Full Summary; After the death of her parents and the effects of the war, Unspeakable Hermione Granger runs to the home of her long-time friend and pen pal. What she finds, however, is not the full-of-life boy she expects.
Stiles Stilinski is lost. Drowning in nightmares, barely able to tell reality from dreams after the defeat of the Nogitsune; an event which has both mental and physical consequences from the young man. When a face he thought he'd never see bursts down his door, Stiles begins to question whether that, too is a dream. And if it is, does he really want it to end?
Allison is alive bc I wanted her to be. This will probably go up to M at some point but whatever. My wattpad also has this story. You can find that at NotAGirlButAStorm. There, the story is StilesHermione. However, I'm open to other suggestions on here. I WILL NOT BE WRITING STEREK. I just don't ship it. Furthermore, the romance wont happen for a while. I'm working on getting my babies (Hermione, Stiles and the Pack) all fixed up. Also Erica is alive too bc why not. (Though she dosesn't feature in the first few chapters.)
"Stiles, please."
Silence. There was a beat of uncomfortable stares, as the Pack looked at one another. Scott rapped his fist on the door again.
"Stiles, we need you, okay? Please come out. It's okay." Scott could hear Stile's heartbeat through the wood. The familiar and comforting thrums of his best friend's heart had sped up. Scott could hear Stiles' breath quickening. Scott and the other Were-beings present could tell that Stiles was shaking and crying.
"Go." Came Stile's broken voice; he didn't believe them.
"Stiles, it's not your fault." Lydia Martin stepped beside Scott and her voice rung out steady and clear. "It's not at all, okay? You had no choice." She started, trying to stir some emotion when the door swung open.
There was Stiles, leaning against the door frame. His eyes were bloodshot and hair messy; he hadn't left his room in two days. He looked deathly pale; even more so than when the Nogitsune controlled him just a few days previous.
Scott wanted to speak. To embrace his brother, his Packmate. However, he found himself unable to reach out as Stiles stared at them all with a searching, analytic gaze.
"I don't want you here." He whispered, eyes swimming with tears. He seemed to be fighting himself to spit out the words.
"You don't mean th-"
"Go!" Stiles shouted as much as he could with his dry throat; a shout that caused Lydia to stumble back into Scott's front in shock; leaning against him as if wounded. "Please, just go," Stiles' broken voice uttered out; holding up a jar of Mountain Ash.
Scott inhaled sharply.
"Stiles, what are you doing?"
"I want to be alone. Go." Stiles stated simply, ignoring his friend as he lined the space in front of him. Ignoring the Pack (as now the majority wouldn't even be able to enter), he lined the windowsill in the same manner.
"Stiles, please, you're Pack, okay? We can work this out-"
The door swung closed; and as if a dam had broken, they could hear Stiles break.
Sobs wracked through the teen's body and the Pack ached collectively; as if their hearts could not stand to hear their friend, their Pack member, breakdown.
They turned, silently moving downstairs into the living room of the Stilinski household.
Like ghosts, they perched; mournfully, as if waiting for the moment that Stiles would let them in.
They weren't sure how long it had been; whether the silence had stretched for seconds or hours or years; there seemed to be infinite stillness; broken only by the occasional shouted sob or thudding of pounding fists from upstairs.
The pseudo-silence was broken by the rumbling of a car; the Sheriff's car. Noah Stilinski strode through the door purposefully, a weary countenance upon him, eyes glistening with hardened pain as he heard Stiles above.
"How long has he been like this?" He asked quietly, watching as the Pack shifted, stealing glances at one another.
"We came to see him after school and; well, he's been up there the whole time." Came Malia's voice; straightforward but tight with pain; her whole body taught as her anchor; her first friend; was screaming into a seeming abyss.
Noah's posture seemed to slump with defeat before a moment, before stubbornly, if not defiantly, he straightened; a determined look set upon him that grabbed the Pack's attention.
"I think I know something that-well, it's a long shot-that might help." He stated straightforwardly.
"What's that?" Derek asked, head cocked slightly; he wasn't so sure that anything could help Stiles now; and whilst the two never really got along; the idea of Stiles remaining unrepairable seemed abhorrent to him.
"Scott," the Sheriff ploughed on, moving to grab a stack of letters from the windowsill; old letters, seemingly tons of them-on real parchment. "Do you remember Stiles' pen pal from the second grade?"
