EAD – Wish Magic

Title: Wish Magic
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Pairing: Harry Potter/Allison Argent
Warnings: Canon-Level Violence and Minor Character Death
Author Notes: I haven’t edited this at all since April 2018. When I do, I will probably re-designate chapters and cut it off after Chapter Three. Chapter Four then becoming the start of the sequel. I have no idea when that will be.

Summary: Be careful what you wish for ’cause you just might get it.

Chapter One

“I wish we could go somewhere and just be a family,” Harry says morosely.

Sirius tilts his head questioningly, “Harry?”

“Don’t you want to go somewhere no one is hunting you?” She asks her godfather. “Somewhere no one confines you to a house you hate? Somewhere no one hates you for things you didn’t do?” She includes Moony with a glance. “Somewhere no one hates you for something that’s not your fault?”

“That would be an amazing Christmas present,” The former Defense Professor agrees. Then he sighs. “But Dumbledore-“

Harry scowls. “Dumbledore.” She snarls. “And Fudge. And Voldemort. They aren’t allowed to come with us.”

Hermione looks up from her book does that weird smile-frown thing that means she’s confused but humoring her best friend regardless. “Did you just equate Fudge and Dumbledore with Voldemort?”

“Oh no, of course not. They’re much worse.” When everyone in the room chokes she sighs at them. “Voldemort just wants to kill me. Fudge wants to put me on a leash and control my entire life. Put me in a cage and show me off. I’d rather die than live in a cage.”

“And Dumbledore?” Moony asks softly.

“I’m on a road and I don’t know where I’m going. He knows but he only gives me road signs when it pleases him. He flat out refuses to tell me where I’m going, my destination.” She and the werewolf share sad looks. “I know my parents were murdered for a reason, he implied that but he won’t just tell me the reason. There has to be a reason for my Voldie-visions, too. Everything in life happens for a reason, Dumbledore knows and he won’t say.”

“There’s a prophecy,” Sirius blurts. Her godfather shrugs when Moony frowns at him in wordless protest. “That’s what the Order is guarding, in the Ministry.”

“It’s about me?”

The two remaining true Marauders have a bit of an eyebrow argument. In the end Moony sighs and nods. “About you and Voldemort. Dumbledore says it’s the key to the war.”

“How I’ll defeat Voldemort?” Harry slumps back on the loveseat. “If I defeat Voldemort.”

Sirius throws an arm across her shoulders. “We’ll be there with you,” He promises. “We’ll see this done. Together.”

“So that’s a no, then? To running away and being a family?” Hermione asks sounding almost disappointed.

They all laugh and Sirius gestures her over. “Come here you, family hug. Moony, you too!”

Remus and Hermione join them in the couch, dramatically flopping into the pile. They’re too many for the loveseat and spill easily off the little loveseat as they devolve into a tickle fight.

“Well, well, well,” Professor Snape’s silkily menacing tone makes then all freeze.

Sirius sits up with a sneer on his handsome face and something sort of ripples in Harry’s stomach. She groans and clutches her middle when it happens again. Heartbeats after that, she can no longer see anything around her. The world is just gray.

“Harry?” She distantly hears someone ask. There are several hands on her and then an abrupt yank on her navel.

“Potter!” Someone -Moody, she thinks- shouts. “Catch!”

Instinctively her left hand closes on some sort of box and then she’s swirling. It’s like being mixed but with what, she has no idea. She’s spinning. She’s falling. She’s landing. Hard. She rolls on impact, the ground under her hands is soft. The air smells of plants and there’s a freely flowing breeze, a forest rather than the musty rot of Grimmauld Place.

There’s a searing pain in her forehead and she cries out. Last thing she knows is that she throws up and collapses forward.

The world is black.


“What we need,” His Uncle Eliot says musingly. “Is a witch.”

“A really powerful one,” Peter Hale of all people agrees. “That likes us.”

“One that ‘laughs in the face of danger! Ah hahaha!‘” Stiles quotes and it gains him several sets of rolled eyes. Okay, maybe Lion King is a little obscure for this group of ultra-masculine assholes. “Like if Iron Man and Captain America had a baby and she was a witch, that’s what we need.”

“Captain America and Batman,” Peter Hale –again, of all people!- corrects. “We need her to be strong and clever but she’ll need a quite bit of ruthlessness to survive this mess.”

“No kidding. Psycho-sadist-hunter grandpa, an Alpha Kamina and his slither of minions, a super psycho werejaguar, and the Alpha Pack.” Stiles rolls his eyes. He is so thoroughly done with Beacon Hills’ shit.

“And the world’s least communicative Emissary,” Peter scowls.

“He wasn’t bad before Gerard killed Scott,” Stiles defends. They all look at him like he’s nuts and he has to concede. “Yeah, okay, he’s pretty bad. And his sister or wife or whatever she is is just creepy so our witch can’t be anything like her.”

“Anything else you’d like,” Uncle Eliot, the asshole, asks sardonically. “Yey high, green eyes, curly hair, maybe?”

“I wish, you know her?”

His alpha werewolf Uncle snorts. “Not remotely. I think-“

The earth rumbles like an earthquake and there’s pressure between Stiles eyes. When it fades, there are people on what’s left of the Nemeton. Three men and two girls though one of the girls rolls off to land on her hands and knees on the grass.

They all throw up and Stiles has to swallow really hard not to copy them.

One of the men passes out completely, another looks woosy and stays on his knees but the last one pushes furiously to his feet. He flashed the alpha red high beams at them and pulls a thin little stick to point their way in a wordless threat.

The girl still on the trunk stands uncertainty and pulls her own little stick. She looks wobbly but once she gets on her feet, she stays there.

The girl that rolled off the tree looks up at them with eyes so green they seem to glow in the afternoon light. She looks at them in a way that makes Stiles sure that she doesn’t actually see them and promptly passes out.

Stiles moves forward to help her but he’s stopped by all three of the alphas in his immediate vicinity.

“Where. Are. We?” The one on the trunk growls.

“Uh, Beacon Hills?” Stiles says. “Technically, the Beacon Wildlife Preserve in Beacon County?”

“What?!” The girl that’s standing asks sharply. She has a British accent. They both do, actually. “Where?!?”

“California? Sort of northish? Well, mostly northish, actually. But the Beach is like 15 minutes that way?” He tells her, pointing west.

“When?” She asks slowly.

“Uh,” He pulls out his phone and she squeaks. “August the ninth. 2014, if you care? 11:15 AM, apparently?”

“Oh, my god,” The girl runs her free hand over her face. “We’re in a Television programme. How did we end up in a Television programme?”

“The Harry Potter Factor,” The British Alpha mutters and now it’s Stiles’ turn to squeak. “What television programme?”

“Uh, Teen Wolf?” She waves her empty hand almost distractedly. “It’s set in the near-future in California. In a town called Beacon Hills, obviously. It’s all about girl power and LGBT normality. With, you know, enough werewolves and magic and ridiculously lovely people to draw a crowd. That one in the back looks just like Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles flails because she’s pointing at him. And he is! He definitely is Stiles Stilinski! “On his right is a hotter version of Peter Hale. Where’s Daria?”

“Daria?” Stiles can’t help but ask.

“Uh, yeah, Daria Hale? Talia Hale’s second daughter? Used and abused as a child by Castor Argent who turned around and murdered just about her entire family? Had to kill her uncle when he went on a killing streak that he can’t stop and despite everything she’s been through she becomes an amazing alpha until she sacrifices her family’s alpha spark to save her younger sister Cora from a darach?”

“Cora’s alive?!?” Both Hales demand and the girl jerks back like she just remembered she has an actual audience.

“Daria?” She asks Derek, her eyes wide.

“Derek,” He corrects. “And her name was Kate. I didn’t know she was a hunter.” He won’t meet his uncle’s eyes but from what Stiles can see, Peter must have already figured it out. Because Stiles did. Like, months ago. Peter looks more sad than anything else though, and there’s no mocking in sight so that’s good.

“I don’t know who that one is,” The girl points at his uncle.

“Eliot Spencer,” He tells her. “Stiles’s uncle, John’s younger brother.”

“You weren’t in the show,” Know-it-all bites her bottom lip. “Did something happen to the Sheriff?”

“He died a few months ago. There was an incident at the sheriff station and it ended up burning to the ground. Why don’t you tell us who you are?”

“Oh, I’m Hermione Granger. That’s Remus Lupin,” She points to the alpha. “Sirius Black,” Is the kneeler. “Severus Snape,” Is the dude that’s passed out. “And Harry Potter,” Is the Girl Who Rolled. “So the Kanima is still an issue, then?”

“Do you know who the Kanima is?”

“Uh, Jackie -Jacquelyn- Whittemore? In the show Daria bit her but it didn’t seem to take. They assumed her girlfriend Lydia gave her some sort of immunity because her Bite from Peter didn’t take either but really her issues with being adopted turned her into a Kanima. Maria Daehler used her as a murder weapon to kill the people responsible for her ‘drowning’ even though that’s stupid because she clearly didn’t actually drown at all. Eventually she used the Kanima to attack the Sheriff station and killed a bunch of Deputies to hide the evidence of her murder spree.”

“Jackson Whittemore and Matt Daehler,” Stiles breathes. “Fuck! But Jackson disappeared! And they found Matt dead. Outside the station. He died the night the station was attacked. We thought he must have seen something but no one could find his camera.”

“Gerard Argent killed him,” She tells them. “He’s the Master of the Kanima. Where’s Sarah? Sarah McCall? The one Peter Bit in an attempt to stabilize himself?”

Stiles has to sit down because that? That makes sense. Like a lot of sense. Peter’s obviously stable now so it makes sense he didn’t want to be out of control before but with everything working against him- God, and Stiles and Scott made it all so much worse for him. On purpose, but they had no idea what was going on and where scared so, it made sense but. Fuck. Could this have all been avoided?

“Scott? He’s dead. It was,” Derek hesitates. “Not good.”

Hermione blinks in surprise. “Well, that’s different.” Then she looks around to the people still on the ground. “Uh, shouldn’t we-?”

“Check Harry,” Remus orders. He doesn’t put his wand away or anything. In fact he moves almost aggressively into their space to keep himself between- Okay, there’s no almost about it. He moves aggressively but the three alphas with Stiles freely fallback to allow him to protect his, well, his pack.


Duke hums to himself as he runs his hand over the sign to make sure he’s found the right bathroom. He could use his sense of smell, certainly, except. Public bathrooms are humanity’s cruelest invention to a species with by far more advanced olfactory talents than theirs, so he won’t. And besides, any one watching would expect the blind guy on his own to read the braille put up for his benefit.

He smiles vaguely as he taps his way in and up to a urinal.

There are no other heartbeats echoing off the tiles so he can afford to be a little less dedicated to his cover as he handles his business quickly and efficiently. It’s almost a relief, taking a piss in peace. Without Kali’s hovering or Ennis’s questions. The twins, bless them, might have an alpha’s eyes but they are betas to the core.

Whether they will remain his betas is another matter.

They came to this cursed little town to collect a True Alpha. The boy is dead now but his alpha spark isn’t. Somehow, it’s stronger now than ever.

It shouldn’t be possible.

The boy hadn’t Bitten anyone, he wasn’t the type. Even if he’d fully activated his spark, he was too self-loathing to make more werewolves whether they wanted to be wolves or not. So how had his alpha spark not died with him?

True Alphas are rare, truly. One is born maybe once in a hundred years. Usually to Werewolf families.

And yet.

Scott McCall didn’t have even a single werewolf parent. He smelled like none of the old lineages. Especially not any that had been started by a True Alpha. Not a Romanov, not an O’Neill, not a Sheppard, not a Saito. Definitely not a Hale.

He’d promised to be a pretty little mystery but now he’s dead and somehow an even bigger mystery.

There’s the sound of a dancing crackle from the lights behind him, like electricity flickering. Duke can hear the surprised shouts from out within the mall and he snarls to himself.

Humans are truly pathetic.

The door opens, slowly. Whether the man coming in is being casual or dramatic about his entrance, Duke honestly doesn’t care.

“Well, well, well,” and then abruptly he does care. He suddenly cares quite a lot, actually. “Isn’t this a blast from the past?”

Duke taps his alpha spark and allows the red-filled haze he has to call vision confirm what his ears are telling him. “Gerard Argent.” No need for grandstanding, he pops his fangs and unleashes his claws. This time the asshole is going to die.

Argent laughs at him, utterly unafraid. “Take him.”

There’s a small pain, a slash across the back of his neck, and suddenly he can’t move. He jerks and pulls but his limbs won’t respond. Neither will his vocal chords. He can barely even growl.

“Well done, my lads.”

A fucking alpha kanima drops from the ceiling to heel at Argent’s side like some sort of spaniel.

Even he hadn’t thought kanima were real and somehow Gerard Argent has one?

“Present,” The Arch Hunter orders. Two sets of hands grab him from behind. The force him to kneel then tip his head back, mouth open. Gerard Argent, on the edge of his vision, rolls up a sleeve to bear his left arm. “You always were my favorite alpha.” Gerard says idly. “The same kind of monster, I am. Brutal but with a soft, civilized outer layer. Just for show, of course.” He moves close, unafraid of a paralyzed blind man. The fury of what he’s been reduced to -by this man, always by this man- burns. “I was surprised to learn you survived the eye thing but I have never been so pleased you did.”

The bastard sets his arm in Duke’s mouth and then slams his lower jaw so hard it fractures. His teeth -his alpha teeth- sink deep and true. He can feel the edge of the bastard’s bone before he signals and one of the sets of hands lets him go to pull Duke’s mouth back open, cracking his jaw yet again.

They let him fall backwards when they’re done with him, like so much garbage on the bathroom floor.

Three kanima. Gerard Argent has three kanima under his control and Duke has a moment to wonder how the fuck that even works before the bathroom door swings wide open.

Ennis. Ennis is there with murder in his big ugly face.

“Well doesn’t this look cozy?” And the bastard wades in to the room with the Twins already merged at his back.

“Defend!” Argent orders, falling back towards the stalls and his reptilian pets surge forward.

Kali comes in low through the door last and scoops him up. She’s out the door running before he can gather a breath. His instinct is to order her to stop, to stand her ground and fight but he can’t even say it and Kali wouldn’t listen to him any way. They’re a team of equals, not a pack, and he’s never regretted it before.

“We have a plan,” She promises him as she breaks for the truck.

The truck is already running when they get to it. She throws him in the back seat and leaps into the driver seat. She throws the truck in reverse and freezes. Pain hits them both like an electric-edged punch in the gut. A one-two punch.

First Ennis, then the Twins.

Kali roars for both of them. “They will pay,” She swears. “Those bastards will fucking pay!” And she puts her foot on the gas.


Gerard smirks at the two Alpha Werewolves. Helpless before him. Defiant and furious, but impotent.

“Ennis, isn’t it?” He smirks at the big bastard. A long time ally and associate of Deucalion Lane. Not the alpha he wants but, well, all these beasts are the same in the end, aren’t they?

He pulls the most boring knife in his repertoire. A boring, bulky knife. Common. Like one of literally thousands found in chain steaks houses across the country. Except this one of course is laced with his favorite Nordic Blue. Even it the stab doesn’t kill the alpha -which it will- he won’t survive 48 hours after exposure.

The quickest way to a man’s heart- Well, technically the quickest way to a man’s heart would be at 2,970 feet per second but to receive alpha powers from a werewolf the kill has the be up close and personal. A knife can substitute for claws, a gun can’t.

He goes right for his heart. One clean, swift penetration.

Ennis’s body seizes. He roars a denial and his eyes flicker. Red. Red. Red. Then blue as his breath leaves his body in a rush then the power of it tingles up Gerard’s arm to curl around his heart.

He laughs a bit as it settles. The power coursing through his veins is a high like no other. Better even than claiming the loyalty of a Kanima because its more personal. It’s his and his alone. It’s independence. Freedom. From cancer, from the matriarchs. From everything that’s forced him to stay his hand his entire fucking life.

His little alpha pet, no doubt feeling the direction of his thoughts, sidles up to him. Needy little shit. He’s useful though so Gerard pats him on the shoulder. “Good boy. Very good boy.”

Together they move to the second alpha. He’s bigger than even Ennis but he smells younger, too.

There’s a ridge, a crack running right down his face. Down his neck, his chest, and into his belted jeans. In the middle of his body, all the way down.

He’d heard about this. A rumor. About a pair of twins, one born wolf and the other Bitten young enough it almost didn’t matter. As a pair of betas they were pretty useless but they could come together into a fairly powerful alpha. And they had, supposedly so their pack would be forced to leave the Bitten one alone.

More unnaturalness. Obscenity on top of obscenity, if you ask him. Well, he can put a stop to that and he shoves his crappy little steak knife in the chasm of their chest.

Their conjoined alpha spark tingles it’s way up his arm to further empower the one already curled around his heart.

There’s a flash of light and two thumps and suddenly two teenage boys are blinking up at him in confusion. The one on the right snarls at him, his eyes flashing blue. The one of the left is more cautious, a planner.

Gerard snarls right back. Mentally he tugs on the new tethers he can feel in his mind and both little woflings wince.

“You’re mine now,” He tells them and oh, the irony. It burns and he loves it. “Welcome to the Pack.”


Hermione eases forward behind Professor Lupin’s back. Harry needs her but that’s no reason to be stupid around a bunch of werewolves.

Though that’s interesting too.

She’s never seen Lupin with red alpha eyes before. Their magic must be conforming them to their new universe but does that mean the magic they learned in their world will not work like it used to?

Sirius Black finally pushes to his feet as she takes hold of her best friend’s shoulder. There’s black goo under her face. Double checking, Hermione casts quick looks at all their various sick. “This looks like the what I read is supposed to happen after you take a Greater Cleansing Draught.”

“It rather does, doesn’t it?” Lupin’s tone is flat enough to dance on.

Carefully, carefully she rolls Harry. “She’s bleeding. Professor, she’s bleeding from her face. Her scar.”

“Sirius, wake Severus,” Lupin orders. “No funny business, he’s the closest thing we have to a healer.”

Sirius makes a face at his friend. Like he would do anything that could hurt Harry, no matter how tertiarily, “Enervate.”

Severus of course comes awake dramatically, taking huffing breathes and looking around for danger as he pushes himself up into a roll. He glares at all of them, frowns at the various puddles of sick and then, surprisingly, pulls up his left sleeve.

He has no Dark Mark.

Just a bit of drying blood. His school rival swipes a finger through it, revealing naked, vaguely puffy skin and Sirius can’t help but stare. He knows Severus has had the Mark since Yule their Sixth Year so how-?

“Professor?” Hermione prompts sounding stressed and Severus is on his feet immediately.

He flicks his wand at each of them in turn and Sirius shivers under the familiar magic of a diagnosis charm. Snape doesn’t stop on his way to Harry though, so they must not be that bad off.

He drops to his knees at Harry’s side and she gets more than a handful of spells herself.

“What happened?”

“Somehow we got dropped into an alternate universe of a muggle television programme.”

Severus blinks at his student. “That’s as fascinating as it is infuriating.”

“But theoretically possible,” Hermione argues. “Every possibility exists somewhere.”

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations,” Severus agrees and Hermione’s mouth drops open. The potion’s professor snorts at her, “You aren’t the only muggle-raised person around, merely the most vocal.

“Regardless, your theory best explains what I’ve found. Miss Potter is magically exhausted. Likely from powering our travel. She will need several potions and will likely sleep for several days.” Severus pulls a glittering silver chain with several charms on it from around his neck. “Mutt, open these.”

Sirius grumbles but takes the chain. The charms are recognizable. They are their combined Sixth Year charms/transfiguration project. “You’re still using these?”

Severus snorts as he puts his wand back to work, cleaning Harry up. “Why wouldn’t I? They have all the features I need and excellent security.”

“Considering only the two of us can open them.” Sirius rolls his eyes.

“Likely saved my life.”

Sirius whips around to look at him in surprise and then nods after a moment’s thought, “No point in killing you for something they can’t open without at least one of us. And it’s not like I’m going to do a favor for one of those dark bastards.”

“You were in Azkaban.” Snape reminds in an even tone of voice. It’s neither a gleeful reminder nor a dig as Sirius would expect but he still has a hard time not bristling. Snape ignores him and keeps casting. “I need a Channel Soother, Maximum Strength Channel Enhancer, a Greater and a Lesser Restorative Draught, and a nutrient potion. You’ll need to open both charms.”

Sirius cuts his thumb on each of the charms -a snake and a paw print, respectively- and sets them down several feet apart. Two passwords later two large wood cabinets stand in the middle of the forest.

Assuming Snape wants the potions in the order he asked for them, he goes to the larger cabinet first. He opens the left side only because they designed the right to hold a collection of cauldrons and stir rods with a complicated array of ward and stasis spells to keep what needed to be fresh fresh but still allow a half-finished potion to age properly without leaving any room for cross-contamination in the storage process. Setting them up is a real pain so he isn’t about to mess with whatever Snape has going on over there. Instead he retrieves the Channel Soother, lesser restorative draught and nutrient potion.

Hermione pops up to play owl for him and Snape starts working the channel soother into Harry’s system as Sirius moves to the other cabinet.

It’s more a china hutch that they married to a folding desk but it works. The more expensive potions are secured behind the expandable work table which include the Maximum Strength Channel Enhancer and Greater Restorative Draught.

“I imagine the book is a small library or something but what are these other two charms?” He asks as Hermione plays owl again.

“Ingredients.” Severus answers without looking away from where he’s spelling the potions into one Harry Potter. “Plants rather than cuttings so that I can harvest what I need in the correct conditions.”

Sirius nods. The phase of the moon is just one variable that can greatly affect whatever you’re interacting with, particularly in regards to harvesting. Can’t stand in the presence of four alpha werewolves and ignore that little fact that even the phase of the moon can change things magically. “That’s the clover, so the ferret-thing is animals then?”

Severus nods. Hermione gasps in protest but Snape ignores her like a professional. “They too are in stasis. I copied the security from the other two so you will be able to open them if anything happens to me.”

Harsh and more than a little fatalist but smart considering the fact that they are in a different dimension than the one they had breakfast in just hours ago. “What else do we have? Moody tossed Harry a war chest, I recognize Aquilla’s Rest from here.”

“He gave Harry his son’s war chest?” Remus says in shock.

They wave Hermione off at her confused look. No one wants to talk about Alastor Moody’s sons. Or his daughter for that matter. All three and his wife -the last Earth Elemental in Great Britain- died in the last blood war and Sirius- No one wants to talk about that!

“It’s sticking to her hand because its bonding to her magic,” Hermione guesses instead.

“Indeed,” Snape nods once. “Though one could argue that her hand is sticking to the chest rather than the chest to her hand. She won’t be able to release it until she settles the bond and gives it instructions.”

“What else do we have?” Sirius prompts. “I have my Run Kit.” He pulls his own necklace with a little wing charm. Yes, it’s security also based off of what he made with Snape so many years ago but Moony is his second this time around, thank you very much. “A few bits of clothes, the books I’ve been reading, food for Buckbeak, and not much else. Hermione? Do you have your Charms/Runes project still?”

“I do.” She pulls a small beaded bag from her pocket it really shouldn’t fit in. “It still has the books you leant me to experiment with, and my school trunk. Last night Harry let me put her broomstick and her father’s cloak in it as well.”

But not the map. Ah well, not like that would do them much good in a different reality anyway.

“So we have books and school supplies but very little in the way of  money or food.” He summarizes.

“Unless there is a miracle in Harry’s war chest, yes,” Remus agrees. “What now?”

