Tra-la-la have another AU crossover la-de-da~

Also this was supposed to be a oneshot but on page 86 in eighteen-point font, this is way too long to be a oneshot. And I'm not even done!

There was a loud groan, followed by a lot of cursing. Eyebrows rose up and flicked over to the blonde, who merely arched an eyebrow and shrugged back.

"Eh, who cares, she's a witch," he answered back, arms crossed over his chest.

"Son of a bitch, what the hell?" the feminine voice floated up the stairs, her accent making her swearing sound somehow more intelligent.

"She's British?" Sam asked, blinking back.

"Hey, I just got a tip from the guy that she was a witch," Dean shrugged again.

"Oy! Captors! Someone come down here and explain to me why the bloody hell you kidnapped me!" she yelled, a loud thwack sound being heard. Castiel wondered what she must've hit.

Dean frowned, stood, and opened the door to coolly call down to her, "Shut it, witch, you'll get a trial in a second." And with that, he slammed the basement door shut as a frustrated growl ripped through the air.

"Wait," Castiel stood, moving slowly to the door and opening it to find her slumped at the bottom of the stairs. She picked up her head and arched an eyebrow at him as he took a few steps down and tilted his head at her. Her hair was brown and curly and all over the place, her hands tied behind her back, her brown eyes watching him carefully. "What is your name?"

She was silent for a moment or two before she answered, "Hermione Granger."

Castiel blinked before walking down the rest of the steps, Dean and Sam sharing curious glances as Castiel kneeled down next to her and settled a hand on her shoulder, "You'll be safe, I promise." He then turned and began to untie her before Dean began to come down the steps.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, Angel Boy, you better have a damn good reason for untying a psychotic witch!" Dean yelled.

"Psychotic?" she spluttered before glaring, "If anyone here is psychotic, it'd be you! Now – explain to me who told you I was a witch."

"Jeffry Davis," Sam answered, still at the top of the staircase. Dean made a noise of disapproval at his brother.

She snorted and rolled her eyes, "My ex-boyfriend who was sore about my kicking his ass when I had enough? That explains it." She smiled at Castiel when he untied her, rubbing her sore wrists, "Thank you." She stood and placed a hand to her head, blinking rapidly, "What happened to my head?"

"Might've kicked you," Dean answered with a sniff.

"Mmn, that'd do that then," she said, shutting her eyes and bracing herself against the wall.

"Castiel," Sam called, making the angel look up and blink at him, "Do you know her?"

"Of course," he answered, "I'm her guardian. I watched over her during her battles. She is good, I assure you."

"So she is a witch?" Sam gaped.

"Yes, hello, there's this thing we have called the Statute of Secrecy? We stick to it rather harshly!" Hermione called before releasing a breath and sliding down the wall, still holding her head, "Where's my wand?"

"Err – wand?" Dean echoed. Of all the witches they had ever fought, none of them had ever had a wand.

"Yes – it's a stick, might've waved it around threateningly a few times – where is it?" she glared.

Castiel stood and said, "I'll go and retrieve it." And with that, he left, leaving the Winchester brothers with a witch.

"So what are you then?" Dean asked, standing directly above her, going for intimidating.

She glanced up at him and snorted, "I'm a witch, why, what are you?"

"Hunters," Sam answered, coming down the stairs.

"Ahh, that makes even more sense," she hummed, running a hand through her hair and wincing before pulling her hand back and finding blood on her fingertips.

"The witches we fought with never had wands," Sam continued, coming to a stop next to his brother.

"Well, then they weren't witches," she chirped, "Witches and wizards are born with magic, they go to schools for proper training, they get wands and are actually competent with magic. These so-called witches you were fighting with probably sold their souls or something for a few powers that – in all honesty – probably couldn't even be called powers." At their blank looks, she grimaced, "I did a research paper over your fake witches in college."

"Wizards have colleges?" Sam asked with a blink.

