Work Text:
Day 22
Krumione
“So my uncle died in fairly weird circumstances and according to his will I inherited his house but you inherited that locked cabinet from the basement. Of course I opened it and right now I want to know how you know my uncle, what both of you need this many weapons for and whether that is dried blood on that mace!?!?! Supernatural AU”
xXx
“The language of the your uncle’s will is very clear.” Solicitor Crouch droned on and Hermione had half a mind to tune him out as she followed behind him up the rickety porch of the old creepy house that once belonged to her uncle. Uncle Regulus, her godfather, had passed not a week prior. His brother Sirius had taken care of everything and for reasons they still wouldn’t tell her it was a closed casket.
Everything had happened so fast, one minute she’d been going about her life in London and the next she was getting a phone call from her Uncle’s brother’s husband informing her that her godfather was dead and the services would be in two days. People she had never heard him mention had shown up, lining up to say something about their dear friend Regulus Black. He’d saved several lives, bailed a few more out of a tight bind, saved a few more lives after that; Hermione’s head was spinning as she struggled to reconcile the quiet man who’d been like a second father to her. He was a tax attorney, a part time accountant, he preferred the peace and quiet of his home outside the city, he spent his nights reading by the fire, she wasn’t sure these people realized whose funeral they were at.
Now, after having helped Sirius and his husband Remus entertain a plethora of mourners at their own home in the city, she was scheduled to follow the Black Family Solicitor, Bartemius Crouch Sr, out to her Godfather’s home outside the city, her inheritance.
“The house is yours in it’s entirety, the property, and the outlying structures and anything in them as well. There is of course one exception.” he continued unlocking the front door and stepping over the threshold. She followed him in surprised to find the inside of the house did not match the outside.
“What’s the exception?” she asked running her fingers along the intricate wood work of the banister. The solicitor cleared his throat drawing her attention to him.
“If you’ll follow me please.” he replied gesturing for her to follow him up the stairs. She did, and they took the flights all the way up to the fourth floor, the attic. The attic was a far cry from the rest of the house. Where each room was exactly what you would expect of an Oxford educated lawyer from a wealthy family, the attic looked like the workshop of a scientist. Books in old leather bindings, many she recognized as volumes that had gone missing from the museum she worked at. Other tables were filled with old parchments and artifacts. At the far end of the attic stood a wardrobe; enormous, built of dark wood. It was surprisingly simple compared to the other wood work in the house. “This wardrobe is left to a man named Viktor Krum. He has been contacted and will be here within a day or two to pick up the wardrobe.”
When everything was squared away in the attic, Crouch took her back downstairs and walked her through the rest of the house before leaving her to her own devices.
It was late on her third night at the old house. She’d taken some time off of work to get everything squared away and so far everything had gone smoothly. She’d packed up all the family paperwork for Sirius to pick up in the morning, and she catalogued all the heirlooms for him to go through and take what he wanted. She was still debating whether or not she would live full time in the old house or if she would keep it as a get away instead. Until then, she was going to put a little elbow grease into the structure and bring it back to it’s former glory.
On top of all that she was struggling with the notion that she didn’t know her god father as well as she thought she did. Between the number of stolen artifacts from her museum and the strange symbols she’d found carved into the door jams, not to mention the large quantity of salt in the basement pantry, she was starting to wonder if Regulus was at all the man she thought he was. At first, thoughts of forgery came to mind but she didn’t want to accuse the man who’d practically raised her after her parents’ deaths of such crimes. And yet it was the only thing that made sense. She’d checked the wardrobe as well. It was full of weapons. Blunt weapons, guns of all era’s, ammunition, knives with the same strange symbols carved into them.
She was beginning to think her suspicions should be much more heinous.
At around midnight, she was just heading up to bed, when a knock sounded at the door. She hesitated to answer it, knowing full well she was much too far from the city for regular visitors at this late hour. When the knocking persisted she slowly made her way to the door, looking through the glass pane at the side. She let out a sigh of relief at what she saw, opening the door as she spoke.
“Mr. Crouch, what are you doing here so late?”
Slowly the older man looked up at her a smile slowly spreading across his face. He blinked and suddenly his eyes were black startling her despite the rational part of her mind telling her it was just the light, or lack thereof. He took a step forward.
“I’m sorry Miss Granger, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” his smile grew mocking. Hermione’s hackles were raised even as she tried to fight it, but it wasn’t something she could fight as she watched the man she’d known for many years try to cross the threshold only to be thrown back by some kind of force. She gasped as she watched the man pick himself up, his limbs snapping back into place from the unnatural angles they had broken into upon impact. “Well that just won’t do.” he continued completely unperturbed.
Hermione panicked, and without thinking she turned on her heels and bolted up the stairs, the sounds of wood splintering behind her driving her harder up the stairs until she made to the attic, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She rushed to the wardrobe when the door was secure, throwing it open and pulling out a shotgun. She loaded it like her father had taught her as a young girl and turned toward the door, becoming acutely aware of the silence that suddenly permeated the house.
“Miss Granger.” came Crouch’s voice through the door. “Won’t you come out of there?”
“Go away! I’m armed!” she warned.
“Now, now Miss Granger, is there really any need for that? I’m an old friend remember. I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I helped Regulus adopt you when you parents were murdered.” he continued in a sickly sweat voice. She supposed he was trying to be comforting.