“Shouldn’t she be put in a bed?” The one Hermione called Stiles asks, flailing one hand in Harry’s general direction. “She doesn’t look that good.”

“Why don’t you come with us,” The guy with long hair and broad shoulders that Hermione could not identify starts, Eliot Spencer . Stiles’ uncle based of his words and confirmed by his scent. “Let her sleep it off while we tell you about this world and can pick your direction when we’re done?”

“Why would we trust you?” Snape asks without looking away from his work on Harry. “Why would you trust us? How do you know we aren’t insane? Or dangerous? We could kill you in your sleep. Rob you blind, turn you over to your enemies, leave you helpless. Why-?”

“Look,” The one Hermione called Peter cuts Snape off. “You are people I’ve never met, wearing a fabric I’ve never seen -and I know fashion- and you’re smelling like things that don’t exist and yet somehow I’m managing to identify so many things on your persons, including Unicorn Hair and Bicorn Horn. Something weird is definitely happening and it is obviously affecting all of us. I can’t be the only one thinking we need to figure it out together.”

“It’s really convenient we were wishing for magical help and a bunch of really magical people just happen to land pretty much at our feet,” Stiles adds.

Hermione makes a soft, sad sound, “Harry was wishing for somewhere we could be family. And suddenly we’re here.”

“So maybe we’re the answer to each other’s wishes. Do you think maybe we should get out of the damn forest and figure it out?” Peter is breathing a little hard by the time he finishes.

The three wizards look at each other and shrug. Then they look at Hermione and she nods enthusiastically.

“We have to do something about the stump,” Remus objects as Sirius reconfigures Snape’s cabinets back into charm form. “It’s obviously very magical and it is, quite frankly, the darkest thing I’ve even seen.”

“Three-Point Ward?” Severus offers as he stands.

“Four would be better, a sphere ward.”

“Our fourth would have to be male,” Snape reminds.

Remus quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head toward the four men standing off to one side.

Severus huffs and examines them, his eyes going white when he activates his Mage Sight. “The boy, Stiles.”

“If we give him a wand, we’re honorbound to train him in the use of it,” Sirius objects.

“Between the three of us, we have the skills to train him,” Remus reassures him, as if that was the actual source of his objection. “And we have to finish training the girls, any way.”

Snape snorts and addresses the actual concern, “As if Potter would agree to leave once she finds out she’s needed.”

“Harry does have a bit of a saving people thing.” Hermione agrees.

Severus rolls his eyes in disgust, “Foolishness is what it is.”

“You don’t actually have any room to talk, Professor.” Hermione says primly. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed your saving people thing.”

And, she has a point. Severus didn’t hesitate for a second to throw himself -completely unarmed- between the kids and a very feral Moony one full moon almost two years ago now. Sirius still almost can’t believe it and he was there.

“That said, we don’t have a wand to give him,” Hermione frowns.

“Yes, we do.” Sirius corrects gently. “Do you know how hard it is to match with a wand when you can’t go in to a shop and let one pick you? I spent a fortune on wands before I found one that works.”

Still, he’s not sure he can trust these alphas –three alphas, with no packs on evidence- with their most vulnerable. Especially with Harry unconscious. Conscious Harry would be a match for three anything, he’s sure, but unconscious and depleted? He shoots Moony a questioning look and his werewolf just grins. He turns the same look on Snape and the man huffs and rolls his eyes but in the end nods so Sirius shifts.

Letting Padfoot out to play earns him surprised chokes from both Stiles and Derek. He pads up to Stiles, wagging his tail to reduce his threat profile and gives the boy a sniff.

Yup, definitely a wizard.

Not that he wanted or expected Snape to be wrong or anything, its just good to verify.

The boy shyly gives his ears a scritch. He returns the affection with a happy lick and moves on to the boy’s uncle. He moves on to the other two to make sure they aren’t a threat. Well, of course they are threats but to make sure they are threats for his little family rather than against it.

He makes sure to lick each of them as he goes. He’s half tempted to piss of Peter’s shoes if for no other reason than because of his name but he refrains. Licking them works just as well as more traditional marking. And, as a Harbinger of Death, a Grim can pursue anyone he’s marked through any circumstances.

Not even wards can keep him out so if this Peter turns out like that Peter there will be nowhere he can hide.

No where any of them can hide, if they hurt his kit.

“Well?” Snape demands as Sirius returns to them and regains two feet.

“A soldier,” He points to Stiles’ uncle. “A mercy kill,” He points to Derek. “And a former resident of Murder Town but, interestingly, he also smells like grave dirt so he’s died and returned since then. None of them smell inappropriately of lust or rage so it should be safe enough.”

“Dark?” Snape presses, probably because resurrection rituals.

“No, he was buried but only mostly dead. His soul never crossed the Veil.”

Snape and Remus turn to frown at the guy. Dying without dying is… a very strange circumstance. Whether its symptom or a cause of the sheer level of weird that has people wishing to be rescued by Harry Potter is anyone’s guess at this point.

The three local alphas have a fun collection of reactions to his evaluation of them; amusement, confusion/fury, and surprise/wonder. In their scents, of course. They all have powerful poker face game even if Derek’s is more of a imminent-violence face.

“To clarify,” Stiles uncle starts.”You want to give Stiles a wand and teach him magic.”

“In return for him helping us ward this tree stump,” Remus nods. “Yes.”

Stiles flails. “What? How? Why?”

“Because its powerful and dangerous? If it’s pulling people across realities -and we have to assume it was involved since we landed on it-“

“No, I mean,” He flails again. “What?”

“Stiles,” Snape breaks in, his tone impatient. “You are a wizard.”

The boy blinks, “Come again?”

“You’re a wizard, Stiles.”

The boy stares at him with wide eyes for about two heartbeats before he starts laughing. He doubles over, he’s laughing so hard.

“Oh, man! I just got Hagrided by Snape. Oh, god. Oh, god! Okay, okay,” The young man stands up, still breathless. “What do I do?”

“Come here and pick a wand,” Sirius instructs as he turns his wing charm back into his grandfather’s seven layer trunk. He fiddles with the locks until the right combination is locked or unlocked and the dial spun to get the fifth layer.

He opens his trunk and Stiles looks down the ladder into the trunk. The tops of shelves filled with thin red, black or silver boxes are just visible from where they stand. “How many wands did you buy?”

Sirius just shrugs because he doesn’t want to answer that question and points his wand at the opening. And casts, “Accio Aspen and Dragon heartstring,” because while his nose might not pick the same things as Snape’s eyes, this boy is a combat mage or he’ll eat kibble for a week.

Two silver Silveris, three red Ollivanders, and a black Gregorovitch wand box land in a neat little stack in his hand. Wordlessly he offers them to Stiles.

Curiosity coming over his features, the boy opens the first box, a Silveri. He pulls the wand and gives it a flick and nothing happens. With a frown he puts it back and goes to the Gregorovitch below it. Again nothing happens. Sirius’s guess is validated through with the third wand. The first Ollivanders on offer sends a shower of golden sparks the moment it’s in the boys hand.

Sirius wiggles a little in satisfaction, he knew the boy smelled like combat magic.

“Now what?”

“Come stand, right here,” Remus calls and the boy scampers over while Sirius moves to stand opposite him. Leaving Snape and Remus to face each other across the circle.

“Hermione,” Snape addresses his student as he pauses halfway from the stump. “This would be more effective with the blood of a female virgin.”

The girl swallows, “Harry-“

“Consent is powerful magic.” He interupts her. “More so when defensive magic is being worked. If you use blood for wards, it must be willingly given. Harry can’t willingly provide consent right now.”

“Will it bind me here?”


“Does it open me up to being taken or used in any way? Would someone be able to use me to control or access the tree in some way?”

“No, but that is a valid question. No one but the four of us in the circle will be able to find the tree after we complete this ritual. The fact of its location will be hidden. Many that knew of the tree but perhaps didn’t know exactly what it is will likely forget its existence.”

“Alright, how do I do this?”

Severus pulls a clean vial from Merlin knows where, like some muggle magician, and holds it out to Hermione. “Cut your finger on the edge. It is spelled not to hurt and will heal the cut once the vial is full to this line.” He taps the vial with his wand right about halfway.

Hermione takes the vial.


Stiles stifles a sigh as Remus freaking Lupin lowers his arms after what feels like hours and casts a diagnostic on the Nemeton Stump. Severus Snape lowers his arms and starts casting a moment later but Sirius Black- The one and only Sirius Black, standing directly across the stump from Stiles, keeps his arms up so Stiles does too.

He’s pretty sure they are maintaining the circle.

He hasn’t found much of what he would consider reliable information about magic. Google can only do so much, really, but circles are used to maintain and control ritual magic. That much he’s sure of.

Hopefully this doesn’t mean prolonged use of scarecrow pose will be a thing in his future, long term or otherwise.

Finally, Lupin and Snape nod and Sirius lowers his arms.

Stiles follows a moment later and wobbles a little bit as the strain of it rushes through him. Peter is there to catch him though, before he can land on his ass. At this point Stiles isn’t even sure why he’s surprised.

He’s not surprised either by the constipated look on Uncle Eliot’s face. The man has yet to explain the face but oh is he going to.

“We need to go,” Snape orders sharply before Stiles can actually question his uncle. “We broke at least three magical bonds to this artefact.”

“The bonded will come to investigate,” Sirius says by way of agreement. “We really don’t want to be here when they do.”

“We should be able to fit in the cars,” Peter tells them.

“Parked together?” Remus asks and Peter nods. “Everyone hold hands.” He orders, wand in hand. “I’ll take the front, Sirius the back.”

Remus and Sirius silently make the same complicated swishing pattern and their wand tips take on a warm but muted brown glow. Snape levitates Harry off the ground and Remus takes a hold of her left wrist.

Stiles reaches for her right hand. There’s a sucking feeling on his palm, like a vacuum cleaner on his skin, and suddenly he’s gripping Harry’s right elbow with his right hand. Her hand is gripping his forearm in turn. “Uh,” he looks up at the magical alpha to find the man’s eyebrows at his hairline.

The ground rumbles ominously and Remus tugs them forward. “Which way?”

“That way,” he jerks his chin. “There’s a trail.”

The former professor nods and starts down the trail. Peter takes Stiles’ free hand with Uncle Eliot standing as the next link in the chain. Then Hermione, Snape, Derek, and finally Sirius.

They run through the woods faster than Stiles has ever done before. They run further than Stiles remembers them walking on their way in on their way to the Nemeton’s clearing.

They don’t make a sound as they run, either. Not the sound of a crunched leaf or a swaying branch or a snapped twig. Nothing other than Snape occasionally shouting an incantation. Defensive spells, Stiles is pretty sure though he’s not sure how he knows.

The strangest thing, though? Not a single one of them finds anything like an obstacle in their path as the run. In fact, at least once a tree straight up slides out of Lupin’s way as he leads their charge. Almost like the Earth itself is helping them all get away.

It is crazy. Absolutely impossible.

But he is holding Harry fucking Potter’s –very real, very physical- hand, so maybe it’s not.

When they reach the cars, he and Harry are shoved into the back end of Peter’s Range Rover.

His uncle salutes him with Roscoe’s key. When the asshole stole it, Stiles has no idea but he’s vaguely sort of grateful? There’s no time to argue over it anyway as lightning -a shitload of lightning from a clear blue midday sky- explodes over the Preserve. Closer to the Nemeton than to them, thankfully.

Derek and Sirius Black -still holding his spell active- climb into Roscoe as Snape practically throws Hermione into Peter’s back seat and dives in after her. Peter takes off quickly but not recklessly with Remus still holding his spell active in the passenger seat.

“That can’t be safe!” Hermione protests, turning to look at Stiles and Harry over the back of her seat.

“I can’t enchant a moving vehicle,” Snape hisses.

“What about their clothes?”

Snape snaps and points at her. “Do you have a blanket in your bag?”

Immediately she opens the bag and pulls out a squishy looking red and gold number.

Snape takes the blanket and and flicks it so it covers Stiles and Harry but he keeps one corner, gripping it tightly in his free hand while he casts. Almost instantly Peter’s cargo compartment is  approximately 300 times more comfortable. Seriously, Stiles could almost go to sleep back here, it’s amazing.

Then they stop jaring about so much. First just a little but growing over time until they might as well be floating, they are so steady. Which he’s sure Harry’s neck will appreciate when she wakes up. Hell, his tail bone appreciates it right now so go Team Snape!

Finally Snape adds a bit of a warming spell -or something- to it and Stiles is really cozy.

Or he would be, were his arm at a better angle but this is way better than he probably should have expected.

“Don’t go directly to our final destination,” Remus tells Peter as he turns on his blinker to leave to preserve. “Leave town completely and let us return from a different direction.”

“You gonna hold that spell the whole time?” Peter growls, flipping his indicator the other way.

“We need to get lost in a crowd before I drop it.”

“What does this spell do?” Hermione asks before Stiles can.

“It’s a highly advanced Notice Me Not charm. With a bit of a ward component. No one can track us with magic, scent, or vision. As long as it’s active we are essentially invisible.

“The warding aspect ensures others won’t run into us,” Snape adds. “Their minds won’t see us but they will react as if they do, actually giving us more physical room than we need.”

“That’s really clever,” Hermione nods. “And complicated.”

“Lily invented it,” Remus says with a small smile.

“And she was furious when Black copied it after seeing her cast it once.” Snape huffs. “Two professors quit Hogwarts completely during the resultant prank war.”

“It was brilliant,” Remus agrees. “And frustrating. You’d think he’s a complete airhead, never studied or did anything productive in his life, then he turns around and figures out how to charm the benches in the Great Hall to glow in response to body heat and mood without ever getting caught.”

“Black in a nutshell, brilliantly frustrating.”

“Or frustratingly brilliant.” Remus agrees then focuses back on Peter. “How long until we can find a shopping mall, or something of a sort?”

“Closest mall is in Beacon Pointe, so half an hour? Is one enough? What exactly are we doing?”

“Basically we want to be surrounded by other moving cars so we can gradually lower the spell and not seem out of place. Being surrounded by cement, steel, and technology will further confuse any, shall we say, supernatural sources that maybe looking for us. Or that are simply around and happen to be alert.”

“So, a parking garage. Mall, it is.” Peter nods, merging on to the highway to go north. “Can you work a cell phone?”

“Probably not,” Remus admits honestly and pulls a thin rectangle out of his pocket anyway. He passes it back  to Hermione. “Tap that twice and say Sirius’s Marauder name.”

It’s a mirror. She taps it twice and says, “Padfoot.”

It takes a moment but the mirror jolts like its been tapped twice by an invisible hand and Stiles can see Derek Glare #6 -or as Stiles calls it ‘The One With Surprise‘- where her reflection used to be.

“We are making for the Mall at Beacon Pointe.” She says perhaps a little slowly but perfectly clearly. “We will confuse them with the parking garage before dropping the spell.”

“That’s good,” Uncle Eliot’s Texas drawl calls out. “You got the gas for that?”

“We do,” Peter confirms.

“We can hit Beacon Valley and come back in from the east. Hit the market while were there.”

“You just want to go grocery shopping, you foodie!” Stiles teases.

“You know we don’t have groceries for this many.” Uncle Eliot chides, “And I’m going to assume magic eats like a wolf after a fight.”

“Just about,” Remus agrees. “Sirius, are you good to hold the spell for forty-five minutes?”

“I’m good, and if not I have Pepper-up. Worry about yourself, Moony.”

Snape scoffs, “We have plenty of Pepper-up as well.”

“He’s probably going to need two. Do you have any Animagus Olfactory Suppressant?”

“Not that I can get to you currently.”

“Not for me, for Harry. She doesn’t need it at home but she does in crowds, especially around muggles. Otherwise she’ll throw up all those potions you just put down her maw.”

“Wonderful,” Snape mutters pulling one of his charms. “Why didn’t I know about this? Animagus status is relevant to her occulmancy training!”

“She didn’t want Dumbledore to know and I figure that’s her right.”

Snape huffs and starts murmuring under his breath to the charm he picked.

“Alright half an hour to Beacon Pointe,” Uncle Eliot summarizes. “Fifteen minutes wandering a parking garage, forty-five to Beacon Valley, and half an hour home? So two hours?”

“With however long it takes us to get supplies,” Peter agrees.

“Keep us posted,” Remus calls out. And then. “Tap once to deactivate.”

“I have a question,” Stiles declares. Hermione is the only one that turns to look at him and he huffs indignantly. “Why am I holding Harry Potter’s hand? Why can’t I let go? How long are we going to be attached? How am I going to pee?”

Snape hums idly as he plucks several potions from within the charm-turned-black-hole framed by the thumb and first finger of one hand. “Your clasp is reminiscent of an Unbreakable Vow. Perhaps Magic – or that tree stump – feels you and Harry owe each other some promises?”

“Vow? Promises?” Stiles squawks. “I’m- I’m not marrying a woman!”

“You,” Hermione hesitates. “Aren’t available to women, then? Romantically?”

Stiles flails a bit. “That’s not what I meant! I’m-” He’s not going to say Hale-sexual. He’s not going to say Hale-sexual. He’s not going to say Hale-sexual. He’s really, really not. “We’ve only just met! I don’t even know her!”

“There are more vows to be made than marriage,” Snape scoffs.

“Yeah,” Stiles glares at the asshole. “But who’s going to protect Draco now?”

The man freezes and then slowly tilts his head just enough to glare at Stiles with all the fury of Derek Glare #3 and the promise of retribution from Derek Glare #5. “How could you possibly know anything about Draco?” He asks menacingly.

“We’re a tv show to you, you’re a book series to us. Seven books, eight movies. The last one – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 – was released like a month ago. It’s a huge success.”

“That sounds,” Hermione tilts her head and frowns. “Really invasive.”

Stiles scoffs, this from the girl that felt free to announce something a lot like their life stories? “Uh, yeah.”

“Harry’s a boy, though,” Peter chips in. “In the books and movies.”

“Do you have these books?”

Stiles nods, “And the first seven movies.”

Hermione looks questioningly at Snape. The man sighs. “Anyone in the books clearly has a right to read them but only Harry can tell us if her parts are accurate. I assume she’s the main character? Her name is in the title.”

“Yeah, absolutely. They might be upsetting though? I mean, people die.”

“Multiple people?” Hermione asks tremulously.

“Seven main-ish characters, I think? For you, they’re actual people you probably know, right?”

Hermione takes a deep breath and nods.

Snape nods too and turns front. “Lupin,” he hands the man a small vial full of red liquid.

Remus just nods to him and tosses it back with a, “My thanks.” And Snape goes back to poking through his potion collection. Periodically he pulls one to hand to Stiles. He gets pretty smooth about tipping Harry’s head back and pouring potions down her throat.

The magic of potions must ensure safe ingestion. Either that or Harry’s body is really used to being fed potions in her sleep, and isn’t that a disquieting thought?

Three different colored potions for Harry and a second Pepper up for Remus later, they are pulling out of the mall and directly onto the highway when Hermione speaks again, “Mr. Hale?”

“Peter, please. I’m not much older than you.”

“Okay, thank you, Peter. You died? That’s how Derek became Alpha, right?”

“I did and it is,” He agrees as he changes lane.

“But you’re an alpha now? And so is Derek?”



Peter sighs and is quiet for a while, long enough that they leave Beacon Pointe headed for Beacon Valley. Long enough that the obviously tired Remus Lupin is watching him with wary eyes before he speaks up again.

“I don’t understand how I became an alpha again,” He eventually confesses. “I know it has something to do with Scott McCall’s death? Stiles and I were researching Kanima when I felt him die and the power came on but-

“But I honestly have no idea why.

“None of my research can answer this question. Even if McCall had been a True Alpha – something that is only supposed to happen to actual born wolves – his power would only transfer to someone he’s Bitten himself. But he wasn’t a True Alpha, at least not actively. And there’s never been a Bitten True Alpha. Ever. Not in any of the records I can find. It’s how you’re born, not something that might maybe happen but only under certain circumstances.”

Lupin hums and glances over his shoulder to Snape, “A soul leech?”

“Something along those lines, yes,” Snape frowns. “It would explain how he never completely died, if he was anchored to someone else by the tether of his alpha powers. We’ll need to see the body. Is it available?”

“He hasn’t been buried yet, if that’s what you mean.” Stiles answers, taking a deep breath. “The wake is tomorrow, funeral on Saturday.”

“Black and I can investigate tonight then.” Snape frowns at the man when Remus grumbles. “You need bed rest. You are too close to exhaustion as it is.”

“Uncle Eliot can definitely get you in there, no problem.”

“I could do it, too,” Peter grumbles and Stiles tries not to find it cute.

“No,” Snape immediately vetoes. “If you were somehow the unwilling or unknowing victim of a soul leech, being close to the anchor would be dangerously detrimental to your health.”

“The last thing we need is for you to go back to ‘Murder Town as Sirius would say’,” Remus agrees. “And that would be an express ticket.”

Peter nods, silently accepting it. They are their asked-for magical backup, after all.

“Why don’t you rest, Professor?” Hermione asks. “We have at least enough time for a decent nap.”


“I believe it is time,” Severus says as he sets aside Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

He jumped right in to their most recent circumstances rather than wait his turn to read things in order after Miss Granger.

It’s a terrible thing, seeing yourself displayed so.. Nakedly from someone else’s point of view. Not even Miss Potter’s point of view, which he’s fairly certain has improved over this last year, but from the author’s point of view. Someone he doesn’t even know, not even using Miss Potter’s face but one seemingly similar to judge him with no circumstances accepted. Surely, surely, their Occlumency lessons were nothing like that. Merlin, that was torture of a young mind, pure and simple.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he can see that ending happening so, so easily. Umbridge, the Department of Mysteries, fucking Dumbledore, as the young Mr. Stilinski would say. It makes it… difficult to look his own personal enemy Sirius Black in the eye.

“Not one of you had better get hurt.” Hermione tells them as she sets aside The Sorcerer’s Stone. She’s not keeping a finger in it for the first time since Mr. Spencer brought it down and handed it to her after dinner, he’s pleased to note. “Harry would be very cross.”

Severus stops on his way out the door because, what?

He doesn’t verbalize it. He’s a Slytherin, thank you very much but Black doesn’t have the same compunction judging by his nearly screeched, “What?!?

“Don’t get hurt. Harry would hate it. And likely blame herself because she’s unreasonable like that.”

“You make it sound like she cares about Snivellus!” Hermione looks -pointedly?- away and Black practically flails. “Harry doesn’t have a crush. She doesn’t.”

“I never said she did,” The girl reminds them.

“Harry has a crush.” Black, the over dramatic arse, collapses back into his chair. “But, why? He’s terrible!”

“You forget what her life was like before Hogwarts,” Hermione says sadly. “She was abused, Sirius. I had to take her to the Infirmary for a Calming Draught the first week. No one had come around to beat her for her mistakes -or her success- you see, and the stress of waiting for her ‘thrashing’ gave her a panic attack.

“She was constantly surprised she was even allowed to eat at meals and no one screamed at her for it.

“Snape was an arse, that’s true. But his little temper tantrums, while embarrassing, were nothing compared to what she was used to. And he saved her life. Repeatedly. He even defended her verbally once or twice in her hearing even if it obviously pained him. That might as well have been a confession of true, undying love wrapped in a marriage proposal in the world of Harry Potter.”

Severus can feel something terribly like guilt churning in his gut. He has no idea what to even say.

“Well,” Black seemed to be trying to look for the bright side. The side he can cling to. Because his inability to tell Potter no is ridiculous. “He’s not even 20 years older than her so it’s not all that unseemly.”

