[ Teen Wolf ] [ No Other Star 3/3 ]
Title: No Other Star
Series: Teen Wolf 2011
Characters/Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (pre-slash), entire cast of Teen Wolf, original characters
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Teen Wolf and Harry Potter Fusion AU
Warnings: Scenes of physical violence to a minor and use of discriminatory language.
no other star
part 3
"Where is my son?" Mr Stilinski demands the second the small ragtag party reaches the infirmary. Mr Deaton’s already prepared for their arrival; three of his assistants coming forward to take Laura away, the rest of the werewolves trailing behind her.
"The physicians from St Mungo’s are with him now," Dr Deaton explains. "His shoulder needs delicate spellwork that's beyond what I can provide."
"How long will they take?"
"I can't be sure. As you know, wounds caused by werewolves are harder to heal, even with magic. Meanwhile, Mr Stilinski," Dr Deaton ushers Mr Stilinski into his office, "Why don't you wait here instead?"
Mr Stilinski follows the physician without question, where he collapses ungracefully into a chair. "I can’t believe it’s come to this," he says, cupping his face in his palms. "Stiles," he sighs, clearly worried for his son.
"I’m sorry about Stiles," Dr Deaton commiserates with Mr Stilinski. "We're all aware of Peter Hale’s prejudices, but I never thought he’d take it out on a child."
"Tell me about it," Mr Stilinski says fervently. "Did the physician say anything about his injuries?"
"Fractures of the ribs and shoulder joint, at least. And he took that bad knock to the head. He's lost a fair bit of blood, obviously."
"Damn," Mr Stilinski swears, running a hand through his hair. "Do they have a preliminary assessment yet?"
"He's stable," Dr Deaton assures him, "We managed to get to him early enough. It's serious but not life-threatening. And lastly--"
"What?"
Dr Deaton gives Mr Stilinski a sad smile. "At least Stiles wasn't bitten."
Mr Stilinski lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "There is that. How ironic." He frowns, eyes narrowing as he recalls the conversation between Peter and Derek. "Is it true though? About my son and Derek Hale? The bond?"
Dr Deaton heaves a deep sigh. "Yes. Derek told me."
To his credit, Mr Stilinski does not lose his temper, though Dr Deaton can see him visibly try to restrain himself. "And when did he realise this had happened?"
Dr Deaton grimaces. "Since last year, at least. Around the time of Stiles' illness. That's when he felt it, according to him."
"Last year?" Mr Stilinski raises his voice. "And no one thought to inform me of such a development?"
"He was of the opinion that there was no need to inform anybody yet. And I agreed. Besides, the bond wasn't sealed yet. Stiles is underaged, and as you are aware, in the case when the partner is human, there is no guarantee the bond will take."
"But it has taken, hasn’t it?" Mr Stilinski asks. "That thing Stiles said, about feeling he needed to be where Derek was."
"Yes."
Mr Stilinski sucks in a deep breath, clearly about to give the absent Derek Hale a piece of his mind before Dr Deaton quickly interjects to forestall his protests.
"Mr Stilinski do try to understand, there was no deception intended on Derek's behalf. It's an awkward topic, to say the least. Derek had hoped to be able to take his time, at least till Stiles was a little older before he raised the issue to him. Though clearly that's no longer an option now."
Mr Stilinski falls silent, ruminating over the recent events.
"Mr Stilinski?" Dr Deaton enquires after him, concerned.
"No, I'm all right," Mr Stilinski assures him. He laughs a little, trying to defuse the tense situation. "It's just that it's a lot to take, finding out that your son's managed to accidentally get married in his second year of school. I wonder what my wife would have to say to me if she were still alive."
"Would you like some Firewhiskey?" Dr Deaton offers, unable to say anything more helpful.
"Yes, please," Mr Stilinski murmurs, still staring outside the window at the full moon. "That sounds fantastic right about now."
"I'm sorry," Derek says, eyes downcast, carefully showing a submissive posture to his new Alpha, even if she was his own sister.
"It's all right," she assures him with a tired smile, patting him on his knee. "We both knew it was going to come to this."
"But."
"So, our plans got moved a few years early," Laura scoffs, making light of the developments. "Big deal. We'll survive. I'd have had to challenge Uncle Peter sooner or later anyway, once he found out about Stiles."
"You wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for me."
"Exactly. I did it because you're my brother. So, stop worrying."
"But you've been hurt," Derek points to Laura's bandaged ribs and arms.
Laura shifts around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. "What did you expect? You know Uncle Peter never plays fair. But don't worry, it's just a few scratches," she says, in a bid to downplay her injuries. "They'll heal soon enough. How's Stiles doing?"
Derek makes a pained noise. "The physicians are just done with him. He’s in the other room. His shoulder is ruined, I think."
"Surely it's not that bad?"
"He's lost a lot of blood, Dr Deaton said."
Laura reaches, and despite her injuries, pulls him close. Derek hugs his sister tight, taking in deep breaths, before he finally tells Laura the problem.
"His father won't let me come near him." His voice breaks with emotion.
"Well, our family's just caused him a whole lot of problems. Give him time. I’ll speak to Mr Stilinski as soon as I can," Laura promises Derek.
"What if Stiles hates me after this?" Derek whispers into his sister's neck.
Laura presses a kiss to his temple. "Always the pessimist, Derek. We'll cross that bridge later."
"You cannot mean to keep them apart!" Laura protests. Mr Stilinski feels a twinge of sympathy as he takes note of the bandages and abrasions on her face - she was nowhere close to healing yet evidently - but tamps it down.
"I can. Don’t make me cite the legislation to you, Ms Hale. You know both Muggle and wizard laws are on my side here."
"That," Laura says through her teeth, as she leans in belligerently into his face, "Is a cruelty and you know it. My brother needs to see Stiles."
"I also know that in the case a bond between a werewolf and a human, the bond isn't sealed until," Mr Stilinski coughs, turning red, "Well, until it's sealed sexually. And in the case where the partner is human, the human may choose not to acknowledge the bond in the first place."
"You also know that the bond has taken."
"But not sealed," Mr Stilinski reminds her, implacable, bringing the full force of his negotiating skills to bear. "Derek seems to have settled on Stiles but my son has not made a similar commitment to your brother."
"Mr Stilinski, please," Laura pleads. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of compromise. Stiles isn’t the only one who’s been hurt," she reminds him.
Mr Stilinski snorts in disdain, running low on patience after the night's trials. "Derek looks perfectly fine to me. I wish I could say the same for Stiles."
Laura closes her eyes and changes tack. "Derek may not have been hurt physically. But what my uncle did to him was traumatic too. He needs to know that Stiles is safe. Having physical contact will help."
"No!" Mr Stilinski looks appalled. "I don’t want Derek anywhere near Stiles. Not yet anyway."
"What about when he’s sleeping then?" Laura bargains. "He won't say anything to Stiles. He just needs to be with him."
"Stay with my son whilst he’s sleeping? That's an even worse suggestion, Ms Hale."
Laura makes a frustrated noise. "I meant in wolf form. If Stiles starts to wake, Derek will leave immediately. Will you allow that, at least?"
"Only in wolf form?" Mr Stilinski takes her words under consideration.
"Yes."
"And he won't try to talk to Stiles about what's happened? Not until I've a chance to talk to him myself, at least."
"Done."
"Very well then." Mr Stilinski agrees reluctantly, "But don't push your luck."
"Fine," Laura agrees, equally unhappy at the strict conditions set. "It's better than nothing."
Stiles wakes up to a blinding pain in his shoulder. He turns his head, hissing as the movement jars his injured arm and the noise wakes his father up from where he is sleeping in a chair next to him, chin resting on his chest.
"Dad?"
"Hey," his father says as he stretches, working out the kinks in his shoulders and back.
"Hey to you, too." Stiles' attempt at humour falls flat and he winces as he feels his injury throb.
"This is getting to be a habit, son," Mr Stilinski tells Stiles, his teasing words failing to disguise the open worry in his eyes.
"Where am I? St. Mungo's?" Stile feels his heart speed up at the thought of being in hospital again.
"It's all right," his father comforts him, sensing his panic and he runs his fingers over his brow in a soothing manner. Stiles relaxes back into the sheets, feeling the cool sensation of his father's wedding ring on his forehead. "You're still in Hogwarts. The infirmary."
"What happened?"
"Don't you remember?" his father asks, and Stiles squints as he tries. An involuntary shudder runs through him as he recalls Peter Hale barrelling into him, and pinning him to the floor, fangs bared and claws extended.
"Peter Hale," he gasps. "He... Ow!"
"It's okay," Mr Stilinski shushes him, restraining him from disturbing the bandages. "Does it hurt?"
Stiles nods, feeling the pain pierce through his veil of sleepiness.
"Drink this," his father slowly helps him sit up and he feeds him a pain-reducing potion. Stiles drinks it as quickly as possible, making a face at the taste, then resumes his original train of thought.
"But Peter Hale--"
"Don't worry about him. It's been sorted out."
"How?"
"We can talk about that later," his father says evasively.
Stiles nods agreeably, too tired to say anything more before one more thought strikes him.
"Dad," he mumbles.
"Yes?"
"What's going to happen to the Accords?" he asks, vaguely remembering shouted words of anger and surprise before he was attacked.
"Don't worry about the Accords. They can wait."
"I'm sorry if I messed things up," Stiles apologises despite being unsure what exactly he was sorry for. He only had a firm, if unproven conviction, that something had gone badly and it had to do with him.
Mr Stilinski's hand pauses from where he had resumed stroking his son's hair. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Stiles. Now rest."
Stiles nods agreeably as he slides again into sleep. Just before he loses consciousness again, he thinks he can hear his dad sigh loudly in annoyance - at who, he wonders - and he feels a warm, heavy weight settling at his feet.
"Is it so bad, Mr Stilinski?" Laura Hale asks him from where she's seated in the empty Prefects’ room. "For your son to be bonded to a werewolf?"
"You're mistaken, Ms Hale. I don’t care about Derek being a werewolf," Mr Stilinski enunciates clearly.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Oh," Laura replies, clearly floored by his reply.
"But I do care that your brother seems to have married him without my permission!"
"Mr Stilinski, you know as well as I do how spontaneous bonds work. We didn't mean for this to happen."
"I would have appreciated the courtesy of being told at the very least."
"Oh please. How was Derek going to inform the either of you about the bond without making you angry or scaring Stiles off?"
Mr Stilinski scowls, conceding the point to Laura. "But Stiles is only thirteen."
"So was Juliet when she fell in love with Romeo," Laura points out and that gives Mr Stilinski pause as he takes a good look at her. Finally healed, Laura Hale is a handsome woman with a regal air despite her youth, long brown hair curled into a bun at the back of her head, sweeping expensive robes trailing the floor. Behind her, two of her Betas stood at attention, at her beck and call.
"You read Shakespeare?"
"Let's just say I took Muggle Studies very seriously," Laura grins briefly, allowing Mr Stilinski a small glimpse of the girl she had been.
"Fine. But stop right there. Firstly, wizard, human, or werewolf, we're in the twenty-first century now. Nobody gets married at thirteen."
"We’ve gone through this before, Mr Stilinski. I didn't take you for a slow person. The bond has taken."
"And you’re assuming of course, that my son’s feelings have not changed. I have no idea how he’s going to view your family now that he's been hurt."
Mr Stilinski watches as Laura twitches in her seat, knowing that he had hit a sore spot. "What will you tell him about Uncle Peter?"
"Nothing," Mr Stilinski replies.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The way I see it, your family should explain the mess to him, since you’re responsible for him being injured in the first place. In fact, I'll do you one better - I'll let Derek talk to Stiles about it."
"You would let Derek do that?"
"From what I can understand, your brother befriended my son with an ulterior motive in mind."
"He had to."
"There'll be no more of that from now on," Mr Stilinski states firmly. "I want Derek to tell Stiles everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything. Including the bond," Mr Stilinski says with a sharp look. "It will be up to Stiles to decide if he wants continue this friendship with your brother," he manages to talk without stumbling over his words. "But, I give you my word that I won't interfere."
"And if Stiles says 'yes' to Derek?"
"So be it. I'll respect his decision."
"All right," Laura agrees, "Fair enough. Just tell me when Derek will be permitted to meet Stiles."
"Dr Deaton says he's improving. It will be soon. But Ms Hale," Mr Stilinski asks, "What if Stiles says 'no'?"
A look of alarm flashes fleetingly across Laura's face, though she recovers quickly enough. "Then we'll abide by Stiles' decision too. Though you'll forgive me Mr Stilinski if I say that I hope it won't come to that."
"Derek has more to lose, doesn't he?" Mr Stilinski persists in his questioning. "In any wolf-human bond, the risk is always higher for the werewolf. The bond is permanent for the werewolf, even if the human rejects him."