"Oh, yes, but I went to a Muggle one – normal one," she corrected, taking off her outer blue button-up shirt and pressing it up to her head wound, leaving her in an orange tank top. "Wizarding colleges have few subjects – they're all basically training facilities for jobs. You see, I'm a Muggleborn, my parents are normal, but I was born a witch."

"What's a Mudblood?" Dean questioned, startling her enough that she paled and blinked at him. "You have a tattoo of it on your arm."

"Not a tattoo," she pursed her lips, running her fingers over the dark, raised lines, "You see, there was this very awful War. This group of people called Death Eaters thought that anyone who wasn't Pureblooded had dirty blood – 'Mudblood.' It's a foul, awful name. They killed a lot of people. My friends, Harry and Ron, and I tried to stop their leader, Voldemort. We were captured once and…" She took a deep breath, staring very hard down at the lines, "This woman, Bellatrix Lestrange, she was certifiably insane. She tortured me and carved it into my arm." She returned her shirt to her head as Castiel reappeared with her wand in his hand. "Thank you, Castiel."

He nodded and handed it to her, watching as she pulled her hair back and wordlessly healed her injuries.

"She held you down and carved a word into your arm?" Dean blinked down at her, "Why?"

"She was certifiably insane, wanted information, hated my guts, take your pick," she sniffed, working on a cut in her side.

"Why can't you heal it?" Sam asked.

"The blade she used had dark magic," Castiel answered instead, "She can't heal it."

"Point one to the man in the trench coat!" Hermione hummed before standing, taking a moment to wobble before she got her balance back. "Now, tell me where I am so I can get out of here."

Dean and Sam shared a look before Castiel spoke up. "No."

"No?" she repeated curiously, "And why not?"

"We need you," he answered.

"You do?" "We do?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded, "Soon, but not yet." He led the way up the staircase, Dean and Hermione not far behind him.

"Whoa, Cas, who says we need her?" Dean questioned as they walked through the kitchen.

"God," he answered coolly.

"Why? What do you know?" Hermione questioned.

He turned, stopping abruptly, making Hermione tilt her head up to look at him. "Hermione, you are in danger. The Winchesters will protect you while I sort out things."

"Whoa, I'm not about to be babysat," she glared up at him, "Listen here, I am not about to be bossed around by three men who I just met after they've beaten me up, captured me, and almost gave me a trial – which I do not want to know what you were even thinking about doing, by the way – so whatever 'danger' you believe I'm in can just go and take a nice walk through Fuck-Thatville and catch the Nope-train because I'm not bothering with it."

"How long do you spend on the Internet?" Sam asked lightly.

"Far too much," she sighed, "I research and somehow end up on a blogging forum. In any case – let me out of here and leave me alone." She brushed past Castiel before his hand darted out and gripped her arm.

"I am your guardian, your protector, and I will not let you go and foolishly endanger your well-being," he insisted.

"Well listen up, protector," she glared, "I don't remember you being there that night when I was beaten and abused. I don't remember you there that night when I was screaming out for help and all I got were laughs. I don't remember you being there when I was twelve and facing a giant snake that could've killed me if I'd looked it in the eyes. So excuse me, but I'm a big girl and don't need your protection," she ripped her arm free from him and moved to the front door.

"Wait, Miss Granger!" Sam called, startling her enough that she paused, blinked, and turned around to him as Dean warily watched his younger brother. "While I agree that you could take care of yourself, if you leave, then Cas won't tell us anything more on the subject and will spend all of his time watching out for you. If you stay, we may be able to get a better understanding of whatever danger this is and stop it sooner."

She looked dully at him and crossed her arms over her chest, "You're only guessing."

"So?" he tried.

She sighed and looked up to the ceiling, "Is it really a location-specific type of imprisonment, or can I go anywhere with you two with me?"

"Location-specific," Castiel said with a slight smile, disappearing when a vase that they didn't even think they had went right through where his head had been.