Derek Hale hated a lot of things. Full moons, for example. And big sisters. And werewolf hunters. Especially werewolf hunters who decided they had the right to kill entire families, simply because they all suffered from lycanthropy.

But even more, Derek Hale hated being 16 years old and still being forced to go to school.

It wasn't as if he was going to get a job anyway. Sure, the laws had been improved, and technically, it was no longer legal to discriminate based on blood status or magical illnesses. Still, the other students seemed to prefer cramming together at the other end of the long table, rather than sitting next to him, giving Derek extra long leg and claw and fang space. Even the Ravenclaws behind him avoided to sit too close, leaving a big gap on the bench.

As the doors to the Great Hall opened, the whispers inside intensified. Derek didn't get the big deal, since he didn't expect this sorting to be any different to the ones he'd seen the previous five years – the hat would sing some stupid song about peace and love and understanding, and then continue to sort the kids into different houses, where everything evolved around hating whoever wasn't in that house. Or, in Derek's case, hating everyone in that house as well.

Professor Filch (who was shorter than almost all the eleven-year-olds he'd escorted through the hall) cleared his throat and started reading from a list of names. Derek crossed his arms and stared on his empty plate. He was bored already.

"Argent, Allison."

Derek flinched. Argent was a pure-blood name. It also was the name of an ancient werewolf hunter family (a business that was illegal, but not unheard of). It also happened to be the name of thefamily that had hunted his family down. Even though he didn't want to, he couldn't stop himself from looking at the girl. With brown wavy hair, thick eyebrows and a square jaw, she didn't look much like the relative that had been sent to Azkaban. But she did have a decisive look over her pierced lips, as the hat sat on top of her have, seemingly having a hard time knowing where to put her. Derek twisted his wand in his hand, not knowing whether he wanted to slit her throat, or run out of the Great Hall and out of the castle and never come back.

"Gryffindor," the hat finally shouted out, and Derek (and every other person in the room) looked as the girl walked over to the table next to his. Having his back towards her table, he suddenly wished he'd chosen the bench facing the other way, because this way, he felt trapped. Luckily, she was seated close to the teachers' table at the other end, and he could almost see her at all times in the corner of his eye.

Gryffindor. So she was the rash and stupid kind of person, then. Or 'brave', as all the Gryffindors themselves called it. 'Brave'. There's nothing brave about using fiendfyre to burn a house to the ground, with almost all its inhabitants still in it.

"Boyd, Vernon," Professor Flitwick called out, but Derek was barely listening.

Logically, he knew he shouldn't do anything. Logically, he knew that this girl was only eleven years old, and had nothing to do with killing his family. Logically, he should do his best to ignore her, and just focus on his seventeenth birthday a few months away, when he could leave this school and never, ever look back. But if he'd been logical, he'd been placed in Ravenclaw.

Apparently the Boyd kid was placed in Hufflepuff, which resulted in him coming to Derek's table. Not that it mattered – there was still plenty of room for no one having to sit near him.

(And yes, Derek realized the irony of being a werewolf and at the same time a Hufflepuff, the least intimidating house of all. He really hadn't had much luck in life.)

During the sorting, Derek thought a lot of thoughts he was glad no one else could hear – thoughts involving every hex and curse and dark spell he'd ever been heard of, and whether a lifetime in Azkaban would be worth it. Seeing as his only other future was a lifetime with Laura, he was leaning towards a 'yes'. And if Dementors ate happy memories, they wouldn't get a lot of those from him anyway.

But of course he wouldn't actually do anything. He was, after all, a Hufflepuff – the leftovers, rather than smart or brave or cunning.

They'd reached L now, with Lahey, Isaac, who pretty quickly was placed in Gryffindor, even though he had a scared look on his face.

And then it was Mahealani, Daniel, who was sorted into Hufflepuff as soon as the hat touched his black hair. The kid, who looked older than eleven, walked down the hall, and sat down next to Derek. Without him noticing, a lot of kids had been sorted into his house, and there wasn't much extra room left.

"Hi, I'm Danny," the kid said, smiling to Derek and the rest of the students around him, while Martin, Lydia was sorted into Ravenclaw. Derek gave him a look without returning the greeting, and as he scuffled away a bit, he heard a ginger boy whisper: "Don't even bother – he's a werewolf."