"Yes," Laura admits, "Wolf-to-wolf bonds are more stable. Those with humans, less so, at least until the bond is sealed."
"That's incredibly disadvantageous, I have to say."
"But the rewards are even greater, if the human agrees," Laura explains. "I see you've been you've been reading," she remarks, impressed. "That's a rather obscure branch of werewolf academic literature."
"You forget. I had to do research for the Accords."
Laura makes a face. "You know so much about us. Too much, I think."
"Seeing that I’m a Muggle, I'll take that as a compliment, Ms Hale."
"You never told me what happened, Dad," Stiles remarks, chasing his pudding with his spoon, frustration rising in him at his current impairment which was making even the most mundane tasks difficult.
"Here," Mr Stilinski takes pity on his son and scoops the offending piece up for him, feeding him the dessert. Stiles gladly accepts the assistance, relieved none of his schoolmates are around in his moment of helplessness.
"I see your friends have missed you," Mr Stilinski comments, as he glances at the get-well cards and fruit baskets piled around Stiles' bed. Stiles still wasn't permitted to have visitors, partly because he still wasn't fit to have any and partly in an attempt to control the flow of information reaching him. Most of the cards were from fellow Ravenclaws, but there was also a charmed puzzle from Professor Flitwick. Mr Stilinski also spotted at least four packages from werewolf families; the news of the change in leadership in the Hale family and the cause of Stiles’ current predicament clearly having spread through their society.
"What actually happened?" Stiles asks. "Dr Deaton or any of the professors won't tell me anything. And I swear, I think Derek Hale’s stalking me or something."
"What's Derek Hale been doing?" Mr Stilinski asks, tone sharp. His instructions to Derek to stay away from Stiles were still standing, and he was in no mood to hear that they had been breached.
"Nothing. Just sort of hovering in the infirmary, talking to Dr Deaton. I see him sometimes, but he's been avoiding me. Which is strange. It's not like he didn't talk to me before."
"Actually, I told him not to."
"What? Why? Is it about his Uncle? Dad, it's not his fault his uncle is bonkers," Stiles argues.
"He was more than just crazy, kiddo."
"Well, okay. But that still doesn't explain why you won't let Derek talk to me."
Mr Stilinski sighs. "Because I wanted to be the first one to tell you the news about Peter Hale."
"What about Peter Hale?" Stiles asks, a wary look entering his eyes. "Isn't he in Azkaban by now?"
"Peter Hale's dead, son."
Stiles' eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "Dead? But didn't he..." Stiles trails off, unconsciously grabbing hold of his injured shoulder, eyes darkening as he remembers the attack.
Mr Stilinski grips Stiles by the arm, trying to reassure his son that he was safe now. "You were unconscious by then."
Stiles leans back on his pillows, trying to come up with something but failing. "Looks like I missed a lot. What happened?"
"I think," Mr Stilinski gives in to the inevitable. "Derek will be the best person to explain the situation to you."
"My dad tells me your uncle's dead." Stiles says in way of greeting when Derek enters the private room in the infirmary that Dr Deaton had assigned him. Derek looks Stiles over carefully. His arm was still in a sling, but the colour was returning to his cheeks and he was regaining some of his usual good humour.
"I'm glad you're looking better," Derek greets Stiles, not addressing Stiles' comment. He sets down a small hamper filled with candy on top of the small chest of drawers next to Stiles' hospital bed. "These are from Laura."
"Oh wow," Stiles gushes, temporarily distracted by the new stash of sweets. "Thank you. But I can't have them yet. Not until I'm done with the potions."
"Wounds caused by werewolves can be deadly," Derek says, stating the obvious.
"You don’t need to tell me that," Stiles agrees, arm coming up to clutch his shoulder automatically. "Dr Deaton says I could have lost my arm."
"About that," Derek apologises, "I'm sorry my uncle attacked you."
"Yes. My father said you'd explain things to me. Why did he do that?"
Derek licks his lips and wipes his palms on his robes nervously, looking out the corridor where Laura and Mr Stilinski were trying (and failing) to be as unobtrusive as possible.
"What do you know of spontaneous bonds, Stiles?" Derek asks, evading Stiles' original line of questioning.
"You mean article 27-A," Stiles says automatically, ever his father's son. "The reservation."
"Yes."
"What about it? I don't see how that's relevant. And you still haven't answered my question." Stiles demands.
"Well," Derek shifts in his seat.
"What?"
Stiles looks at Derek suspiciously when the older boy avoids looking at him, choosing to stare at a point on the wall instead. "Because article 27-A applies to us."
"Huh?"
Derek spreads his hands wide and shrugs. "Like I said."
"You mean, you and me?" Stiles points at his chest and back at Derek, who nods in response.
"You've got to be joking." Stiles falls back on his pillows, stunned. "Because that means--"
"Werewolves don't joke about bonds," Derek says stiffly.
"But," Stiles sputters, unable to summon anything more coherent. "How do you know it happened? When did it happen?"
"Last year. When you fell sick."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I wanted to," Derek confesses miserably. “But I didn't know how.”
"You could have tried," Stiles argues. "So, is this why your uncle attacked me?”
"Yes. Uncle didn't like that I had bonded with a human."
"So, you're saying he attacked me just because I was a human?"
Derek slides lower in his seat. "Yes."
Stiles works his jaw soundlessly. "That's just mental."
"Uncle Peter wasn’t known for being rational when it comes to humans."
"But now he's dead. How did he die then?"
"Laura challenged him for the leadership of our family. She won," Derek points out unnecessarily. "She's the Hale Alpha now."
"Why did she do that?"
"Because Uncle would never have accepted a human into the family."
"And Laura will?"
"Of course," Derek says automatically. "She likes you."
"She knows about the bond?"
"She was the first person I told."
"But, you didn't think it was necessary to tell me about it." Stiles' eyes spark with emotion.
"I wanted to wait a little more," Derek explains. "Besides, I wasn't sure if--" he reddens with embarrassment, "--if you'd like me. I thought we could be friends first. And then later when we were both older, maybe..."
"Oh," Stiles says, falling quiet. "I see. Does my father know?"
"Yes. Dr Deaton told him."
Stiles opens his mouth again as if to argue but then pauses. "I'd like to talk to my father, please," he requests politely, fingers clutching at the edges of his sling.
Derek’s heart sinks as he senses how Stiles is withdrawing from him. "Stiles," he tries again, "I didn’t mean to--"
Stiles puts up a hand, cutting off any further conversation. "I'd really like to see my father now."
"All right." Derek excuses himself from the room, throwing a backward glance at Stiles but the younger boy is no longer paying him any attention. "Stiles would like to speak with you," he tells Mr Stilinski.
"Is he all right?" Mr Stilinski asks, immediately concerned.
"I don't know," Derek says, keeping his voice steady, "He doesn't want to talk to me at the moment."
"Oh." Mr Stilinski's eyes darken with unexpected sympathy, and he claps a hand to Derek's shoulder. "Thank you," he says simply before walking into Stiles' room.
"Is it true, what Derek said?" Stiles asks his father. "About his uncle and everything else?"
"I'm afraid so," his father exhales loudly.
"Oh."
"You all right?"
Stiles shrugs, not trusting himself to talk.
"You know what? You look tired. Take a rest," his father says, offering him a way out.
"Okay," Stiles agrees before he lies down on the bed, and allows his father to tuck the blankets around him. Before long, he slides into sleep even though it's still early afternoon.
It's a Saturday when Dr Deaton finally discharges him from the infirmary with strict instructions not to aggravate his injury and instructions to report any sign of infection to him. Stiles nods, impatient to get out to the corridor where Scott's waiting for him, ready to help with the pile of cards and gifts he had been given over the course of his hospitalisation.
They walk the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, the corridors quiet, with most of the students likely cramming for the upcoming exams or out to Hogsmeade to relax from the stress. Scott complains good-humouredly about how he has to be Stiles' porter from now on during and in between classes.
"Not studying with Allison today?" Stiles teases Scott.
Scott turns red. "I'll go later," he says sheepishly. "After I get you settled down."
"Hey, I'm out, aren't I?" Stiles says, simultaneously touched and miffed that his friend thought he needed to be babied. "I'll be fine."
"Not with your arm like that," Scott argues, pausing when he sees the other person walking towards them in the corridor.
"Stilinski," Derek notes, reverting to the more formal mode of address in Scott's presence.
"Hi," Stiles says to Derek, eyes shifting around almost guiltily; Derek had not spoken to him since that disastrous day in the infirmary.
"Good to see you better," Derek says curtly.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, "Really glad to be out and about finally."
Derek raises his eyebrows at the bag of gifts Scott is lugging. "Quite the popular boy you are, Stilinski," he states with no trace of irony. "That looks like quite a handful for McCall to manage."
Stiles seizes the opening Derek gives him. "Maybe you can help me instead. Scott, didn't you say you wanted to go study with Allison?"
Derek growls slightly at the mention of the only daughter of Chris Argent, making Stiles frown at him.
"Oh. You don't mind?" Scott asks, trying to sound sorry, but not quite succeeding, and Derek rolls his eyes - he could literally smell Scott's excitement from where he stood.
"I can help," Derek shrugs, picking up on Stiles' hint.
"But your common room--" Scott hesitates, unsure if it would be wise to leave Stiles alone with the older boy.
"As if he can answer the riddle," Stiles scoffs, making Derek twitch in annoyance at Stiles' cheekiness. "Plus, he's a Prefect. You know how he's obliged to help the helpless and infirm. Like me."
"All right," Scott loses his misgivings quickly at the thought of spending more time with the beauteous Allison Argent, handing the bag of gifts over before waving a quick goodbye, rushing in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
"McCall has bad taste in girls, doesn't he?" Derek says tartly, unimpressed.
"You're just biased," Stiles sniffs, loyal. "Allison's not like the other Argents."
Derek snorts in disgust at the mention of the Hunter family, but refrains from saying anything further. They walk quietly for a few moments before Stiles speaks again.
"Anyway, I'm sorry about what happened the other day. At the infirmary. I guess I freaked out a little."
"It's no problem."
"It's just that, it's a lot to take, you know," Stiles tries to explain himself further. "Your uncle, this whole thing about us..." he makes a face.
"Stiles. I know." Derek says heavily. "You don't have to apologise."
Stiles, being Stiles, continues, "So, what I'm saying is, I need time to think."
Derek stops walking to turn to look directly at Stiles. "Take as long as you need."
"Oh. I can? I mean, you're not working on a deadline or anything, right?"
Derek's eyes soften slightly and he reaches out to touch the edge of Stiles' sling. "Of course not. I'll wait," he says carefully, gently.
Stiles openly heaves a huge sigh of relief. "That would be brilliant. Thank you."
"Lydia, have a heart," Stiles moans as he looks at the scrolls Lydia had piled in front of him on the desk she had commandeered for the both of them in the library.
"Stiles, we can't have Professor Harris deducting points from Ravenclaw if you can't catch up in Potions," Lydia says as she begins laying scrolls out methodically.
"But you know I can't brew some potions one-handed," Stiles wiggles his fingers from where his arm is still in a sling.
"Then we've got to make sure you're at least up-to-date on the theory," Lydia opens Magical Drafts and Potions to the latest lesson and jabs her finger at the text. "Read that. And don't," her eyes flash in warning, "Try to leave early."
"You're not my father," Stiles grumbles. There is silence after that, interrupted only by Lydia's enthusiastic writing for her Transfiguration essay, the scroll growing steadily longer by the minute, extending past the table to head towards the floor.
"You know, Peter Hale isn't the only one. This isn't over yet." Lydia says suddenly, biting the tip of her quill, looking distractedly into the distance.
"What did you say?" Stiles whispers, feeling a slight wave of panic wash through him at the mention of his attacker. "What about Peter Hale?"
Lydia blinks, and her eyes regain their usual sharp gaze. "Derek Hale's uncle? Isn't he dead? It was in the Daily Prophet. Something about an accident in his manor. Do catch up, Stiles." Stiles tries to interject but fails, and Lydia continues with her one-sided conversation. "It sounds terribly suspicious if you ask me, but these werewolf families are so mysterious. I do not understand why the Ministry declared his death a natural one. However does your dad deal with them?"
"My dad deals with them just fine, thank you," Stiles defends his father stoutly. "I was going to ask you about what you said. About things not being over."
Lydia purses her lips. "Stiles, I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you trying to skive? Because I will hex you if we lose points in Potions again because of you."
"All right, I'm studying, I'm studying," Stiles assures her, and he delves back into his books, Lydia's comment forgotten.