Hermione laughs but not like it’s funny. “You people marry your siblings, Sirius, I don’t think Harry will be bothered by what you think is unseemly or not. But she’s 15. She’ll get over it. Eventually.”

Severus isn’t so sure. Connections made young… but there is no connection, he tells himself. She means nothing to him, he just owes her a Life Debt. No, not her. Her father. He owes her father a Life Debt, that’s even less of a connection between them.

“Is she getting better at least?” Severus finds himself asking. “With the abuse? Muggles have mind healers -psychiatrists- we can get her healing sessions.”

Granger and Lupin exchange looks so clear they might as well be subtitled ‘See?‘ And ‘Ah!‘ as he takes the first book on the life of Mister Potter from her.

Severus huffs in offence and ignores the smirks around him as Mr. Spencer leads him and Sirius out into the dark, climbing into a gray ‘pickup truck’ in borrowed -and magically altered- clothes.

The funeral hall Spencer drives them to is a small, squat building of a gentle clay-brown.

The inside -the showroom– has all the appearance of decadence but none of the substance. Fake flowers in false dirt foam. Electric lamps pretending to be candles. Glass fixtures trying their very best to be crystal.

It’s pathetic, honestly.

The back, though? Where all the work is done?

It’s spotless. Top of the line. Well lit and organized work areas with decent security. For muggles, anyway.

Eliot Spencer makes quick work of getting them in, without magic or even specialized tools. It’s almost a thing of beauty and Severus does enjoy seeing such competence in others.

They step into a room with a rich mahogany -more likely something that looks like mahogany, considering the state of the rest of the place- box and immediately Sirius stops, swaying on his feet.

“Black?” He hisses.

“Soul magic,” his arch enemy turned ally pants. “Merlin, that’s wretched. You can’t smell that?” He asks their werewolf escort

Spencer pointedly sniffs the air, “Old pain, fading blood, death. Soap, plastic, clay. Various embalming chemicals. What am I looking for?”

“Corruption, like rotting. Sort of sits on the back of my tongue, just past where I can swallow it away.” Sirius says, his features pale. “Magic usually has a flavor. Sweet or bitter, depending on the caster’s intention. This is vile. Evil. Hateful. Malignant.

“Hale is mixed in it, and Hale’s pain. He didn’t consent to this.” As if that was actually in doubt. Severus rolls his eyes and Black looks at him. “Can you See anything?”

Severus shakes his head. There must be some thick, heavy metal in the lining of the box. “We’ll need to open it up.”

Black nods and tries first to life the lid. It doesn’t work so he pulls his wand. Sev is pretty sure that’s just for the werewolf’s sake. Though, if that’s the case he can’t be sure because Black doesn’t even bother with an incantation as the casket silently separates into pieces, all of them floating about. The bloody show off.

He transitions into his Grim form and pounces on to one of the floating lid bits. It holds him up as he sniffs along the dead boy’s body.

When he reaches McCall’s right arm, just above the bicep, the dog sneezes and then growls.

Pushing the fur-covered menace and his stupid hoverboard to one side, Severus carefully cuts the sleeve away to reveal a tattoo. Two lines, circling the boy’s arm like a cuff. The top one is an inch thick, then a half inch of empty space below that followed by a second line approximately a quarter of an inch thick.

“I thought Mr. Stilinski said this boy was 16.”

“He is,” Spencer agrees, frowning.

“Would he not have to be 18 to receive a tattoo?”

“From a legal shop, yeah. Any idiot can stick and poke, though.”

“And have it work on a werewolf?”

“That would be a different story, yeah,” The alpha concedes with a frown. “We’ll need to find out more about the adults in his life ‘cause I promise you, his mom would never allow him to get a tattoo.”

Black let’s out a low, hair-raising growl and Severus takes the hint. He calls his Vision and looks at the boy before him.

There’s no spark of life in the boy at all, which is good because there shouldn’t be.

There is a dying red light on his right side, from his hip, up across his lower ribs. A truly gigantic bite mark. Obviously, that’s where he was Bitten.

There’s yellow in the vicinity of his lungs that tells Severus the boy’s asthma was, in fact, a curse. Some sort of vengeance. Likely on his mother, and he can’t help but wonder what she did to earn the constant pain of helplessness having a child with a chronic illness would give their parent.

The armband itself is a sickly yellow-green. Highly advanced soul magic, the like of which even the Dark Lord would have refused to use. Unless he was on the receiving end, perhaps. Not that he would actually trust anyone to touch his on magic deeply enough to alter it this way.

No one would.

There’s no doubt in Severus’s mind, someone stole magic from Peter Hale’s very soul and gave it to this boy.

Whether the boy was a willing party or not… is rather immaterial at this point.

Originale Revelare,” he waves his wand at the tattoo and runes form under his eyes.

Not only under his eyes, if Mr. Spencer’s gasp is anything to go by. “There’s something,” the man gestures but wisely doesn’t touch the body.

And he’s right. Under the hash-marked triskele is a small sliver of metal. The skin under the entire triskele has a slightly raised quality to it that’s hidden cleverly by the tattoo. The anchor of the soul leech, obviously. The hash marks and other runes combined grant the boy slow access to ‘his’ alpha status. To make the process seem natural, no doubt.

Very clever.

Disgusting, but clever.

They aren’t the first to figure it out, however. Based on the magical corrosion on the metal and the acidic black-edged orange magic woven through the child’s remaining flesh, his death was long and painful. Someone took full advantage of their rival’s pawn to send a message.

Likely fed off of his pain, as well.

It almost makes him regret them sealing the Nemeton Stump so quickly. An hour, perhaps two, of study and he could have learned much from the magical lay of the land but Miss Potter’s safety and comfort were more important. Without sealing the Stump someone from their world could have called her back. As magically depleted as she is, powering such travel again -even with only one traveler- would have killed her.

He drops the still floating metal scrap into an empty potion vial. He could use such to ensure Peter Hale is no longer compromised in magic or soul. Or take control of him and have his own pet werewolf. Either way it’s much too valuable and too powerful a reagent to leave behind.

At his nod, Black hops down off his magical hoverboard and transforms back to his two-footed form. The coffin closes back up after a truly negligent wave of the man’s hand.

Severus waits for the stab of jealousy he’s felt for the man for years but it doesn’t come. Mostly he’s sardonically amused at the amazing feats of magic the man performs without even thought or care. Honestly, it’s easier to stomach than Dumbledore doing the same would be. Mostly because the Headmaster is always so impressed with himself and expects everyone around him to be as well for all that he makes a sham of his own ‘humility’.

Dumbledore is impressive and wants everyone to notice. Sirius Black is impressive and legitimately doesn’t care what anyone thinks about it. Because he expects far more from himself and far less from others than Dumbledore.

How did he never notice this before?

Uneasy with his thoughts, he allows Sirius and Eliot to lead him from the building and back down the block to the shopping center they parked in. Seems he’ll have more to adjust to in this life than he thought.


Alan Deaton stands staring at the Nemeton Stump. Or, at least, he stands where the Nemeton Stump used to be.


The magic in these lands is still behaving as if the Nemeton is there but he can’t see it. Can’t affect it.

His bond with it is well and truly broken.

At this point, he can’t even tell if it was destroyed and replaced or simply shielded. If the Nemeton was shielded from him, it was frustratingly, flawlessly done.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” He growls to the air he knows is not in fact empty.

The woman that steps from the shadows is a perfect representation of Snow White with her draping dark hair, perfect pale skin, and big princess eyes. She’s dressed like a villain, all black leather pants and boots, black blouse with a high, dramatic collar. He’s never known such hate as he does in this moment for this very woman.

He had almost done it. After so much time, after so much effort, and now-

“The death Scott McCall should have been expected, Alan.” She moves forward, predatory in a lazy way. “You’re old enough to know better than to invest so much of yourself in a single pawn.”

“Julia-” He starts warningly.

“Jennifer,” She hisses, her eyes flashing. “Julia is dead.”

He stares at her impassively. “McCall’s death is not what concerns me.”

“Lies,” She glares furiously at him. “Your obsession with him is quite well known. A terrible choice. Such a fool boy could never live up to the potential you gave him. So much self loathing in one tidy package, one has to wonder what that says about you, Alan. Add to that his age and, well.  It’s given you a reputation.”

Now, he can’t help but frown at her. “The Nemeton,” He redirects.

“You think I did this?”

Her surprise seems so wide-eyed and genuine that he starts to think again, but no. Jennifer is exactly the kind to destroy something as ancient as a Nemeton with no care for the consequences.

Whatever bloodbound magical sink she put in its place will kill her for it soon enough.

Unless, of course, he kills her first.

“If anyone could escape my lightning trap,” He offers, an offhand compliment designed to lure her even as it stings her pride.

“They had to escape my earth trap, too,” She glares, offense writ large on her face.

He tilts his head, thinking, “You’re saying there is a third.”

“A fourth,” She scoffs.

That’s right, he recalls. Of course she would know and sense Marin. Marin used to be Julia and Kali’s favorite third. Not that Marin would ever deign to actually touch another in such a way but she claims great pleasure from the watching.

“This fourth has ways unknown to both of us. We should stand together against them,” She offers warily. “Settle our differences after.”

“You know very well that that would never work. Not between us.”

“Fine,” She growls and disappears back into the shadows, dramatic to the last. “But remember this and know that you have no right to haunt me when they kill you.”

Chapter Two

“Magic is really very simple,” An elderly female voice declares over cinematically enhanced wind. “All you’ve got to do is want something and then let yourself have it!”


“Hardison, we secure?” Eliot asks, settling John’s landline between his ear and his shoulder as he wanders the Stilinski kitchen making enough breakfast for a small army. He hasn’t been here since Claudia died and it hasn’t changed a bit -creepy or charming? He’s not really sure.

There’s the clack of keystrokes from across the line, “Yeah, boss, we’re good. How’s Beacon Hills?”

“It’s Beacon Hills, everyday it gets weirder.” He answers as he flips the bacon. “You would not believe what happened last night.”

Hardison makes a rude noise, “Need I remind you that I am, in fact, mated to a chaos nymph?”

And, okay, that’s a good point. “I met Harry Potter last night.”

“What?!” He hears Parker demand from Harison’s side of the line.

“Is your mate breathing?”

“Hey!” She shouts and slaps Hardison’s chest.

Hardison coughs. “Sorry, sorry. What? Harry Potter? Like the Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, like the Harry Potter. She’s asleep in the master bedroom upstairs.”

She?” Hardison asks weakly.

“Yeah, she. My nephew managed to summon her from another dimension or something.”

“So, Harry Potter’s a demon?” Parker asks, clearly unhappy.

“Nah, definitely human. Just different. Brought with her Hermione Granger, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and Remus Lupin.”

“We’re coming,” Hardison immediately declares. “We’ll be there in two days.”

“Nah, man. The only thing worse for this situation than a chaos nymph would be a clan of kitsune.” Something heavy settles in his gut and Eliot hangs his head, realizing he just jinxed the lot of them. “Actually, come on but make it a week. I need some documentation for my refugees.”

“I can do that. How old are they?”

“The men are probably mid-thirties. The girls look fifteen, maybe sixteen.”

“Fifteen would be the oldest they could be with Sirius still alive,” Parker interjects and Eliot pointedly ignores Lupin’s head shooting up from where he’s reading Prisoner of Azkaban.

“Assuming their reality matches our books,” Hardison counters. “Could be different. Probably is. I mean, she’s a girl.”

“Girl Harry can do anything Boy Harry can do,” Parker objects.

“You know I agree with you, that’s not what I’m saying. Society treats boys and girls differently. Good or bad, that’s just how it is.”

“Guys,” Eliot interjects and they immediately redirect.

“Right.” Hardison clears his throat. “I’ll need you to verify ages and I’ll need pictures. You might want to talk to them about aliases, using their real names will draw a lot of attention.”

“In that case, I imagine Harry will keep her name.” Eliot sighs, “She seems like the kind to draw fire just to keep it from hitting anyone else.”

He notes Lupin’s tired nod as his fellow alpha continues to pretend to read as a half-ass cover to his eavesdropping.

“Alright. I got some research to do for this. Parker will start packing. Keep us updated.”

“Will do. Same to you.” And he hangs up John’s landline.

“Sirius dies?” Remus asks, suddenly standing -empty handed, thankfully- in the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah,” Eliot nods, pulling fresh biscuits from the oven. “End of the fifth book. The stupidest damn death. All Molly Weasley’s fault, if you ask me.”

Lupin stares at him like he doesn’t even know where to start asking questions

Eliot sighs, “Wait and read the book.

“But first, wake the others, will ya? Breakfast is ready.”

Wordlessly Lupin nods and turns toward the stairs. He’s just put his foot on the first step when there’s a knock at the front door.

Now it’s Eliot’s turn to step empty handed into the kitchen doorway, “You expecting someone?”

“Not that I know of.” Remus glares at the door. It smells like- Well if they were in their dimension, he would say-

“Smells like magic,” Eliot growls and Remus can hear Sirius, Severus, and the Hales moving into guard positions upstairs.

“Lets see who it is.”

Eliot opens the inner door abruptly, revealing no one to their sight.

No one human height, that is. When they look out and down they catch sight of a goblin. And not just any goblin, either, but, “High Chieftain Ragnock!”

“Mister Lupin,” The most powerful goblin of them all nods. “And I believe you are Mister Eliot Spencer?”

Eliot nods and steps back in wordless invitation.

Ragnock opens the screen door with a lazy wave of his hand and shuffles right in. “Ah, Lord Black,” he says, directing his attention up the stairs. “I have business with your ward, if you are available.”

“I am at your disposal, High Chieftain,” Sirius greets as he gracefully all-but floats down the stairs. “But Harry’s business is her own, as I’m sure you know, and she is still asleep.”

“Yes, I expect nothing less. Powering trans-dimensional travel is a taxing endeavor for a single entity much less five, a lesser witch would have never survived it. However there is the matter of a house elf-“

An unfamiliar shriek sounds upstairs.


“Magic is really very simple,” An elderly female voice declares over cinematically enhanced wind. “All you’ve got to do is want something and then let yourself have it!”

Harry rolls her closed eyes at the telly though she can’t really say the old woman is wrong.

She’d definitely wanted something.

And she was absolutely prepared to let herself have it, sitting there in Grimmauld Place waiting for the post-hospital visit Weasley Invasion.

Now, whether she got it or not, Harry really can’t say.

She’s definitely not where she was. She’s definitely never seen this room, or this boy that’s lying in bed with her, or the rather young man sitting semi-warily behind him. Smells like summer outside, too. Sort of. And it was definitely winter when she went to sleep.

She has stuff in both hands, which is dreadfully inconvenient.

The man stands over the boy’s shoulder and moves around the bed, off behind her. A door she can’t see opens and she hears people shuffle in.

Snape and Hermione move into her line of sight but the stranger doesn’t return.

“What’s going on?” The boy lying in bed with her asks.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answers because who else would? “I thought I heard a knock and then Derek ordered us in here. I think he’s guarding the hall.”

“He is,” a voice that can only belong to the stranger confirms. “We have an unexpected visitor. A magical one.”

Harry breathes deeply but all she can smell is the boy, the bed, and the heat of summer. Someone gave her a nose blocker and she almost grumbles about it but she after a bit of thought has to recognize that it was probably a good move for Sirius to make with them moving into what is obviously a new environment.

Instead she tries to free herself from the boy’s grip. Gently, gently she tries spreading the fingers on her right hand. Nothing happens, she is honest to Merlin stuck. To a boy. One she doesn’t know. That she’s in bed with.

She tries a little more strongly and nothing happens other than the boy scratching absently at his forearm.

Tired of playing dead, Harry flat out opens her eyes.

None of them are paying attention to her, all of their attention is on the door and the hall beyond. Which, on the one hand is nice, there have been times when she would have paid for people to ignore her but right now she could really use some bloody attention.

Nothing for it, she yanks her arm away from the boy.

He shrieks.

He shrieks like she’s murdering him and somehow manages to wandlessly levitate himself off the bed to boot. Seriously, she can see like two feet of clear space between him and the bed for a full 15 seconds, at least!

Then he crashes back down. And the door crashes open. And four- Four! Snarling, growling, red-eyed werewolves tumble into the room. Teeth and fangs and sideburns are everywhere, sweet Merlin.

Eyebrows are seriously missing, though. What the hell?

Three wands and a stave are also pointed at the bed.

“Ragnock!” She exclaims. Squeaks, really, when is the last time she drank something?

Sirius is there immediately, conjuring her a glass and some water to go in it.

She drinks thankfully and tries again. “What are you doing here? Where are we? Why do you look like that, Ragnock?”

“I needed to be recognized,” the ‘obviously’ is heavily implied as he moves to stand at the end of the bed so Harry can seem him more comfortably. “Else I’d have never been allowed in the house.”

“Well you’re in the house now, so,” She picks up her left hand to wave it at him and notices the small wooden box in it. There’s a little stick pin sticking out between the box’s feeties.

She glances up questioningly to Ragnok.

Standing in place of the little goblin projection is now a human man in a well-fitted suit. He’s unassuming with an overly large nose and pinched expression. His red hair is bald in the middle, though that mostly looks like a particularly sharp widow’s peak until he nods to her in answer to her silent question.

With a shrug, she pokes her own arm with the little pin.

She’s pretty sure she’s the only one that hears it click as it locks a bond onto her blood and magic. Or the wordless request for orders.

“Release and stay small,” she tells the chest and it promptly falls onto the bed in front of her.

“What the hell was that?” The boy stuck to her hand flails.


“Mycroft, please,” the arse interjects.

Mycroft is what my people call a Goblin, for lack of a better term.” Harry tells them. “Goblins aren’t actually native to our reality. They live on a different plane of existence where they can see and project into all the different realities of our plane using these pseudo-corporeal ‘body’ construct things,” Harry gestures at Mycroft’s body to indicate the construct. “There’s usually at least one but can be up to like seven? I think? Seven goblins is the most I’ve seen using a single avatar, I guess you can call it. If you pay attention, you’ll notice each of them speaks a little differently or holds the body differently when they’re speaking.

“They play with our realities, like a game for them. Because we have a bunch of fun concepts they have no need for. Like money and governments. And time.”

Hermione sits on the bed behind her and Harry relaxes back into her as much as she can before she hands the other girl the box. Silently, Hermione takes it and there’s a click as she sets it down on the bedside table Harry can’t quite see.

“Ragnock, Mycroft, what’s your real name?” Sirius asks curiously as he settles in behind Harry on the bed too.

“Nearly impossible to pronounce in this reality, I’m afraid. Deadly, too. Harry is one of two entities from your reality to not only survive the hearing of it but to actually understand it. She’s quite precious to our people as a result.”

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“Partially. Don’t you have more pressing matters to attend to first?” Mycroft raises an eyebrow at her, well, her bound hand.

“Right. So,” Harry drawls, focusing on the people that travelled with her. “Who wants to go first?”

“We’re in a different dimension,” Hermione promptly explains. “It’s a different version of Teen Wolf and here we are characters in a book and movie series.”

What the- “So we’re in Beacon Hills?”

“Yes, and in the future. It is August 10, 2014.”

Harry honestly doesn’t even know where to start with that, “Does that make us 34 or 16?”

Hermione does a decent impression of a goldfish for a moment before she turns to Remus.

“You were 15 before we left,” He answers, raising a single amused eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t you be 15 now?”

“I fell asleep in December and woke up in August. Maybe that means I slept through my birthday but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Sirius grins at her and nods, “Sixteen it is.”

“Are we,” Harry hesitates. She doesn’t want to know but she also kind of needs to. “Are we going to go back?”

“You can’t,” Mycroft tells her immediately. “The artefact that facilitated your travel is sealed and heavily warded. I could possibly take you back to your native reality but not until you’ve fully recovered which will likely take at least half a year and even then to do so you would have to abandon the rest of your party to their fates here.”

“I’ll pass, then.”

Mycroft nods like he didn’t expect anything else, and likely he didn’t. “Next time you get the urge to travel dimensions, you come to us. We promise it will not leave you as damaged as this trip has. We made you an offer and we meant it.”

“I know you did. I didn’t mean for this to happen, truly.”

“When we told you to be careful, Miss Potter, we did not just mean in school or with the muggles. A witch of your potential has very few limits. This situation is not as bad as it could be but next time you may not be so lucky.”

“I’ll do my best but I don’t exactly know how to manage,” She gestures at the room as much as she can. “This.”

“I’ll get you books,” The ‘goblin king’ promises with a nod. “But a vow could help. As magic seems to be requiring vows between yourself and Mr. Stilinski, perhaps you should start there.”

Silently Harry takes in the brown eyed boy in front of her. He’s cute, kind of awkward but mostly she just finds it endearing. None of that means she’s willing to just lie about in bed with him, though. “No marriage,” She tells him. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great but I don’t really connect with men romantically. I’m more inclined toward females and, uh, I want to marry for love. Like my parents did.”

“No, no marriage,” He agrees, smelling relieved. “I’m totally fine with no marriage.

“But, uh, what did you wish for?”

Deciding she’s all over irritated with laying on her side in a room full of standing people, Harry pushes herself up to sitting, dragging a grumbling Mr. –Stiles- Stilinski with her by their connected hands.

“I wished for a family,” She tells him. “To get to have one, be in one, grow my own.”

Stiles squints at her. “How do I vow to give you a family without basically marrying you?”

“It depends on how you define family,” Hermione offers.

“Families generally support and like each other,” probably-Peter Hale agrees. He somehow looks at the same time both older and younger than the man that played Peter Hale in the show. It’s really quite fascinating. “So vow to be friends”

“What about kids?” Harry asks Stiles. “Do you see yourself having kids in the future?”

“In like ten years or so, yeah. Definitely.”

“Well. Since your mate is a man and last I checked two men can’t naturally reproduce, I’ll be your womb and you’ll supply my sperm.” And then Harry looks at Peter for some reason Stiles isn’t really following. “Of course, I’m not just going to let you people run off with my babies, so we’ll need to negotiate some sort of four-way poly family group thing. Can your wolf handle that?”

Something uncomfortable flickers over Peter’s face and Stiles splutters.

“Four-way?” Peter asks tentatively.

“Well, I deserve a romantic partner of my own choice too, don’t I?”

Peter inclines his head and Stiles flails. “Why are you asking him? He’s not my-” Harry yanks on his arm and he falls forward a bit rather than finish the sentence. Which, okay, he can see how that sentence could be a problem, if! If there was anything between him and Peter. “I mean, I might have a crush maybe but that doesn’t mean- There’s like magic and courting and stuff to being mates, not. Not!” Stiles flails as much as he can with only one free hand.

“I asked your father if I could court you,” Peter admits, around clearing his throat and looking very uncomfortable. “You’re underage and I’m not, it was the proper thing to do. He said he wanted to talk to you first and would get back to me but never did.”

Because he died, Stiles has to fight to breathe for a moment.

And then as soon as he started to find his feet, Scott died and Peter’s wolf would never allow him to take advantage of his mate’s vulnerability. Stiles is pretty sure he wouldn’t, at least. From the things Uncle Eliot has sad.

Which are starting to make a lot more sense with the context Stiles was missing before.

“You came over. We had nothing to research but you came over the night that-“

“The night my eyes turned back red.” Peter says gently.

“Wow.” That’s, wow. That’s a thing to deal with later. “You won’t kill her if she swears to have our babies, will you?”

Peter huffs, “Of course not.”

“Good. That’s very good, I’m glad.” Harry interjects, “But what did you wish for? Stiles?”