“My parents died in a car accident. They weren’t murdered.” she called back.
There was a pause and then; “Oh, right, of course. My mistake.” he didn’t sound very convincing. “Miss Granger, please open the door.
“No, go away.” she replied. There was only a moment of silence before a fist cracked through the door, splintering the wood through the middle. Hermione screamed and fired, splintering the wood even more but Crouch didn’t stop coming. She fired again with the same result, each time Crouch getting closer and closer to breaking the door in. Between the carnage in front of her and the rushing of blood in her ears she barely registered the other voices accompanied by foot steps up the stair cases. Even as Crouch disappeared back through the nearly destroyed door, she only partially realized what was going on around her as she struggled to regain her composure, backed against the wall beside the old wardrobe.
“Hermione!” a familiar voice called out and she looked up to see Sirius Black poke his head through the shattered door.
“Sirius?” she questioned confused, vision blurring with tears as he reached through the hole and unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. He came towards her, telegraphing his movements to keep her calm and when he reached her he took the gun from her death grip and set it aside before pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her shaking frame.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” she sobbed.
“Oh Kitten, I’m so sorry. You were never meant to see any of this. Regulus...none of us wanted you to have any part of this.”
xXx
Viktor Krum was tall and broad shouldered and as his name suggested, not English. Reluctantly, Sirius told her everything. For centuries the Black family had trained to hunt monsters, demons and other beasts from folklore and mythos. The Blacks weren’t the only family either, her parents had also been raised the same way and as Sirius explained it, it had been their undoing. The car accident that claimed their lives had not been an accident. Regulus, having worked with her parents for years was left to care for her. He’d done his best to raise her the way her parents had wanted, far away from the Hunter life, but like all things with this lifestyle, you didn’t stay out for long. Regulus had been holding something in the house, something the demons wanted desperately to get their hands on and Regulus had gone down fighting to protect it. Obviously, with the late Bartemius Crouch Sr. possession, it was clear the demons were unsuccessful.Viktor was Regulus’ apprentice years before. He was descended from a long line of waystation hunters and his parents had sent him to London to learn how to run a waystation, With Regulus’ passing, portions of his collection went to Viktor so he could stock his own waystation. That included the wardrobe, filled with Regulus’ specially modified weapons, in the attic.
“You're not taking those.” Hermione said, standing in the busted through attic doorway. Sirius and Remus were helping the newly arrived Viktor pack up Regulus’ materials.
“Hermione, you don’t want these here.” Sirius replied. “There’s no telling who might come for them. If they’re not here they’ll leave you alone.”
“Piss off Sirius.” Hermione snapped much to their surprise. “Those books and artifacts were stolen from my museum. They are going back to the museum.” she told them.
“If Regulus stole them he must have had a good reason.” Remus told her.
“I don’t give a damn what his reason was. Most of those artifacts were my responsibility. I was investigated when they disappeared. I almost lost my job! They are going back!” She hadn’t even realized she was crying again until Sirius wrapped his arms arms around her. “This is so fucked up.”
“I know Kitten, I know.” Sirius sighed. “Come on, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk alright?”
Hermione nodded, letting him lead her out.
When they were gone, Remus turned to Viktor. “Let’s go through Regulus’ journal. Figure out what’s what. We can probably return most of these, but we’ll lock up what’s too dangerous.”
Viktor looked like he was going to argue but with a look from Remus he didn’t and got back to work.
xXx
“You have Sirius and Remus well in hand.” Viktor spoke in his broken English as he took a seat beside her on the porch step. She looked up at him confused.
“Excuse me?” She asked incredulous.
“If you were anyone else, they would find a way to keep those artifacts. Make sure they were locked up safe. But they are not. They are working to give them back. No matter how unsafe that is.”
“My parents are dead, my godfather is dead, I just found out my godfather has been stealing from my place of employment, and all of this has to do with monsters, real, honest to god monsters. And you want to get on my case about making sure I can keep the only bit of normal left in my life. Seriously ?”
To his credit, Viktor looked ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t not mean…” he sighed. “I am just trying and failing to get you to understand.”
“Understand what? That I can no longer live my life without looking over my shoulder?” She asked the anger having drained out of her. “I just want...I want to be normal again.”
“I am sorry.” Viktor told her. “I do not know what to say to that.” Hermione snorted. “I have always been a part of this.” he continued on. “I have never known anything else. This is my normal.”
“And you’ve never considered being something else, doing something else.”
Viktor chuckled ruefully. “I have always wanted to be hunter.” he told her laughing when she rolled her eyes. “But my family's legacy is in the Waystation.”
“Like Regulus?”
He shook his head. “No, hunters can chose to run waystations, a retirement of sorts, but families who run waystations for generations avoid becoming hunters.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Hunters need waystations. A number to give police when they need a background check. A place to store artifacts and research. A place to sleep that is safe.” he hesitated. “A place to make a last stand.”
Hermione huffed a humorless laugh. “What a life to live.”
“Yes, well, we do not always chose it for ourselves.” he told her. “Sometimes we have no choice.”
She could understand that. She’d been introduced to this world without warning and now there was no going back. Perhaps if she were more like Sirius she would feel the urge to go out and fight but she didn’t. She was just tired and honestly, for the first time in her life she wanted to be ignorant of something.