Stiles walks up to the Astronomy Tower, wanting some time alone, eager to get away from his curious schoolmates. It was bad enough to end up in the hospital wing two years in a row, he thought resentfully, but to have to pretend that his injury was caused by a rogue experiment done illegally after school hours was a bit much to take. That was the official line being given as to the source of his injury and as to why it was taking so long to heal.
"Oh. Hi."
"It's all right. I’ll leave," Derek offers immediately, sensing Stiles' uneasiness. "I'm done anyway," he lies baldly. Stiles stands rooted to the ground as the older boy walks past him.
"Derek," Stiles stops the older boy from leaving.
"Yes?"
"This past year. I mean, would you have been friends with me, if you know--"
"If I hadn't bonded with you, you mean."
Stiles crosses his arms. "Yes."
"I'm not sure actually."
"Oh," Stiles looks a bit disappointed, though he had been expecting that answer. "So, it was all because of the bond, then."
"I can't tell. It's all mixed up now. But what I do know is that," Derek closes his eyes before speaking again. "Now I can’t imagine what things would be like without you."
"It's that easy for you?"
"Yes," Derek acknowledges curtly.
"Will I have to be be a werewolf too?" Stiles asks bluntly, changing the conversation topic abruptly.
"Of course not."
"Would you want me to change?"
"Do you want to?"
"No," Stiles says, candid. "My dad doesn't say it, but I know it's not easy for him, me being a wizard. It'll be even worse if I were to change."
"You don't need to," Derek promises Stiles. "I'd never make you."
"Hold it right there. I haven't made up my mind about anything yet," Stiles jerks his chin up in a stubborn gesture, making the older boy flinch. "I'm sorry," he apologises immediately upon seeing the expression on Derek's face. "I shouldn't have said that."
"It's all right," Derek dismisses Stiles' words, lips curving in a brittle smile. "It's the truth anyway."
"How long will you wait? Weeks? Months? Years?" Stiles whispers the last word, though he knows Derek will have no problems hearing him.
Derek pauses at the top of the steps and shakes his head. "You know the answer to that, Stiles."
Stiles bites his lip, wondering if he should ask the next question.
"Stiles?"
"What if I say 'no'?" Stiles asks Derek. "I can, can't I? I mean, I checked. There have been times when the human rejects the bond.”
Derek turns pale, and Stiles can see how hard his knuckles are clutching the banister. "Then I'll just have to live with it."
"Always?"
"For the rest of my life," Derek says, his eyes flashing blue then red; an Alpha standing his ground, unwavering, steadfast.
Stiles winces as Dr Deaton pokes at his shoulder, frowning at the mass of scar tissue that marred his skin from collarbone to bicep. "Lift your arm, Mr Stilinski," he asks Stiles, still examining him with a critical eye.
"That's all I can do for now," Stiles says, as he slowly moves his arm, but the range of movement is still limited and he finds himself unable to straighten the limb above his head.
"Better than we hoped. You'll still need to wear the sling for at least two weeks more, I'm afraid," Dr Deaton says absently, marking down the results in Stiles' records. "You can put your arm down now."
"I guess that's the end of my embryonic Quidditch career, huh?"
Dr Deaton flicks a glance at Stiles, smiling ruefully. "I can't say for certain, but I would advise against putting my hopes up, Mr Stilinski."
"It's all right," Stiles brushes off Dr Deaton's sympathy as he slips on his shirt again. "Not that I was much good anyway. I'm sure they'd get a reserve Chaser soon enough. My dad's going to bring me to physiotherapy at Bart's during the holidays."
"Muggle treatment might work," Dr Deaton agrees. "Anything that can help you regain full mobility shouldn't be discounted. Magic can't solve everything after all."
"Yeah." Stiles kicks his legs back and forth, looking introspective.
"Something you want to ask me, Mr Stilinski?"
Stiles coughs. "Nothing. It's just that--"
"Hmm?" Dr Deaton hums encouragingly, even as he clears his table and sets up a small brass cauldron on it in preparation to brew a potion. Stiles hops off the examination table and follows Dr Deaton to his desk, staring interestedly at the array of ingredients.
"You can help me slice the bat spleens," Dr Deaton hands Stiles a knife and the spleens. "And you were saying, Mr Stilinski?"
"It was the full moon yesterday night," Stiles says off-handedly.
"And?"
"I heard a wolf howling. I was in our common room and we're way up high but I could hear him like he was right next to me. And I think I was the only one who heard it, because I asked Lydia and she said I had a hearing problem. Which I do not. Or maybe I do, because it really seemed like I was the only person who heard him."
Dr Deaton doesn't say anything, but he carefully measured out a drop of Lethe river water into the cauldron. Stiles bites his lip before saying one last thing. "And this makes even less sense, but I knew it was Derek Hale."
"You're sure it was Derek?"
"Positive. Though I can't explain why. Though I just thought," Stiles' eyes flick to the floor, "He sounded a bit sad."
Dr Deaton adds two porcupine quills to the cauldron. "Why is that do you think?"
"I don't know. I thought you'd tell me. Does that have anything to do with the bond?"
Dr Deaton sighs and wipes his hands on a rag. "Yes."
"Why is it happening?"
"I can't explain. Before you ask, Derek probably can't either. The bond affects each person differently, especially in a human-wolf pair. Some say they can feel each other's pain, some others can sense their partner's emotions. The only common denominator is that the werewolf gains absolute control over their wolf form, regardless of age. And control, as you know, is prized highly in their society."
"Oh. Okay."
"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you should also know that only Alphas form spontaneous bonds." Dr Deaton gives Stiles a significant look.
"But that means--"
"Precisely. There are two Alphas in the Hale family now, Mr Stilinski. Though Derek will still have to obey his sister so long as he's still in school. Besides, he has no pack to call his own."
"What happens when he leaves school?"
"That would be for Laura Hale to decide. But I don't need to tell you that he owes much to his sister."
"Wow. I never thought of things that way."
"I can give you a few journals you can read, if you wish. It's a topic of great interest for scholars. And it's only fair that you know more about what's happening to you."
"That would be great," Stiles agrees, always eager to learn more.
Dr Deaton smiles indulgently. "You can help stir the potion while I look for the scrolls, then."
"That's child labour, Dr Deaton. I should have you reported to the Ministry," Stiles laughs as he picks up the ladle and begins his task.
"Scott." Stiles looks around, his lips thinned in annoyance. Scott had promised to help Stiles with his trunk but had disappeared before he could carry out the task, likely having run off to say goodbye to Allison.
"Urgh," he complains. "Some friend you are. Rat deserting a sinking ship."
"Need help?" he hears somebody behind him. Stiles turns to find Danny and Jackson standing side by side, Jackson smirking at his plight.
"Usually I'd just leave you alone to suffer, Stiles, but my dad told me to be nice to you," Jackson explains, radiating smug satisfaction and superiority.
"So generous of you, Jackson," Stiles says a little ungraciously. "But I could use some help," he agrees, pointing to his trunk, which is piled high on top of a stack of other trunks. The other two boys, already fixtures on Hufflepuff's Quidditch team, easily haul his trunk down for him onto his trolley.
"Way to make me feel inadequate," Stiles mutters under his breath. "Thanks for nothing, Scott."
"Do you need anything else?" Danny asks nicely, narrowing his eyes at Jackson when Jackson smirks again at Stiles. "Hey, cut it out, Jackson."
"That's it, thanks," Stiles says instead, holding back the sarcastic comments he usually keeps on hand especially for Jackson. Any further arguments are forestalled when Mr Stilinski comes up to them, looking a little out of breath.
"I'm sorry I'm late. Last minute message from the Muggle Home Secretary to sort out."
"Yeah, Danny and Jackson helped me with my trunk," Stiles bites the words out reluctantly, much to Jackson's undisguised glee.
"Thanks a lot, boys."
"It's no big deal, Mr Stilinski," Danny demurs. "It's not easy, having an injury like that."
Stiles beams at Danny and his kind words, but narrows his eyes in annoyance at Jackson afterward.
"Send my regards to your father, Jackson," Mr Stilinski tells Jackson, shaking his hand. "You too, Danny."
"I'll be sure to do that, Mr Stilinski," Jackson assures Mr Stilinski in his most polite tone, clearly on his best behaviour. Stiles glares at Jackson, unconvinced by the sea change in his demeanour. "If you don't mind, Danny and I need to leave now."
"Sure. Don't let me keep you. And enjoy your holidays," Mr Stilinski waves them off.
Stiles makes a rude noise. "Don't be fooled by Jackson, Dad," he whines. "He's faking it." Mr Stilinski shakes his head indulgently, familiar with Stiles' frequent run-ins with Jackson in school.
"Had a good ride on the train?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, steering him away from the increasingly emptying platform. "Your shoulder feeling okay?"
"It was all right," Stiles says. "Dr Deaton gave me some pain-reducing potions. So I managed to get some rest."
"That's good to know. Are you ready to go then?"
"Yeah, I'm knackered. Let's go home," Stiles urges his father.
"You don't want an ice-cream?"
"Not today, if you don't mind."
All right. Home it is then."
Mr Stilinski doesn't miss how his son seems to be searching for somebody in the crowd, even as he pushes his trolley one-handed towards the platform barrier.
"I should have his portrait burned," Laura fumes over her lunch.
"Who? Uncle Peter?" Derek asks.
"Who else?" she jabs furiously at her steak. "He's not in his frame most of the time. Mum and Dad keep having to chase him back whenever I have questions."
Derek puts his knife and fork down and wipes his mouth, unsure as to how he could put things delicately to his sister. "Well, you did challenge him. You can't blame his portrait for being in a bad mood."
Lower down the table, Myles has an indiscreet coughing fit, making Laura glare at the offending Beta. "It's his duty as the preceding Alpha to advise me when required."
"You need advice from Uncle Peter?"
Laura spears a cherry tomato with great relish. "I want to know how to deal with Chris Argent."
"Why?"
"The Hunters are playing hardball on the Accords now."
"What happened in yesterday's meeting?" Laura had been attending a mad rush of meetings both with the Alphas from the other families and with the Ministry officials. However, as a young Alpha without a pack, Derek wasn't yet permitted to attend.
"They want Mr Stilinski removed from the negotiations. They think he's no longer an impartial party. For obvious reasons."
"That is not true."
"It's covered under the bylaws of the Accords," Randall explains. "Either party has the right to request a new negotiator in the event the lead negotiator cannot fulfill his duty."
"What's going to happen if they can't find a substitute we both can agree on?" Derek asks. "Can we suspend the negotiations indefinitely?"
"The Minister won't stand for that," Laura informs Derek. "These negotiations were overdue in the first instance. Then there was the Second Wizarding War. So it's been delayed twice already actually. If we take too long to decide on a new negotiator, the Minister will probably appoint one whether the werewolves like him or not."
"Can he do that?"
"He's the Minister. It's his prerogative. And we're at a disadvantage. It took so long for Uncle to agree to the negotiations in the first place so they're running low on patience with the werewolves. And especially with our family, since we seem to be creating all the drama at the moment. So we pretty much don't have any bargaining chips at the moment." Laura signals for the dessert to be served.
"Oh." Derek looks a little shamefaced. "I'm sorry."
Laura makes a dismissive noise. "I keep telling you, stop feeling guilty about it. Besides, Stiles is worth all this fuss," she pats Derek's hand. "That reminds me. Have you heard from him yet?"
"No." Derek tries to ignore the blatant looks of sympathy and open interest from Laura's Betas at the mention of Stiles.
"Well, I'm sure he'll come around."
"You seem pretty confident he will."
"Think positive, Derek, think positive.” Laura nags. "Anyway, let's focus. For now, you need to find a way for me to pin Uncle down in his portrait."
"What?" Stiles exclaims, dismayed when he sees the headline in the Daily Prophet.
Werewolf-Hunter Accords negotiations breaks down. Discussions suspended until further notice.
"Hmm? Oh, that." Mr Stilinski says. "Sorry, kiddo. I should have warned you. They were going to make it public today."
Stiles slumps in his seat, breakfast forgotten as he reads the entire article. "Why are they making it sound like it's your fault?"
"It's for PR purposes."
"Why?"
"I don't want the world knowing about you and Derek Hale," Mr Stilinski says a little sharply. "So I agreed to let them make me take the flak instead."
"That is so unfair."
"The Ministry's got my back on this, so don't worry about it. It was my idea, actually. It's just smoke and mirrors, Stiles."
"But the Accords..."
"The Hunters are refusing to continue unless we find a new negotiator. They say I have a conflict of interest. Which technically, is true. But the wolves still want me. So we're stuck."
"Excuse me. I haven't agreed to anything!" Stiles complains hotly.
"Derek's declared himself. And that's enough for the Hunters, I’m afraid."
"Will they give the job to someone else?" Stiles asks, upset, remembering all the work his father had put into the Accords negotiations.