“Magical backup,” Stiles answers, immediately latching on the change of subject. “People are dying. My dad and my best friend were murdered. I want those people to pay and I want to survive doing it.”

Harry nods readily. “I am a pretty good witch in a fight.” And everyone in the room snorts. Harry rolls her eyes at the lot of them. “Okay, so, we’re promising to be friends and what build a home together?”

“To support each other, in combat and in life.” Stiles proposes.

“Just each other or Beacon Hills itself? ‘We will protect Beacon Hills from all threats magical and supernatural until death‘ kind of thing?”

“Until our bodies die and walk no more,” Stiles counteroffers.

Harry considers this, “So we’re going to protect Beacon Hills as vampires? Or Zombies?”

“Zombies. In the movies they seem to have a really good time.”

“Sure, until the all you can eat part is over and the starving sets in,” Harry laughs.

“Exactly!” Stiles grins down at her. “Besides, I’m pretty sure vampires aren’t a thing.”

“They were in our old reality,” Harry glances at Mycroft and the man -goblin? Whatever- shrugs. Harry just raises an eyebrow at the man. “Something to keep an eye on, then. Werewolves and vampires are like blood enemies. As in, on first sight, they lose their minds and try to murder each other.”

“Note to self,” Stiles nods. “Real talk, though, I don’t want to be bound to Beacon Hills. Like coming back, eventually, has always been part of my plans because of my dad but I want to leave. At the very least for college.”

Harry considers that. “I’ve never really thought about college. I’m not opposed but we’d probably have to go to the same one?”

“Or different ones in the same city. We could do that in LA or New York. Probably a few other places that I really can’t think of right now.”

“Okay. So we can leave for school but we can’t vow that someone else will protect Beacon Hills for us.”

Stiles shrugs, “If we stay in state, I bet we could apparate here if needed. Or we can just leave Beacon Hills out of the vows.”

“They are vows for us,” Harry bites her lip, considering. “But I also want to make sure someone can’t whisk me away from here against my will. Or I can’t accidentally wish myself into another new reality. Again.” Harry glances over her shoulder at the girl still sitting behind her. “What do you think?”

Hermione flushes, “I think I want to know more about this mates thing. I don’t remember reading anything about them before and they weren’t in the show.”

“It is a circumstance fairly unique to werewolves in this reality,” Mycroft tells her. “It is a combination of physical, emotional, and magical compatibility between a werewolf and some other entity.”

“Other entity?” Hermione questions.

“Entity,” Mycroft nods. “Not necessarily a humanoid. There is an alpha werewolf bonded to a particularly magical mountain in northern Washington state. Bonds can be platonic or romantic and/or sexual. They range from friendship, to guardianship, to true love. A truly magical circumstance.”

“How would a werewolf know if they’ve found their mate?”

“Particularly powerful werewolves can recognize their mate at first sight but generally a touch -skin to skin, to be specific- is required,” Mycroft tips his head. “Though apparently Miss Potter can smell them as well.”

It’s not really a question but Harry shifts uncomfortably and refuses to look at anyone regardless.

How?” Derek is the one that finally asks. “How could you possibly smell that?”

Harry blinks at him, “Oh, uh, my animagus form. I’m a magical animagus like Paddy so even though I haven’t transformed yet, my animal spirit gives me their abilities and visits me in my dreams and stuff.”

“I thought your animagus spirit was you?” Hermione asks. Then she frowns at her own question and rephrases. “I thought an animagus and their animal spirit were one.”

“We are and we aren’t.” Sirius steps in. “Its complicated. Sort of like how a werewolf is both a wolf and a human even when they are leaning more one way or the other, just with no compulsion to shift or loss of control for us.”

“What do you think?” Harry asks her godfather. “Beacon Hills? Yes? No?”

“No Beacon Hills. We’ve set up a truly impressive obstacle between you and anyone trying to retrieve you against your will. Mycroft no doubt has more measures he can take since dimensional travel is rather his wheelhouse. This vow is just in case someone manages to get past all of us. And because Magic seems to want one from the two of you. Magic is intelligent. She knows our needs before we do and fills them. She won’t let someone force you to violate your vows but, more importantly, she won’t allow you to violate them either so make sure it’s something you can both live with. Keep it general but positive, as much as you can.”

“General, positive,” Harry nods and looks at Mycroft. “Vows need to be made in threes, right?”

“They are more powerful that way,” He inclines his head regally. “If you agree to the terms, I can help with the wording.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” She focuses on Stiles. “Be friends, build family, mutual support in combat and out?”

Stiles nods, “Be friends, build family, mutual support in combat and out. Until death?”

“We can go with the ‘until our bodies die and walk no more‘ if you want.”

“I kind of do because hilarious, but I imagine there are like, traditional? Words of power?” He asks Mycroft.

“There are,” The inter-dimensional being agrees and pulls a staff out of nowhere. “I can help you say the words you want, formally and in unison. And of course act as your vow’s bonder, if you wish.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Lets get this done. General, positive. Be friends, build family, mutual support in combat and out. Let’s go, I got a thing to get to.”

“You agree to the terms, Miss Potter?”

“Yes. And thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft raises the staff. For the most part is looks like a huge rune-covered bone with metal at either end. The top end is a pair of blades curving together in a way that looks like a single flame with a translucent ruby nestled between them. The bottom end is a sharp-edged pyramid that Stiles can see coming in handy for stabbing or bashing. The metal, though. It’s weird. Like, silvery? With black lines sort of folded into it?

Mycroft sets the pyramid on their joined hands and Harry chokes. “Is that Valyrian Steel? Don’t tell me the land of Ice and Fire exists!”

“Of course it does, Harry. Every fictional universe you’ve ever read or watches or heard someone talk about exists somewhere and they’re all interconnected in their own way.”

“That’s what muggles have over magicals,” Hermione suddenly realizes. “Magicals can make amazing things happen in our daily lives but Muggles can imagine new amazing things. Or is it a sort of vision? Muggles can see alternate realities in their dreams?”

“The two do balance each other somewhere along those lines in your world, yes. Let us discuss it another time.”

“Of course, I apologize.”

Mycroft taps their hands with the end cap of his staff and Harry and Stiles begin to speak together.

“I, Meiczyslaw Olek Stilinski/Harriet Iolanthe Potter, swear to you, Harriet Iolanthe Potter/Meiczyslaw Olek Stilinski these three things: I swear that I will be your friend, loyal and true, with respect and courage, cunning and strength, from this day until our last day. I swear that I will build my family and future with you and our chosen mates. I swear that I will support you and stand at your side, your battles will be my battles, your enemies will be my enemies, and your friends will receive succor from my hands as they would from yours.” Mycroft allows them a pause in the magic to consider. First Harry nods her acceptance, then Stiles follows quickly after. “I swear this upon my name, I swear this upon my life, I swear this upon my magic. So mote it be.”

A weight of magic settles warm but solid in his stomach. There’s a flash of light, like strands of fire, not forming or sliding into place like in the Harry Potter movies but flaring, making themselves known already fully formed. When they disappear Stiles can finally, finally let Harry Potter go.

He bounces out of bed, pleased to be free and unbound once more.

“Alright. Melissa said 11. So I want to get showered and be over there by 10.”

Uncle Eliot laughs. “It’s not even nine, Stiles.”

“Well, I need to shower and stuff.”

He makes to leave the room but Harry calls him back, “Stiles. You said you’re going to a thing. Is this a painful thing? Do I need to be there?” When he hesitates he feels again the weight of the magical promise in his stomach again, coursing up along his spine. Harry sighs. “If you don’t need me or just want space boundaries are still a thing but I made an oath to support you so you need to tell me if you need me. At least until we know each other a little better?”

“Okay, I can do that,” Stiles nods and then commits. “Not today. It’s Scott’s wake and I feel like I need to do this on my own but the funeral’s tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” She promises.

“Alright, kids,” Uncle Eliot drops a hand on his shoulder. “Time for a shower for Stiles. -Trust me kid, you stink.- and I’ll figure out something new for breakfast since the first one I mades gotta be stone cold by now.”

“There’s no need for that,” Mycroft tells him. “I don’t know what you were working on so I placed your entire kitchen under stasis. It will remain as you left it until you enter the kitchen once more.”

Uncle Eliot frowns at him. “When, exactly, did you do that?”

“Just now, I’m afraid.”

“How is that going to help food that’s already gone cold?”

“Time isn’t really a thing to him,” Harry Potter reminds him. “He might have cast the spell now but it would have taken affect earlier. Probably either the moment you left your kitchen or the moment you came up the stairs.”

“The moment he left the kitchen,” Mycroft answers.

Uncle Eliot wordlessly give them his patented You’re fucking crazy look complete with skeptical eyebrow and immediately leaves the room.

Stiles shoots Peter a look as he follows. They have a lot to talk about but… now is not the time. Stiles needs to think and he needs to deal with the wake and he needs to deal with this whole Harry Potter thing. Mostly though, he needs a shower. Because his uncle’s right, between the forest and the magic and running for his life and the car ride and laying in bed for like a day and and and, he reeks.

And that’s just not on in a house full of werewolves.


“If we could clear out some of the natives,” Mycroft says gently, moving to sit in the chair in the corner. “My news is for the visitors mostly and discretion is certainly advised.”

The Hales leave though Derek is obviously reluctant in his own furiously eyebrowed sort of way.

“You realize they’ll be able to hear us as long as they’re in the house,” Moony offers.

“Will they?” Mycroft gives a weird little smile that feels just as threatening as a wand to the temple.

Sirius clears his throat, “You said something about a House Elf?”

“Yes, Lord Black. Two, in fact. Showed up in my office at the Bank and demanding I return their ‘Lady Miss Harry Potter’.”

“Dobby?” Harry focuses on him, unable to hide her shock. “And Winky? Are they okay?”

“Yes, of course. The bond of a house elf is quite durable and your family magic continues to maintain them for now. Your familiar bond, however.” The man shakes his head and Harry’s shoulders slump.

“But Hedwig’s okay? Isn’t she?”

“She is in a fine fettle, in my office. Unfortunately, I would not be able to bring her to you. The trip would kill her.”

“But you could bring Dobby and Winky?”

Mycroft inclines his head. “I’m rather certain they would riot if I didn’t.”

Harry tips her head and considers. “Is it healthy to bring them? Their lives will be drastically different here than they are in our reality. It’s not like they can go to the market for themselves or even be seen in public. Will they be able to do any of their normal duties as surrounded by electronics as we will be for the rest of our lives? Is it fair to bring them when it will destroy their lives?”

“There is much we can do for them,” Mycroft assures her. “There are electronics in this world that are properly shielded, specifically so that magicals can use them. We’ll surround you with them and that should suffice. They might be able to go to the market but they could surely be trained to order groceries and the like online.”

“That sounds expensive,” Harry says worriedly. “And we have no money in this world.”

“We could publish your proof, that would earn you at least a million dollars. More after you accept the Field’s or Abel’s Medals bound to be heaped upon you.”

“Proof?” Hermione asks, “A million- You solved a Millenium Problem?” Her best friend demands of her.

“She solved two, actually,” Mycroft corrects. “But only one of them exists in this reality.”

“You didn’t tell me?” Hermione gives her a wounded look that, yeah, she probably deserves.

“I didn’t tell anyone, Hermione. I was never going to. Can you imagine what Uncle Vernon would have done if I had published or hinted that I wanted to publish even one of them?”

Hermione’s shoulders slump and she nods, “He’d have taken all of the money and beaten you for ‘stealing it’ or some such nonsense.”

“Probably to death,” Harry agrees. “Besides I kind of cheated? I mean, Mycroft was teaching me things like physics and arithmancy and I started working on it and it just popped in my head.”

“Cross-application of principles is not cheating,” Mycroft says yet again. “It simply shows you fully understand the material.”

Harry rolls her eyes, as she always does. “Is a million dollars even enough? I mean, I’ll publish them no problem if it will get us what we need but is it enough? For even a house my elves and function in?”

Mycroft purses his lips. “No, probably not.”

“There’s money in my vault, the exchange rate over there was something like £5 to a galleon. Would that be enough?”


“I have an idea,” Professor Snape offers and everyone focuses on him. “Miss Potter said you play with governments. However, the government in our magical world is specifically designed so you can’t. My proposition is simple. Between their popularity, their wealth, and their pedigrees, Miss Potter and Lord Black hold two of the three most influential titles in our world. If they were to grant you those titles in exchange for resources in this world-?” He raises both eyebrows in question.

Mycroft leans back to consider it. “We couldn’t hold them directly except in trust which wouldn’t do us any active good. But if you give them -in your Wills, as leaving the dimension with no intention to return would be considered death– to humans of our choosing who agree to do our bidding, such a thing could be priceless.”

“Meaning?” Sirius prompts.

“Meaning you’ll never have to worry about money again. We’ll guarantee it. We will set up extensive accounts for all of you and handle all of your investing. Though that rather requires a bit of paperwork which we will, of course, also provide.

“What names shall I put on everything? You understand your real names will cause quite a stir given the wild popularity of the books you’re all in.”

“Lily always called me ‘Rhys’ when we were out playing muggle,” Sirius offers after a pause.

“R.J.” Remus adds and glances at Snape.

“Alexander,” He huffs. “Miss Potter could likely maintain her name as she is female and the character based on her is a boy.”

Harry shrugs, “If anyone calls me on it, I’ll make a joke out of it.”

“The books are roughly 14 years old, so we are older than them,” Hermione agrees. “But I would at least change my last name.”

“Your choice?” Mycroft prompts.

Hermione ponders that for a moment. “My mother’s maiden name was Kingsley but that’s another character in the books so let’s cut it down to ‘King.’ Hermione Jean King. Professor Lupin looks enough like my father to be his little brother so he could be R.J. King, my uncle and guardian?”

“That’s fine with me if it’s fine with you,” Moony agrees when she looks questioningly at him.

She nods once and that’s settled.

“Harry?” Sirius squints at her, like he’s braced for a blow.

“Do you want to be my uncle too?” She offers. “Rhys B. Potter?”

He smiles, obviously relieved, and nods. She can’t help but lean into him, the silly, silly mutt.

“Alexander S. Prince,” Is Snape’s declaration. He refuses to look at the rest of them.

“And your reason for being in the United States?” Mycroft prompts.

“Obviously, when my parents died recently, we needed to get out of London.” Hermione’s lip quivers just a bit and Harry takes her hand. “Too many bad memories, too much bad luck.”

“But why Beacon Hills?” Harry asks. “What does it have in common with London?”

“Nothing, obviously,” Sirius answers delightedly. “That was rather the point. Or maybe we threw darts at a map. Most of us hit water. Except for our dear Harry here.”

Harry huffs and side-eyes her godfather. “I was aiming for India. But you lot spun me first and I hit California.”

“Which is when you decided to come support your friend Mr. Stilinski who is also going through a rough time,” Mycroft concludes. “I’m sure I can spin that in a way that will work for your actual visas.

“School should be starting soon. I will collect all materials you’ll need to help you prepare for this world and I’ll get you registered but I’ll need a hair so I can gauge what classes to put you in.”

Harry shrugs and plucks an eyebrow. Mycroft raises one of his and Hermione snorts at her but does the same regardless. “A hair’s a hair.”

Mycroft does not look impressed but takes them and in a slightly different tone says “We’re still going to publish your proof because that’ll be fun. For us, at least. In fact, the perfect man to review it is not far from here, down in Los Angeles so we’ll take care of that today.”

They stand up and pull with them a suitcase Harry would swear they didn’t have when they came in. “These are the latest Starkphone. The Starkphone 5 is specifically shielded so that it cannot be interfered with or interfere with magic. All of the latest line of Stark products are so you’ll rather need to get used to using them.” He pulls out five very thin roughly three by six inch electronic devices and hands them out. “You’re already saved in each other’s contacts. I would suggest cases so that you can tell yours apart.”

“What kind of cases do you have?” Hermione asks as she taps a button and the screen lights up. “Do you have Gryffindor?”

“Of course,” Mycroft holds up two different ones. One is black with the Gryffindor crest in red and gold on the back. The other is solid, textured red with the word ‘Gryffindor’ on a scroll-like banner across the rampant lion in gold on the back.

Hermione immediately takes the crested cover and Sirius takes the red one.

Snape asks for and receives plain black while Remus gets gently bullied into one that makes his phone look like a chocolate bar with the word ‘HERSHEY’ pressed into every one of the little raised rectangles.

“Do you have any Star Trek?” Harry asks and everyone one turns to stare at her. Reminding herself she doesn’t have to hide, she raises her chin. “It seems most fitting. If any one is boldly going, its us.”

Mycroft hands her one that has the golden starfleet insignia on a field of stars. It has the engineering symbol, the little stylized rho, on it too. It’s perfect.

He pulls out more items. More than could actually fit in the one little suitcase. “These are StarkPads. They have keyboard docking stations so that they can be used as laptops, which you girls will need for school. All of them are loaded with those documents we promised earlier to help you learn the history of your new world.

“You’ll of course also need to dress the part,” Mycroft continues, pulling out folders and handing them out. “These are the most common styles of fashion currently. If you would each pick your favorites, I’ll have wardrobes delivered with your official paperwork.”

Hermione flips through the folder she’s handed eagerly while Harry looks reluctantly over her shoulder.

She, of course, decides with alacrity. “I like the trendy and the chic, please. With just a ton of shoes if I can.”

“Punk and rock are fun,” Sirius decides. “But perhaps they aren’t very age appropriate? Maybe the classic with punk/rock touches?”

Mycroft nods his agreement.

“Prep and casual,” Are Moony’s picks and Snape is the predictable, “Prep-goth,” but at least he’s honest about it.

They’re all waiting for her and she huffs. “I don’t know! I like the boho and the vintage but I couldn’t wear them all the time. I like the clean look of the classic and the attitude of the punk. The rock is a bit too much leather for me and the gothic is a little too heavy. I like the cowgirl because boots look like fun and of course blue jeans but like hell am I wearing a cowboy hat. The sexy is a straight no. Trendy just seems like too much effort. But casual looks the comfiest.”

“Sounds like you just enjoy a well put together outfit,” Sirius offers which isn’t helpful but isn’t wrong either.

“I have a few ideas.” Mycroft agrees. “I’m sure Winky will figure it out.”

“When will they get here?” Harry asks.

“As soon as I have a house for you. You were correct earlier, it would be cruel to bring them to this world when they would just be useless and have nothing like the life they knew.

“I assume you all wish to live together?”

Harry does a visual survey and sees no disent. “If we could. Not far from this house, if possible.”

“It will be done but it may take some time to manage without unsettling the natives. I’ll put you up in apartments downtown in the meantime. I can get you in the same building but the Potters and the Kings will be seperate households for a while.”

“We’ll need cars if we’re going to be traveling around town extensively.” Sirius adds. “Perhaps driving instruction as well, for us and the girls?”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Mycroft promises. “You might want to be aware that once we bring over House Elves other magical species may follow. Such as unicorns and centaurs and the like. Dragons. Merpeople.”

“Is that a problem?” Harry quirks an eyebrow.

“Not as such, no. After the Avengers and the Chitauri Invasion, this world is fairly jaded when it comes to new, inexplicable things.”

“And you own probably all of the world governments,” Harry rolls her eyes. “So you can make sure the world will properly handle new things.”

“Only 33,” He corrects. “Out of 190 or so. Thirty-four, soon. With you here, we can’t afford to play the games we’ve indulged in with the United States. Thirty-five, once we consolidate in Russia.”

“Well. As long as you’re having fun.”

“Always, my dear girl, always. Do you have any other questions at this time?”

“I feel it would be better for our current circumstances for me to remain as separate from them as possible.” Snape offers. Harry frowns at him and he explains. “Essentially, if I remain invisible while still being close enough to watch over you, you can draw attention and I can investigate, let’s say, inappropriate responses. Considering the situations we were brought here to deal with, having a hidden weapon is not unwise.”

Harry rolls her eyes. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.

“How would I best do that in this world?”

“You’re invisibility and tracking spells should still work as expected.” Mycroft says after a moment of consideration. “The war chest is not yours but Miss Potter could grant you the use of it. That would no doubt give you many useful tools as well as provide you shelter anywhere you might find you might need it.”

They both turn to Harry and she frowns. “Fine, but only within Beacon County. If you go outside of that you have to take either Remus or Sirius with you. And you have to come to at least one family dinner a week. Because everyone needs human contact sometimes, even you.”

Snape sneers a bit but then huffs and nods.

Harry yawns and starts to lean back down on the bed but Mycroft’s eyes blaze and his face goes hard. “What? What happened now?”

“Albus Dumbledore is at the Bank,” He answers tightly. “He is trying to steal from your vaults.

“Shouldn’t he should be there to report us missing so you can lock them down or, something?” She asks.

“He should be,” Mycroft glares and Harry yawns again.

“Alright, everyone out,” Sirius declares, standing. “Harry needs her rest.”

Silently Snapes hands her two potions. She’s been in the infirmary enough to recognize nutrient and restorative potions by now so she downs them without even a whimper of complaint.

“Paddy?” She asks, silently holding out her arms.

Her godfather willingly assumes his Grim from and curls in the bed with her, keeping her warm and helping her feel safe.

Mycroft pulls something about the size of a pineapple from one of his pockets and puts it on the bedside table in front of Harry. It’s an owl made out of several different shiny metals, complete with fully articulated wings and large flashlight-like eyes. “This is a Clockwork Owl. Her name is Athena. When you want to write me, place a letter in her mouth. She will drop it when I have received a copy.” Mycroft bends down to clasp Harry on a shoulder. “I’ll see myself out,” And he vanishes.

“Come along,” Remus tugs Hermione back toward to door with Snape following quietly behind. “I so hungry I could eat hippogriff.”

By the time they make it down the stairs the kitchen table is set and heaping with food. Stiles, still wet from his shower, is breaking into a steaming scone to lather it with butter. There are no Hales in sight but they can hear Eliot moving around in the kitchen as they move to sit down.

“So you’re witches?” Stiles asks, just to clarify as he hoards the jelly. Not everyone appreciates red currant, alright? Red currant is to be treasured. “That guy, Mycroft, called Harry a witch.”

“Technically our race is ‘Maia.’ ‘Maiar’ is the plural.” Hermione -who looks nothing like the actress from the movie, by the way- says.

“What, like Gandalf?”

“Tolkien stole the word from us, actually.” The creepy guy with a deep voice -Snape- practically purrs. “He -or perhaps someone within his creative group- was a squib from a family that hoped for reintegration for our kind with muggle society. The exact Secret is magically sealed in our world but it is generally believed that his books were a way of testing the waters.”

“So that’s why the ending of The Hobbit is so magical,” Hermione says with dawning understanding.

Stiles snorts, “If you consider ‘rocks fall, everyone dies‘ magical.”

“No one dies at the end on The Hobbit!” She objects hotly. “Well, other than Smaug and the Pale Orc. I’m talking about Bilbo and Thorin getting married and all of their little dwobbits and- They even call the Cabbage Patch Baby process the ‘Longbottom Method!’ How did I never notice that before?”

“Secret,” Snape repeats giving the word at least four extra syllables.

Stiles looks at his uncle to see him looking just as confused as he feels, “Your version of The Hobbit sounds very different from ours.”

Hermione opens her mouth to say something but Uncle Eliot waves her off. “And the color thing?”

“To those that can See such things our auras are colored. The colors indicate our gifts or preferences and the shade indicates our strength.”

“I read about that but the book wasn’t terribly specific,” Hermione says. “What are the colors?”