Scott mirrored the look of his friends as he shot the Sheriff a quizzical, nonplussed look.
"Yeah, he was obsessed. What about it?"
The Sheriff handed Scott one of the letters. "Read the date." He urged, and Scott nodded, coughing slightly.
"This-this was a month ago-like, a month ago, this year."
The Sheriff nodded. "They'd never stopped talking, from what I can gather; until about-"
"The Nogitsune." Kira piped up in realisation, her posture straightening and her eyes flashing with understanding. The Sheriff nodded once more.
"I figured that she'd respond again pretty soon; until I got a phone call at the station."
The Sheriff took a seat on the couch, drawing the focus of the Pack, before explaining to them what had happened.
"Sheriff, there's somebody on the line for you." Deputy Brigham stated, popping his head around the door. "They said that is was urgent that they spoke to you." Noah sighed, running a hand against his forehead in exasperation. "Oh, fine then. Patch them through."
The deputy nodded before patching the call through; Noah picked up the phone.
"Hello, Beacon Hills police department; Sheriff Stilinski speaking."
"Ah, Sheriff!" A cheerful, British voice called out; the warm tone of who was obviously a female called out.
"What can I help you with?" He asked, thoroughly confused. Had they called the wrong country by accident?
"Ah, yes, I haven't formally introduced myself. I am a pen pal of your son, Stiles Stilinski." The voice continued, and Noah's eyes widened; he sat up straighter in his desk.
"I didn't realise you knew the number for the station." He stated, finally able to string together a coherent sentence. The woman laughed brightly; though not maliciously.
"I am afraid that your son's sleuthing skills have rubbed off on me-or was it the other way around..? Well, no matter. I called because I am concerned; Stiles has never failed once to respond to a correspondence; it has been around three weeks. Is Stiles okay?" She asked, her voice filled with what Noah was certain was genuine concern.
"Ah; Yes, well, Beacon Hills has faced a lot recently; Stiles has been caught up in some of it, and he's been…distracted to say the least."
There was a beat of silence before the woman continued.
"Thank you Sheriff. You have reassured me immensely; however, I still can't help but be a bit concerned…"
"And I thank you for the concern Miss; but honestly, Stiles is just…working through some stuff right now. You know how it is."
"Yes, I certainly do…" There was a poignancy to the woman's phrasing that Noah didn't understand; it was if the woman knew exactly what had happened; or, as if, she simply knew exactly how Stiles had been…dealing.
"Is-Is there anything else I can do for you?" Noah asked impulsively; everything in his bloodstream was screaming at him to ask and he realised that he had done before it was too late to analyse why.
"Ah! Yes, there was indeed…I apologise so much for this; however, I'm relocating for Beacon Falls on a work-based proviso. Simply put; they forced me to take a sabbatical." The woman chuckled grimly, as if the thought of a vacation was the most detestable and monstrous thing a human could do to another. Noah chuckled slightly; he was the exact same when he started his job as a deputy.
The woman continued further. "I bought a house up in Beacon Hills and plan to move there by the end of the coming month; however I am forced to relocate now, and well, the house I bought is not fit for use…I was wondering if I could be so rude as to impose myself onto you and Stiles for a week or so; just until the house is ready." There was a note of pleading in her tone. "I promise, I will help out as much as possible; I'm a quiet person and I can pay you rent as p-"
"Listen. You've known Stiles; have written to him in actual letters, for years now. Of course you can stay for a while; Stiles would love to have you over. And I think it might be just what he needs."
Noah could almost feel the happiness and relief from the phone and chuckled as she responded with an unbounding eagerness.
"Thank you so much, Sheriff! I'll give you details of when I arrive at the airport; I should be there in three days' time-don't worry about picking me up, I'll be able to do that myself." He wanted to be stubborn, to insist upon driving the woman to his house-she was after all, going to be a guest. However, he got the sense that the woman on the phone was just as stubborn-if not more so-than his son.
"That sounds perfectly fine to me." He said, and moments later, the call ended in the woman's cheerful, stereotypically British ''goodbye.''
"What does a pen pal have to do with Stiles getting…better?" Malia asked, eyebrow raised.
The Sheriff leaned back in him chair.
"Look, this girl; she pulled him out of a few states before, just through letters. You remember that funk Stiles was in when we first-well, when we first found out about C-"
"Yeah, yeah I do. He was like that for about a week." Scott said; he knew the Sheriff was still emotional about the incident; he would be too. It was for that reason that he cut across so rudely.