"I might be allowed to stay on as a consultant, but I doubt I'll be permitted to participate directly in the talks when they resume. The Hunters don't want me anywhere near the Accords. But the Minister disagreed so I'm still in the team."
"I'm sorry," Stiles apologises again, feeling wretched for being the cause of his father's change in portfolio.
"Hey," Mr Stilinski grabs Stiles around his shoulders before letting go. "Cheer up. The Accords were only part of my job, remember? It's not like they sacked me. I'm still the main liaison officer for the Muggle Home Office."
"This is ridiculous," Stiles states, eyes taking on a mutinous glint. "You were doing a brilliant job of it too. I should complain to the Ministry."
Mr Stilinski leans down and kisses the top of Stiles' head. "You've caused quite the ruckus already, I think. But thanks for the support. Now go change. You don't want to be late for your appointment."
"What's wrong?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, staring moodily out the window of the cafe where the two had gone for high tea after his physiotherapy session.
"Nothing." Stiles says, taking a sip of his Earl Grey tea.
"Thinking about Derek Hale?" Mr Stilinski asks directly, making Stiles turn red.
"No." Stiles tries to dissemble. His father gives him an exasperated look and he gives up trying. "Okay, yes."
"What about him?"
Stiles turns the question back on his father. "What do you think about the whole thing? The bond?"
Mr Stilinski shakes his head. "I can't make up your mind for you."
"Okay, then. What would you like me to do?"
"Nice try, Stiles. But I'm not going to fall for that."
"A little help would be good," Stiles says, pleading.
Mr Stilinski pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a very big decision for somebody your age," he says a little reluctantly. "I didn't think I'd have to have this conversation with you for at least ten more years, and even then, you'd still be too young for me. But I know it's different for the werewolves."
Stiles restlessly stirs his sundae into a mush. "He told me he'd wait for as long as it takes," he tells his father.
"That's not surprising. There's a reason it's always problematic when they bond with humans. We don't see things the same way. But everything's so permanent for them. And all in black and white. Hardly any grey at all."
"You don't like that he's bonded to me?"
Mr Stilinski rubs his jaw, carefully considering what he should say next. "I don't like that you're only thirteen, Stiles. If you were even five, six years older, I'd probably be seeing things a little differently."
"You're really not big on the idea, are you?"
"I'm," Mr Stilinski speaks slowly, "Of the opinion that you're too young for this. Like I said, if only you were just a little older. But there's no point wishing for that anymore."
"You don't care that he's a werewolf?" Stiles asks his father cautiously.
Mr Stilinski chuckles as he remembers the day his wife revealed her secret. "I married your mother, didn't I? Had the shock of my life when she showed me witches do exist and they actually ride on brooms."
"Well, that's good. I guess. It's just that I don't know," Stiles mumbles and stares at the pattern of the tiles on the floor of the shop. "It's kind of scary."
"Hey, if it helps any, I'm freaked out too," Mr Stilinski reminds him. "This is practically a marriage proposal."
Stiles scowls. "Dad, don't say that."
"I'm just saying it like it is."
"I don't have to tell him anything now, do I?"
"You said it yourself. Derek will wait forever if necessary. It's just that--"
"What?"
"Don't say anything unless you're sure, Stiles," Mr Stilinski reminds him. "It's better to take your time. You can't change your mind, don't forget that. That would be cruel."
"Okay," Stiles agrees, biting into his muffin, "All right."
"You have a letter from Hogwarts," Laura walks into Derek's room, where he's seated on his bed, a book opened in his lap. He takes the letter and breaks the seal, mouth opening in surprise as he reads the information within.
"Come, share the news. And move over," Laura orders Derek and he shifts obediently to make room for his sister.
"This is great!" Laura says after she finishes reading, waving the letter in his face. "Congratulations. I see you’re following in my footsteps, baby brother. Two Head Prefects in the family. We should go celebrate."
"Thank you, but I don't feel like going out."
"I meant to Muggle London."
Derek snorts. "All the more reason not to go."
"Nobody recognises us there. It'll be just the two of us, no Betas hovering." Laura coaxes him. "Come on, it's a big deal, Derek. We definitely should celebrate."
"I'm sorry, but I don't really feel like it."
Laura looks at him, eyes wide with sympathy. "Not quite the letter you were hoping for?"
Derek's shoulders sag with disappointment. "Well, I can't very well expect Stiles to agree so soon," he replies a little too quickly; clearly having told the same thing to himself repeatedly over the past few weeks.
"Which is why you should get out," Laura pokes him in the ribs. "Breathe some fresh air. You've been sulking for far too long."
"I have not been sulking," Derek argues but it's a half-hearted attempt at best.
Laura gets off the bed and throws open Derek’s wardrobe, frowning at what she sees. "You have way too many black outfits," she grouses, selecting a pair of jeans, a shirt and jacket for him. "Never mind, I'll fix that today."
"I'm not going shopping with you," Derek disagrees immediately. "You take too long. And you're always making me buy new clothes."
"Get ready," Laura tells Derek, blithely ignoring him. "There's a new restaurant in Islington that I want to go to. Besides, I just got my credit card, and I want to try it out."
"What's a credit card?" Derek asks, surrendering to the inexorable force that was his older sister.
Laura spins and places her hands on her hips, exasperated at Derek’s ignorance. "This is why you need to take Muggle Studies."
"Stiles," Stiles hears his name, but the voice is calling from far, far away, and he can't seem to reach it. "Stiles," he hears again, "Come on son, wake up."
Stiles runs to the source of the voice, away from the rabid wolf with the blood-stained muzzle and red eyes that has been chasing him across the halls of Hogwarts. He curses in frustration when one staircase appears after another, and the doors open only to reveal a solid brick wall. He pounds the wall in mix of frustration and rising panic, as the wolf approaches closer and closer. The wall does not give however, and Stiles stumbles to the floor, closing his eyes, knowing what comes after this.
But this time, the nightmare does not end the way it usually does. He hears the growl of another wolf, smaller than his nightly tormentor, which knocks the bigger wolf out of the way. He blinks in surprise and gratitude at his saviour, bright blue eyes staring at him. The second wolf blinks once, its eyes changing from electric blue to red, and Stiles wakes up.
"What?" he croaks, voice hoarse from screaming. "Dad?"
"You had a nightmare again," his father says carefully so as not to startle him, before handing him a glass of water.
"Sorry."
"Nothing to apologise for." His father waits for him to calm down. "Feeling better?" he asks after he sees Stiles' breathing slow to its normal rate, and his grip on his father's hand lessens a little. Newton hoots from where he's resting in his cage, as if sensing Stiles' distress.
"It's all right, Newton," Stiles tells his owl, "Just a nightmare. I'll be fine."
"Go back to sleep," Mr Stilinski advises Stiles, rearranging the bedclothes for him.
Stiles yawns, tired out by the nights of interrupted rest. "You're the one who needs to sleep," he tells his father, "You have work. Me, I'm going to spend hours on Mario Kart later."
His father only snickers softly before walking out of the room and switching off the light.
After his father leaves, Stiles kicks around restlessly on his bed, staring at the ceiling, too awake now to fall asleep immediately. He peers out of the window to see the star-speckled sky, with the waxing crescent moon shining and remembers the second wolf from his nightmare, the one that rescued him, sleek with grey fur, all controlled power and restrained fury.
"Derek," Stiles murmurs. He turns to the drawers next to his bed, digging around with his arm, searching for something, which he finds piled beneath some books and his PSP. He shakes open the blanket Derek had given him back on the first day of term, noticing for the first time the stylised H embroidered in the middle of it. Stiles rubs his cheek against it, drawing comfort from the soft material before drawing it around his shoulders.
He falls asleep cocooned in the blanket, dreaming of running alongside Derek in his wolf form in an open field underneath a bright full moon.
"What's up?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, looking at him from the top of his glasses.
"Nothing," Stiles says, listless. He flops down on the couch next to his father. "What's that you're reading?"
"Ah ah, don't touch those," Mr Stilinski warns Stiles. "Those are from the Muggle Home Office. Highly classified. Not for your eyes."
"What are they about? Come on Dad, you can tell me."
His father takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. "They think some of the Ministries of Magic have been contacting their Muggle counterparts to collude to contravene the International Statute on Wizarding Secrecy."
"Why would they do that?"
His father smiles but it's full of regret. "Stiles, people will do anything during a war. Though mind you, I've got my own opinions on some Muggle governments, including ours. But let’s leave it at that."
"Those wizards, they're not coming to England, are they?" Stiles asks, feeling anxious at the idea of his father re-entering military service, even though there was no chance of that happening, certainly not when he was working for the Ministry of Magic, and not the Muggle government.
"It's just a few hotspots. We're just monitoring the situation."
"Oh. Okay. That's good."
"You didn't come here to ask me about my work, did you?" Mr Stilinski asks casually as he highlighted a passage from one of the briefs.
"Well," Stiles plays with the knots on his hoodie.
"I thought so. Spit it out, son. Is this about the Hale boy?"
"How did you know?" Stiles fidgets, embarrassed.
"I'm your father, Stiles," his father says absently, marking yet another passage and circling a few words. "It's part of the job description. What about Derek Hale?"
"So. Umm. I sent him a letter."
"And in this letter, you--" Mr Stilinski leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Stiles to finish it.
"So, I said okay. As in, I told him, okay. Yes. Affirmative. Definitely. Indisputably. Positively. I'm running out of synonyms here," Stiles stops when his father doesn't say anything in response.
Mr Stilinski pauses in his actions, sitting very, very still. "I see."
"You don't mind, do you?" Stiles asks, shifting to curl up next to his father.
Mr Stilinski relaxes again and sinks back into the couch, carefully setting aside the documents. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course not. I just didn't want you to be rushed into it."
"Thank you," Stiles leans his head against his father's shoulder. "But what do we do now?"
Mr Stilinski ruffles Stiles' hair, earning him an affronted scowl. "We wait. It's their move next."
Umm. Hi.
I have no idea what to say actually, only that I think this whole thing is really both weird and scary. YOU scare me, but I’m starting to realise it's all an act. And apparently, according to the books - I got them off my Dad and Dr Deaton - you can't really hurt me. The concept of which I have to admit, is awesome. For me.
Even if you are nasty, that would be against your laws. Plus, I'm underaged so I can still get my dad to jinx you. Or rather, he can tell the Ministry and they can send some Aurors to do it instead. And you'll never get a job with them if that happens, hah!
Laura sounds like a really great person and I want to know her better. And we were doing pretty OK, weren't we? At least until your uncle messed things up. But he was utterly insane, so it's not your fault. Not that I blamed you or anything. I just need to get that out in the open.
So what I’m saying is that yeah, okay. Let's do this.
I might have been eating too many humbugs when I wrote this.
Stiles
Derek stirs slowly from sleep, determined to lie in bed for as long as possible before any of the family comes to fetch him. He closes his eyes, trying to sneak another few minutes only to have the silence broken by an incessant tapping on his window. He turns his head, mouth going slack with shock when he sees Newton waiting impatiently for him.
In his haste, Derek almost stumbles to the floor before he regains his balance and opens his window, skin prickling at the cool morning air on his face. Newton hops carefully onto his arm, dropping the letter he has been holding into Derek's other hand.
He tears the letter open one-handed, throat seizing with emotion when he reads Stiles' reply, written in his haphazard penmanship. He runs to his sister's study, still in his nightclothes. As expected, Laura's already up and dressed, surrounded by her Betas as they run through the day's programme with her.
"Derek," she stands up at the sight of him. "What's wrong?" She narrows her eyes when she sees Newton flying into the room. "That's Newton."
Derek waves the piece of parchment. "Stiles--"
"Give me that," Laura reads Stiles' letter, breaking into a wide grin that mirrors the more restrained one Derek is wearing. Abandoning any attempt at decorum, she flings her arms around her younger brother, the letter fluttering to the ground, its message received loud and clear.
The other Betas pick up the discarded note, similar smiles appearing on their faces when they see the reply. Harold is the first to give his well wishes, "Congratulations, Master Derek," and the rest of the Betas follow suit.
Laura turns to her council, preparing to institute plans she had only previously hoped to be able to carry out. "Cancel all my appointments for the week, please. There's a few things I need to sort things out with Derek before we meet Mr Stilinski. Send my regrets to Mr Whittemore, especially. But I'm sure he'll understand."
"Done," Harold assures her.
"And could somebody feed Newton too? He likes éclairs," Laura says before changing her mind. "Never mind, let's just bring him down for breakfast with us. Come on, Newton," she coaxes him, "You can meet Mr Darcy and Gwen again."
The two siblings walk down the stairs towards the dining room arm in arm, ready to welcome the new day, Newton flapping in their wake.
end
Please go to Author's Notes for further information on this story.