“Red indicates gifts of transfiguration. Orange is runic magic. Yellow is charms. Green, herbology. Blue is mind magic. Purple is potions and alchemy, such as myself. Pink is offensive/defensive magic, war magic for lack of a better term. Brown is creatures -their care, understanding them, gifts of that nature. Healing is Gold. Elementals are silver.

“Generally speaking, the darker the color the more powerful the Maia.”

“So black isn’t evil?” Hermione presses.

“It never was,” Remus says as he joins them at the table. “The Black family is named such because in almost every generation they produce a child with a black aura -the most powerful, most adaptive of magicals ever born.”

“It’s Harry for our generation,” Hermione guesses.

The werewolf inclines his head. “And Sirius in ours. Now that he’s healed we have two of the most powerful magicals from our dimension upstairs taking a nap.”

Hermione laughs, “What color am I?”

Remus looks to Severus and raises both eyebrows. The man huffs and nods.

“You’re young so this is inconclusive.” His eyes sort of roll up and become a misty white. “Right now you are red and blue, in an interesting, curling stripe. There’s room for another color or two though so you have more gifts that you will likely mature into.”

“Does that mean Godric Gryffindor was a healer? With a gift in transfiguration?”

“We don’t have conclusive proof but that’s the theory. Slytherin was an Elemental Herbologist and Ravenclaw a mind mage with gifts for creatures.” Remus hesitates but after a glance at Severus continues. “We know Hufflepuff prefered charms and was the first Black because of Sirius’s family records.”

Severus can’t even say he’s surprised. No one holds a grudge like a Black, it’s a supremely Hufflepuff trait.

“What am I?” Stiles asks.

“You’re predominately pink, a war mage, but you shade to runic orange toward your feet. Rather like an early sunrise only with no blue.”

“What was Voldemort?” Hermione asks softly.

“It’s rumored he was, at one point, a black. However, if he was he isn’t any longer. Likely because of the Dark Arts he has indulged in. After his resurrection he was,” Severus frowns, thinking about it. “Magenta, a very dark pink, but like shattered glass with black in the cracks.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.” Stiles says lightly as he bounces out of his chair. “I have a thing so I’m going to grab my jacket and go support Melissa with the stuff.” Before anyone can say anything he thunders up the stairs, no less than two things crash to the floor up there, and then he thunders back down.

“You’d think he’s happy to be going to his best friend’s wake.” Hermione says, sounding dazed.

“Hardly,” Eliot Spencer snorts, finally taking a seat at the table. “Try nervous. And more than a little upset. He’ll settle when he gets there. Then I’ll go fetch him in a few hours and he’ll come home and crash, hard.

“In the meantime, tell me about this Animagus form.”


“Potter’s,” Spencer says firmly.

“We don’t exactly know what it is,” Remus answers evasively.

“Black has been calling her ‘kit’ rather than ‘pup’ for several months now,” Snape contributes over his mug of black coffee. “I assume that has something to do with her form.”

“What animals’ young are called kits?” Hermione asks. “Squirrels? But Harry said her form was magical and those aren’t magical. Foxes?”

“Beavers, ferrets, foxes, honey badgers,” Remus frowns.

Eliot picks up, “Martens, muskrats, rabbits, skunks. Most weasels, really.”

“Wolverine,” Snape declares firmly. “She’s a wolverine. A Grim animagus is estimated to have a nose ten times more powerful than a regular dog or wolf animagus -or, in our case, a werewolf- and wolverine animagi noses are estimated ten times more powerful than that.”

“A small creature that will take on something 30 times their size and win,” Remus nods.

“But wolverines aren’t magical,” Hermione objects.

“I don’t see how something that small can take on a grizzly bear and survive without being magical,” Spencer counters. “Like he said, that’s at least 30 times her size by weight. They don’t give up, they survive extreme conditions like its a walk in the park, scale mountains that goats won’t touch.”

“It fits,” Severus frowns. “Personality wise and with the abilities we’ve been given. But that means the nutrient potions I’ve been giving her won’t cut it. Not for an Avatar of Winter.

“Excuse me,” He says absently as he stands and quickly moves back toward the stairs.

Spencer frowns after him, “She has special dietary needs? Should I get more meat? Eggs? What?”

“Wolverines are omnivorous,” Remus assures. “So I would keep your selections as varied as they have been but since we’ll be out of your hair in a day or two it’s not much of a concern.”

The long haired man snorts at him, “If you think you won’t be over here at least every day or two, you have no idea who Stiles is. And from the sound of it Potter is actually worse.”


She really didn’t want to have to tolerate people telling people how wonderful her son was more than necessary so she told everyone she knew that the wake would begin at 11.

It’s not that she doesn’t love her son. Or that she doesn’t miss him. She’s just tired of the loss being ground into her skin and her mind. It’s honestly worse now than it was with John two months ago because everyone knew the sheriff and now all those same people are pretending they knew her son.

It’s going to drive her insane. She just- She needs space.

Still, when the doorbell rings at 10 minutes after 10, she’s almost relieved. Almost grateful for the presence of the one person she’d be willing to actually sit through a day long wake with, the only person that loved her son as much as she did.

And she’s surprised by Stiles’s restraint. Only 50 minutes early, that’s impressive.

He even knocked instead of coming right in.

She opens the door, “Stiles, I told you- You’re not Stiles.”

Rafe shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” Her ex-husband looks pale, exhausted. More dishevelled than she’s seen him in at least 12 years. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because my son died.” And, okay, that’s fair. “You remember he was my son, too, don’t you?” But that’s not.

She takes a deep breath trying to decide if she wants to rise to the bait but after a moment, she shakes her head and steps back. “Go shower, you look like shit.” She then proceeds to ignore the fuck out of him as she lays out pictures and packs some more belongings until the front door opens about fifteen minutes later.

“Hey, Melissa,” Stiles sounds as subdued as she feels.

It’s hard to meet his eyes where he’s standing in the kitchen doorway but she puts the half-packed box in the empty pantry and does it.

“You’re leaving.”

It’s not really a question but she nods anyway. “I can’t stay here, Stiles. I can’t.”

His mouth goes tight but he nods, “What do we have to do?”

“I have veggie, fruit, and cheese plates the other nurses brought over this morning. We need to set those out. I have a bunch of pictures I still need to go through and set some up at the altar I made.

“And I want you to take Scott’s Xbox and games when you go. He would have wanted you to have them. It says so in his Will,” She can’t help the way her lip wibbles at that. Her eyes, the treasonous bastards, feel suspiciously hot and goopy.

“His Will?” He asks reluctantly amused.

“Yeah, he must have wrote it not long after you met. ‘To Stiles I leave all my toys because he’s the best friend and he never laughs at me when I’m sick.’ It’s the cutest thing. In crayon.”

“He probably spelled ‘Stiles’ wrong.”

“With a z,” She agrees and takes a ragged breath.

Fuck. Fuck, not now. Not in front of Stiles. She needs to be strong for Stiles.

But then Stiles is there, being strong for her and wrapping her in his big warm arms and soothing her like she’s the child as she cries.

“What a morbid kid,” He says amusedly as she starts quieting down.

“You both were,” she informs him. “He just learned to hide it. You never cared to.”

He shrugs eloquently and lets her go as she leans away to wipe her face. “I’ll set up the food, you handle the pictures?”

“You got it.”

When Rafe comes down from his shower in a respectable black trousers and button up, they put him on door duty.

A number of people start showing up pretty much right at eleven. Off duty nurses and doctors from the hospital. Neighbors, past and present. Teachers and students from of the both high schools in town and the junior high Scott attended. Families that use Deaton, which is basically everyone with a pet in Beacon Hills since he’s the only veterinarian in town.

The entire BHHS lacrosse team comes together bearing a personalized version of Scott’s jersey and a card they all signed.

Then the last person she expects walks in with an impressed looking Rafe at his side.

“Melissa,” He greets. “This is Interim Principal Gerard Argent.”

“We’ve met,” She assures him tightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see Stiles sabotaging the air conditioning again.”

He’s not, actually, but the idea is brilliant and she kind of wishes she’s accepted when he offered. The air conditioning is basically useless with the front door opening all the time anyway. Just turning it off would make people uncomfortable and if people are uncomfortable they’ll leave, which would definitely be her preference.

Regardless there are at least a dozen people standing around, sharing stories about Scott so it’s easy to avoid Argent for a few hours. It’s also amusing to see Stiles sniping at both him and Rafe in ways that aren’t quite rude but definitely aren’t kosher.

Stiles isn’t angry quite like she is but she doesn’t think he knows about-

“It’s a lovely display, Ms. McCall,” Scott’s murderer says as he corners her in the kitchen. He sets down an empty veggie tray and focuses entirely on her. “I really am,” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “Sorry for your loss.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he moves closer.

“Because you know what this means, don’t you? Scott failed me. I told you what would happen if he failed me. Don’t you remember?”

“You murdered him and now you’re going to punish me for his supposed failure? Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”

Argent tuts at her, “I didn’t kill him, Melissa. I didn’t have a reason to. Not yet. I hadn’t yet called time on our little deal but the fact remains that he didn’t get me what I asked for. Seems like a clear cut case to me. Wouldn’t want either of you to think that I don’t keep my word.”

“You’re hardly going to kill me here with my FBI ex-husband in the house.” She tilts her head up and looks him in the eye, making sure he can see her fury. “Consider your message delivered and go.”

He smirks at her and flashes red eyes –Alpha Eyes, Scott called them- as he turns and leaves.

As soon as he’s out of the kitchen Rafe is there, looking confused and furious. She holds up a hand, waiting for the distinctive sound of Argent’s stupid cowboy boots to make it through the front door. And then she waits another two minutes to make sure he’s gone before lowering her hand.

“Did he just threaten you?” Rafe immediately sputters. “Was he threatening Scott too? Before-? Scott was a good kid, what could he have- He was the Principal!”

“Yeah, he was threatening Scott before,” She gives in to the urge and walks right into Rafe’s arms, pretty much forcing him hold her like he used to.

“But, why?” He asks as he puts his arms around her. “What could Scott possibly-? I don’t even know what to ask here.”

She sighs and leans back to look him in the face, “What do you know about werewolves?”

Werewolves?!?” He asks, louder then he probably should. Rather than push her away like she expects he tightens his grip on her and shakes his head in wordless denial. “Werewolves aren’t a thing, Mel.”

“They are totally a thing,” She disagrees. “With the hair and the teeth and the claws. Anger issues like you wouldn’t believe.”

He waits for the punchline. When she doesn’t laugh it off, he shakes his head some more. “Okay, assuming I believe you, what do werewolves have to do with anything?”

“Scott was one, a werewolf. Principal Argent is a werewolf hunter. I had no idea until he held me captive with -Scott called it a Kanima?- and threatened us. They made a deal and he let us go but, obviously, Scott can’t hold up his end of it any more.”

“What kind of deal?”

“He wants the Bite. Based on the medications he’s taking, he has cancer. Terminal cancer. Scott and the local Druid came up with a plan. They were going to make the Alpha Bite him but they were going to substitute Argent’s pills with dummies full of mountain ash. Apparently that would make his body reject the Bite.”

“What happens when his body rejects the Bite?”

“He’ll die.”

Rafe’s cop face falls immediately into place. “This so-called Druid came up with a plan and encouraged our son to murder someone?”

“It’s him or us Rafe, what would you have us do?”

“Call me! Call the police? Leave?”

“Are you kidding? How can the police help against werewolves and werewolf hunters?”

“Stalking is a thing police deal with everyday, Melissa. So is blackmail. If he’s a werewolf hunter then he’s murdered people, there’s bound to be evidence of it somewhere.

“Cops can take his fingerprints. It’s basic operating procedure, literally step one, to look for matches with old crimes! That asshole could be in jail. Right now.”

She blinks at him stunned. Is this all- Could this have all been prevented? Without her violating the sanctity of the man’s medical records? Without Deaton coaching her son into premeditated murder? Without maliciously violating the Alpha’s body autonomy? Because honestly she doesn’t remember any talk of asking the Alpha to Bite Argent and that seems like it’s basically werewolf rape to her.

Suddenly Rafe pulls her closer. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. Breathe. It sounds like no one in this situation was thinking clearly but it’s done. It over. What now?”

“I was going to leave.” She says honestly. “Beacon Hills, California, the West Coast. I have a job offer in Maryland. They know about Scott and the move so I have a month to get there.”

“That explains why your bathroom was so barren.”

“You used my bathroom?” Seriously, that’s a serious violation of the rules of engagement. It always has been. Her bathroom is hers and sacred. Even when they were married he was never been allowed-

“Well, I wasn’t going to use Scott’s,” He says dryly and okay, yeah. That’s fair. “You go upstairs, I’ll tell all the guests you’re laying down. Whether you do or not, is up to you.”

And that’s the Rafe she loved, for years.

“Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for being here.”

“Thank me when we get to Maryland.”

Chapter Three

“I don’t like making the same mistake twice.”

Derek freezes where he’s stuffing the first new clothes he had the courage to buy since coming back to Beacon Hill into the Stilinski dryer and looks up at the voice.

It’s Harry Potter, decked out in a little black dress and black ankle boots. She’s not even looking at him as she slides her wand up her sleeve but she’s still terrifying. All five feet nothing of her. Mostly because of the heavy magical aura he can practically taste from six feet away but also because of the look in her eyes every time they’re open. Wary, assessing. Patient and terrifying in a way he can’t readily define. Like she’s looking for just who needs their ass kicked and is more than willing to -not to mention capable of- deliver.

Just like his mom. Back before everything ended.

Derek swallows hard and stands up straight, “Uh, that’s good.”

She nods and looks at him directly, “But I’m not afraid to, if I have to. And I will. If you don’t fess up to Hermione.”

He looks away but refuses to let his posture crumble.

“She needs you. You know that, don’t you?”

“She doesn’t need me,” He scoffs. “She has you.”

“Yes, she does have me and she will always have me but I can’t be everything for her. I can’t help her mourn an entire life lost.” He looks up at her sharply. “But you can.”

“But- You-” He huffs and looks away again. Words suck.

“Yeah,” She nods like he said something actually deep and interesting. “I lost my reality too but let me tell you something- I don’t give a shit.”

Derek blinks because, what?

“The only thing I left behind that I give a single damn about is my owl. You might have heard of her, her name’s Hedwig. Our familiar bond broke and I was worried about what that meant for her but, according to Mycroft, the damn chicken has managed to start a new bond with one of the two people left in that world worth knowing. I know for a fact that Luna will love her with everything she has. So Hedwig’s taken care of. And I have no regrets.

“But Hermione does.

“Hermione had study buddies she enjoyed and causes she was entrenched in and family she loved and teachers she adored. She regrets so much. She misses so much.

“And I think the two of you have that at least in common.

“And, I mean, I’m making some guesses based on, you know, your lack of belongings and absolute disinterest in returning to New York but it looks like you’re starting a brand new life too. That’s two things in common.”

“And we’re mates,” He admits and then immediately feels like he swallowed something sideways.

“So you admit it.” Derek can’t help but nod. “Then tell her.”

He opens his mouth to object and she rolls her eyes. He shuts up immediately. At least partially because he’s not even sure what he’s objecting to.

“Be her friend. Don’t be afraid of what she wants from you. She takes a long time to open up romantically. Seriously, it took her a solid year to accept a kiss on the cheek from Viktor Krum, she’s not going to pressure you for anything.”

Derek nods, reluctantly soothed, and closes the dryer door.

Harry nods right back at him and turns away.

“And Derek,” She looks over her shoulder at him and he stops what he was doing again. “Don’t let you pressure yourself either. Okay? Just be friends.”


Honestly, Harry thought graveside funeral services were a trite plot device used in television and movies to stir an emotional reaction. She really, honestly did. So it’s quite amusing to be attending one, now. Especially since she’s living the alternate reality of a television show.

Or it would be amusing.

If it weren’t a million degrees out here with no conveniently placed shade tree. With everyone wearing black.

Don’t even get her started on the smell.

Still, standing by Stiles’s chair provides her an excellent opportunity. Everyone interested in Scott McCall, good or bad, is there. Several teachers and school administrators. A ton of nurses. Some cops. The temporary sheriff, Tara Graeme. A metric ton of blue haired little old ladies.

And then across from her is a Veterinarian. He’s kind of cute in that a-little-too-clean kind of way. And he smells of nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Not even the grass under his feet or the trees in the distance.

It’s strange. And the only explanation she can come up with for it is magic. This is someone to watch.

At his side -well, a few people down but they are both standing ever so slightly forward of the crowd so, at his side- is an elderly gentleman. He smells like wolf, like musk and fur and fury. He is also a picture perfect copy of Gerard Argent from the show, so she can take a wild guess who he is and feel safe in so doing.

Gerard Argent is a werewolf. Isn’t that something special?

She lets go of her own wrist and allows the scent blockers to retake effect on her nose. She’s gotten what she can, there’s no reason to further torture herself with five different brands of kitty litter, three types of gunpowder, six kinds of tobacco -both chewing and smoking, and on and on including, oh yeah, a corpse.

Seriously, is Voldemort in there? Because damn.

Finally they lower the kid into the ground. The ladies throw roses on the coffin and the men throw handfuls of dirt. It’s terrible and sexist but she’s pretty sure the funeral providers or whatever they are just didn’t expect this many people.

Which, hilarious.

Stiles stands with Scott’s mom Melissa the entire time people come up to shake hands and give more condolences.

“I didn’t know Stiles had a girlfriend,” A craggy voice rumbles at her side.

She glances up at the man that is probably Gerard Argent and frowns, “I didn’t know this was the appropriate social setting to discuss such trivialities.”

“What an interesting accent, come a long way for Scott McCall’s funeral?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

The man’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare in what probably supposed to look like fury but Harry mostly just wants to laugh. “Must be very close to come all the way from-?”

“England, if you must know.”

“You must be very close to Scott McCall.”

“Only about a dozen feet or so,” When the man glares at her, she smiles. “Why the interest? Are you with Customs?”

“Just a nosey old man, my dear,” He says, suddenly genial, and nods to Eliot as Stiles’s uncle steps up to her side. “Make sure you sign the guest book!”

They watch him head for the line of cars. Then Eliot turns to her with a frown, “What was that all about?”

“I think he was trying to scent me. His nose flared a bunch of times but I didn’t hear any sniffing.”

“Can’t imagine he’s been a werewolf long,” Eliot tells her. “Man with his reputation? If it takes more than a week for that tidbit to land on Hardison’s lap, I’ll shave my head. And that’s if Argent were keeping it secret, which he doesn’t seem to be.”

“No, he really doesn’t. How many seventyish year old men do you know that can walk around like that?”

“None,” He agrees and then takes her arm. “Come on, it sounds like Stiles is about to need us.”

They wander over to where Stiles and Melissa are practically forehead to forehead as they talk.

“-I just don’t think it’s appropriate for you or your uncle to being a date to a funeral.”

“She’s not a date!” Stiles says with exasperation. This is clearly not the first time he’s corrected her. “She’s,” He hesitates and gives a bit of flail. “She’s back up.”

“Back up? To Scott? You have a spare best friend?” The woman’s eyes practically burn in fury.

And, oh, Stiles is pissed. “To fix this, Melissa! She and her people are our back up to help fix this! Beacon Hills.”

“You’re back up.” Melissa stares at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, Stiles, but I-“

“No, that’s fine. Go. Run away.”

For a moment she looks like she wants to hit Stiles but then Harry and Eliot are there. Instead she turns on her heel and makes for the cars.

“What a bitch,” Harry concludes as she settles in to stand with Stiles while they watch people begin to pack away the folding chairs.

“She’s just angry,” He says like that excuses her horrid behavior. “It’s easier to be angry than think. Especially when you’re worried something might be your fault.”

“You mean like Scott’s death?”

When Stiles doesn’t answer, Eliot shrugs at her. “Anything that happens to a kid, is generally the parent’s fault. Maybe not directly in this case, but,” And he shrugs again.

“I overheard a conversation yesterday,” Stiles says softly as he hunches in on himself. “Between Melissa and Rafe.”

“Oh, yeah?” She asks and waits.

After a few minutes, Stiles nods. “She’s running away. Already got some job lined up on the east coast. I can’t blame her, would probably be the smart thing but I can’t. I just-” He shakes his head. “She’s running away with Rafe.”

“Didn’t he used to beat her?”

“Ha! No, Melissa would have fed him his testicles. Did he beat her in the show?” He frowns when she nods. “They were divorced before she and Scott moved to Beacon Hills. As far as I know it was because he put his job before them. He was never home with all the traveling his team does and she got tired of it.”

Harry squints at him. “But that’s not what’s bothering you?”

“Melissa told Rafe that Scott made a plan with Deaton,” He admits. “To double cross Gerard Argent and make the Alpha -I assume she meant Derek because Peter was dead and they didn’t know about Uncle Eliot- Bite him, whether he wanted to or not. And the thing is, I didn’t know Gerard had threatened them. Or that Melissa even knew about the werewolf thing.”

“You’re upset he didn’t tell you?” She asks gently.

“Of course I am! Why leave me out? After everything, why wouldn’t he trust me? We’re only supposed to double cross people together, it’s in our contract.”

“Do you actually have a written contract?”

“Of course,” He scoffs and she laughs. He smiles softly at her and straightens up for the first time that day, really. “Thanks.”

“Absolutely. Now, what do you need?”

“I need, I don’t know, to do something? To like get focused and not do anything else for a while.”

“Mental engagement or physical engagement?”

“Both. Is both an option?”

“Of course, we have much to do. Mycroft came through with our paperwork and has arranged temporary flats for us. They’re unfurnished, so we need to go shopping.”

“Why are you guys moving out anyway? Just live with me for a few months, we can make it work.”

Harry hums. “Alphas need their own territory. Your Uncle is doing well with three other alphas in his family territory right now but long term it will be a problem. Why do you think the Hales keep taking so many long runs? They’re trying to keep from losing control and stabilize themselves as much as they can with neither set territories nor packs but immersing themselves in their family territory can only do so much.”

“So, Remus is moving into an apartment to make that his territory and taking Hermione with him makes her his pack?” Stiles guesses.

“Right. Of course the others are more difficult to separate because Peter, Derek, and Eliot have all claimed you as pack. Officially or unofficially, as the case may be.”

“What?” And then Stiles clearly thinks about it. “I guess that makes sense. Maybe-mate, nephew, and life-saving buddy.”

“Um-hmm. Eliot said the rest of his pack is coming so when they get here -if you and Peter decide to pursue the mate thing- you can ask him to release you from his pack and then formally join Peter’s. That would make your house the heart of Peter’s territory though, so don’t do it if you don’t mean it.”

Stiles just nods to show he’s listening.

“That would leave Derek as the only one without a pack. There’s probably going to be a bit of tension between him and Remus over the Hermione question but no one wants to rush that situation so Derek will probably need to Bite someone. Or bring someone in from a different territory if, say, he left anyone behind in New York that he could trust.”

“Why would he need to Bite someone? Why can’t you or Sirius be his pack?”

“Because I’m an alpha,” She smirks when Stiles chokes. “I’m the alpha magical. Sirius is my second. Officially moving out at the same time as Remus, for the same reason, put us on equal footing. Mycroft also mentioned that he got the whole floor -all four flats- so there’s room for Derek and Peter to go too, if they decide they need that.

“To have five alphas in one town long term is going to take a lot of negotiations and a pretty rigid hierarchy. I’m going to come out on top because I’m the only one playing the long game but it still has to be played. I already pretty well have Peter in my corner because of the family group or whatever we’re going to form one day, so that should make things easier. And Derek wants something he erroneously considers mine, so that’s an advantage as well.”