"I still don't think McGonagall should let people like him go here, no matter what the Ministry says. They know he's dangerous – why would he have gotten his own room if he wasn't?" someone else said in a low tone of voice, probably too stupid to realize that with lycanthropy came excellent hearing. Derek glared at him, effectively shutting him up – he didn't even tell him that the reason he'd gotten his room was because when he first got here, his so-called class mates had rather slept in the common room than in the same room as him.

He honestly thought about leaving, but he was extremely hungry (with Laura unemployed and him in school, they didn't really have an abundance of food around at their still smoke-smelling but mostly restored home).

After Reyes, Erica had been sorted into Slytherin, Professor Flitwick called out a name that made all of the students laugh (and even some of the staff members had to hide smiles).

"Stilinski, Elvendork."

" 's Stiles," a squeaky voice insisted, with the tone of someone who knew that absolutely no one would ever call him anything but Elvendork.

"Elvendork is the name of many successful wizards and witches," the Sorting Hat said as it was put on the boy's buzz cut head, but even the old headgear looked amused.

"Well, I think it must be … Gryffindor!" the hat shouted out after a few seconds, and the table to the right started cheering loudly. As Elvendork Stilinski made his way down the hall, people wolf-whistled, and Derek felt strange – he realized that the feeling resembled hope. Maybe, just maybe, there would be someone else who'd be the center of attention for a change, rather than him.

The kid sat down behind Derek, and his hopes grew with every minute, because Elvendork was loud and about as smooth as barbed wire.

"It's probably a typo. My real name is … Elvendale. No. Elvis. Elvira – that's NOT a girl's name." Elvendork sighed. "Look. Just call me Stiles, okay? All my friends do it. Well, that is – one friend and my dad. But if I had more friends, they totally would!"

"If you say so, Elvendork," someone at the Gryffindor table said with a laugh.

There was only one more first year left to be sorted, and Derek couldn't wait for the food to arrive. Jackson Whittemore was sorted into Slytherin, and then, fucking finally, the food appeared on the table. Derek grabbed whatever meat he could get, and didn't care that his lack of manners got him looks.

"He's a WHAT?" someone shouted out behind him, and Derek closed his eyes. He knew that sort of outbursts, and also knew what mostly followed – shouting and panicking and spells being fired.

Which meant that he wasn't exactly prepared for someone intensely tapping on his shoulder.

Derek let the meat fall to the plate, and slowly turned around while wiping the meat sauces away from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was hoping that the mere look of his less-than-happy face would scare the intruder off, but instead he was met by a pair of really round, brown eyes, inches from his own face.

"Is it true?" Elvendork asked, so close Derek could smell his breath. Apparently, he'd given the kidney pudding a go. "You're a werewolf?"

Derek shoved him away, almost making the kid fall to the floor. "Yes," he answered and turned back around to finish his food.

Apparently, this was one particularly stupid kid, because seconds later he forced the Hufflepuffs to make some room, squeezing himself into the seat next to Derek.

"That is SO COOL," the eleven-year-old said with a stupid grin over his face.

"What's wrong with you?" Derek asked. "Besides the fact that you're named Elvendork, of course."

"It's Stiles," the kid repeated. "So, you turn into a wolf every full moon? Do you howl? Can you control it? Are you allowed in the Forbidden Forest? Is that where you go? Can I see you transform sometime?"

Derek stared at him. "Honestly. What the fuck is wrong with you?" He shook his head. "Look, whoever put you up to this, know that you better stay out of my way."

"Or what?" the kid said with a manic smile. He was obviously mentally disturbed and belonged at St. Mungos.

"Well, since officially threatening you could get me expelled, you'll just have to use your imagination." Derek got up, having lost his appetite.

"So cool," Elvendork repeated. "See ya later!" he called after Derek as he left.

Fucking hell, Derek thought to himself, making his way to his room in the Hufflepuff basement. He'd have to make sure that kid never got close to him again.

(He had no idea that a few hours later, he'd be woken up by that same kid stumbling in to his room, simultaneously knocking over his trunk, ripping down the bed curtains and setting off the security hex that Derek had put up, claiming to "have gotten lost while looking for the Gryffindor bathroom". Nor that the security hex had a construction flaw which made it impossible for anyone to escape to room, forcing Derek to spend the night with Elvendork. And the next three days, since that was how long it took before anyone figured that maybe they should check on whether Derek was still alive. This while the staff searched through the entire school and its ground for the little Gryffindor brat, thinking he'd been eaten by the Giant Squid.

And yes, by then Derek knew he wouldn't be rid of Stiles until he graduated Hogwarts. Probably not even then. And it didn't make him entirely pissed off.)