Series: Teen Wolf 2011
Characters/Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (pre-slash), entire cast of Teen Wolf, original characters
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Teen Wolf and Harry Potter Fusion AU
Warnings: Scenes of physical violence to a minor and use of discriminatory language.
no other star
part 3
"Where is my son?" Mr Stilinski demands the second the small ragtag party reaches the infirmary. Mr Deaton’s already prepared for their arrival; three of his assistants coming forward to take Laura away, the rest of the werewolves trailing behind her.
"The physicians from St Mungo’s are with him now," Dr Deaton explains. "His shoulder needs delicate spellwork that's beyond what I can provide."
"How long will they take?"
"I can't be sure. As you know, wounds caused by werewolves are harder to heal, even with magic. Meanwhile, Mr Stilinski," Dr Deaton ushers Mr Stilinski into his office, "Why don't you wait here instead?"
Mr Stilinski follows the physician without question, where he collapses ungracefully into a chair. "I can’t believe it’s come to this," he says, cupping his face in his palms. "Stiles," he sighs, clearly worried for his son.
"I’m sorry about Stiles," Dr Deaton commiserates with Mr Stilinski. "We're all aware of Peter Hale’s prejudices, but I never thought he’d take it out on a child."
"Tell me about it," Mr Stilinski says fervently. "Did the physician say anything about his injuries?"
"Fractures of the ribs and shoulder joint, at least. And he took that bad knock to the head. He's lost a fair bit of blood, obviously."
"Damn," Mr Stilinski swears, running a hand through his hair. "Do they have a preliminary assessment yet?"
"He's stable," Dr Deaton assures him, "We managed to get to him early enough. It's serious but not life-threatening. And lastly--"
"What?"
Dr Deaton gives Mr Stilinski a sad smile. "At least Stiles wasn't bitten."
Mr Stilinski lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "There is that. How ironic." He frowns, eyes narrowing as he recalls the conversation between Peter and Derek. "Is it true though? About my son and Derek Hale? The bond?"
Dr Deaton heaves a deep sigh. "Yes. Derek told me."
To his credit, Mr Stilinski does not lose his temper, though Dr Deaton can see him visibly try to restrain himself. "And when did he realise this had happened?"
Dr Deaton grimaces. "Since last year, at least. Around the time of Stiles' illness. That's when he felt it, according to him."
"Last year?" Mr Stilinski raises his voice. "And no one thought to inform me of such a development?"
"He was of the opinion that there was no need to inform anybody yet. And I agreed. Besides, the bond wasn't sealed yet. Stiles is underaged, and as you are aware, in the case when the partner is human, there is no guarantee the bond will take."
"But it has taken, hasn’t it?" Mr Stilinski asks. "That thing Stiles said, about feeling he needed to be where Derek was."
"Yes."
Mr Stilinski sucks in a deep breath, clearly about to give the absent Derek Hale a piece of his mind before Dr Deaton quickly interjects to forestall his protests.
"Mr Stilinski do try to understand, there was no deception intended on Derek's behalf. It's an awkward topic, to say the least. Derek had hoped to be able to take his time, at least till Stiles was a little older before he raised the issue to him. Though clearly that's no longer an option now."
Mr Stilinski falls silent, ruminating over the recent events.
"Mr Stilinski?" Dr Deaton enquires after him, concerned.
"No, I'm all right," Mr Stilinski assures him. He laughs a little, trying to defuse the tense situation. "It's just that it's a lot to take, finding out that your son's managed to accidentally get married in his second year of school. I wonder what my wife would have to say to me if she were still alive."
"Would you like some Firewhiskey?" Dr Deaton offers, unable to say anything more helpful.
"Yes, please," Mr Stilinski murmurs, still staring outside the window at the full moon. "That sounds fantastic right about now."
"I'm sorry," Derek says, eyes downcast, carefully showing a submissive posture to his new Alpha, even if she was his own sister.
"It's all right," she assures him with a tired smile, patting him on his knee. "We both knew it was going to come to this."
"But."
"So, our plans got moved a few years early," Laura scoffs, making light of the developments. "Big deal. We'll survive. I'd have had to challenge Uncle Peter sooner or later anyway, once he found out about Stiles."
"You wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for me."
"Exactly. I did it because you're my brother. So, stop worrying."
"But you've been hurt," Derek points to Laura's bandaged ribs and arms.
Laura shifts around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. "What did you expect? You know Uncle Peter never plays fair. But don't worry, it's just a few scratches," she says, in a bid to downplay her injuries. "They'll heal soon enough. How's Stiles doing?"
Derek makes a pained noise. "The physicians are just done with him. He’s in the other room. His shoulder is ruined, I think."
"Surely it's not that bad?"
"He's lost a lot of blood, Dr Deaton said."
Laura reaches, and despite her injuries, pulls him close. Derek hugs his sister tight, taking in deep breaths, before he finally tells Laura the problem.
"His father won't let me come near him." His voice breaks with emotion.
"Well, our family's just caused him a whole lot of problems. Give him time. I’ll speak to Mr Stilinski as soon as I can," Laura promises Derek.
"What if Stiles hates me after this?" Derek whispers into his sister's neck.
Laura presses a kiss to his temple. "Always the pessimist, Derek. We'll cross that bridge later."
"You cannot mean to keep them apart!" Laura protests. Mr Stilinski feels a twinge of sympathy as he takes note of the bandages and abrasions on her face - she was nowhere close to healing yet evidently - but tamps it down.
"I can. Don’t make me cite the legislation to you, Ms Hale. You know both Muggle and wizard laws are on my side here."
"That," Laura says through her teeth, as she leans in belligerently into his face, "Is a cruelty and you know it. My brother needs to see Stiles."
"I also know that in the case a bond between a werewolf and a human, the bond isn't sealed until," Mr Stilinski coughs, turning red, "Well, until it's sealed sexually. And in the case where the partner is human, the human may choose not to acknowledge the bond in the first place."
"You also know that the bond has taken."
"But not sealed," Mr Stilinski reminds her, implacable, bringing the full force of his negotiating skills to bear. "Derek seems to have settled on Stiles but my son has not made a similar commitment to your brother."
"Mr Stilinski, please," Laura pleads. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of compromise. Stiles isn’t the only one who’s been hurt," she reminds him.
Mr Stilinski snorts in disdain, running low on patience after the night's trials. "Derek looks perfectly fine to me. I wish I could say the same for Stiles."
Laura closes her eyes and changes tack. "Derek may not have been hurt physically. But what my uncle did to him was traumatic too. He needs to know that Stiles is safe. Having physical contact will help."
"No!" Mr Stilinski looks appalled. "I don’t want Derek anywhere near Stiles. Not yet anyway."
"What about when he’s sleeping then?" Laura bargains. "He won't say anything to Stiles. He just needs to be with him."
"Stay with my son whilst he’s sleeping? That's an even worse suggestion, Ms Hale."
Laura makes a frustrated noise. "I meant in wolf form. If Stiles starts to wake, Derek will leave immediately. Will you allow that, at least?"
"Only in wolf form?" Mr Stilinski takes her words under consideration.
"Yes."
"And he won't try to talk to Stiles about what's happened? Not until I've a chance to talk to him myself, at least."
"Done."
"Very well then." Mr Stilinski agrees reluctantly, "But don't push your luck."
"Fine," Laura agrees, equally unhappy at the strict conditions set. "It's better than nothing."
Stiles wakes up to a blinding pain in his shoulder. He turns his head, hissing as the movement jars his injured arm and the noise wakes his father up from where he is sleeping in a chair next to him, chin resting on his chest.
"Dad?"
"Hey," his father says as he stretches, working out the kinks in his shoulders and back.
"Hey to you, too." Stiles' attempt at humour falls flat and he winces as he feels his injury throb.
"This is getting to be a habit, son," Mr Stilinski tells Stiles, his teasing words failing to disguise the open worry in his eyes.
"Where am I? St. Mungo's?" Stile feels his heart speed up at the thought of being in hospital again.
"It's all right," his father comforts him, sensing his panic and he runs his fingers over his brow in a soothing manner. Stiles relaxes back into the sheets, feeling the cool sensation of his father's wedding ring on his forehead. "You're still in Hogwarts. The infirmary."
"What happened?"
"Don't you remember?" his father asks, and Stiles squints as he tries. An involuntary shudder runs through him as he recalls Peter Hale barrelling into him, and pinning him to the floor, fangs bared and claws extended.
"Peter Hale," he gasps. "He... Ow!"
"It's okay," Mr Stilinski shushes him, restraining him from disturbing the bandages. "Does it hurt?"
Stiles nods, feeling the pain pierce through his veil of sleepiness.
"Drink this," his father slowly helps him sit up and he feeds him a pain-reducing potion. Stiles drinks it as quickly as possible, making a face at the taste, then resumes his original train of thought.
"But Peter Hale--"
"Don't worry about him. It's been sorted out."
"How?"
"We can talk about that later," his father says evasively.
Stiles nods agreeably, too tired to say anything more before one more thought strikes him.
"Dad," he mumbles.
"Yes?"
"What's going to happen to the Accords?" he asks, vaguely remembering shouted words of anger and surprise before he was attacked.
"Don't worry about the Accords. They can wait."
"I'm sorry if I messed things up," Stiles apologises despite being unsure what exactly he was sorry for. He only had a firm, if unproven conviction, that something had gone badly and it had to do with him.
Mr Stilinski's hand pauses from where he had resumed stroking his son's hair. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Stiles. Now rest."
Stiles nods agreeably as he slides again into sleep. Just before he loses consciousness again, he thinks he can hear his dad sigh loudly in annoyance - at who, he wonders - and he feels a warm, heavy weight settling at his feet.
"Is it so bad, Mr Stilinski?" Laura Hale asks him from where she's seated in the empty Prefects’ room. "For your son to be bonded to a werewolf?"
"You're mistaken, Ms Hale. I don’t care about Derek being a werewolf," Mr Stilinski enunciates clearly.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Oh," Laura replies, clearly floored by his reply.
"But I do care that your brother seems to have married him without my permission!"
"Mr Stilinski, you know as well as I do how spontaneous bonds work. We didn't mean for this to happen."
"I would have appreciated the courtesy of being told at the very least."
"Oh please. How was Derek going to inform the either of you about the bond without making you angry or scaring Stiles off?"
Mr Stilinski scowls, conceding the point to Laura. "But Stiles is only thirteen."
"So was Juliet when she fell in love with Romeo," Laura points out and that gives Mr Stilinski pause as he takes a good look at her. Finally healed, Laura Hale is a handsome woman with a regal air despite her youth, long brown hair curled into a bun at the back of her head, sweeping expensive robes trailing the floor. Behind her, two of her Betas stood at attention, at her beck and call.
"You read Shakespeare?"
"Let's just say I took Muggle Studies very seriously," Laura grins briefly, allowing Mr Stilinski a small glimpse of the girl she had been.
"Fine. But stop right there. Firstly, wizard, human, or werewolf, we're in the twenty-first century now. Nobody gets married at thirteen."
"We’ve gone through this before, Mr Stilinski. I didn't take you for a slow person. The bond has taken."
"And you’re assuming of course, that my son’s feelings have not changed. I have no idea how he’s going to view your family now that he's been hurt."
Mr Stilinski watches as Laura twitches in her seat, knowing that he had hit a sore spot. "What will you tell him about Uncle Peter?"
"Nothing," Mr Stilinski replies.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The way I see it, your family should explain the mess to him, since you’re responsible for him being injured in the first place. In fact, I'll do you one better - I'll let Derek talk to Stiles about it."
"You would let Derek do that?"
"From what I can understand, your brother befriended my son with an ulterior motive in mind."
"He had to."
"There'll be no more of that from now on," Mr Stilinski states firmly. "I want Derek to tell Stiles everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything. Including the bond," Mr Stilinski says with a sharp look. "It will be up to Stiles to decide if he wants continue this friendship with your brother," he manages to talk without stumbling over his words. "But, I give you my word that I won't interfere."
"And if Stiles says 'yes' to Derek?"
"So be it. I'll respect his decision."
"All right," Laura agrees, "Fair enough. Just tell me when Derek will be permitted to meet Stiles."
"Dr Deaton says he's improving. It will be soon. But Ms Hale," Mr Stilinski asks, "What if Stiles says 'no'?"
A look of alarm flashes fleetingly across Laura's face, though she recovers quickly enough. "Then we'll abide by Stiles' decision too. Though you'll forgive me Mr Stilinski if I say that I hope it won't come to that."
"Derek has more to lose, doesn't he?" Mr Stilinski persists in his questioning. "In any wolf-human bond, the risk is always higher for the werewolf. The bond is permanent for the werewolf, even if the human rejects him."
