermione’s obsessive journal-keeping.
They become animagi. Hermione watches in surprise as her patronus changes into something unexpected. To her utmost delight, they learn about different forms of magic, even gain new magical abilities whenever they encounter a wise tutor well-versed in the more obscure magical arts.
Odd things happening while on the road are completely normal: one time, this crazy drunk American fangirl dressed up like Supergirl, who went by the name of Charlie Bradbury, latched onto Hermione’s back like koala bear when they were investigating a case at Comic-Con and wouldn’t let go, proclaiming as loud as that Banshee that one time in Ireland that Hermione was her idol, and that she was so glad she didn’t actually marry Ron.
'She reminds me of you when you were around Gilderoy Lockhart,’ Harry had said with great fondness afterwards. The backhand he took to the gut and death glare from his best friend, he thought, were completely worth it. 'Look at it this way, Hermione, she was so drunk she got a Princess Leia tattoo. She won’t remember anything.’
Imagine Hermione frustrated and flustered with her head in her hands as Harry and Draco’s school rivalry almost cost them their lives yet again. Then, she loses her temper, and both boys shrink back in fear. 'Has she always been this scary?’ Draco mutters out of the corner of his mouth to which Harry can only nod furiously. The disappointment the both of them feel is almost childlike. Draco and Harry become very close. Killing creatures will bond even the worst enemies together.
It changes Draco. All of his prior prejudice is smashed having spent so much time with his childhood rivals, and he becomes a much better person for it. Harry is reminded of Snape, and how Dumbledore once voiced he thought they sorted too early. Maybe Draco belonged in Gryffindor, too. Though the pain etched deep within Draco is visibly fading, it will never go away completely, and Harry often wonders what would have happened had he been sorted into Gryffindor with them.
Harry, however, is fully satisfied in that moment. They are in the middle of a hunt. Sitting against the front of the tent in a small forest on the east border of Paris, Harry lets out a long sigh. It is the first time he feels truly at ease in a while. Adjusting his glasses, he takes in the loving and relaxing company of two of his closest friends.
Draco is fiddling with the old radio, and tears of laughter escape Hermione as she reads. This is normal night for all of them. 'Albus Severus?!’ she hollers, unable to keep her grip on the novel that has her undivided attention. The pumkin-coloured book falls, still open, flat on her stomach, and she dissolves completely into a fit of giggles. 'Muggles have quite the imagination these days, don’t they, Harry?’
'It’s not that bad of a name,’ Draco says, rolling his eyes. He turns the dial on the radio, and a hauntingly familiar tune sounds through it. His annoyed frown is replaced by a smirk, 'Your song is playing, you two.’
Harry can’t help but snort. Hermione throws a sarcastic remark towards Draco over the name Scorpious, before Harry finds himself being dragged to his feet by his childhood friend. Green eyes meet brown ones with a grin. They can’t not dance to 'Oh Children.’
Holding Hermione’s body close to him and swaying to the music under the stars, not all that different from the time they did a little over five years ago, he knows he made the right choice in going on the road. He is drinking life to the lees. This brilliant life with all its scars, beauty, and constant excitement is magical. It has made everything well again.
Summary: Jensen and the reader are doing some filming out in the Canadian wilderness when they decide to take a short hike during a break. The only problem is they don’t show up for their scene later that day…
“Dean, I’m so angry at you I could spit! You’re such a smart ass, and you think that since you’ve been hunting longer than me that you know everything about hunting! Well, you know what, Buddy! You don’t! Try to get it through that thick, stubborn head of yours! You Winchesters are impossible to work with! Everytime I even give you the slightest advice, you completely shut me down! Well, you know what? I quit this case, and I’m done working with you jackasses! Goodbye, Dean!” I spat In his face, and went to turn around on the heel of my boot, but he spun me back around
Dean shoved me back into the brick wall and crushed his tender lips against mine. I was in complete shock, not knowing what to do next. So, I kissed back. We kissed each other until we had to pull away because we were both gasping for air.
I stared at Dean, and he had that damn smirk on his face. The one that makes me weak at the knees, but I was too pissed to stand for it at the moment.
“What in the hell was that for?” I stared him down, not breaking eye contact with him even once.
“You’re cute when you get angry.” He winked at me before heading back to the driver’s seat of the impala. I stared on him flabbergasted. Still trying to process to myself what exactly just happened.