Stiles looks questioningly at his Uncle.

“I’m going back to my official territory in Boston as soon as you go to college, so I really don’t care,” The man shrugs. “But she’s not wrong. Though, I’d like to know how she knows all this.”

“My honorary uncle is a werewolf and my godfather owned our world’s most extensive private library. Including a wizard-wolf’s personal journals about his life inside a pack. They’re an educational read and hilarious. Marius is a right sarcastic bastard all the way through.”

“Hermione and Derek said they were handling furniture shopping at breakfast.” Eliot throws out there.

Harry snickers. “Yeah, apparently Derek is really into architecture and design? I don’t think he meant interior design but Hermione’s decided to take advantage anyway. Probably just an excuse to get out of the house.

“Pads and Moony are going to go car shopping. Pads is totally going to end up with a motorcycle,” She groans and Stiles pats her on the back comfortingly.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Well, we’ll need linens. And Mycroft sent along our wardrobes but didn’t send any underpants, thank Merlin. I love him but the idea of having my pants picked out by an old man gives me the willies.

“I thought, if you don’t mind, that I’d steal Peter and make him haul me around town.”

“So you can make Peter pick out your underwear?” Stiles laughs at her.

“Consider it a test,” Harry laughs with him. “Of his constitution.

“What do you think?”

“I think I’ll go with Remus and Sirius. I know car facts like whoa because of a paper I wrote last year for English and what I know that’s out of date, I can always google.”

“Then I suppose we should be homeward bound.”

“Of course, milady.”

Harry smacks him playfully for his cheek and then laughs as Uncle Eliot bows and offers her his arm. She takes it, letting him lead the three of them back to his truck. And home.


Shopping with Peter Hale is an experience.

Especially when he’s using someone else’s American Express.

Hers is black and not even plastic but probably some weird sort of thin metal? Which is apparently some big deal? He’s utterly gleeful as they wander through the snooty linen shop he decided they absolutely had to go to in Beacon Pointe.

Thankfully the store delivers or they’d be toting around such a haul of loot that only a pack of werewolves could manage. That would get in the way of ice cream.

Thinking linens, she thought bedsheets. She knew what size Derek and Hermione intended to get them, so she was set, right? No. Apparently ‘linen’ includes a number of things she hadn’t thought of. Like curtains or towels. Kitchen towels. Throw rugs. Bath mats. Peter’s super persuasive. And not to mention right, dammit.

She’s still not convinced throw pillows count as linens but since they don’t know what color couches Hermione is buying, she’s staying firm on that one.

“You know, usually that store doesn’t deliver.” Peter announces as he points at her with her spoon.

“But the lady offered.”

“She did. Did you hear the way she squeaked when she saw your card?”

“I did, but was that because of my name or the card? How is the special anyway?”

“I don’t know which but ask Mycroft for a list the benefits for that card. They’re actually pretty secret about it, but you’re a cardholder so you should get it. People actually have to be invited to use that card. There’s a bunch of criteria and an algorithm that they use to pick invitees.”

“Sounds ridiculous and dramatic.” She snorts.

“I think it sounds cool.”

“You would, you snob.” He just smirks at her and she rolls her eyes. “Hey, tell me something?”


“That red head that keeps glaring at you? Who is she?”

“Oh.” He sighs and focuses on his bowl of three scoops. “That’s Lydia Martin.”

“Huh, I thought she’d be taller.”

He laughs at her, “She’s taller than you! By at least two inches.”

“In the eternal words of your people,” She points her spoon at him. “Fuck you.”

He laughs.

“Why does she hate you?”

“I have no idea. She resurrected me against my will, I’m the victim here.”

“What?” He opens his mouth to explain but she cuts him off, “Start from the beginning, set honesty to stun.”

“Honesty on full,” He rolls his eyes as he corrects her mis-quote. “Beginning. You know I Bit Scott McCall? He was an easy target and it was a mistake but I did do it.”


“Scott was my beta, we had a pack bond, but he refused to obey me. At one point, I followed him to a mall to, I don’t know, instill a bit of fear? To get him to come running for safety. Or to just punish him? I don’t know. That whole time is a big blur in my head but I remember clearly seeing Stiles and realizing he was my mate.

“And just as quickly I realized he was in love with some red haired twat that would never appreciate him like I could. She would never see his value. Never keep him safe like he deserved.”

“I’m guessing that pissed you off.” Not much of a guess since he’s growling at the thought.

Peter takes a series of deep breathes and nods. “I was furious. I Bit her because best case scenario, she’d reject the Bite and die. Worst case scenario, she’d turn and survive and I would have a beta I could control. I could order her to leave him alone.”

“But neither of those things happened,” She finally looks directly at the other girl when her phone starts ringing.

Lydia answers it already agitated and proceeds to down right furious before she hangs up and storms off.

Harry raises an eyebrow at Peter who just shrugs.

“Apparently her pet named Prada has a limp. The woman that called her, I assume her mother, refused to take him to the vet for her and insisted she come home and do it.”

“Sounds,” Harry frowns. “Fair?”

“I think so.”

“So you didn’t Bite her with the intention of being resurrected by her?”

“Is that what happened in your tv show?” He asks and rolls his eyes hard when she nods. “I’m getting real tired of that show existing.

“No, I didn’t Bite her so she would resurrect me. Why would I? My family was dead, my pack betrayed me, and my mate was in love with someone else. My only reason for living was revenge and I accomplished that. I had literally nothing to live for.

“What’s next on our list?”

Harry has to swallow and nod because she can feel that, having nothing to live for. “Uh, Hermione and I need panties. Like an army of panties.”

“No bras?”

“Our people don’t wear them. Why would we? Comfort and support charms are a thing, as Stiles would say.”

“But you’ll show your nipples,” He objects.

Harry frowns at him, “How? I’m not giving up shirts.”

“They’ll press against your shirt, everyone will be able to see them. Or, you know, tell that they’re there.”

“You mean like yours are doing right now? Why’s it okay for you but not me?”

He nods in that ‘yeah, fair’ kind of way. “And you want a man to help you buy underwear?” He raises a single eyebrow at her.

“Well, since it’s you, I think it would be hilarious, actually.”

“Yeah, probably,” Peter smirks as he gathers up their trash so they can leave.


Deaton idly restocks his display of leashes and collars as he waits.

He’s reasonably sure Julia shielded the Nemeton rather than destroying it. She just doesn’t have the brute power to destroy the Nemeton and create a power pole to replace it.

Of course he doesn’t have the power to break through the shield she set up. It’s surprisingly well balanced for magic casted by a woman and he’s too far on the masculine end of the spectrum to counter her work in that regard.


He doesn’t have to work alone.

Not that anyone would willingly volunteer for what he has in mind but that’s hardly his problem.

His problem is what would happen if he were forced to renege on a deal with a nine-tailed fox. It would be painful and long lasting and in the end he would definitely die. And that’s just not going to happen.

The bell above the door dings and he turns to see a familiar face, “Ah, Miss Martin. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, Dr. Deaton. I’m sorry I don’t have an appointment but Prada has a bit of a limp. I was hoping you could help.”

He takes the little Pomeranian from her, feeling his face stretch into a nearly foreign but definitely not feigned grin. He knew his seeking spell would work.  “Which leg is it?”

“Front right.” She reaches into the fur-covered poof and gently wiggles the leg at him.

He checks the foot in question and yes, there it is. The black barb with the his Sigil on it. His seeking spells did indeed work hard and fast. “I think I see the problem. If you’ll come into the back with me? We’ll get everything all taken care of right away.”


“Hold the door!” A softly lyrical voice sings out and Harry can’t help but look back.

Scampering up the sidewalk leading up to their new block of flats are two women. One probably Harry’s age with wavy brown hair almost as long as hers and the most adorable dimples decorating her shy smile. Behind her is a red head, taller than her mostly by dint of her gravity defying hair. She looks like she’s premeditating murder even with a semi-vacant smile on her face.

No wonder Sirius let her go ahead of him.

She glances to her godfather who is next in the queue after the red-haired murderbot and sees him checking out the woman’s ass. Harry huffs and rolls her eyes and the man grins cheekily at her.

“Thanks,” Dimples smiles more widely at her as she reaches to take the door from Harry.

Then their hands brush in the middle of the glass.

Harry yanks her hand back in surprise and the girl’s eyes flash Beta Gold. Then Harry immediately reaches out for the girl again because whatever that feeling was, Harry wants more of it.

Thankfully the girl shoulders the duffle bag she’s carrying and reaches out too.

For a handshake. Harry almost rolls her eyes but she’ll take it.

“Allison, uh, Silva,” the girl introduces herself and this time Harry really does roll her eyes.

She has no stones to throw about people using aliases. Obviously, everyone that came with her from her old world is using them but the delivery has to be smoother than that. Otherwise you might as well wear a sign that you’re lying.

“Harry Potter.”

Allison chokes, “What? For real?”

“That is my real name, believe it or not,” She smirks and the girl laughs.

“Allison!” Red-haired Murderbot interrupts them.

“Uh, mom, this is Harry. Harry Potter, she’s my-” The girl hesitates, tipping her head to one side adorably confused.

“I believe ‘fated mate’ is the prefered vernacular,” Harry turns to see Peter leaning against the wall next to the elevators. “I’ve never felt a bond recognition quite that strong before.”

Harry rolls her eyes at him, “Living up to your nickname, Creeperwolf.” The elevator behind him dings open to show Stiles looking out interestedly. “How about we take this somewhere more private?” She asks, not letting go of Allison’s hand.

“Uh. Yeah, we totally should.” Allison agrees, looking at her mom.

The woman sighs, looking unimpressed with all of them. “We’re on level three.”

“We’re on level four.” Sirius says with a grin as he leads them over. The second the doors close behind them Sirius offers her his hand. “I’m Sir Rhys Potter. It looks like our families be spending a lot of time together.”

“Victoria Silva,” The woman says as she takes his hand.

They both immediately freeze and Harry and Allison begin to cackle. It’s wildly inappropriate but Harry can’t help but feel that this is what instant karma looks like.

Looking at Peter’s smile, the man obviously agrees even as he offers his hand, “Peter Hale.”

Victoria’s eyes are so blue you can barely tell when they flash Murder Blue at him but they definitely do and Peter flashes his Alpha Reds right back. “I understood this was an empty territory. That all of the Hales were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” His smile grows more than a little mean. “Ms. Argent.”

Allison goes tense at Harry’s shoulder and there’s a brief struggle where Victoria tries to take her hand back from Peter but he doesn’t allow it.

“How do you know that name?” She demands.

“Oh, I researched your family quite thoroughly. Had to be very thorough, to properly avenge my family.”

Victoria’s shoulders droop. “Avenge?”

“You know, from when Kate trapped us in our pack home and burned us alive. Only two survivors left, you must be proud.”

“Kate and Gerard were excommunicated for a reason, Alpha Hale.” Allison offers.

Peter slowly turns furious eyes on her. “So werewolves killing people that don’t deserve it get death but humans killing werewolves that don’t deserve it only get excommunicated? Because that’s fair?”

“Peter,” Harry calls his attention softly. He huffs and lean back, allowing Stiles to take his hand. “They’re part of our pack now, Peter.”

Peter snorts but doesn’t argue.

“Unless you’re going to kick mine and and Sirius’s mates to the curb. Your mate and I have vows between us, you know.”

Peter obviously doesn’t like it but he nods even as he works his jaw in fury.

“Perhaps we should meet up tomorrow,” Allison proposes. “Give everyone time to cool off before we talk everything out.”

“Pack meeting.” Harry agrees with a nod.

“We have to take you and Hermione up to the school to sign up for classes.” Stiles reminds her.

Allison flashes her wide, questioning eyes. “I have to sign up for classes tomorrow too. Maybe we can all go together?”

“Fine with me,” Sirius agrees.

Victoria nods. “Chris should be here by the time you’re done, so we can all be there.”

“Chris?” Sirius asks, for rather obvious reasons.

“My.. Allison’s father,” Victoria glances at Sirius. “We didn’t include marriage documents in our new identities.”

“So technically you’re single?”

“Technically. It would be better to talk to him before anything more is said or done.”

Sirius frowns but nods.

Harry glances at Allison who, by the way, is still holding her hand.

“I’ve never even dated,” Allison confesses.

“Do you have a phone?” She asks without really thinking about it. “We could text or something?”

Allison grins, “Yeah, I’d like that.”


“Got everything?” Rafe asks as she sits down in her living room one final time.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, I am. You want to slip out before he realizes you’re going and leave the smallest trail possible for him to follow. The movers I hired for the house stuff specialize in helping people escape bad situations. Your stuff will appear ‘lost’ in the cross-country shuffle and end up delivered to a storage yard in DC under a false name. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

Melissa stares at her ex-husband for a long time. Does she believe him? After all the broken promises? After all the ‘no mores‘ and ‘next times‘ of him picking his career over their family?

Strangely enough, she does.

She checks the doors one last time, turns off all the lights, and follows him into the garage. He backs out his big FBI issue SUV with its stupidly dark windows and off they go.

When they cross the ‘Now Leaving Beacon Hills’ sign, she finally starts to relax.

Half an hour later, they are both comfortable enough to turn on the radio.

At the ‘Sacramento 45’ sign he quips a joke that she managed to laugh to and she;s so glad she’s not alone any more.

At ‘Sacrament 15’ a shadow darts in front of their car, “Whoa!” Rafe declares intelligently as he slams the brakes.

They’ve barely skidded to a stop when her door rips open with a metallic scream. Standing there, holding her door, is a reptilian nightmare. This one seems bigger than the one that held her captive on the ceiling of Scott’s bedroom and all she can do is stare.

She can hear Rafe scrambling for something and then the metallic scream is repeated.

When she chances a look there’s a second Kanima. This one is also not the one that held her before. Too tall, too skinny. He takes three to the chest before he reaches in and crushes Rafe’s gun. Fingers, too, given the way Rafe screams.

Fingers close on the back of her neck, inch long claws bury deep, and she’s pulled from the SUV. She goes limp, paralyzed almost instantly as the Kanima carries her to the front of the SUV.

Shes held, on her knees in the light of Rafe’s high beams. A crunch later, he’s on his knees beside her.

They flee wolves only to be executed by a pack of lizards. She can’t help but huff in fury.

“Nidhogg, Lindworm, good job.” The one holding her turns her just enough so see can see Gerard fucking Argent standing at the treeline. “Jormungandr, you know what to do.”

A third Kanima drops from the trees. This one has fucking wings and the spiked head of a mace at the end of its tail.

It hissingly evaluates both of them but in the end approaches Rafe first. The Skinny Lizard pulls him to his feet and silently lifts Rafe’s shirt. Wings hisses angrily and Skinny lets it drop. He tears Rafe’s left sleeve instead. This gets him a happy hiss as Wings leans forward. His mouth opens wide enough to for Rafe’s entire wrist and he bites.

Rafe shouts until he passes out and only then does Wings release him.

Then he turns to her with Rafe’s blood still wet on his lips. Bulky Lizard raises her to standing height with one hand and lifts her shirt with the other. Wings hisses happily as he bends and bites her side.

And no. No, she won’t shout. She won’t do or be whatever Argent is trying to do here. No, she doesn’t want this.


The world goes gray from the lack of air and surplus of pain but she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t.

But the world goes black.


“Harry’s not really a morning person,” Hermione explains apologetically as they meet down in the parking lot bright and early the next morning. “Takes her brain a bit to kick on.”

Allison takes one look as her mate who may or may not be asleep standing up and shrugs. Then she scoops the smaller girl up.

Harry cuddles into her readily and she crawls into Stiles’s backseat holding her. Sitting on Allison’s lap is also made of awesome but then Allison hums and shoves something under her nose.

The Allison smell -chocolate, cinnamon, something spicy, and werewolf- that she’s been snuggling into instantly gains a layer of coffee and she can’t help the pleased noise she makes. She’s never had it before but Uncle Vernon favored coffee in the mornings so at least she knows what it is. And this smells so much better than whatever Aunt Petunia used to buy that there’s really nothing to think about as she latches onto the mouth hole and tilts her head back.

By the time they get to the school she’s aware enough to make note of the big red brick building with the words ‘Beacon Hills High School’ on the front. They don’t park at the front though. They drive around to the side where there’s already a few students waiting.

When they park, she even unbuckles her own belt though she’s not quite sure when Allison actually set her down and climbs out after her werewolf.

As they walk up there’s a rather pretty man standing alone and Harry can’t help but frown at him.

Stiles follows her gaze and calls out, “Hey, Danny!”

“Hey Stiles,” He sounds… subdued? She doesn’t know him, obviously, but it seems to be out of character. “Have you seen Lydia?”

“No,” Stiles drawls, his eyes wide with concern. “Not since Scott’s funeral. I saw what the team did for Ms. McCall though, that was really thoughtful.”

Danny shrugs, “We figured if she can’t have him, she should at least have a peice of him.  Are these new kids?”

“Oh, yup! Harry, her girlfriend Allison, and Hermione.”

“Harry and Hermione? Are you serious?”

“We’re even English,” Harry pipes up helpfully and the guy smiles at her. It’s tired and weak but still a smile.

“You’re brave coming here.” Before she can ask him anything though, he shakes his head and turns. “Come on, it should be starting soon.”

He leads them through a pair of double doors. There are teens standing at the doors wearing fluorescent green shirts declaring them the ‘Class of 2015’ handing out pens and little booklets with several sheets of paper shoved inside.

They enter what Harry assumes is some sort of Gymnasium based on the pattern painted on the hardwood floor. She’s pretty sure it’s a basketball court but she’s never seen one this large before. Or one this shiny and new.

They’re funneled quickly into seats in bleachers by more people wearing clothes by highlighter.

The noise is pretty extreme, for Harry’s experience at least. Everyone is talking to everyone else and they all have things to say.

Then a thin woman with white streaked hair steps up to the microphone stand in the middle of the maroon circle in the center of the court.

“Hello?” People quiet down quickly enough that Harry suspects magic. “Good morning, Juniors. My name is Noshiko Yukimura, I am your new principal. I am taking over Interim Principal Gerard Argent, permanently.

“It is my goal as your Principal is to see you all safe, comfortable, and educated in the two years you have left in this institution.

“To that end, Interim Principal Argent’s dress code has been rescinded and the previous standard reinstated. The 6 Block schedule he instituted has been replaced with an 8 period day more inline with the state standard. As this is not what you signed up for at the end of last year, there are sheets to choose your classes in each of your packets. If you managed to miss getting a packet on your way in, there will be more available at the doors once I release you.

“Everyone of you will have an hour lunch -with an open campus so that you may leave for lunch as long as you do not abuse the privilege.”

“Finally, there is now an active zero-tolerance bullying and harassment policy. This applies to both students and staff and my door is always open to you if you wish to directly report your difficulties. Any questions?”

There aren’t any. Not surprising, from Stiles’s stories it sounds like Principal Yukimura just undid all of the changes from Argent’s nightmare regrime.

And maybe added the zero-tolerance thing, Harry doesn’t really know enough to be sure.

“Very well, you have twenty minutes to review the course catalogue and then the counsellors will start calling your names so that you may finalize your selections. Please be sure to turn in your selections before you leave.” She steps back from the microphone, clearly releasing them from whatever spell she cast because everyone starts talking again.

Allison turns to them immediately, “Okay, what are we taking?”

Stiles and Hermione immediately open their course catalogues. Hermione obviously intending on a skim through and Stiles going right for the selection paper. There are actually three copies, each in different colors. White, yellow, and purple. The purple has the word ‘FINAL’ across the top.

“I’ve heard the AP English 3 class is amazing, so we should all sign up for that.” Stiles tells them. “What sciences have you guys taken? I’ve done Bio and Chem, so I need Physics.”

“I’ve done Chem and Physics, I need Bio,” Allison indicates her selection and then looks up to check Harry.

She and Hermione exchange truly perplexed looks and shrugs. Harry leans in to whisper, “Does four years of Potions count as Chemistry?”

Allison almost laughs but she does know that her Harry is in fact that Harry. The Potter one. From Hogwarts. Though she doesn’t know how, yet. Still, she swallows back the laugh. “I don’t think so?”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawls, squinting at them. “Go for Bio.”

Harry nods and marks her selection. “What about history?”

“Are you even ready for that?” Stiles asks gently.

Harry sniffs, playfully offended. “I have been doing my assigned reading, you know.”

“Go with World History. Ask if you can get Mrs. Parks, she’s amazing.”

Harry nods and marks her paper, including a note about Mrs. Parks and Allison does the same.

“Math?” She prompts.

Hermione huffs and Harry makes a face, “I doubt I’ll have to take any but what are you going to sign up for?”

“Algebra 2.”

Harry nods and selects the same though she puts three question marks beside it.

“I’m in Cal this year,” Stiles tells them.

Harry glances at Hermione who shrugs and marks her paper. “We should probably switch though.”

Allison is totally missing something and it starts to make her angry but she stops to breathe. Of course Hermione Granger knows more about Harry Potter than she does. They only met yesterday after all and a night full of texting has nothing on honest to god years as roommates.

A hand squeezes hers and she looks up to see Harry smiling gently at her. She can’t help but smile back.

“We can sign up for Art?” Harry offers though Allison knows she has no particular interests in that area.

“If you’re sure.”

Harry shoots her an amused look and tilts her paper to show she’s already made the selection. “Do you think it’s too late for me to learn to play like the cello? Or the violin?”

Allison thinks about it. “Why don’t you ask the counsellor if you can sign up for Orchestra 1 when you go up? If they say no, we can always find someone in town to teach you or something.”

“Do we have to sign up for some sort of P.E.?” Hermione asks, clearly displeased by the prospect.

Stiles manfully stifles a snicker. “You have to have three PE credits to graduate, so I’m going to guess yes.”

Hermione sighs like it’s being dragged out of her with claws.

“General PE?” Harry offers. “If we find something we like we can do that sport class next year?”

“I’m on the Lacrosse Team,” Stiles says with a soft frown. Like he’s not sure he wants to stay on the Lacrosse Team.

“Just because you have been, doesn’t mean you still have to be,” Harry tells him gently.

Stiles nods and then flails a bit. “Wait, we need a language.”

“I’m already taking a language.” Harry looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “It’s called English. It’s the first thing you made us sign up for. You wanted Advanced Placement.”

“A foreign language,” Stiles clarifies.

Hermione laughs, “Don’t worry about her. Harry’s more of a Math and Physics kind of girl.”

“If I need a language, I’ll use a translation spell,” Harry mutters low enough it’s likely only Allison hears her.

“Potter, Harry!” Is called out from the far side of the room and Allison looks around to realize a good third of their class has already gone. Those that remain, though, freeze and Allison has to stifle a groan. She never thought the mass craze that is Harry Potter would ever become her problem and yet, here she is.

“It’s Harriet, actually,” Harry announces as she stands with great aplomb and sails across the room like a queen amongst peasants.

“Silva, Allison!” Is called from one of the other tables and she walks over to where two people sit. One is a woman, laying out Alison’s school file. The other turns out to be some crazy coach whose hair makes him look like he stuck his hand in a socket.

Their conversation is quick and dirty. Nothing Allison hasn’t done probably a hundred times by now with all the moving her family does. It’s just, you know, normally just her and a counsellor rather than her on a gym with the entire rest of her grade in attendance.

She’s finished and Stiles is with the same lady before Harry leaves her discussion. She’s looking dazed, Allison doesn’t know her well enough to know what that means.