"Yes," Laura admits, "Wolf-to-wolf bonds are more stable. Those with humans, less so, at least until the bond is sealed."
"That's incredibly disadvantageous, I have to say."
"But the rewards are even greater, if the human agrees," Laura explains. "I see you've been you've been reading," she remarks, impressed. "That's a rather obscure branch of werewolf academic literature."
"You forget. I had to do research for the Accords."
Laura makes a face. "You know so much about us. Too much, I think."
"Seeing that I’m a Muggle, I'll take that as a compliment, Ms Hale."
"You never told me what happened, Dad," Stiles remarks, chasing his pudding with his spoon, frustration rising in him at his current impairment which was making even the most mundane tasks difficult.
"Here," Mr Stilinski takes pity on his son and scoops the offending piece up for him, feeding him the dessert. Stiles gladly accepts the assistance, relieved none of his schoolmates are around in his moment of helplessness.
"I see your friends have missed you," Mr Stilinski comments, as he glances at the get-well cards and fruit baskets piled around Stiles' bed. Stiles still wasn't permitted to have visitors, partly because he still wasn't fit to have any and partly in an attempt to control the flow of information reaching him. Most of the cards were from fellow Ravenclaws, but there was also a charmed puzzle from Professor Flitwick. Mr Stilinski also spotted at least four packages from werewolf families; the news of the change in leadership in the Hale family and the cause of Stiles’ current predicament clearly having spread through their society.
"What actually happened?" Stiles asks. "Dr Deaton or any of the professors won't tell me anything. And I swear, I think Derek Hale’s stalking me or something."
"What's Derek Hale been doing?" Mr Stilinski asks, tone sharp. His instructions to Derek to stay away from Stiles were still standing, and he was in no mood to hear that they had been breached.
"Nothing. Just sort of hovering in the infirmary, talking to Dr Deaton. I see him sometimes, but he's been avoiding me. Which is strange. It's not like he didn't talk to me before."
"Actually, I told him not to."
"What? Why? Is it about his Uncle? Dad, it's not his fault his uncle is bonkers," Stiles argues.
"He was more than just crazy, kiddo."
"Well, okay. But that still doesn't explain why you won't let Derek talk to me."
Mr Stilinski sighs. "Because I wanted to be the first one to tell you the news about Peter Hale."
"What about Peter Hale?" Stiles asks, a wary look entering his eyes. "Isn't he in Azkaban by now?"
"Peter Hale's dead, son."
Stiles' eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "Dead? But didn't he..." Stiles trails off, unconsciously grabbing hold of his injured shoulder, eyes darkening as he remembers the attack.
Mr Stilinski grips Stiles by the arm, trying to reassure his son that he was safe now. "You were unconscious by then."
Stiles leans back on his pillows, trying to come up with something but failing. "Looks like I missed a lot. What happened?"
"I think," Mr Stilinski gives in to the inevitable. "Derek will be the best person to explain the situation to you."
"My dad tells me your uncle's dead." Stiles says in way of greeting when Derek enters the private room in the infirmary that Dr Deaton had assigned him. Derek looks Stiles over carefully. His arm was still in a sling, but the colour was returning to his cheeks and he was regaining some of his usual good humour.
"I'm glad you're looking better," Derek greets Stiles, not addressing Stiles' comment. He sets down a small hamper filled with candy on top of the small chest of drawers next to Stiles' hospital bed. "These are from Laura."
"Oh wow," Stiles gushes, temporarily distracted by the new stash of sweets. "Thank you. But I can't have them yet. Not until I'm done with the potions."
"Wounds caused by werewolves can be deadly," Derek says, stating the obvious.
"You don’t need to tell me that," Stiles agrees, arm coming up to clutch his shoulder automatically. "Dr Deaton says I could have lost my arm."
"About that," Derek apologises, "I'm sorry my uncle attacked you."
"Yes. My father said you'd explain things to me. Why did he do that?"
Derek licks his lips and wipes his palms on his robes nervously, looking out the corridor where Laura and Mr Stilinski were trying (and failing) to be as unobtrusive as possible.
"What do you know of spontaneous bonds, Stiles?" Derek asks, evading Stiles' original line of questioning.
"You mean article 27-A," Stiles says automatically, ever his father's son. "The reservation."
"Yes."
"What about it? I don't see how that's relevant. And you still haven't answered my question." Stiles demands.
"Well," Derek shifts in his seat.
"What?"
Stiles looks at Derek suspiciously when the older boy avoids looking at him, choosing to stare at a point on the wall instead. "Because article 27-A applies to us."
"Huh?"
Derek spreads his hands wide and shrugs. "Like I said."
"You mean, you and me?" Stiles points at his chest and back at Derek, who nods in response.
"You've got to be joking." Stiles falls back on his pillows, stunned. "Because that means--"
"Werewolves don't joke about bonds," Derek says stiffly.
"But," Stiles sputters, unable to summon anything more coherent. "How do you know it happened? When did it happen?"
"Last year. When you fell sick."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I wanted to," Derek confesses miserably. “But I didn't know how.”
"You could have tried," Stiles argues. "So, is this why your uncle attacked me?”
"Yes. Uncle didn't like that I had bonded with a human."
"So, you're saying he attacked me just because I was a human?"
Derek slides lower in his seat. "Yes."
Stiles works his jaw soundlessly. "That's just mental."
"Uncle Peter wasn’t known for being rational when it comes to humans."
"But now he's dead. How did he die then?"
"Laura challenged him for the leadership of our family. She won," Derek points out unnecessarily. "She's the Hale Alpha now."
"Why did she do that?"
"Because Uncle would never have accepted a human into the family."
"And Laura will?"
"Of course," Derek says automatically. "She likes you."
"She knows about the bond?"
"She was the first person I told."
"But, you didn't think it was necessary to tell me about it." Stiles' eyes spark with emotion.
"I wanted to wait a little more," Derek explains. "Besides, I wasn't sure if--" he reddens with embarrassment, "--if you'd like me. I thought we could be friends first. And then later when we were both older, maybe..."
"Oh," Stiles says, falling quiet. "I see. Does my father know?"
"Yes. Dr Deaton told him."
Stiles opens his mouth again as if to argue but then pauses. "I'd like to talk to my father, please," he requests politely, fingers clutching at the edges of his sling.
Derek’s heart sinks as he senses how Stiles is withdrawing from him. "Stiles," he tries again, "I didn’t mean to--"
Stiles puts up a hand, cutting off any further conversation. "I'd really like to see my father now."
"All right." Derek excuses himself from the room, throwing a backward glance at Stiles but the younger boy is no longer paying him any attention. "Stiles would like to speak with you," he tells Mr Stilinski.
"Is he all right?" Mr Stilinski asks, immediately concerned.
"I don't know," Derek says, keeping his voice steady, "He doesn't want to talk to me at the moment."
"Oh." Mr Stilinski's eyes darken with unexpected sympathy, and he claps a hand to Derek's shoulder. "Thank you," he says simply before walking into Stiles' room.
"Is it true, what Derek said?" Stiles asks his father. "About his uncle and everything else?"
"I'm afraid so," his father exhales loudly.
"Oh."
"You all right?"
Stiles shrugs, not trusting himself to talk.
"You know what? You look tired. Take a rest," his father says, offering him a way out.
"Okay," Stiles agrees before he lies down on the bed, and allows his father to tuck the blankets around him. Before long, he slides into sleep even though it's still early afternoon.
It's a Saturday when Dr Deaton finally discharges him from the infirmary with strict instructions not to aggravate his injury and instructions to report any sign of infection to him. Stiles nods, impatient to get out to the corridor where Scott's waiting for him, ready to help with the pile of cards and gifts he had been given over the course of his hospitalisation.
They walk the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, the corridors quiet, with most of the students likely cramming for the upcoming exams or out to Hogsmeade to relax from the stress. Scott complains good-humouredly about how he has to be Stiles' porter from now on during and in between classes.
"Not studying with Allison today?" Stiles teases Scott.
Scott turns red. "I'll go later," he says sheepishly. "After I get you settled down."
"Hey, I'm out, aren't I?" Stiles says, simultaneously touched and miffed that his friend thought he needed to be babied. "I'll be fine."
"Not with your arm like that," Scott argues, pausing when he sees the other person walking towards them in the corridor.
"Stilinski," Derek notes, reverting to the more formal mode of address in Scott's presence.
"Hi," Stiles says to Derek, eyes shifting around almost guiltily; Derek had not spoken to him since that disastrous day in the infirmary.
"Good to see you better," Derek says curtly.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, "Really glad to be out and about finally."
Derek raises his eyebrows at the bag of gifts Scott is lugging. "Quite the popular boy you are, Stilinski," he states with no trace of irony. "That looks like quite a handful for McCall to manage."
Stiles seizes the opening Derek gives him. "Maybe you can help me instead. Scott, didn't you say you wanted to go study with Allison?"
Derek growls slightly at the mention of the only daughter of Chris Argent, making Stiles frown at him.
"Oh. You don't mind?" Scott asks, trying to sound sorry, but not quite succeeding, and Derek rolls his eyes - he could literally smell Scott's excitement from where he stood.
"I can help," Derek shrugs, picking up on Stiles' hint.
"But your common room--" Scott hesitates, unsure if it would be wise to leave Stiles alone with the older boy.
"As if he can answer the riddle," Stiles scoffs, making Derek twitch in annoyance at Stiles' cheekiness. "Plus, he's a Prefect. You know how he's obliged to help the helpless and infirm. Like me."
"All right," Scott loses his misgivings quickly at the thought of spending more time with the beauteous Allison Argent, handing the bag of gifts over before waving a quick goodbye, rushing in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
"McCall has bad taste in girls, doesn't he?" Derek says tartly, unimpressed.
"You're just biased," Stiles sniffs, loyal. "Allison's not like the other Argents."
Derek snorts in disgust at the mention of the Hunter family, but refrains from saying anything further. They walk quietly for a few moments before Stiles speaks again.
"Anyway, I'm sorry about what happened the other day. At the infirmary. I guess I freaked out a little."
"It's no problem."
"It's just that, it's a lot to take, you know," Stiles tries to explain himself further. "Your uncle, this whole thing about us..." he makes a face.
"Stiles. I know." Derek says heavily. "You don't have to apologise."
Stiles, being Stiles, continues, "So, what I'm saying is, I need time to think."
Derek stops walking to turn to look directly at Stiles. "Take as long as you need."
"Oh. I can? I mean, you're not working on a deadline or anything, right?"
Derek's eyes soften slightly and he reaches out to touch the edge of Stiles' sling. "Of course not. I'll wait," he says carefully, gently.
Stiles openly heaves a huge sigh of relief. "That would be brilliant. Thank you."
"Lydia, have a heart," Stiles moans as he looks at the scrolls Lydia had piled in front of him on the desk she had commandeered for the both of them in the library.
"Stiles, we can't have Professor Harris deducting points from Ravenclaw if you can't catch up in Potions," Lydia says as she begins laying scrolls out methodically.
"But you know I can't brew some potions one-handed," Stiles wiggles his fingers from where his arm is still in a sling.
"Then we've got to make sure you're at least up-to-date on the theory," Lydia opens Magical Drafts and Potions to the latest lesson and jabs her finger at the text. "Read that. And don't," her eyes flash in warning, "Try to leave early."
"You're not my father," Stiles grumbles. There is silence after that, interrupted only by Lydia's enthusiastic writing for her Transfiguration essay, the scroll growing steadily longer by the minute, extending past the table to head towards the floor.
"You know, Peter Hale isn't the only one. This isn't over yet." Lydia says suddenly, biting the tip of her quill, looking distractedly into the distance.
"What did you say?" Stiles whispers, feeling a slight wave of panic wash through him at the mention of his attacker. "What about Peter Hale?"
Lydia blinks, and her eyes regain their usual sharp gaze. "Derek Hale's uncle? Isn't he dead? It was in the Daily Prophet. Something about an accident in his manor. Do catch up, Stiles." Stiles tries to interject but fails, and Lydia continues with her one-sided conversation. "It sounds terribly suspicious if you ask me, but these werewolf families are so mysterious. I do not understand why the Ministry declared his death a natural one. However does your dad deal with them?"
"My dad deals with them just fine, thank you," Stiles defends his father stoutly. "I was going to ask you about what you said. About things not being over."
Lydia purses her lips. "Stiles, I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you trying to skive? Because I will hex you if we lose points in Potions again because of you."
"All right, I'm studying, I'm studying," Stiles assures her, and he delves back into his books, Lydia's comment forgotten.
Stiles walks up to the Astronomy Tower, wanting some time alone, eager to get away from his curious schoolmates. It was bad enough to end up in the hospital wing two years in a row, he thought resentfully, but to have to pretend that his injury was caused by a rogue experiment done illegally after school hours was a bit much to take. That was the official line being given as to the source of his injury and as to why it was taking so long to heal.
