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Four Times Hermione Wasn’t A Witch,One Time She Is

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Summary: Self-Explanatory Title; x-over with Supernatural, Buffy, Battlestar Galactica, How I Met Your's Crack Fic

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Other BtVS/AtS CharactersdroidgirlFR1512,0802372119 Mar 1119 Mar 11Yes
Title: Four Universes Where Hermione Wasn’t A Witch, and The One Where She Is
Summary: Self-Explanatory Title
Rating: PG
X-Over Verses: Supernatural, Buffy, Battlestar Galactica, How I met Your Mother
Spoilers: If you know what these shows are, you'll be fine
Pairing: Harry/Hermione

Disclaimers: I do not make any profit from this piece of fanfiction.
Harry Potter Characters/Mythos belong to J.K. Rowling
SPN Characters belong to Eric Kripke
Buffy Characters/Mythos belong to Joss Whedon
Battlestar Galactica characters/mythos belong to Ron Moore
How I Met Your Mother characters belong to Craig Thomas and Carter Bays

1. The One Where She’s Hermione Winchester (like the gun)

All it took was a single bullet and it hadn’t even been fired from the Colt. The wizard that had been terrorizing London for years was dead – just like that.

The red eyed maniac lay in the alley, tattered robes streaming out all around the lifeless body. Five steps away, a young man watched, with what was clearly a wand in his shaking hand still raised. He looked extremely confused.

“Wow.” Dean said, toeing the body. “He fugly.”

“Dean don’t,” Hermione cautioned.

“Why, you think he’s still dangerous?” he asked, cocking his gun again and standing in front of his kid sis protectively.

“No. It’s just…tacky.” She slapped Dean away in irritation.

“So this guy is human?” Sam asked curiously, bending over the corpse. “What the hell happened to his nose?”

“I think he traded it in for immortality or something,” Hermione sounded disgusted.

“Excuse me.”

“Ok, wanting immortality, I get that, but why trade the nose?” Dean shook his head.

“Excuse me…”

“He’s an evil sonofabitch. Didn’t mean he had any brains.” Sam shrugged, straightening up.

“Excuse me!”

Everyone turned to look at the bespectacled boy who looked a little crazy as he tried to get their attention. Hermione couldn’t help herself from admiring the brilliant green of his eyes.

“Who are you people?” he asked, not lowering the gnarled stick in his hand.

“Us people?” Dean asked, gesturing with his gun. “Us people just saved your ass from this sorry motherfucker. You should be thanking us people.”

“Dean!” Hermione scolded.

“What?” Dean swiveled around to face her. “The dude’s being an ass.”

Ignoring the oldest hunter of the trio, Hermione stepped forward, tucking her handgun into the back of her waistband. Self-consciously, she pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear, before reaching a tentative hand out.

“My name is Hermione. Hermione Winchester,” She smiled nervously. The boy hesitated, before extending his free hand forward. “These are my brothers, Sam and Dean.”

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter.” He said. A goofy look passed over his expression as he took in her silky curls, tight jeans and leather jacket.

“Nice to meet you Harry,” Hermione said. They kept on holding hands, as if reluctant to lose that human contact.

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. For a smart girl, Hermione could sometimes act like a dumb blonde.

“Buddy,” Dean growled, aiming his gun at Harry’s chest. “You want to step away from my sister very slowly.”

Looking mortified, Hermione glared at her older brothers, spitting, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What? We’re just supposed to trust these wizards?” Sam asked as he too, took aim, refusing to quell under his youngest sibling’s intense anger. “They’ve been running around killing people.”

“I wasn’t a Death Eater if that’s what you mean,” Harry said defensively.

“What the fuck’s a Death Eater?” Dean sounded revolted. “You people eat dead bodies?”

“Oh my God, have you people not paid attention to any of the research I’ve been digging up?” Hermione’s voice raised itself in frustration. “Also Harry was obviously trying to kill the guy we were hunting. Does that sound like he’s evil to you?”

Harry is a magic user.” Dean said stubbornly, refusing to admit that he didn’t actually think the boy was evil. He just didn’t like the way the kid was eyeing up his baby sister, not when he’d used that look himself many times before with countless chicks all over the continental United States. And the previous night at the pub on Fleet Street with the cute Welsh girl.

“The enemy of our enemy isn’t always our friend Hermione,” Sam looked annoyed. “Think about what Dad would say right now,”

“Dad’s not here, and you’re being morons!” she growled.

Harry lowered his own weapon and sighed. He had seen sibling fights before - this was going to be a long night.


2. The One Where She’s A Slayer

“Fuck.” Harry cursed, looking at the gaping wound in his slayer’s side.

“Language,” Hermione said almost absently, pale from blood loss. Anybody else, and she would have collapsed a long time ago.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” he said urgently, slipping an arm under her shoulders anyway. She didn’t resist much.

“No please. Just get me to bed.” She hissed in pain. “It’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Harry looked into her determined eyes, and sighed, knowing she was right, and her slayer healing would have her good as new by morning.

“When I was assigned as your watcher, they never warned me how hard it was going to be, sending you out to fight every night…” he said, helping her up the stairs.

“When you were assigned as my watcher, I thought you were just some idiot kid.” Hermione said wryly. “I hated you.”

“Yeah well,” Harry smiled a little, trying to ignore the fact that her blood was dripping on the floor. Every red splotch made his heart constrict further. “I loved you. From the moment I saw you brandishing your scythe about in the graveyard, like some avenging angel.”

With great difficulty, Hermione leaned over and kissed him gently on his lips.

“Oh goddess! Hermione!” Willow shrieked as she emerged from the bedroom and caught sight of her wounded friend.

“Yeah.” The Slayer grimaced. “Fucking Turok Han.”