“How’d it go?” She asks her mate promptly.

“Uh, good. Principal Yukimura came over. Apparently they are really pleased to have me around. I don’t have to take any math but I can if I want to or, uh, I guess I can take private music lessons? There’s a deputy orchestra director that’s willing to take me on, she was the teacher working with my counselor.”

“Why don’t you have to take math?”

“Because I solved a Millenium Problem.” Harry says it so offhand it takes Allison a moment to register it.

“A what?”

Harry shrugs, like its not a big deal. “I told them I’d take the music lessons. I hope that’s okay?”

“We don’t have to do everything together,” She immediately assures her mate. “In fact, it’s probably better if we don’t. You know, there is nothing wrong with doing things apart sometimes. Having different friends and interests. You know?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was thinking. I did ask to see if I could get as many classes with you three as I could though. Just in case.”

Allison slumps, she hadn’t thought of that. Though, of course she didn’t. She’s never gone into a school with friends. She’s always just taken whatever as it comes.

Might be why she’s never *left a school with a lasting friend either.


“What did you find?” The Argent Alpha asks the moment they enter his home office. The man is the picture of a super villain, sitting in repose in his study. Complete with wingback chair.

All he needs is a white cat.

In the cat’s stead, he has one of his beta Kanima heeling like a hound by his leg. It’s an incredibly effective addition to the usual visual.

“The girl with green eyes with Stilinski is named Harry Potter,” Ethan immediately answers.

“And she can do magic,” Aiden adds. “She mentioned using a translation spell when her group was talking about foreign languages.”

“Her group?” Argent prompts.

“The Stilinski kid, Harry Potter, Hermione King, and Allison Silva.” Ethan answers.

Argent frowns.

“Silva smells like a werewolf.” Is Aiden’s hasty contribution.

“I assume King is magical as well?”

Both twins shrug at their alpha. There was no way to tell for sure. Not from smell or words or anything really.

“Very well,” The old man casually gestures a dismissal. “You may eat. A single meal each, at least half vegetable.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” they both give clumsy little half-bows and back out of the room.

Kate can’t help but snear, “Why do you even keep them? We don’t need them.”

Her father gives her one of his patented patiently impatient looks. As a child this one would have had her correcting her behavior quickly.

“I can spy within the school, I’ve done it for you before.” She very carefully does not add ‘Remember the Hales?’

But with the way his eyes narrow he hears it anyway. “You’re dead, remember? And after your ‘death’ they plastered your face all over the front page and blamed you for the Hale Fire. Called you a serial killer. You have no money and no resources beyond my own. You have brought in no intelligence. The only person I don’t need right now, is you.”

Kate glares but she can’t really argue with that. She’s his best soldier, she always has been, but she can’t- She could get a new identity and reinsert herself in the town probably. Maybe. But new identities cost money and Gerard has control of all of hers.

She slams out of the house and starts to walk.

She stops by her car but then she just stops. It’s not her car, it’s Gerard’s. Gerard picked it, Gerard bought it. It’s Gerard’s gas in the tank.

She turns and takes off at a run. She’ll prove herself. Prove she doesn’t need him. She’s powerful on her own. She’ll show him she’s not to be dismissed so casually and she’ll do it all by herself.

When she stops running she’s down by the high school. Of course her feet brought her here, the site of her earliest victories in this stupid little town.

She turns away. She can’t be seen at her hunting ground. Not right now. Not unprepared.

She’s just passed the gas station on the corner when her footsteps gain an echo and her nose detects the smell of wolf, fury and the fire of an alpha. She ducks into an alley parking lot and waits.

A woman rounds the corner. Long fingernails, longer black hair, and barefoot.

“Well, if it isn’t Kali Steele.”

The woman in question whips around with furious red eyes already aglow. “Kate Argent. I thought you were dead.”

“I’m many things,” She lets her eyes glow green. She can feel her spots form on her skin as she shifts to her truly individual beta form. “Dead is not one of them.”

Kali roars and leaps for her even as her brow ridges grow.

Kate jumps neatly out of her way and gets swipe at her unprotected back. Kali manages to clock her, closed fist on the mouth hard enough that it sends her reeling.

“Your father took something from me.” Kali snarls, pressing her advantage. “I’m going to enjoy showing him how that feels.”

“The twins?” She taunts as they continue to trade blows. “Quite eager little boot lickers aren’t they. Bet they used to lick other things for you too.”

Kali snarls but Kate can smell her disgust. It’s not quite the distraction she was hoping for but it could be the beginning of one.

“The big bastard then,” she sneers. “Figures you’d go for brawn over brains.”

Kali’s eyes blaze as she takes a strong grip of her hair and starts bludgeoning her head on all of the cars in the lot. The third one, thankfully, is low enough that Kate manages to grab the one knife she has, in her boot.

A quick slice through her own hair and she’s free before Kali registers what she’s done.

She holds up the knife in front of her, letting the Nordic Blue on the blade glitter warningly. “Couldn’t get the smart one to go for you, huh? Everyone knows you aren’t the brains of the operation. Never have been.”

“Fucking Argents,” Kali growls, watching the knife. “Can never fight fair, can you?” Kate scoffs. A four month old shifter versus and experienced alpha? That’s a fair fight? “Pick on a blind man to get the Bite. Seduce little boys to murder their families. What would the Matriarchs say? Oh, wait. They banished you, didn’t they?”

Now it’s Kate’s turn to dart forward, already determined that this exchange will be their last.

It’s messy. Kali grabs her knife hand by the wrist and comes damn close to disemboweling her with her off hand but Kate manages to drop the knife and catch it in her offhand before it can be taken from her. She slits the alpha’s arm open from palm to elbow, getting deeper as she goes.

Kali sucks in a shocked breath and pulls back in shock.

Kate knows -from experience, now, as well as her father’s experiments- that Nordic Blue burns on contact but that is absolutely nothing compared to the pain of it in your blood. Though ingestion is definitely the worst.

When Kali is back far enough Kate returns the favor and disembowels her as rough and painfully as she can.

Kali staggers back, both hands going to her stomach.

She looks confused and Kate can’t help but smirk. She sheathes the knife, she can always make one of the Twins clean both later, and grips Kali’s neck in her off hand.

“Nighty nap time!” She sing-songs like she has so many times. Usually when working in a daycare to stalk her next pack for barbeque.

And she rips out the she-wolf’s throat.

Power surges up her arm. He broken wrist and deep abdominal wound are healed almost instantly and she lets out a victorious scream.

Her father will not dare dismiss her now.


When the kids tumble into the stereotypical small town house his, well, Victoria directed him to, Allison is shaking. She’s shaking so hard the whole couch the Alpha of the house directs them too shakes right along with her and the tiny elf of a girl clinging to her hand.

“Ally?” Chris asks. “What happened?” They were supposed to be signing up for classes. That’s it. Nothing special. Allison has done it a million times and never once has she reacted like this.

The other three alphas -and isn’t that strange? Four alphas existing peacefully within a single room?- crowd in. One taking ahold of the boy in their group and pulling him close, the other two reaching for each of the other girls. Chris wants to crowd in himself to reassure his daughter but the sandy haired alpha, RJ, glares when he even thinks about it.

“Kate,” Allison gasps. “It was Kate.”

“What?!?” More than half the room demands.

“Allison, what’s going on?”

The little girl his daughter is clinging to snarls at him, fit to make an alpha werewolf proud. “Give her a minute.

“Have all of these arseholes introduced themselves?” She diverts. “I swear they were raised by wolves.”

That gets her a few snarled objections but she is clearly not impressed and Chris gets everyone’s names. Grudging and rapid fire but he still gets them.

“I’m Chris Argent. Chris Silva on my current ID. What is going on?”

“From the beginning,” The girl -Harry Potter- instructs. “Peter, honesty on full.”

Peter Hale rolls his eyes. “You’re aware of the Hale House Fire?” He asks. “It killed most of the Hale Pack a little over 6 years ago now.”

When Chris and Victoria nod, he continues. “I survived the Fire, mostly. I was in a coma. With no alpha and no pack. Everyday for five years it felt like I was burning alive. I listened to my family die over and over again for five years.” The man takes a deep breath. The boy, Stiles leans into him and Derek Hale puts a hand on his shoulder. “Then I got a new nurse and I slowly started to get better.

“Her name, I would eventually learn, was Jennifer Winchester. The clan head, John, wouldn’t recognize her though. Wouldn’t accept her as his because she had magic. Just a little, just enough to kickstart my wolf healing, but still magic. Her plan -that she loved to rant about all the time- was to use me to draw out the Argents and kill all of them and that would somehow finally get her John Winchester’s attention. I assume after she took out the wolf that just so happened to have murdered all the Argents.

“What she didn’t expect was that Kate and Gerard were not the first to respond to her bait. Laura was. On a full moon in the end of December, I came across Laura in my woods. I didn’t recognize her, I couldn’t, and I killed the interloper.

“A few nights later, I found some kids in my woods and Bit one of them because I needed a beta for stability.”

“That was Scott McCall,” Stiles chips in. “My best friend. We were looking for the top half of Laura’s body after my dad, the Sheriff at the time, found the bottom.”

“A lot of things happened,” Derek puts in. “A lot of stupid, dramatic things.”

“Well, there was a lot of terror going on.” Stiles defends. “And so much confusion. And fur and fangs and threats.”

Derek inclines his head and Peter continues, “I hunted down every single person involved in setting the fire and covering up my family’s deaths. Jennifer helpfully provided a list. The last on the list of Kate Argent. I tore out her throat in the family room of our House ruin. She’s dead.”

“Did any of you confirm the kill?” Chris asks gently.

“Well, my dad’s deputies took the body.” Stiles tells him. “I would assume there was an autopsy. I mean, there was an investigation. And a funeral.”

Chris runs a hand over his face. He would not put it past his father to steal Kate’s body. Or bury an empty coffin just to fuck with people. He and Victoria exchange a look, clearly they are on the same page and she huffs. “After Kate died?”

“We killed The Alpha,” Stiles says softly. “And Derek became the Hale Alpha.”

“Obviously not,” Victoria glares. The man, Peter, is sitting right there. Clearly talking and breathing and an Alpha.

“I was resurrected.” He tells her, almost soothing. But not really because resurrection. “There was a girl I Bit. Scott wasn’t cooperating so I still needed a beta to stabilize. I tried again. She was, apparently, immune.

“I’m assuming because she already is something?” He asks the man in black in the corner, Severus. “Is there a creature that can bring people back from the dead in your world? Because I can’t think of any here.”

Snape hums. “Witches can be Bitten and become werewolves. With the exceptions of an Animagus or an extremely elemental. Did she ever smell like an animal?”

“She smells a little like dog.”

“She has a puppy,” Stiles counters. “Prada. A pomeranian.”

“This would be deeper,” Snape shakes her head. “Not a surface smell but part of the core of her. Like with Black and Harry.”

“At the core of her, she smelled like,” He hesitates because this sounds crazy even in his head.

“Grave dust.” Harry says for him. “I saw her at Scott’s funeral. She smells like grave dust.”

Even though that’s not a thing.

Peter Hale nods, regardless.

“A Death Elemental?” Sirius Black offers.

“Seems likely. The Bite would have triggered her awakening. Her Crisis. Very few Death Elementals survive their Crisis. Or if they do, they are normally rendered insane. The living are not meant to have domain over Death.”

“Is that why she’s been looking, I don’t know, crazy?” Stiles asks. “Stressed?”

“A simple necromantic ritual on a not-quite dead man would fulfill her Crisis nicely but Magic would have to lead her to do it. She’s probably been having visions to prepare her for it but with no magical education or training she would be ungrounded. That would lead to confusion, stress, madness. As I said, most Death Elementals go mad.”

“So I did her a favor? By being only mostly dead.”

Snape tips his head in what might or might not be agreement.

Chris kind of wants to learn that gesture. “Mostly dead? How can you be mostly dead?”

“From what we’ve found he had three anchors to this life. The love bond to a possible mate, the pack bond with a possible beta, and a magical soul bond to Scott McCall.”

Stiles splutters, “What?!?”

“Someone,” Black starts cautiously. “Stole his True Alpha Spark -part of his soul- and magically implanted it in Scott. We haven’t figured out who, yet,  but it had to be a magical adult in his life.”

“Like Deaton?” Stiles looks up at him. “The druid?”

“No true druid could have done such a thing,” Snape scoffs. “This is the most heinous of evil magics to violate someone’s soul in such a way.”

“Still, we can always investigate.” Harry says and Snape inclines his head again. This time it’s definitely a nod.

“Could there be something wrong with the Hale Family Spark?” Derek asks suddenly. “Peter Bit Lydia and it didn’t take. I Bit Jackson and it didn’t seem to take either.”

“Did he die after you Bit him?” Chris asks.

“Not for like two months. He and his parents were apparently murdered the night the Sheriff died and the station burned down though Sheriff Graeme technically has him listed as a missing person.”

Chris and Victoria exchange another look. Burning down entire buildings usually with people inside is absolutely a move from Gerard’s playbook. Especially if he or Kate are hiding something.

“Jackson’s the Kanima.” Hermione asserts, speaking up for the first time.

Derek sighs. “Yes, there is a Kanima. We know that. But we don’t know that it’s Jackson. You’re little shows been wrong about stuff before, right?”

“Have you bitten anyone else?” Hermione asks sharply.


“Then who else could it be? Where else did it come from?”

“I don’t know. It’s been quiet a while, maybe its Master was just passing through?”

“And they just happened to murder a bunch of people while they were here? For no reason? With no connection?”

“There is a connection, actually.” Stiles pipes up. “All the people that died were on the BHHS swim team. Like you said, from your show.”


“Wait, wait, wait.” Chris waves to get their attention. “What’s this show you keep talking about?”

“We hadn’t gotten there yet,” Peter informs him with a truly shit-eating grin.

“Okay, so. Crazy alpha, best friend Bitten, lots of fear, may deaths, alpha dies.” Stiles recaps. “Crazy hunter grandpa, more fear, becomes high school principal, everything is terrible. Kanima killing people. My dad dies. Like a lot of people die. My uncle comes to town, dad’s funeral. Alpha Pack, all the threats, some fighting. More people die. More fear. Peter comes back from the dead, mostly not crazy. Scott dies, alpha Peter. Got it?”

Chris blinks feeling dazed but nods.

“We were in the woods Friday morning, trying to put the pieces together. I made a wish. For help and suddenly there are five people landing on the Nemeton.”

“We come from another dimension.” Harry picks up. “Where I was wishing for a place we could be a family.”

“So you are that Harry Potter,” Chris is kind of afraid to ask.

“Yes.” Because of course his daughter would mate with Harry Potter. Why is he even surprised?

“Where in the timeline are you from?” Allison asks, her cheeks finally regaining some color. “Are the books accurate?”

“As far as I can tell, they are.” Hermione says, looking uncomfortable. “Of course only Harry can really say but I would point out that we aren’t as close to Ron as it seems in the books.

“We were in Fifth Year. The day after Harry had a vision that saved Arthur Weasley from Nagini. We stayed at Grimmauld Place while the Weasleys went to visit him at Saint Mungo’s. That’s when we got dragged here.”

Allison flips over one of Harry’s hands that she’s holding and runs a gentle finger over the back of it. In red, puckered flesh are the words ‘I must not tell lies‘ clear as day.

“Can you do anything about this?” She asks Severus Snape, glancing up.

The man’s face is red with fury and growing redder. There’s a great deal of pupil visible when he nods tightly and quits the room.

“Allison, can you talk about what happened?” Harry prompts gently, turning her hand so her scar is no longer visible to the room.

“We stopped by a gas station on the way here from school. I heard a roar and went to investigate. I found Kate.  She was weird. Her skin was black but like an animals, like jaguar’s. Or a leopard or something. There was a pattern to it. Rosettes? She had glowing green eyes.” Allison takes a deep breath. “She was fighting an alpha. She won. I saw her eyes go red before Harry found me and dragged me away.”

“So Kate’s alive,” Chris slumps.

“And the Bite took.” Victoria agrees. “I’ve never heard of a werejaguar.”

“Variations happen,” Eliot speaks up. “They’re rare, though. Usually a sign that not all is right upstairs. They’re dangerous. Unpredictable. Like the rules don’t quite fit. Normally put down after their first full moon, I’ve never known one to make alpha.”

“So she’s first on our kill list,” Harry almost. No, no almost. She orders. “After whoever fucked with Peter.”

“And whoever murdered my dad and Scott.” Stiles agrees and Harry nods.

“Unless they are all the same person? What about the Kanima?”

“If it’s still here,” Stiles rebutts.

“Kanima are snake based,” Hermione puts in before Harry can do more than open her mouth. “So all we have to do it wait. Snakes love Harry. They’ll find her, we won’t have to do a thing.”

“You’ll be driving all over town for the next three days with Driver’s ED,” Eliot agrees. “Maybe leave the windows down, speed things up.”

Harry rolls her eyes and nods. “Now, how about some lunch?”


When he wakes up it’s dark outside and he has no idea where he is.

He looks around as much as he’s able. It’s not that much he can identify his location as some sort of screened in porch. There’s a jacuzzi at one end, a patio table in the middle, and then himself and Melissa thrown on some sort of plastic mats at the other end. Two sets of doors, one screen door going from the porch outside, the other a pair of french doors going from the house to the porch.

He’s not bound in anyway which is, disquieting. The doors are probably locked? He hopes. Otherwise that means their captors are confident they won’t be able to escape.

Remembering those giant lizard things Argent had, its probably safe for him to be confident.

He checks the wrist that was bitten to see what kind of damage was done only to find the whole thing, the whole arm, from fingers to elbow encased in a clear viscous liquid. Actually it’s more of a jelly? He can’t really say what it is but the limb doesn’t hurt and the barrier only jiggles when he pokes it.

Pushing carefully with his non-cocooned wrist, he rolls toward Melissa. When he rolls again he’s more sort of on her than beside her but he doesn’t think he could move any differently so he gives himself a break.

To his surprise, her eyes are open and staring blindly at the ceiling. For a moment he’s scared she’s dead but then she chokes, black goo coming out her mouth and running down the sides of her face.

“Melissa?” He hisses.

She twitches. Her eyes flicker his way but she can’t seem to focus. She’s speaking but slowly, every word is a struggle. “Rafe. Bite. Kanima. Rafe. Bite. Kanima.” She exhales and a tear rolls down the side of her face too. “Rafe.” She manages to focus on him and her eyes go wide with fear and she chokes. “Kanima,” Is her last word. Fear, her last emotion.

He glances back over his shoulder to see the non-winged people lizards standing there. They come for him and he tries to cling to his dead wife but they kick her away. Careless. Like automatons.

As he’s carried not very gently across the porch, he catches himself in the mirror. His eyes are gold and slit-pupiled. At least half of his face is covered with green scales.

He screams but no one cares. No one comes. No one stops.

The lizard men climb into the jacuzzi with him. Its empty of water but there’s more of the clear jelly stuff lining the, well, the nest.

One of his captors scratches the back of his neck again and he goes limp as they lay him down between them and curl up.

Then the big one comes, the one with wings. His alpha. His alpha stays half crouched above them. His wings cover the nest, providing them shelter.

He has such a good alpha.


“If you’re from another dimension,” Allison asks delicately. “How do you and Peter have vows between you? What kind of vows are they?”

“Stiles and I have vows between us.”

“And since Peter and Stiles are mates they might as well be between you and him,” Allison nods. “What kind?”

“Friendship and mutual support, for the most part. But, I mean, the vows were to make sure I can’t be drug home, which you have to realize a ridiculous number of powerful people from my world would do it if they could so they correspond with the wishes they make.”

“You’re going to make a family with them,” Allison guesses with a frown.

We’re going to make a family with them, I reserved the right to a mate of my choice, but what that means,” Harry shrugs. “Could be they just, I don’t know, donate sperm and we timeshare the results. Could be a full out poly relationship. Could be something in between. We’ll figure it out eventually, I’m sure. Unless that’s a deal breaker to you? I probably should have mentioned it before.”

“No, it’s okay.” Allison assures even as her mind spins, getting pretty much nowhere. “It’s not like you could have given me this explanation in the elevator yesterday. Or without this Pack meeting today. Well, you could have but it would have been really confusing. And nobody wants the NSA or SHIELD to know you’re from another dimension so having the conversation in person rather than over the phone was smart.” And then she goes quiet because she honestly doesn’t know what to say.

Her parents had an arranged marriage and she knew it growing up so she never really expected a love match but now to have that, a love match, actively cuddling against her and the possibility for more in the future? More for her to choose, more for her to shape?

“The heart has infinite capacity, you know,” Harry says softly. “For love and for hate. But love is such powerful magic and I rather greedily want all of it I can get.”

Allison can’t help the tears weighing on her eyes. Like 95% of the planet she’s read the Harry Potter books, or seen the movies, or both. She knows exactly why her mate would be greedy for all the love she can get. And why she would consider wanting to be loved greedy in the first place. “It’ll work out,” She promises earnestly. “It will all work out, I know it will.”

Chris watches his daughter whisper with her mate and realizes he’s pretty much the only person in the room that has no idea what they’re saying. Well Hermione -Granger- King probably doesn’t but she’s halfway through The Deathly Hallows and likely doesn’t care.

So Chris stands and does what’s been on his mind since his wife and daughter were Bitten nearly three months ago at the Yearly Matriarchs Retreat.

He approaches the Alpha, Peter Hale since that seems to be the one his ladies have chosen, and informs him, “I want the Bite.”

The oldest living Hale raises both eyebrows at him. “You, a werewolf hunter, want the Bite?”

“I’m retired.” He looks significantly at his daughter and her mother before raising an eyebrow right back at… his alpha. “Where they go, I go and they’ve clearly chosen you as their alpha.”

“More like they’ve chosen Harry and we’re something of a package deal.” Chris frowns at him, waiting for an explanation. “Being a werewolf hunter doesn’t mean you really know werewolves. What we really are or how to be one. We’re more complicated than you think.”

Ah. “I wondered how four alphas could share a single house so peacefully. She’s above all of you in the hierarchy.”

“Wizards and werewolves are both might makes right societies, and she carried five people between dimensions.” Peter says by way of explanation. “For the record, anyone else would have died coming alone.”

“So I need to ask her for the Bite.”

Peter shrugs. “I won’t Bite you without talking about it with her anyway since you would be in our immediate Pack but I can’t see how she’d say no. Not to her mate’s father.”

They both look up at Eliot Spencer stops in front of them. “I’d like to be involved in this conversation.”

“Why?” Chris drawls, noting Peter’s evil looking grin.

“It’s relevant to my interests. And yours. And completely her fault,” He jerks his thumb backwards at Harry without looking.

Harry just laughs at him. “I wasn’t even around when the first match was made! If any of us has match-making magic, it’s Stiles. Blame him!”

Chris looks between the irritated Eliot, gleeful Peter, and amused Harry and frowns. “Please feel free to state plainly whatever you’re trying to imply.”

“You’re my mate,” Eliot huffs. “I would like the chance to court you and Bite you as my mate.”

“Wait,” Allison interrupts. “So the way you’re Bitten matters?”

“Of course,” Peter frowns at her. “Born wolves grow into their role within the Pack but Bitten ones are chosen for a specific purpose. Where we Bite you tells your wolf what that role is as it forms inside of you.”

“What are the options?” Hermione finally looks up from her book to ask.

“The side usually above the hips and below the ribs is a soldier, regular beta. Wrist of the hand determines if you’ll be the alpha’s Left or Right Hand, depending. Neck is the Alpha’s Mate.”