"Oh. Hi."
"It's all right. I’ll leave," Derek offers immediately, sensing Stiles' uneasiness. "I'm done anyway," he lies baldly. Stiles stands rooted to the ground as the older boy walks past him.
"Derek," Stiles stops the older boy from leaving.
"Yes?"
"This past year. I mean, would you have been friends with me, if you know--"
"If I hadn't bonded with you, you mean."
Stiles crosses his arms. "Yes."
"I'm not sure actually."
"Oh," Stiles looks a bit disappointed, though he had been expecting that answer. "So, it was all because of the bond, then."
"I can't tell. It's all mixed up now. But what I do know is that," Derek closes his eyes before speaking again. "Now I can’t imagine what things would be like without you."
"It's that easy for you?"
"Yes," Derek acknowledges curtly.
"Will I have to be be a werewolf too?" Stiles asks bluntly, changing the conversation topic abruptly.
"Of course not."
"Would you want me to change?"
"Do you want to?"
"No," Stiles says, candid. "My dad doesn't say it, but I know it's not easy for him, me being a wizard. It'll be even worse if I were to change."
"You don't need to," Derek promises Stiles. "I'd never make you."
"Hold it right there. I haven't made up my mind about anything yet," Stiles jerks his chin up in a stubborn gesture, making the older boy flinch. "I'm sorry," he apologises immediately upon seeing the expression on Derek's face. "I shouldn't have said that."
"It's all right," Derek dismisses Stiles' words, lips curving in a brittle smile. "It's the truth anyway."
"How long will you wait? Weeks? Months? Years?" Stiles whispers the last word, though he knows Derek will have no problems hearing him.
Derek pauses at the top of the steps and shakes his head. "You know the answer to that, Stiles."
Stiles bites his lip, wondering if he should ask the next question.
"Stiles?"
"What if I say 'no'?" Stiles asks Derek. "I can, can't I? I mean, I checked. There have been times when the human rejects the bond.”
Derek turns pale, and Stiles can see how hard his knuckles are clutching the banister. "Then I'll just have to live with it."
"Always?"
"For the rest of my life," Derek says, his eyes flashing blue then red; an Alpha standing his ground, unwavering, steadfast.
Stiles winces as Dr Deaton pokes at his shoulder, frowning at the mass of scar tissue that marred his skin from collarbone to bicep. "Lift your arm, Mr Stilinski," he asks Stiles, still examining him with a critical eye.
"That's all I can do for now," Stiles says, as he slowly moves his arm, but the range of movement is still limited and he finds himself unable to straighten the limb above his head.
"Better than we hoped. You'll still need to wear the sling for at least two weeks more, I'm afraid," Dr Deaton says absently, marking down the results in Stiles' records. "You can put your arm down now."
"I guess that's the end of my embryonic Quidditch career, huh?"
Dr Deaton flicks a glance at Stiles, smiling ruefully. "I can't say for certain, but I would advise against putting my hopes up, Mr Stilinski."
"It's all right," Stiles brushes off Dr Deaton's sympathy as he slips on his shirt again. "Not that I was much good anyway. I'm sure they'd get a reserve Chaser soon enough. My dad's going to bring me to physiotherapy at Bart's during the holidays."
"Muggle treatment might work," Dr Deaton agrees. "Anything that can help you regain full mobility shouldn't be discounted. Magic can't solve everything after all."
"Yeah." Stiles kicks his legs back and forth, looking introspective.
"Something you want to ask me, Mr Stilinski?"
Stiles coughs. "Nothing. It's just that--"
"Hmm?" Dr Deaton hums encouragingly, even as he clears his table and sets up a small brass cauldron on it in preparation to brew a potion. Stiles hops off the examination table and follows Dr Deaton to his desk, staring interestedly at the array of ingredients.
"You can help me slice the bat spleens," Dr Deaton hands Stiles a knife and the spleens. "And you were saying, Mr Stilinski?"
"It was the full moon yesterday night," Stiles says off-handedly.
"And?"
"I heard a wolf howling. I was in our common room and we're way up high but I could hear him like he was right next to me. And I think I was the only one who heard it, because I asked Lydia and she said I had a hearing problem. Which I do not. Or maybe I do, because it really seemed like I was the only person who heard him."
Dr Deaton doesn't say anything, but he carefully measured out a drop of Lethe river water into the cauldron. Stiles bites his lip before saying one last thing. "And this makes even less sense, but I knew it was Derek Hale."
"You're sure it was Derek?"
"Positive. Though I can't explain why. Though I just thought," Stiles' eyes flick to the floor, "He sounded a bit sad."
Dr Deaton adds two porcupine quills to the cauldron. "Why is that do you think?"
"I don't know. I thought you'd tell me. Does that have anything to do with the bond?"
Dr Deaton sighs and wipes his hands on a rag. "Yes."
"Why is it happening?"
"I can't explain. Before you ask, Derek probably can't either. The bond affects each person differently, especially in a human-wolf pair. Some say they can feel each other's pain, some others can sense their partner's emotions. The only common denominator is that the werewolf gains absolute control over their wolf form, regardless of age. And control, as you know, is prized highly in their society."
"Oh. Okay."
"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you should also know that only Alphas form spontaneous bonds." Dr Deaton gives Stiles a significant look.
"But that means--"
"Precisely. There are two Alphas in the Hale family now, Mr Stilinski. Though Derek will still have to obey his sister so long as he's still in school. Besides, he has no pack to call his own."
"What happens when he leaves school?"
"That would be for Laura Hale to decide. But I don't need to tell you that he owes much to his sister."
"Wow. I never thought of things that way."
"I can give you a few journals you can read, if you wish. It's a topic of great interest for scholars. And it's only fair that you know more about what's happening to you."
"That would be great," Stiles agrees, always eager to learn more.
Dr Deaton smiles indulgently. "You can help stir the potion while I look for the scrolls, then."
"That's child labour, Dr Deaton. I should have you reported to the Ministry," Stiles laughs as he picks up the ladle and begins his task.
"Scott." Stiles looks around, his lips thinned in annoyance. Scott had promised to help Stiles with his trunk but had disappeared before he could carry out the task, likely having run off to say goodbye to Allison.
"Urgh," he complains. "Some friend you are. Rat deserting a sinking ship."
"Need help?" he hears somebody behind him. Stiles turns to find Danny and Jackson standing side by side, Jackson smirking at his plight.
"Usually I'd just leave you alone to suffer, Stiles, but my dad told me to be nice to you," Jackson explains, radiating smug satisfaction and superiority.
"So generous of you, Jackson," Stiles says a little ungraciously. "But I could use some help," he agrees, pointing to his trunk, which is piled high on top of a stack of other trunks. The other two boys, already fixtures on Hufflepuff's Quidditch team, easily haul his trunk down for him onto his trolley.
"Way to make me feel inadequate," Stiles mutters under his breath. "Thanks for nothing, Scott."
"Do you need anything else?" Danny asks nicely, narrowing his eyes at Jackson when Jackson smirks again at Stiles. "Hey, cut it out, Jackson."
"That's it, thanks," Stiles says instead, holding back the sarcastic comments he usually keeps on hand especially for Jackson. Any further arguments are forestalled when Mr Stilinski comes up to them, looking a little out of breath.
"I'm sorry I'm late. Last minute message from the Muggle Home Secretary to sort out."
"Yeah, Danny and Jackson helped me with my trunk," Stiles bites the words out reluctantly, much to Jackson's undisguised glee.
"Thanks a lot, boys."
"It's no big deal, Mr Stilinski," Danny demurs. "It's not easy, having an injury like that."
Stiles beams at Danny and his kind words, but narrows his eyes in annoyance at Jackson afterward.
"Send my regards to your father, Jackson," Mr Stilinski tells Jackson, shaking his hand. "You too, Danny."
"I'll be sure to do that, Mr Stilinski," Jackson assures Mr Stilinski in his most polite tone, clearly on his best behaviour. Stiles glares at Jackson, unconvinced by the sea change in his demeanour. "If you don't mind, Danny and I need to leave now."
"Sure. Don't let me keep you. And enjoy your holidays," Mr Stilinski waves them off.
Stiles makes a rude noise. "Don't be fooled by Jackson, Dad," he whines. "He's faking it." Mr Stilinski shakes his head indulgently, familiar with Stiles' frequent run-ins with Jackson in school.
"Had a good ride on the train?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, steering him away from the increasingly emptying platform. "Your shoulder feeling okay?"
"It was all right," Stiles says. "Dr Deaton gave me some pain-reducing potions. So I managed to get some rest."
"That's good to know. Are you ready to go then?"
"Yeah, I'm knackered. Let's go home," Stiles urges his father.
"You don't want an ice-cream?"
"Not today, if you don't mind."
All right. Home it is then."
Mr Stilinski doesn't miss how his son seems to be searching for somebody in the crowd, even as he pushes his trolley one-handed towards the platform barrier.
"I should have his portrait burned," Laura fumes over her lunch.
"Who? Uncle Peter?" Derek asks.
"Who else?" she jabs furiously at her steak. "He's not in his frame most of the time. Mum and Dad keep having to chase him back whenever I have questions."
Derek puts his knife and fork down and wipes his mouth, unsure as to how he could put things delicately to his sister. "Well, you did challenge him. You can't blame his portrait for being in a bad mood."
Lower down the table, Myles has an indiscreet coughing fit, making Laura glare at the offending Beta. "It's his duty as the preceding Alpha to advise me when required."
"You need advice from Uncle Peter?"
Laura spears a cherry tomato with great relish. "I want to know how to deal with Chris Argent."
"Why?"
"The Hunters are playing hardball on the Accords now."
"What happened in yesterday's meeting?" Laura had been attending a mad rush of meetings both with the Alphas from the other families and with the Ministry officials. However, as a young Alpha without a pack, Derek wasn't yet permitted to attend.
"They want Mr Stilinski removed from the negotiations. They think he's no longer an impartial party. For obvious reasons."
"That is not true."
"It's covered under the bylaws of the Accords," Randall explains. "Either party has the right to request a new negotiator in the event the lead negotiator cannot fulfill his duty."
"What's going to happen if they can't find a substitute we both can agree on?" Derek asks. "Can we suspend the negotiations indefinitely?"
"The Minister won't stand for that," Laura informs Derek. "These negotiations were overdue in the first instance. Then there was the Second Wizarding War. So it's been delayed twice already actually. If we take too long to decide on a new negotiator, the Minister will probably appoint one whether the werewolves like him or not."
"Can he do that?"
"He's the Minister. It's his prerogative. And we're at a disadvantage. It took so long for Uncle to agree to the negotiations in the first place so they're running low on patience with the werewolves. And especially with our family, since we seem to be creating all the drama at the moment. So we pretty much don't have any bargaining chips at the moment." Laura signals for the dessert to be served.
"Oh." Derek looks a little shamefaced. "I'm sorry."
Laura makes a dismissive noise. "I keep telling you, stop feeling guilty about it. Besides, Stiles is worth all this fuss," she pats Derek's hand. "That reminds me. Have you heard from him yet?"
"No." Derek tries to ignore the blatant looks of sympathy and open interest from Laura's Betas at the mention of Stiles.
"Well, I'm sure he'll come around."
"You seem pretty confident he will."
"Think positive, Derek, think positive.” Laura nags. "Anyway, let's focus. For now, you need to find a way for me to pin Uncle down in his portrait."
"What?" Stiles exclaims, dismayed when he sees the headline in the Daily Prophet.
Werewolf-Hunter Accords negotiations breaks down. Discussions suspended until further notice.
"Hmm? Oh, that." Mr Stilinski says. "Sorry, kiddo. I should have warned you. They were going to make it public today."
Stiles slumps in his seat, breakfast forgotten as he reads the entire article. "Why are they making it sound like it's your fault?"
"It's for PR purposes."
"Why?"
"I don't want the world knowing about you and Derek Hale," Mr Stilinski says a little sharply. "So I agreed to let them make me take the flak instead."
"That is so unfair."
"The Ministry's got my back on this, so don't worry about it. It was my idea, actually. It's just smoke and mirrors, Stiles."
"But the Accords..."
"The Hunters are refusing to continue unless we find a new negotiator. They say I have a conflict of interest. Which technically, is true. But the wolves still want me. So we're stuck."
"Excuse me. I haven't agreed to anything!" Stiles complains hotly.
"Derek's declared himself. And that's enough for the Hunters, I’m afraid."
"Will they give the job to someone else?" Stiles asks, upset, remembering all the work his father had put into the Accords negotiations.
