The first time she saw him, she was sitting in a tiny scummy bar in the American south west. She didn't know who he was or what he was or why he even decided to sit next to her in the first place, but she didn't really care.

Looking back on it, she probably should have.

They just talked a bit, mostly the other just made inquiries about what they were doing at such a run-down hole in the wall. She could tell that he had seen many a battle in his life. His eyes held stories that a man as young as he shouldn't even know. She knew that look all too well; she'd been looking at it since she was eleven and she sees it every time she looks at herself in a mirror.

He couldn't have been much older than her, maybe five years at least, but they shared an uncultured wit and a smile that could end wars; so when she finished her last drink and wished him a good night, she couldn't help but hope that she would see him again.

And as she disapparated away with a crack to another place (she made sure no one followed her out of the building and into the meadow across the cracked country road) she wished she had asked him for his name.



She saved his life from a rouge Dementor the next time she saw him.

The Ministry had assigned her to track it (although she isn't quite sure why. Harry must have put in a good word or something.) and dispose of it, and it seemed that this young lonely man was searching for it as well.

She isn't sure why a practically normal person would ever go looking for one of these soul sucking fiends from hell, but who was she to judge; she had only ever had one honest to god tiny conversation with him, it's not like she knew his whole life story or anything (And he sure as hell didn't know hers).

She's trying her hardest not to laugh as he shoots it with a simple little hand gun, as if that's going to stop a Dementor. He fires again, and again and again, the sound of its firing ricochets of the trees in the forest, until she watches him finally realize that a silly little pistol isn't going to work against this thing.

And that is when he pulls out a machete and charges it.

She's seriously beginning to think that this man has a death wish.

He gets within three feet of it, then, it starts to suck the soul out of him, and she knows that if she doesn't do something soon he's probably not going to make it out of the woods alive.

She emerges from the cover of the evergreens and has her wand at the ready. She focuses on something happy; before the War, before she forced her parents to forget, before She and Ron ended their relationship. And it's such a simple memory, and that makes it what it truly is. Then she shouts the patronus charm as loud as she can, and prays to whatever is out there that it works, because she doesn't want this man to die; he can't die. Not here and not now.

Damn it, she doesn't even know his name.

And it works, just like it always does. She rushes over to his body, which is lying limp on the forest floor.

At least he's breathing. She thinks to herself. She props him up against the nearest dead tree, then rummages through her bottomless little bag that she carries for some chocolate before getting out of the area.

Because as much as she wants to get to know him, there's a part of her that is equally terrified of him. It's almost as if she gets the feeling that he knows that she's an anomaly, and something about him knowing that makes her feel a little less safe.

And with a crack, she is back in her shitty ass motel room packing up the mess that she's made of the place trying to locate the stupid Dementor that she most definitely won't be seeing again.

(He's woken up and doesn't remember a thing except a flying hooded figure, a fairly nice looking chick with a stick, and a blue otter. And he has no idea where the half eaten chocolate bar has come from and in all honesty he doesn't really care because it tastes really fucking good.)



The third time she meets him, she literally runs into him on the street in some small town in northern Idaho. She's running away from a Doxy, a Biting Fairy, which she has very little intention of being bitten by. (She never meant to disturb its nest, it just so happened that she had landed right on top of it.)

The muggles didn't seem to be noticing it and it didn't seem to care very much about anything except her; she supposes her situation could be worse, although it's not like she can just whip out her wand because she's surrounded by people, even better Americans, and god knows how the Ministry would react to that

It wasn't like they were on too great of terms; she had just quit her job and started writing book about her incredibly grown up life as a child and being Harry Potter's best friend.

She runs into this muscular mass of an arm and practically knocks him over as well as herself. (He stays upright; it's as if he's used to this sort of thing). She however, is not used to barging into muscular Americans in the street and falls flat on her face. She quickly turns her head to make sure the stupid biting fairy is a distance behind her, before quickly getting up and dusting herself off.

"I'm so sorry." She apologizes quickly; she doesn't really have a lot of time.

"Wait a second," he looks at her like he's examining a question on a test, "Do I know you?"

"Yes, probably, I don't know!" she huffs, "Look, sir, I'm running late," she looks back again and notices that the Doxy is almost caught up to her, and she then realizes that it's the man that she met at the bar, the same man she saved from Dementors not two months previous.

"Wait," she says quickly, "I do know you. We had a drinks a while back, at some really crappy bar in Arizona, I think…."

"Oh yeah!" he says, his eyes light up with recognition. "I never did get your name-"

"Hermione." She spits out quickly, looking back once more, "Look …"


"Okay, Dean, I'd really love to chat but I've got to be somewhere two hours ago, so I best be on my way."

