The morning sun bathed Hogwarts with a soft dawn light, spilling over the vast expanse of craggy hills and verdant fields. There was a kind of stillness to the air from so high up and at so early in the morning. Though that particular peacefulness couldn't be known for its longevity with Finstock as the Flying Instructor.
"Pathetic! Unbelievably pathetic! What, are you training for ballet?"

"Coach," Scott called, veering his broomstick downwards. "Are you sure this is the kind of pep talk we need right now?"

"You just worry about catching the snitch, McCall. I was trying to offer you guys a few pointers, to save you the embarrassment of getting slaughtered by Ravenclaw."

"It's only our second practice. And the game isn't for, like, a month."

"Hey, the Headmaster was the one who made it mandatory for a teacher to be present during Quidditch practice… After recent incidents, thank you, Greenberg. How do you even manage to hit yourself with a Beater's bat?" Striding away from Scott, Coach Finstock cried out, "Jared! Airsick, again? How did you even make the team?"

"Hey, Scott," Stiles called, diving to meet him. Stiles' movements on a broom weren't as clean or practiced as Scott's but he'd managed to make the cut for second line-up. "Want to try being Keeper so I can take a few shots?"

"Uh, sure," Scott said, though his warm brown eyes were fixated on some vantage point over Stiles' shoulder. "But I think it'll have to wait. Harris is coming over and he looks pretty—"

"—Oh no. Is here for real?" Stiles slumped forward on his broom, while locking eyes with the potions master. Scowling with a frown that would rival Derek's signature look, Stiles landed on ground, though not as gracefully as he would've liked.

"Adrian!" Finstock cried enthusiastically, waving his fellow colleague over. "Didn't know you were a fan of the art that we call Quidditch."

"Actually, I'm here to talk to one of my students."

"Is it Greenberg? Man, I don't know what that kid's problem is."

"Stilinski, actually." Harris' voice was clipped and carefully measured, and if Stiles had any common sense, he'd use his broomstick to fly far, far away. Instead he meandered closer towards him, biting back several curses. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was present, and if Harris murdered him, at least he'd have eye witnesses that would help his father, who happened to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, send Harris straight to Azkaban. "Come with me, please."

"Professor, is this about the dead body we found? Because I was kind of in the middle of a practice, so if we could make this quick—"

"Quiet."

"Yea…kay. Quiet. I can do that."

"Don't think I don't know what you and Hale were up to."

Stiles' mouth fell open in surprise because, honestly, he didn't even know what they'd been 'up to'.

"Syrup of Hellebore, crushed Wolfsbane, both missing from my potions cupboards. Don't let me catch either of you stealing from me again."

Wait, what? Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Harris was already walking away. "Oh, and after dinner, meet me outside the Forbidden Forest. You'll be serving detention elsewhere today."

-x-

Rather than heading back to the Quidditch pitch, Stiles decided to spend the rest of his morning at the library (after retrieving his school bag, that is). Might as well catch up on his homework while he had the chance. Getting lectured by Harris before noon had been enough to ruin his Saturday, but with detention hanging over his head, he knew things were only going to get worse.

The musty scent of old paper permeated through the air, and Stiles inhaled deeply as he walked through the doors. The library was almost completely deserted, aside from the odd student. Stiles settled down into a chair, before opening his Ancient Runes text book. He honestly had no idea why he was even taking the class. Professor Morrell definitely didn't make it an easy one to pass. It was kind of interesting, though. Or it would be, if Stiles was better at focusing.

He managed to transcribe about a half a page, before he froze. One of the symbols looked strangely familiar. It was a kind of swirl shape, branching off into three different sections. The book he and Derek had been looking at before getting caught by Harris had had the exact rune. Half of the text had been written in Latin, or some other dead language Stiles didn't recognize, but there had been a number of elaborate runes marking the pages.