3. The One Where She’s One of the Final Five Cylons

“If you can hear me,” Harry tugged at his uncomfortable flight suit as he knelt beside the tub his wife reclined in. “I want you to know that I don’t care what the frak you are…cylon or human…it doesn’t matter anymore. I just want you back.”

Hermione’s eyes stared ahead, blank and unresponsive.

The star pilot reached over and caressed her shaved forehead, where once her glorious curtain of hair had been. Desperately, he attempted to ignore the tubes sticking out of her naked body.

“But I know that’s not going to happen. I’ve accepted it.” Harry choked out. “So I need you to know that I will always love you.”

He stood up, and dropped a kiss on her lips. Unable to stay any longer at the risk of breaking down completely, he walked out the enclosed space.

Outside, Bill Adama rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder in sympathy.

“We jump in five,” the Admiral said.

“Good.” Harry’s voice was deadened by anger and grief. “I’ve got a bullet for Riddle right here. Let’s finish this.”

Inside, unheard by any, Hermione said to no one, “See you on the other side.”

Nobody saw the lone tear sliding down her cheek, into the thick chemical bath.


4. The One Where She’s A Lawyer in New York

“Sometimes,” she sighed. “Sometimes I think I should have just become a dentist like Mom and Dad.”

“But then you’ll never have met Marshall, and we’d never have met you,” Lily pouted over her beer.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t have to deal with our idiot clients who think “e-coli” is a song from the most recent episode of Sesame Street.” Hermione responded gloomily, sipping on her Margarita. Her suit jacket was neatly folded behind her, so she was careful not to lean back.

“It isn’t?” Ted pretended to look confused.

“Once this case is over, maybe we should both quit and start our own law firm.” Marshall said thoughtfully. “We’ll work pro bono for single mothers fighting against evil, and become heroes of New York. Robin will do a report on us for her show.”

“Please, no one will watch the “Homeless Lawyers” piece,” Robin rolled her eyes.

“We’ll call it Erickson-Granger Associates.” Marshall ignored Robin, looking dreamy. “Attorneys of AWESOME.”

Before Hermione could respond with an optimistic ‘yes’, although she was having trouble with the name – really, “Granger” ought to come first – there was a flurry of excitement at the entrance of MacLarens, right before Barney appeared.

Hermione remembered when she used to have a crush on Barney Stinson. It was a strange five minutes.

The be-suited man didn’t appear to have arrived alone. Under his persuasive arm, a slightly frazzled looking stranger followed, nervously looking around him with some trepidation.

“Guys, I want you to meet Harry! He saved me earlier!” Barney announced, slapping the guy on the shoulder.

“Ow,” the man apparently named Harry winced, rubbing where he had been struck. He seemed rather cute in a nerdy sort of way with his glasses and his plaid shirt. At least, that’s what Hermione thought while briefly tuning Barney’s voice out.

“…and then the jackass waves a wand in my face and calls me a “Muggle”, whatever that means, and tells me he’s going to kill me.” Barney gently pushed the newcomer into their little booth. “Suddenly this guy here shows up, shoots some green light at him, and bam! Douchebag goes down. I owe this guy, nay, this man my life.”

“If you don’t mind, I really need to go now…” Harry was English, apparently. Hermione swallowed her drink a little faster, trying not to think about how much cuter he had just become.

“What’s the rush? The night’s still young and I think you could use a drink after whatever trauma Barney just put you through.” Ted said, raising his drink.

Harry looked around the table. As his gaze fell on her, he did a double take, and suddenly seemed hesitant to leave.

“You’re right. There isn’t a rush – not anymore,” his began to smile.

“I think your scar is really cool by the way,” Hermione blurted out.

Everyone turned to stare at her. Shrugging, she grinned widely, realizing she was getting a little drunk, but all she could really focus on were Harry’s green eyes.


5. The One Where She’s A Witch

Ron was at the bar drinking with the rest of his Quidditch Team, as Harry and Hermione swayed gently on the dance floor. The tent was lit only by floating candles, which hovered languidly above the wedding guests.

“Mrs. Weasley.” Harry smiled down at the bride. “How’s that make you feel, to be called that?”

“Like Molly.” Hermione said drily. “Please, it’s Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”

“Can’t imagine Molly liking the sound of that too much,” Harry looked over Hermione’s shoulder, to where his mother-in-law sat, gossiping with Ginny.

“Tough.” Hermione smiled wanly. She looked so tired.

“Hermione…” Harry hesitated. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just…all this organizing and planning. It was exhausting. I feel like I could sleep for a month.” She shook her head.

From the bar, everyone could hear more loud whooping as Ron downed another shot. The Bride grimaced.

Harry accepted her explanation, even if it didn’t ring true in his ears. She had been tired for a long time now, long before the wedding planning had commenced.

A familiar song began to play. Harry stiffened slightly, and instinctively looked down at the woman in his arms, meeting her steady gaze.

“This song…” he murmured. “You remember it?”

She laughed a little, and there was bitterness in that sound.

“Of course.”

The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background. Slowly, Harry and Hermione danced, looking at each other in a strange solemnity.

“You ever think about it?” he asked, after a few more seconds had drifted by. “About that night?”

“Do you?” she responded in kind.

“You ever think about what life would have been like if…”

“There’s no point.” Hermione broke their gaze at last. She looked over at her new Husband, stumbling around the room in drunken ecstasy.

Harry was silent until the song drew to a close. He could feel her bones, birdlike, under the lace of her dress, and tried not to think about a lonely train that never left its station. Finally, he replied softly, “No, I don’t suppose there is. A point.”

Gently, the bride pulled away from his grasp.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tip-toeing up and planting a small, chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I am too.” He said, watching her go.

The End

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