"Maybe I'll see you around?' he asks hopefully.

She allows herself to reply with a maybe, although she knows that she being incredibly hopeful, because at this point, it's very unlikely that she'll out run this annoying son of a bitch.



She finds herself meeting him once again. She's at a diner in West Virginia, maybe three months after the Doxy incident, waiting for the blasted chosen one to get his butt across the pond to meet up with her.

She's sitting by herself in a booth sipping her now room temperature coffee waiting for Harry potter to walk into this place, when by chance, she spots Dean sitting at the counter sweet talking the pretty blonde waitress (by the looks of it, whatever he's pulling on her must be working) next to a man that may as well be as tall as Grawp.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a book, it being the Tales of Beetle the Bard, one her favorites, and probably always will be no matter how much Harry makes fun of her for liking a children's book so much. She allows herself to be completely immersed with the tale of Babbity Rabbity (She's read that so many times before and it never fails to captivate her) that she doesn't see Dean sneak his way into the seat across from her. She doesn't hear him when he says her name.

It's not until he reaches over and pokes her arm that she realizes that he's even there at all, and it sort of scares her how easily he was able to sneak up on her.

"You following us or something?" he asks teasingly, though she can sense that there's something more to those really simple joking words as he looks at her with a face that looks rather serious. She's all too familiar with this situation, so she doesn't lie, there's no need to.

"Who's you're friend?" she asks him, with interest.

"Sasquatch over there?" he asks, and motions towards the humongous man who seems to be watching them with amusement. She nods, "That's my brother, Sam."

"Is he older?" he frowns at her question and mumbles something.

"No," he says, "I'm the oldest. What brings you 'round this part of the country?"

"Actually I'm supposed to be meeting a friend right now. He's come in from London to visit and he seems to be running late so I may just have to skin his carcass when he gets here." She replied.

He laughed, which caused the corners of her mouth to slightly twinge upwards, as if she was about to smile.

And just after that, the door opens with a loud swoosh and the bell on top of the door makes its noise and she looks up to see none other than Harry enter the American diner looking lost and dazed. She smiles and waves, and he starts over.

Dean seems to notice that she's motioning for someone to come over, and he takes it as his cue to leave.

"Well, see ya around, sweetheart."

"Bye, Dean." She says. He walks away and she greets Harry, who she is no longer angry with. (Though she is pestered by the amount of questions he's asking about the American men that seem to keep looking at her. Apparently he doesn't believe that theiy are friends.)



And that may just be the last time she has a civil conversation with Dean, because the next time she meets him, he's trying to kill a troll with his brother using only shotguns.

She can testify to say that the sight was not pretty. There was troll blood pretty much everywhere and it's at that moment when Sam (she thinks that's his name) decides he's going to charge the thing. And to say the least, the troll smacks him into next week with his club. She can tell that Sam is injured and that it's probably a good time to step in. She runs over to the fallen man and opens her bag. He's breathing, and he's bleeding, but he should be okay while she deals with the troll.

She runs up next to Dean with a smile on her face and wand in her hand. (She really hopes that he won't shoot her with that shotgun.)

"Long time no see." He says.

"Promise you won't shoot me?" she asks. He gives her one of those infamous smirks and with a flick of her wrist and a shout of Evanesco, the troll is gone.

Before he even has a chance to shoot her brains out, she's run back to his brother, who's still bleeding, but it seems to have slowed. She pulls out her bag and summons the Dittany, which has saved a couple people before and she doesn't think the outcome will be any different this time. She puts three drops of it onto Sam's wound and he shrieks out in pain as the flesh puts itself back together. She's about to fix his broken nose when Dean comes over and pulls her away from him.

"What the hell was that?" he demands with a look that may just be more lethal than the shotgun pressed against her.

"It was just a simple vanishing spell, no harm done. He should be somewhere in the void now…"

"You're a witch." He states as if it's some sort of sin against humanity.

"Well, yes."

"You sold your soul so you can vanish trolls"

"I was not aware that I sold my soul for anything, actually."

"Well mind telling me where your magic mojo comes from if it isn't from a demon?" he asks. He looks completely serious and it causes her to burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Well I suppose the earth, or the goddess Hecate; no one really knows for sure." He looks at her with a disbelieving stare. She sighs, "Look, Dean, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have let the troll do it. I don't summon demons, I don't do dark magic. I'm a good person who just seems to find her way into impossibly bad situations."

She can tell he wants to press the trigger, and she doesn't doubt that he will, but before he can, Sam and his wonderful marvelous timing save her. He stands up and runs towards Dean, making him point the gun down.