Easing into a standing position, which wasn't that easy with all of his bulky Quidditch gear, Stiles began leafing through some old books, searching for any available to students that contained information on runes. He wandered up and down a few aisles,before hesitating. The low rumble of voices carried from past the shelf he was currently facing. He tilted his head forwards. The timbre of the first voice was soft, yet deep, and the second voice was distinctly feminine.

"Are you sure you didn't just lose it?"

"I never took it out of my bag. Someone stole it."

"No offense, Erica," a third voice cut in, "but why exactly did you have a concealment charm on the inside of your bag in the first place?"

"Well," she hissed, "if people go through my bag, I don't exactly want them finding my feminine stuff, now do I?"

"Fair enough."

"If it was invisible, how do you know it wasn't stolen a while ago?"

Stiles shifted one of the books on the shelf over, peaking through the thin space to make out Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. Erica's eyes were fringed with mascara, and she and Boyd had traded their robes for Muggle clothes. Isaac was still wearing his Hufflepuff robes, which, after his recent growth spurt, barely extended to his ankles.

"I don't know," Erica conceded, "but it was a family heirloom and I need it back." Boyd's expression softened, but Isaac still looked confused.

"I really don't get why anyone would steal a bracelet of teeth."

A sound of surprise slipped from Stiles' throat, and Erica, Boyd, and Isaac turned sharply to face him. His cheeks suffused with color at being caught so blatantly eavesdropping, but Erica only smiled, her bright red lips curving upwards.

"Hello, Stiles."

He flailed a bit before responding. "Uh, hey, Erica. Boyd. Isaac."

"How was detention with your... monosyllabic boyfriend?" Erica asked casually.

Stiles swallowed thickly, willing his voice to sound level. The last thing he needed was giving Erica Reyes more ammunition. "Oh, well, you know Derek, always talking up a storm."

"Right," she smirked. "So what brings you to the library this early?"

"Oh, just picking out a book for some light reading."

She nodded seriously, a stray blonde curl falling farther into her face. "Here's a book," she said, pulling a random one off the shelf. "Enjoy."

"Thanks," Stiles said with forced cheeriness, reaching a hand through the book shelf to accept the leather-bound book as a placating gesture. Erica leaned in, dangerously close to his ear, and he felt his pulse stutter. Erica was a Slytherin after all, and they had a reputation for being ruthless.

"Since you kind of owe me," she whispered, her lips barely moving, "take Isaac with you. He's kind of being the third-wheel."

Stiles blinked in surprise, and Erica seemed to savor his bemused reaction. "Uh, right. Hey, Isaac?" he fumbled for words, "Want to hang out for a bit?"

"Is Scott going to be around?" Isaac asked.

"Nah, he's still at Quidditch practice. And he usually takes a shower after that."

"Right, shower," Isaac nodded, "are you going to take one too?"

Stiles' eyebrows jumped. He wasn't sure where this was going.

"Because no offense, but you, uh, you kind of smell."

-x-

Stiles meandered through the corridor, eyes set on the Great Hall. From where he stood outside, he could already see floating jack-o-lanterns and decorations suspended from the high-vaulted ceiling. Cobwebs tangled around looming pillars, and ghosts flitted about, some engaged in conversation with the students, while others just wandered aimlessly. The lighting was dim, but the ceiling reflected the sky, which was currently a uniform pink receding into a darkening blue. Sunset was easily his favorite time of day, and the gold-pink hue of the sky enveloped the room in a gauzy aura.

Stiles maneuvered his way around a trio of dancing skeletons, and only stumbled twice as headed for the Gryffindor table. On Scott's right was an empty space, presumably for Stiles, and on his left was Isaac, who was sandwiched between Scott and Allison. The three of them were deep in conversation, and there was something both sad and fond to Scott's smile.

They hadn't noticed Stiles yet, and he was about to call out a greeting, when someone cut directly in front of him. That someone had a pained expression on his face, as if conversing with Stiles was a chore.

"We're going to the Forbidden Forest." Derek said gruffly, and Stiles barely heard him over the din of chattering voices and clanking cutlery.