"This girl pulled him out of that state in a week; I came downstairs one morning and Stiles had made Claud and me pancakes…If anybody can get through to him, it would be her."
There was another pregnant pause.
"So, when does she arrive?" Derek asked. The elder Stilinski looked at his watch.
"In around five minutes." He responded.
"You-You've told Stiles nothing, have you?" Lydia asked from her spot on the sofa. Scott shot the Sheriff with an incredulous gaze.
"We all know that Stiles would have schemed his way out of it."
"You know what kind of state he's in right now, right?" Scott asked. There was no time, however, to argue; a light rapping on the door interrupted the possibility.
Scott focused his mind; he could feel the presence of a somebody stood there; their heartbeat was seemingly steady, though it seemed to be a touch slower than it should be.
The Sheriff moved towards the door; the Pack leaned towards it as much as they could from their spots in the living room; curious and attentive to any possible threat. Only Scott moved out of his seat, walking right up behind the Sheriff.
The door swung open, and as Scott caught her scent for the first time, his eyes widened; he fought his inner wolf for control.
She smelt…delicious.
Power seemed to roll off her in waves; right to the tips of her hip-length, riotous brown curls. She looked up at Noah Stilinski; only a mere 5" in height; and yet all Scott could understand was the power radiating through her.
What was she?
"Hello! You must be Sheriff Stilinski; it's nice to finally be able to put a face to the name!" The girl beamed, her voice like honey and melted chocolate.
Scott felt an unbearable whim to submit.
In front of him, Noah chuckled, a surprised "Oof" escaping him as he was caught in a quick embrace.
"I've heard so much about you; about Stiles' enigmatic pen pal from across the shore."
The girl ducked her head slightly as she stood back, her amber eyes sparkling ask a light blush sprinkled itself on her cheeks. Scott finally managed to bring himself under control; and in good time too, for when the Brit looked up she beamed widely, catching his eyes.
"You must be Scott!" She smiled, holding out a hand. "Stiles has talked of your childhood exploits in vivid detail." She giggled slightly as Scott's ears burned red; still, he shook her hand, noticing a polite yet firm grip.
His mom had always said that the type of handshake a person gave was important.
"I hope Stiles at least told you some of the less embarrassing stories, too."
"I wouldn't count on it." She winked, then laughed brightly.
It had seemed all her previous power had dissipated. She still smelt…delectable; however the only supernatural power about her seemed to be the mass of hair that was a being unto itself.
"Where is the guy I was hoping to see, anyway?" Hermione asked curiously, tilting her head. She moved without answer, towards the living room. "O-Oh! Hello. I'm so sorry to intrude!" She said, eyes widened at the impromptu welcome-committee. From behind her, Scott noticed Derek, Malia, and Isaac; they were watching the girl with intense gazes, and Scott realised that they had all sensed how powerful she was.
Lydia stepped forward brightly; ever the social butterfly.
"Hi, I'm Lydia! Welcome to Beacon Hills; I'm so sorry, we honestly had no idea you were visiting until around five minutes ago." She stated; the girl laughed keenly.
"Oh, don't worry about it whatsoever."
"Anyway, this is Malia," Lydia said, pointing towards the werecoyote whom waved. She then pointed to each of the Pack members in turn. "That's Kira. He's Derek, and next to him is Isaac."
"It's a pleasure to meet you all; Stiles has talked about you so much in his letters to me." She smiled kindly; her expression changed, however, with the dark and sombre look that was passed around.
"W-what's happened?" She asked, her concern rising. The Pack seemed to be warring itself with answers.
But they didn't need to.
At that moment, a large shout, followed by a crashing noise sounded from upstairs.
The girl's eyes widened and, without warning or asking, she moved towards the staircase.
Scott followed hurriedly, futile attempts to bring her back downstairs escaping his lips even as the Pack and the Sheriff followed.
She stopped in front of his door, and took a moment, before she rapped on it in a three-five-three beat.
"Go away, Scott!" Stiles called; his voice even more hoarse and scratchy than before.
Hermione seemingly growled, causing the hairs on Scott's neck to prick up.
"I should think that you would mistake me for one of your female friends before you do your brother, Ahote." (1)
The use of a foreign language halted all sound; though Scott felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest as an almost silent shuffling of feet became louder.