"Dean, she healed me. There isn't a wound anymore; I was bleeding a hell of a lot ten minutes ago. I mean, it hurt like a bitch whatever she used, but it worked. And she got rid of that thing that smashed me."

"I swear," She says, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I think she's faking it." Says Dean and she groans in annoyance.

"If you both put your heads together you wouldn't even have a full brain. I've saved each of your lives once already. I think you owe me at least a little bit of trust! I'm not a bad witch."

Dean is looking at her with those piercing green eyes that are telling her that he thinks otherwise. She knows what a bad witch is; she has a scar on her arm that reminds her everyday of what not to be. She has memories of bad witches and bad wizards and she knows that she will never be like one of them, or those things that call themselves witches (they really aren't. She's read books about how muggles think the knock off version of magic is the real thing.)

They are whispering amongst themselves and she quite frankly has had enough and she is about to get the hell out of this stupid field when she hears Dean call out.

"Hey, Glinda! Where you going?"

"Hopefully somewhere where I won't be accused of selling my soul. Do you go around accusing ever girl you meet of selling her soul or is it just me. I mean, I've been accused of being a lot of awful things, but I don't know, that just seems a little low."

She turns away from him and she's about to disapparate away from this stupid place, Dean grabbed her shoulder and was brought along on a rather pressing journey to flat in London. She hears him almost fall over and she feels a little woozy herself; it's been a while since she's carried someone else with her.

She's too tired to bring him back to America and Sam at this exact moment so she trudges into her kitchen and puts the kettle on.

She walks back into her living room to find Dean admiring the pictures littering her mantle peice. She walks over to stand next to this man, a stranger who she has unwillingly let into her home, who is looking at her memories.

He's busy admiring the picture of her at the Yule Ball, but she's looking at the pictures of all her friends – some dead, some still living, and some that she hasn't heard from since the War. She's expecting him to make some snarky comment about how she must have put a spell on herself to look that good at fourteen, but he doesn't. And that shocks her.

"Why are they moving?"

"Because regular pictures are boring." He snorts at her answer.

"You're a strange woman, Hermione."

"I guess I always have been. There isn't much I can do about it."

"So all these people in these pictures, they're like you then?"

"Yes, well for the most part yes."

"What do you mean?"

"They're mostly normal, if you can all our already strange childhood normal, but I'm a muggleborn, which means I have a non-magical parentage. It happens, and I guess the wizards with magical lineage get a bit angry about that for some stupid reason, and they just… they're just very rude about it."

"That's awful."

"Well, it gets worse, unfortunately. There was a war a few years back, and the dark wizards – the ones who believed in purity of the blood lines, captured me and two friends and they tortured me for information. The woman, Bellatrix," she choked back tears, "she carved a word in my arm so that I would always remember my place. And I do; I remember that I am a better person than she'll ever be. I try to help people, Dean; that's what we do. That's what we are taught to do. And those 'witches' that you've run into before aren't like us. We're a different breed entirely. We all make choices, and I choose to be good."

Before he can say anything else, she runs in the kitchen to take the kettle off; she isn't in the mood for tea anymore. She knows that he's followed her.

"I'm not asking you to trust me, and I'm not asking to come do whatever you do, I'm just asking you to give me a chance to prove that I'm not bad." He laughs. "I don't even know your full name."

"Dean Winchester." He holds out his hand.

"Hermione Granger." She says as she shakes his hand.

"Pleasure meeting you, but do you think you could take me back to my brother now; he's probably worried that you lit me on fire or something."

"Things may get a little tight." She says with a smirk and a glimmer in her eyes as she grabs his hand and they disappear.



She's been with the Winchesters for five months now, and she's still running from the Ministry and their countless number of job offers. She's still running from Ron's constant plea for her to come back. She's still running from everything that she left behind in England.

But now she's running towards dangerous creatures and dangerous things with a drawn wand and two boys with an arsenal in the trunk.

She's never been happier.

(Plus she thinks Dean Winchester may be slightly attracted to her and that's a hell of a lot of fun to toy around with.)


I was cruising around the crossover section the other day, and I was really surprised by the amount of dean/Hermione orientated fics. there's like a good ten(ish) of them and idk I was just really disappointed. I feel like they would have some pretty great chemistry together.

So when I brought up the idea to my friend, she was like "hells yeah, babe. DO IT!" so I did.

hopefully its okay because if there is one thing that drives me crazy its a poorly written crossover.

please review and favorite and follow because depending on the response, I might write more. (actually I was going to write more anyway, but a good response might make me write faster so...)

alright, thanks for reading!