Arching an eyebrow, he tried to side-step him. "I haven't eaten yet."

"You can eat when we get back."

"It's six O'clock! All the food will be gone."

"Then why weren't you here earlier?" Derek asked impatiently.

"I was taking a shower, and before that I was trying to get rid of Isaac."

Something almost imperceptible changed in Derek's expression, but the gaze he fixed Stiles next was withering. "We're going."

"Not before I eat something," Stiles protested, because he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing. Just because Derek was older, and taller, and well built (and also really good looking), didn't mean Stiles was going to be intimidated.

"Here," Derek muttered with a resigned sigh, thrusting a napkin wrapped pumpkin pasty into his hands. "Now let's go."

"Can't. I'm allergic to pumpkin."

Derek squinted at him, as if to say 'who the hell is allergic to pumpkin?' Finally shaking his head, Derek affixed his hand to Stiles' shoulder, and forced him to follow. The sounds of bright laughter and chattering voices faded to a distant rumble, and the only sound that followed was the growling of Stiles' stomach.

Once outside, Derek narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him. "What?" Stiles demanded. Wordlessly, Derek leaned forward, his thumb brushing the corner of Stiles' mouth and leaving a blazing trail of heat. Stiles froze. Derek's thumb was close enough to his mouth that if he licked his lip…

"Crumb," Derek said simply, and that single word was enough to snap him out of his stupor.

"Okay, fine, I'm not actually allergic to pumpkin. But this is the second time I've missed the Halloween feast and you still haven't explained why we have to go to detention early."

"It's a full moon tonight."

"So?"

"So, when has being out on a full moon ever been a good thing?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're superstitious."

Derek didn't answer, and instead continued walking across the grounds. Much to his chagrin, Stiles felt his feet immediately follow Derek, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Only when they reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest did Derek's footsteps falter. "Did Harris tell you what we'd be doing?"

"No," Stiles said slowly, "but he did chew me out with allegations that I stole Hellebore and Wolfsbane from the potions cabinet."

Derek's gaze widened at the revelation. "Wolfsbane," he murmured, before shaking his head. "Well, he told me. I'm looking for a body."

"Wha—another one?"

"When was the last time you saw the Groundskeeper?"

"Uh, I dunno, the guy's kind of a recluse."

"He's been missing for almost a month. A letter with his signature was sent to the Headmaster, explaining that he was taking a leave of absence."

Okaaay," Stiles said slowly, languidly, drawing the word out.

"All magic has a unique handprint, and the note 'he' gave hinted at traces of a forgery enchantment. And none of his stuff has left his house. It's like the guy got up and left all of his possessions. That or he was kidnapped."

Stiles' face scrunched up in confusion. "So, we're trying to find the dead body of a guy who may or may not be dead in the Forbidden Forest, of all places?"

"No. I'm looking for a dead body. You are collecting knotgrass for our detention."

"What? Why do I have to?"

"Because I already have a rough idea of where the body could be. As a prefect, the teachers aren't as careful about gossiping around me."

"You know, Derek," Stiles said slowly, "I've had conversations with portraits that make more sense."

"Just follow me for now, and stick to the paths."

"Right, sure, follow the crazy dude who thinks there's a body out there. You know, Derek, just because you're attractive doesn't mean you're not secretly a psychopath."

"Shut up and walk."

Muttering to himself, Stiles reluctantly, albeit obediently, followed Derek. Dessicated leaves crackled underfoot as they walked. The trees began to grow thicker, blotting out the last remaining rays of sun, and forcing them to continue on through the perpetual gloom.

Stiles' wand protruded from the sleeve of his cloak, and with a whisper of, "lumos," there was enough light for them to see. The walk was long, and quiet, and Stiles tried to grasp at something to break the silence. Finally he just sighed, "did you figure out anything else about the teeth?"

Derek hesitated. "No."