The door swung open suddenly. Stiles; face ghostly white, an almost deathly countenance upon his face, appeared like a spirit. His eyes immediately found the concerned-yet-stern girl, his eyes widening. He gasped slightly, stumbling back.
"Are you real?" He asked, his hand moving forward of his own accord, reaching out to her.
She smiled softly. "Yes." She said, as if that was all that was needed; as if it explained everything.
For Stiles, it seemed to; for in a heartbeat, he had moved, embracing the girl tightly, burying his head in her hair as he slumped against her, sobbing brokenly. Stumbling momentarily by his weight, she took no notice of them as she began humming softly; moving Stiles towards his bed as she sang a soft lullaby.
"I see the moon, the moon sees me, shining through the leaves of the old oak tree…" She continued singing, her voice soft and almost…adoring. Scott stepped back slightly, almost feeling like an intruder. The girl seemed to calm Stiles down almost immediately; but she never stopped singing or running her hair through his hands. Indeed, she just held him close as he sobbed.
"…Oh, let the light that shines on me, shine on the one I love." The rhythmic movements of her hand brushing his hair and the rise and fall of her chest were in sync with the timbre of the song; eventually, Scott noticed that Stiles' sobs turned into sniffles as his heartbeat evened out; beating in time with her own, slower-than-normal place.
And it was not just Stiles that was affected. Scott felt a calm wash over him as the girl sang; his heart seemed to slow and his mind seemed to quieten. He noticed the same happening with the rest of the Pack. It was as if she had woven in a sedative to her words. Scott knew, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, that he should be concerned.
But he filed it away for later. The girl was doing no harm, yet; in fact, if anything she was doing nothing but good.
"Over the mountains, over the sea, back where my heart is longing to be..."
They had become invisible to her, it seemed. Malia moved first, turning slowly, almost sleepily, around, moving downstairs, the soft tune as it started over without pause drifting with her as the others followed. Scott shut the door softly behind them.
As they reconvened in the living room, the atmosphere shifted.
"What was that?" Isaac asked, almost nervously. He looked on edge. "I felt this sudden wave of just.."
"Calm." Kira interrupted, blushing slightly as everybody's gaze snapped towards her. "I felt at peace, like I was safe." Slowly, the Pack nodded in assent.
"Who-what is she?" Lydia asked, her question mainly pointed at Derek.
"Hey, I don't have all the answers, you know." He quipped; but after the effects of the lullaby, it seemingly lacked its usual bite. Scott shook his head.
"I don't think she's a threat." He put plainly. "At least, not right now."
"He's right." Malia bit her lip slightly, nodding. "I didn't get any feelings of threat or danger…and Stiles feels safe. I know it."
"But it still doesn't answer the real question-who the hell is she?" Lydia countered. She liked the stranger so far; but she didn't even have the name of the girl. How was she supposed to begin to trust the girl if she didn't have a name to call her by?
"It's getting late." The soft tone of the Sheriff broke through their impromptu quizzing. "Scott, you're more than welcome to stay the night, but I think you'll have to take the couch if you do." Scott nodded.
"That's fine by me, Sir." Noah nodded, turning to the others.
"I've got to be getting back home, anyway." Kira stated, grabbing her bags. She nodded goodbye to everybody; her cheeks flushed as made eye contact with Scott-and she left, leaving the soft purring of a car behind her.
Her leaving seemed to trigger movement in the rest of the Pack. Malia had (albeit reluctantly) agreed to spend the night at Lydia's instead of staying at the Stilinski's, and the rest of the pack made their own ways out.
Soon, Scott was left alone.
He sighed exhaustively, rubbing his eyes. Moving towards the sofa, Scott grabbed one of the throw blankets left haphazardly on the seat, wriggling around until he was fairly comfortable; God only knew how often Scott had fallen asleep on that couch before.
He lay on his side. His hearing picked up the Sheriff's slow heartbeat as he slept on; as well as the thudding of Stiles' heart. The girl continued in her melody, never wavering.
A wave of rolling tiredness rushed through his limbs and Scott sagged, closing his eyes.
The last thing he remembered before he was swept away into a dreamless sleep was the never-ending lullaby.
Let the light that shines on me, shine on the ones that I love.
1. Ahote. Hopi (A Native American Tribe/dialect) that means Restless one, which I thought was prety accurate for our fave ADHD :')
Phew, first chapter over and done with! Please drop down your thoughts below! Tell me what your favourite part was, what you'd like to seeinthe fic, etcetera.
Much love!