"I might be allowed to stay on as a consultant, but I doubt I'll be permitted to participate directly in the talks when they resume. The Hunters don't want me anywhere near the Accords. But the Minister disagreed so I'm still in the team."
"I'm sorry," Stiles apologises again, feeling wretched for being the cause of his father's change in portfolio.
"Hey," Mr Stilinski grabs Stiles around his shoulders before letting go. "Cheer up. The Accords were only part of my job, remember? It's not like they sacked me. I'm still the main liaison officer for the Muggle Home Office."
"This is ridiculous," Stiles states, eyes taking on a mutinous glint. "You were doing a brilliant job of it too. I should complain to the Ministry."
Mr Stilinski leans down and kisses the top of Stiles' head. "You've caused quite the ruckus already, I think. But thanks for the support. Now go change. You don't want to be late for your appointment."
"What's wrong?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, staring moodily out the window of the cafe where the two had gone for high tea after his physiotherapy session.
"Nothing." Stiles says, taking a sip of his Earl Grey tea.
"Thinking about Derek Hale?" Mr Stilinski asks directly, making Stiles turn red.
"No." Stiles tries to dissemble. His father gives him an exasperated look and he gives up trying. "Okay, yes."
"What about him?"
Stiles turns the question back on his father. "What do you think about the whole thing? The bond?"
Mr Stilinski shakes his head. "I can't make up your mind for you."
"Okay, then. What would you like me to do?"
"Nice try, Stiles. But I'm not going to fall for that."
"A little help would be good," Stiles says, pleading.
Mr Stilinski pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a very big decision for somebody your age," he says a little reluctantly. "I didn't think I'd have to have this conversation with you for at least ten more years, and even then, you'd still be too young for me. But I know it's different for the werewolves."
Stiles restlessly stirs his sundae into a mush. "He told me he'd wait for as long as it takes," he tells his father.
"That's not surprising. There's a reason it's always problematic when they bond with humans. We don't see things the same way. But everything's so permanent for them. And all in black and white. Hardly any grey at all."
"You don't like that he's bonded to me?"
Mr Stilinski rubs his jaw, carefully considering what he should say next. "I don't like that you're only thirteen, Stiles. If you were even five, six years older, I'd probably be seeing things a little differently."
"You're really not big on the idea, are you?"
"I'm," Mr Stilinski speaks slowly, "Of the opinion that you're too young for this. Like I said, if only you were just a little older. But there's no point wishing for that anymore."
"You don't care that he's a werewolf?" Stiles asks his father cautiously.
Mr Stilinski chuckles as he remembers the day his wife revealed her secret. "I married your mother, didn't I? Had the shock of my life when she showed me witches do exist and they actually ride on brooms."
"Well, that's good. I guess. It's just that I don't know," Stiles mumbles and stares at the pattern of the tiles on the floor of the shop. "It's kind of scary."
"Hey, if it helps any, I'm freaked out too," Mr Stilinski reminds him. "This is practically a marriage proposal."
Stiles scowls. "Dad, don't say that."
"I'm just saying it like it is."
"I don't have to tell him anything now, do I?"
"You said it yourself. Derek will wait forever if necessary. It's just that--"
"What?"
"Don't say anything unless you're sure, Stiles," Mr Stilinski reminds him. "It's better to take your time. You can't change your mind, don't forget that. That would be cruel."
"Okay," Stiles agrees, biting into his muffin, "All right."
"You have a letter from Hogwarts," Laura walks into Derek's room, where he's seated on his bed, a book opened in his lap. He takes the letter and breaks the seal, mouth opening in surprise as he reads the information within.
"Come, share the news. And move over," Laura orders Derek and he shifts obediently to make room for his sister.
"This is great!" Laura says after she finishes reading, waving the letter in his face. "Congratulations. I see you’re following in my footsteps, baby brother. Two Head Prefects in the family. We should go celebrate."
"Thank you, but I don't feel like going out."
"I meant to Muggle London."
Derek snorts. "All the more reason not to go."
"Nobody recognises us there. It'll be just the two of us, no Betas hovering." Laura coaxes him. "Come on, it's a big deal, Derek. We definitely should celebrate."
"I'm sorry, but I don't really feel like it."
Laura looks at him, eyes wide with sympathy. "Not quite the letter you were hoping for?"
Derek's shoulders sag with disappointment. "Well, I can't very well expect Stiles to agree so soon," he replies a little too quickly; clearly having told the same thing to himself repeatedly over the past few weeks.
"Which is why you should get out," Laura pokes him in the ribs. "Breathe some fresh air. You've been sulking for far too long."
"I have not been sulking," Derek argues but it's a half-hearted attempt at best.
Laura gets off the bed and throws open Derek’s wardrobe, frowning at what she sees. "You have way too many black outfits," she grouses, selecting a pair of jeans, a shirt and jacket for him. "Never mind, I'll fix that today."
"I'm not going shopping with you," Derek disagrees immediately. "You take too long. And you're always making me buy new clothes."
"Get ready," Laura tells Derek, blithely ignoring him. "There's a new restaurant in Islington that I want to go to. Besides, I just got my credit card, and I want to try it out."
"What's a credit card?" Derek asks, surrendering to the inexorable force that was his older sister.
Laura spins and places her hands on her hips, exasperated at Derek’s ignorance. "This is why you need to take Muggle Studies."
"Stiles," Stiles hears his name, but the voice is calling from far, far away, and he can't seem to reach it. "Stiles," he hears again, "Come on son, wake up."
Stiles runs to the source of the voice, away from the rabid wolf with the blood-stained muzzle and red eyes that has been chasing him across the halls of Hogwarts. He curses in frustration when one staircase appears after another, and the doors open only to reveal a solid brick wall. He pounds the wall in mix of frustration and rising panic, as the wolf approaches closer and closer. The wall does not give however, and Stiles stumbles to the floor, closing his eyes, knowing what comes after this.
But this time, the nightmare does not end the way it usually does. He hears the growl of another wolf, smaller than his nightly tormentor, which knocks the bigger wolf out of the way. He blinks in surprise and gratitude at his saviour, bright blue eyes staring at him. The second wolf blinks once, its eyes changing from electric blue to red, and Stiles wakes up.
"What?" he croaks, voice hoarse from screaming. "Dad?"
"You had a nightmare again," his father says carefully so as not to startle him, before handing him a glass of water.
"Sorry."
"Nothing to apologise for." His father waits for him to calm down. "Feeling better?" he asks after he sees Stiles' breathing slow to its normal rate, and his grip on his father's hand lessens a little. Newton hoots from where he's resting in his cage, as if sensing Stiles' distress.
"It's all right, Newton," Stiles tells his owl, "Just a nightmare. I'll be fine."
"Go back to sleep," Mr Stilinski advises Stiles, rearranging the bedclothes for him.
Stiles yawns, tired out by the nights of interrupted rest. "You're the one who needs to sleep," he tells his father, "You have work. Me, I'm going to spend hours on Mario Kart later."
His father only snickers softly before walking out of the room and switching off the light.
After his father leaves, Stiles kicks around restlessly on his bed, staring at the ceiling, too awake now to fall asleep immediately. He peers out of the window to see the star-speckled sky, with the waxing crescent moon shining and remembers the second wolf from his nightmare, the one that rescued him, sleek with grey fur, all controlled power and restrained fury.
"Derek," Stiles murmurs. He turns to the drawers next to his bed, digging around with his arm, searching for something, which he finds piled beneath some books and his PSP. He shakes open the blanket Derek had given him back on the first day of term, noticing for the first time the stylised H embroidered in the middle of it. Stiles rubs his cheek against it, drawing comfort from the soft material before drawing it around his shoulders.
He falls asleep cocooned in the blanket, dreaming of running alongside Derek in his wolf form in an open field underneath a bright full moon.
"What's up?" Mr Stilinski asks Stiles, looking at him from the top of his glasses.
"Nothing," Stiles says, listless. He flops down on the couch next to his father. "What's that you're reading?"
"Ah ah, don't touch those," Mr Stilinski warns Stiles. "Those are from the Muggle Home Office. Highly classified. Not for your eyes."
"What are they about? Come on Dad, you can tell me."
His father takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. "They think some of the Ministries of Magic have been contacting their Muggle counterparts to collude to contravene the International Statute on Wizarding Secrecy."
"Why would they do that?"
His father smiles but it's full of regret. "Stiles, people will do anything during a war. Though mind you, I've got my own opinions on some Muggle governments, including ours. But let’s leave it at that."
"Those wizards, they're not coming to England, are they?" Stiles asks, feeling anxious at the idea of his father re-entering military service, even though there was no chance of that happening, certainly not when he was working for the Ministry of Magic, and not the Muggle government.
"It's just a few hotspots. We're just monitoring the situation."
"Oh. Okay. That's good."
"You didn't come here to ask me about my work, did you?" Mr Stilinski asks casually as he highlighted a passage from one of the briefs.
"Well," Stiles plays with the knots on his hoodie.
"I thought so. Spit it out, son. Is this about the Hale boy?"
"How did you know?" Stiles fidgets, embarrassed.
"I'm your father, Stiles," his father says absently, marking yet another passage and circling a few words. "It's part of the job description. What about Derek Hale?"
"So. Umm. I sent him a letter."
"And in this letter, you--" Mr Stilinski leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Stiles to finish it.
"So, I said okay. As in, I told him, okay. Yes. Affirmative. Definitely. Indisputably. Positively. I'm running out of synonyms here," Stiles stops when his father doesn't say anything in response.
Mr Stilinski pauses in his actions, sitting very, very still. "I see."
"You don't mind, do you?" Stiles asks, shifting to curl up next to his father.
Mr Stilinski relaxes again and sinks back into the couch, carefully setting aside the documents. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course not. I just didn't want you to be rushed into it."
"Thank you," Stiles leans his head against his father's shoulder. "But what do we do now?"
Mr Stilinski ruffles Stiles' hair, earning him an affronted scowl. "We wait. It's their move next."
Umm. Hi.
I have no idea what to say actually, only that I think this whole thing is really both weird and scary. YOU scare me, but I’m starting to realise it's all an act. And apparently, according to the books - I got them off my Dad and Dr Deaton - you can't really hurt me. The concept of which I have to admit, is awesome. For me.
Even if you are nasty, that would be against your laws. Plus, I'm underaged so I can still get my dad to jinx you. Or rather, he can tell the Ministry and they can send some Aurors to do it instead. And you'll never get a job with them if that happens, hah!
Laura sounds like a really great person and I want to know her better. And we were doing pretty OK, weren't we? At least until your uncle messed things up. But he was utterly insane, so it's not your fault. Not that I blamed you or anything. I just need to get that out in the open.
So what I’m saying is that yeah, okay. Let's do this.
I might have been eating too many humbugs when I wrote this.
Stiles
Derek stirs slowly from sleep, determined to lie in bed for as long as possible before any of the family comes to fetch him. He closes his eyes, trying to sneak another few minutes only to have the silence broken by an incessant tapping on his window. He turns his head, mouth going slack with shock when he sees Newton waiting impatiently for him.
In his haste, Derek almost stumbles to the floor before he regains his balance and opens his window, skin prickling at the cool morning air on his face. Newton hops carefully onto his arm, dropping the letter he has been holding into Derek's other hand.
He tears the letter open one-handed, throat seizing with emotion when he reads Stiles' reply, written in his haphazard penmanship. He runs to his sister's study, still in his nightclothes. As expected, Laura's already up and dressed, surrounded by her Betas as they run through the day's programme with her.
"Derek," she stands up at the sight of him. "What's wrong?" She narrows her eyes when she sees Newton flying into the room. "That's Newton."
Derek waves the piece of parchment. "Stiles--"
"Give me that," Laura reads Stiles' letter, breaking into a wide grin that mirrors the more restrained one Derek is wearing. Abandoning any attempt at decorum, she flings her arms around her younger brother, the letter fluttering to the ground, its message received loud and clear.
The other Betas pick up the discarded note, similar smiles appearing on their faces when they see the reply. Harold is the first to give his well wishes, "Congratulations, Master Derek," and the rest of the Betas follow suit.
Laura turns to her council, preparing to institute plans she had only previously hoped to be able to carry out. "Cancel all my appointments for the week, please. There's a few things I need to sort things out with Derek before we meet Mr Stilinski. Send my regrets to Mr Whittemore, especially. But I'm sure he'll understand."
"Done," Harold assures her.
"And could somebody feed Newton too? He likes éclairs," Laura says before changing her mind. "Never mind, let's just bring him down for breakfast with us. Come on, Newton," she coaxes him, "You can meet Mr Darcy and Gwen again."
The two siblings walk down the stairs towards the dining room arm in arm, ready to welcome the new day, Newton flapping in their wake.
end
Please go to Author's Notes for further information on this story.