"Too bad. Because I found something else out."

"Oh?" Stiles couldn't see Derek's expression, but he had a feeling the guy was just humoring him.

Stiles considered withholding the small piece of information he'd gathered, but he wasn't one to keep things to himself. "Someone stole a bracelet from Erica's schoolbag. A bracelet made of teeth." This, apparently, was enough to gain Derek's attention, because he whirled around so fast Stiles was surprised he didn't get whiplash.

"Who stole it? And when?"

"See, if I knew that, I wouldn't be bothering to tell you right now, but I don't know, and it would be a hell of a lot easier to figure out if you'd share what you know."

Derek grunted, and Stiles was just about to give up, when he started speaking, low, and quiet, as if one of the trees was suddenly going to eavesdrop. "That book I found in the restricted section of the library... It was a summoning book. Capable of invoking the powers of daemonic entities and hell spirits. I'm not good at reading archaic Latin, but I did recognize the word for tooth in there. It just doesn't seem like a coincidence. Someone steals a few pages from it, and suddenly people are being killed for their teeth."

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not sure how to figure out who's behind the murders, but I do know someone who can read archaic Latin."

"Really?"

Stiles felt just a bit smug as he nodded. "Lydia Martin."

Rather than looking relieved, Derek's face contorted into a scowl. "You stay here. There's a patch of knotgrass up ahead. I'll meet you back a bit later." Stiles started to protest, but Derek had already turned to leave. Muttering to himself, Stiles began gathering knotgrass. It was slow, tedious work and he wasn't sure exactly how much Harris wanted, so he figured he might as well collect all of it from this particular patch. Sweat began pooling along his pack, but when Stiles tried to wipe his sweaty palms on his robes, they slid right off, failing to absorb anything. The temperature was starting to drop, he could see faint streams of moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees. Derek still wasn't back, but he wasn't going to wait around all night. Rising to his feet, and tucking a bushel of knotgrass under each arm, Stiles hesitated. He was a few feet away from the main dirt path, but something didn't feel right. There were all kinds of creatures residing in the Forbidden Forest. Derek might've become werewolf chow by now. Or trampled by a centaur. Or made a nice drink for a vampire. Or any other number of possibilities. Sighing inwardly, Stiles used the four pointer spell to locate Derek.

When he finally found Derek, he felt partial relief that he had not, in fact, been trampled by a centaur. A face that perfect did not deserve to be trampled. On the other hand, Derek was hunched against a tree, his breathing ragged.

"Uh... Derek?"

"Lost track of time. Head back without me."

"Dude, are you sure?"

"Just go!"

Nodding slowly, Stiles turned to leave. He would have, too, if not for the gasp Derek let out. He swallowed thickly, because that was a sound he wouldn't mind hearing again. Risking a glance at Derek, Stiles' amber eyes met a bright, glowing blue. So not a trick of the light. Since there weren't any torches or lamplights that could be giving that effect. Just Derek's eyes. Which were blue. A brilliant, scintillating blue.
For a brief moment, Derek just stared into Stiles' eyes; and his gaze was unforgiving. And then he shook his head, and choked a gasp of "run."

Stiles didn't run, not at first. Because Derek was evidently in pain, but his limbs were starting to elongate, and his mouth was forming a snout, and oh god, he didn't look like a cuddly puppy anymore; he looked like a vicious wolf that was planning on tearing Stiles apart without a second thought. Stiles thought distantly of how Derek had cringed when he'd said that Wolfsbane from Harris' cupboard had been stolen, and back to the restricted section of the library, their first real encounter, when he'd glared accusingly at Stiles. The reason Stiles had snuck in was because he'd promised to retrieve a lycanthropy book for Scott. As soon as Derek had seen Stiles with the book in hand, he'd glared, as if Stiles has personally offended him. Attending school with a murderer lurking about was one thing, but being in love with a werewolf was another. He was so dead. Possibly literally. Hopefully just metaphorically, though.