“When you offered me the Bite, you went for my right wrist,” Stiles squints at him from the kitchen doorway.

“We didn’t have any sort of established relationship,” Peter admits with a faint flush. “It would have been wildly inappropriate to give you the Mate Bite as our relationship was at the time.”

“Sort of rapey?”

“Definitely rapey. But making you my Right Hand, my most trusted, me Second, could be a step in that direction without,” Peter sort of waves his hand and Chris is reminded how young the kid really is. Seventeen when he went into a six year coma of nonstop pain and torment. All of these kids are so young, with the whole town riding on them.

He glances over at Eliot only to find the man looking speculatively at him and nods.

Yeah courting is a thing that can happen. Even if he ends up being just Eliot’s pack human, he’ll still be closely allied with his daughter and her mother and it gives him the chance for something he’s never really thought about before. “Do you have any books?”


“You staged a fight with your mother?”

“Yes, Dr. Deaton,” Lydia agrees. Her eyes are vacant. She has about as much life and color to her as an animated corpse, but that’s just his spell work.

“You went to Beacon Pointe and maxed your credit cards?”

“Yes, Dr. Deaton.”

“Your mother is going to call,” The phone rings right on cue. “Scream at her for no less than five minutes and then hang up.”

He listens idly as she answers with a sharp “What!” And it devolves from there. “I can’t believe you.” “Dr. Dunbar is married.” “Were you cheating on Sheriff Stilinski, too?” “Such a whore.” “No, I’m not coming home tonight. Maybe I’ll stay with daddy, at least he loves me.” “Is he really my father? Do you even know who my father is?” “Is this why he left you? Because you’re a whore?” “I hate you. I can’t believe you. I’m done talking to you.” And she hangs up.

“Throw it in the floor of the passenger seat.”

“Yes, Dr. Deaton,” She throws it with enough force to crack the screen.

“Now, when I say go, you will pull back onto the road, get up to the fastest speed you can and run directly into the powerpole just past mile marker six. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dr. Deaton.”

“Good, go.” And he releases his astral projection, working the kinks in his shoulders as he sits inside his home meditation room.

All this to make sure no one suspects him but prison is the last thing on his mind. His spellwork will keep her safe enough and get her to the site, then. Then he’ll finally keep his side of the deal and finally get to leave this stupid little town.

By the time he physically makes it put to the ritual site, Miss Martin is leaning up against a tree. He throws the Black Oak a look. Cuddling the sacrifice? Not a good idea.

Vines reach out and take the girl’s wrists, pulling her to standing.

Good. But first he has to walk the circle. Power and runes and blood and will to focus the magic of the sacrifice on the Nemeton. Or rather, the shield around the Nemeton.

When that’s done, he returns to the sacrifice.

She’s standing wither her arms and legs spread eagle, vines working like a Saint Andrew’s Cross. At his signal a fifth creeper curls around the girl’s neck.

“Dr. Deaton?” She asks, finally starting to rouse from her spell-induced compliance. “Dr. Deaton, what?”

That’s when he strikes.

His knife cuts her throat, the vine strangles her, and the Oak bashes her head.

He chants to harness the power of her life and directs it to the shield.

The shield lights up on contact, flawlessly round and utterly opaque. His magic is kicked back with a vengeance but his magical circle catches it, amplifies it, and he directs it back at the shield.

He can find no flaw in it but perhaps he can simply overwhelm the structure.

His second volley is again denied, returned. His circle catches it again and amplifies it again. He struggles to go a third time. Its too much. His hands burn, his nerves tingle, and he can barely breathe, but he forces the magic to submit once again.

His vision goes gray as the ward over the Nemeton withstands his blast once again. He staggers back against an oak and drops his circle with a thought.

One last surge of effort and he directs the magic up, into the sky.

Magic fills the clouds about Beacon Hills but its no longer directed. No longer coming for him.

The last thing he sees is a lightning bolt hitting the ground on the far side of his circle as he sink into a nearby oak for a rest.


When the first lightning bolt hits the ground outside, Harry is up off the couch before she can think. “Sirius!”

Steps thunder down the stairs, Remus and Sirius spill into the room, both clutching their wands. Lightning strikes again and Sirius almost drops his wand in his haste to pull out his Run Kit. He pulls her Animagus potion from it and hands it to her.

Its gone clear since she made it. Well, mostly clear. With white swirls and little blue bits floating suspended in the mix.

Since none of the original ingredients where those colors and Sirius doesn’t seem bothered by the change, she assumes its a function of the potion’s magical qualities? Or maybe those of her animagus form?

Harry takes it and steps out onto the Stilinski back porch. One last time she declares, “Amato Animo Animato Animagus!” And throws back the potion.

It tastes like cold, a little like mint. Heavy, cold, wet air gathers around her and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them the world is a lot bigger than it used to be.


She turns to see Allison staring at her, eyes wide. The girl kneels, reaching out a cautious hand and Harry makes a happy chitter, pouncing her mate. She climbs and licks and nibbles her mate, sniffing her, so pleased to be together now, the first time.

“Harry,” Sirius chides, gently pulling her off Allison.

She makes a less happy chitter at him and the man laughs.

“Come on now, you know I need to check you.”

She does know, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to cooperate. He fusses with her, checking her legs and paws and fur and snout. Squishing her middle to make sure all her organs are there. Nothings obviously missing or misshapen.. It takes him three times as long as it probably should with her wiggling but it’s fun to make him work for it and she’s not the least bit ashamed.

“Alright! Alright, you little beast. Damn, devil bear. Go play. Stay in the yard and Allison can stay with you.”

She perks up, looking from Allison to Sirius and back again. Allison nods and she scampers off to the edge of the porch.

Then lightning strikes again.

She pauses and looks questioningly back.

“It’s fine,” Remus wiggles his wand at her. “I’ve warded the yard.”

She yips a thank you and bolts. Glancing back she calls out a taunt and her mate gives chase.

Sirius stands back, watching -along with all the rest of their extended pack- as Harry takes off through and around and over trees. She taunts and tackles and cuddles her mate to laughing.

It’s an amazing thing to see, Harry being so free. Harry being so happy. “I wish Prongs could see this.”

Moony bumps his shoulder on one side and Victoria slips under his arm on the other.

“There was no rain predicted tonight.” Snape says lowly from Victoria’s other side. “Or lightning.”

“No weather other than heat,” Remus agrees.

“Meaning what?” Victoria prompts.

“This,” Remus hesitates. “Could be a magical occurrence.”

“Backlash,” Snape agrees. “A failed magical ritual.”

“What kind of ritual would do all this?” Stiles asks, flailing at the sky.

The three wizards are quiet.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it,” Sirius murmurs, not taking his eyes off where Allison and Harry are wrestling. The werewolf doesn’t seem to be holding back much at all but Harry is clearly holding her own even as she minds her franky terrifying claws. “The heat and pressure in the middle of your back? Someone is trying to break the ward.”

Now he looks at Severus. He can see what they both know in those black eyes.

Someone died tonight.

“What? What do we do?” Stiles asks, clearly nervous.

“Remain confident.” Remus tells him. “The magic will hold. The more firmly we believe that, the more powerful the ward will be.”

Stiles starts nodding, using his whole upper body to do so. “Confident. I can do confident. I am so confident! All the confidence, right here. Because Remus Lupin and Severus Snape know what they’re doing, alright? And you put it Sirius Black too? Just, oh my god. All the confidence.”

“Alright, Confidence,” Peter snags his mate and reels him in with an arm around his neck. “I think it’s time we finish making dinner. That wolverine is going to need to eat.”

Chapter Four

Interim Sheriff Tara Graeme rubs a hand over her face and keeps her sigh strictly internal.

This is the third set of… severed legs isn’t the right term. And there’s no concise way to say that someone cut a woman somewhere between her navel and hips and then hung the bottom half in a tree by the ankles. Half torso and legs, maybe. Third torso and legs?

Whatever, its her third one of these this week.

They’ve all been hung slightly different. One with manacles, one with rope, and this one with woven vines. Their skin tone has been getting lighter too but there’s no real pattern to the ages. No real consistency.

She takes a deep breath, holds it and let’s it go, wondering how Sheriff John used to handle this crazy.

No wonder the poor man drank.

Maybe it’s time to call the FBI. But the FBI was here, she saw Rafe McCall poking around just last weekend. God only knows where he is now. Probably dead, knowing Beacon Hills’ track record.

Maybe- Maybe it’s time to call the Colonel.


The first day of school starts with something called ‘Homeroom’. Which apparently means they divide the entire school up alphabetically and adjust the entire day so that they can fit in an extra class at the beginning for students to get their schedules and lockers.

It makes sense though.  Not like they can just pass everything out at breakfast when they don’t serve it.

Luckily there is someone in her homeroom that Harry recognizes. “Hey, Danny,” The boy is looking paler and more drawn than he was a week ago.

“Uh, Harry, right?”

“That’s me.” She hesitates. “Are you alright?”

“No,” He says honestly and then laughs a little at himself. It is not a happy laugh. “Uh, both of my best friends have disappeared in the last three months. Not even dead, just sort of… gone. Missing.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say so she reaches out and puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

He gives her a wan smile and puts his hand briefly on top of hers. “You better sit down. Mrs. Pacci doesn’t like loitering.”

Wordlessly she takes the seat behind him as a tiny Umbridge-in-Blue walks into the room.

“When I call your name, come get your schedule.” She orders without introduction. She calls names out rapid fire and all but throws them at the student that approaches.

She’s not very good at throwing though and many schedules do loops midair as the students scramble to catch them.

“Potter, Harriet,” She is literally the last one to get her schedule and everyone stares. She turns slowly to make sure everyone gets a good look at her ‘DID YA PUT YA NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIYAH’ shirt. She especially likes the picture of movie-Dumbledore accosting movie-Harry and a book page with the word calmly circled in red.

Damn thing was Peter’s idea. To make fun of the association as much as possible to make people discount it.

By the way people gasp and snicker, she has to say he was right.

Thank Mer- uh, god.

As the last to get her schedule, Harry is the first to get her locker lock and assignment.

Mrs. Pacci lets them all out of her class almost half an hour early. Ostensibly so they can find their lockers and classes, but Harry’s pretty sure she just wants to deal with them at little as possible. Rather like Professor Snape, really.

Danny leads her to her locker. There’s aren’t far apart so she throws on her lock and then she lingers by his while he puts his stuff away. He has honest to god locker furniture in his bag. Its strangely adorable to watch him set up his little shelves. Thankfully they have English together first thing so it’s not terribly awkward but seriously what is she supposed to say?!? She doesn’t know how to deal with her own loses muchless someone else’s.

But Allison. Beautiful, wonderful, perfect Allison is waiting for them with Stiles and Hermione at the top of the stairs when she and Danny get there and Allison could hold a conversation with a door.

She even gets him to laugh! A real laugh! Not the painful, semi-broken noise Harry got from his earlier and she can’t help but relax.

Allison is her favorite, 100% absolute favorite.

When they make it to Miss Blake’s English class they find the room set up in little groupings of four and Harry suddenly feels terrible again because Danny can’t sit with them. He takes it easily though, setting himself in the desk that’s back to back with her. His little grouping has a set of werewolf twins and what can only be a cheerleader? Why she’s wearing her uniform on the first day of school though is beyond Harry.

Miss Blake makes a show of nodding to and greeting each of them as she makes what smells like coffee in a weird little glass tube with a plunger down the middle.

There’s something disquieting about her scent. The coffee muddles it but it’s there.

Harry closes her eyes and draws a circle on her wrist, containing the nose blocker Sirius made her put on before she left the flat. Under the coffee, there is. Ruthlessness and Hatred positively flowing off the woman but more personally something like peanut butter and mint. Normally pleasant things that do not go together. And under that-

“Sorry, she has PTSD,” Allison says just before her hand closes on Harry’s wrist. “You’re here, right Harry?”

Miss Blake is there too, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

She can’t help but flinch away from the older woman’s touch, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I needed a moment.”

“Don’t disrupt class in the future.” The teacher frowns at her. “Just signal me and go outside.”

Harry really wants to ask how that would be less disruptive than sitting quietly in her own chair but, if there is one thing Potions has taught her, that’s to nod and agree and let reality prove the teacher wrong.

The woman abruptly hands her a stack of papers. “Why don’t you pass out the syllabus,” And promptly goes back to taking role.

Keeping her eye roll strictly internal, Harry takes the stack and starts setting out sets of four on each desk grouping.

The syllabus looks… surprisingly fun. She’s read a good half of the books on the required reading list so that will give her a break but the additional reading is all more modern books. Miss Blake apparently runs an after school book club for extra credit with the additional reading and Harry just knows Hermione is going to force them all to go. And that Stiles will likely be just as bad if the look on his face means anything.

Miss Blake walks around the room, pointing out examples of past projects hanging on the walls. The Shakespearean sock puppets looks particularly hilarious.

But, she keeps touching Harry. She touches Hermione and Stiles every once in a while but mainly she focuses on Harry. It’s really uncomfortable. Like her magic is trying the shove itself between Harry’s skin and her muscles. It’s cold but fizzy. Eating at her like acid.

When the woman turns and touches her again as she makes for her desk, Allison rumbles threateningly enough that half the class turns to check the windows across the room for a sudden storm.

And Harry has an epiphany.

Magic. Miss Blake has magic.

Harry smirks at Hermione who subtly shakes her head, mouthing ‘bad idea‘.

Not helpful, Hermione, Harry frowns. She knows its a bad idea, alright? But she is done with all the bad touch and she’s not going to let Allison out herself as a werewolf by ripping the stupid woman’s arm off.

So she does what she would do if one of her Hogwarts professors was pushing her boundaries like this.

Something she did in fact do the Gilderoy Lockhart at least three times.

She curses the heel of the woman’s shoe. She even sneezes into her hand to cover the casting.

Now. What she expects is what would happen if she had the gall to do such a thing to McGonagall. For her spell to be blocked and returned double. With a side of detention and enough points loss to make the House Cup a fool’s hope.

What she does not expect is for the woman’s heel to actually break or for her to teeter and then fall.

She definitely doesn’t expect the woman to hit the metal chalk tray with her temple on her way down and go deathly still.

Even Professor Lockhart bounced, Harry thinks blankly as she stares.

“Is she?” Danny starts to ask tentatively.

“Dead?” One of the twins finishes.

“Harry?” Allison puts herself between Harry and the teacher. The teacher’s body because she’s still not moving. “Harry, I need you to breathe. Harry, you have to breathe.”

Harry turns her head to her mate to indicate she’s listening but she can’t comply. She doesn’t know how. Her eyes can’t even focus probably.

Allison picks her up, shoves her nose right up against her neck, and carries her out of the room.

Next thing she knows Sirius is there, crowded up behind her. His hands are on her face as he hisses, “What happened?”

Allison shakes her head firmly and Harry can feel a silent rumble reverberate through the other girl’s chest.

“That’s what I would like to know,” Harry looks up just enough to see Principal Yukimura stop behind Paddy.

“Miss Blake was lecturing,” Hermione answers because of course she does. “Talking about past projects and things we would do in the future. Then the heel of her shoe snapped and she fell. She hit her head and went really still.

“No one touched her. No one was even close.”

“Look, Principal.” A tired sounding woman in a beige uniform sighs. “We need to keep everyone contained and I need parents here so I can take statements from the children. Let’s do this right and get it closed as an accident.”

“With all do respect, Sheriff.” Sirius cuts in. “I’m taking my kids home. All of them. You can come talk to them in a location that won’t re-trigger Harry’s obvious trauma.”

“I understand your niece has PTSD, Sir Potter-” The Sheriff begins.

Harry pushes away from Allison a bit. Well, she tries, her arms don’t seem to want to do anything but seriously, trauma? When did they decide she was traumatized and why wasn’t she consulted? And what is up with this PTSD business?

Allison rubs her back and she huffs, giving up. She’ll argue this to hell and back. Later.

She closes her eyes and when she opens them Allison is shifting to crawl them out of her mom’s big SUV.

“I can walk,” She insists when they make it to the Stilinski house and Allison lets her go. She wobbles a bit on touchdown but manages to make it inside before collapsing on the couch. “PTSD?!?”

“Well you obviously went into some sort of shock, Harry!” Hermione huffs, clearly exasperated.

“If anyone’s had a traumatic life, its you.” Allison agrees gently. “People have been trying to kill you, literally all your life. Not even safe at school. Maybe especially not safe at school.”

“That doesn’t make me weak! I’m not broken.”

“No, of course not.” Allison says gently. “You’ve survived at least dozen things that should have killed you. You’re the strongest person in any room. We all know this. You’re the alpha.”

“You carry me around like I’m a doll!”

Allison has the grace to flush. “I like taking care of you. I can’t do magic and I’m still learning my shift but I want to help. In anyway I can. And if that’s coming up with excuses to cover for you or acting out those excuses or physically carrying you away from something that hurts you, I want to do it. Can I?”

“Awe,” Peter coos like the obnoxious arse he is. “SuperWitch has a Lois Lane,” And he and Stiles high-five, making everyone laugh.

The wankers.

“I guess I can try to get used to it.” Harry lets herself deflate, “But carrying me everywhere isn’t doing much to hide the secret wolfie ninja skills.”

Allison rolls her eyes, “Like I care. My girlfriend is a badass, nobody’s going to mess with me.”

“There is a good side,” Sirius points out around his snickers. “If you have PTSD, you can have a service dog,” He waves a pamphlet. “The Principal gave me this and one of the dogs inside looks a lot like Padfoot.”

“What are you saying?” She asks because she cannot brain today. Not any more. Obviously she wasn’t doing a good job of it before, either.

“I’m saying I can come to school with you. You know, fur style.”

“Do you want to come to school with us?!?”

“Honestly, I wanted to do it last year but Dumbledore refused and then you were entered into that stupid Tournament. If I do it now, I can monitor all of your accidental magic. And I mean all of you. Stiles will start having outbursts soon. He already would if we hadn’t exhausted him with that ritual, more than like.”

“No more accidentally killing teachers?” She asks in a small voice.

“No more accidentally killing teachers. I don’t promise not to kill one on purpose though, if I have to.”

Fighting her lip tremble, Harry nods. As long as it’s on purpose, she can deal. Because that means the person was a clear and present danger to someone for sure rather than just an annoyance.

Allison tentatively puts her arm around Harry and Harry leans into it with a small, “Thank you.”

Allison and Sirius both nod.

“Now, how do I get registered?” Sirius asks the Home Team, rubbing his hands gleefully.

“Uh,” Stiles tilts his head. “Go to a vet, do a few tricks and have the vet register you. I think all the gear’s like two hundred bucks?”

“Tricks?!” Sirius glares, comically affronted. “What do you mean ‘do tricks’? What kind of tricks?”

Peter snickers as he pulls out his phone. “Here, I’ll find you a study guide.”

“The only vet in town is Deaton, otherwise you’ll have to drive to Redding.” Stikes tells them, still on task. “He’s a druid though, so I wouldn’t take any werewolves unless you want to give yourselves away. Pretty sure he’s warded against all but the Hales and Scott anyway.”

“Scott spent enough time there to warrant a ward exception?” Severus asks with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s worked there part time for years. A volunteer at first and then Deaton’s assistant.”

“I shall accompany Miss Potter and Mr. Black on this excursion,” He all but purrs and Harry knows she’s missed something.

That’s Snape’s ‘figured something out’ face. Usually it does not bode well for her but right now she’s kind of glad to see it? Her life has gotten so very strange.


“It doesn’t look terrible,” Severus says as he competently parks outside Wise Oak Veterinary Clinic where Dr. Deaton the Druid works.

“Doesn’t smell like a bastion of evil,” Harry confirms.

“Remember what Stiles said about wards,” Sirius interjects. “He could just be hiding it.”

Severus nods but Harry frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be fur-covered?”

“I want input on my fur-covered name,” Sirius huffs.

“As if there’s anything else Harry Potter would name the big, black dog constantly in her presence. Obviously, your name is Padfoot.”

Sirius grins at her, his shoulders relaxing. “Well good. With that settled,” He shifts to Padfoot.

For the only vet in the county, Deaton’s office is surprisingly unbusy. Sure it is the middle of a school day but it still seems odd to Harry as she opens the door and slides out of Severus’s truck. He got the same truck as Eliot Spencer only a few years newer and in a dark blue rather than silver.

Harry suspects a crush.

She opens the backdoor and Sirius barely waits for her signal before jumping out.

Inside the smell of animal food and feces is overwhelming. Based on the fliers she can see, the vet’s office doubles as an animal shelter.

No one mentioned that, Harry frowns.

The strangest thing though is that there’s no other staff. How can one man run a vet clinic, an animal shelter, and be doctor to all the animals in the county?

They don’t ring a bell or anything before a man walks up from the back. She recognizes him, he was at Scott’s funeral. The one that seemed to stand a little forward of the crowd, just like Gerard Argent.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Deaton. How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Harry, we’re here to get Padfoot certified as my support dog.”

“I can definitely help you there, why don’t the three of you come to the back?”

Professor Snape stands back as Harry and Padfoot work through a number of exercises under the vet’s watchful eyes.

The man makes a note on his clipboard and sets it down. He moves behind Harry to physically move her around and she’s had *enough with the bad touch. “Patrificus totalus!”

The man todders but Sirius regains two feet behind him into to keep him upright. Sirius wandlessly levitates him onto the treatment table and Snape is there with a tiny vial of clear liquid.

Together they open his mouth and three drops of the potion are administered.

“This is Veritaserum,” Snape purrs. “We are going to ask you questions and it will ensure you tell us the truth. Now. Tells us exactly what you did to Scott McCall.”

“The boy was Bitten against his will,” Deaton says tightly. “I gave him the means to reject the alpha’s influence.”

“By giving him a peice of said alpha’s soul?” Harry asks and smirks when his eyes go wide. “Yeah, we know about that.

“Maybe we should add an integrity curse? That wasn’t exactly a lie but it wasn’t the full truth either.” She asks the professor.

Snape shrugs, casts several spells at the man, then purrs, “Now let us begin at the beginning.”


“He was really cute and I think he’s in to me.”

Kate pauses in the doorway, watching her father’s ‘adopted sons’ whisper to eash other. Then she pastes on her best teasing grin and saunters in, “Are we having boy talk?”

Thing One and Thing Two give her wide eyes before One nods. “Uh, yeah.”

“Well? Tell me all about him.”

He watches her for a moment before slumping. “He’s in like half my classes. He’s taller than me, Hawaiian, and so, so beautiful I could cry. He’s really smart too.”

“Sounds awesome,” She grins at him. “Are you going out?”

“He asked me to go the the gay bar, Jungle with him. He offered to make me an ID since I’m not 18. Do you think Alpha Gerard would let me go?”

How wonderfully convenient, Kate grins. “I’m sure I can talk him into it. Its not like drinking will effect you, being a werewolf and all. Ask him over for dinner, let’s say Friday?”

Ethan nods and Thing Two -*Aiden- frowns. “Where is Alpha Gerard?”

“Harraging the School Board. He wants his job back,” She rolls her eyes. “God only knows why.”

The twins exchange a look. “We’re pretty sure the girl he wants us to watch, Harry Potter, killed Miss Blake.”

“She didn’t touch her,” Ethan hastily adds. “But the woman wouldn’t stop touching her and then… It felt like magic, you know the itch behind your eyeballs? When Potter sneezed and then she fell and,” He shrugs.

“And there’s a werewolf in their little group at school, so its not like we can get too close. “A Allison Silva.”





Back to EAD 2019.


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