"Derek?" A voice behind him questioned, and he slowly turned towards one of his young Betas. Erica. Really, she was the only one he had left. After Boyle...Isaac was more Scott's now; though the two Alphas (both in their own right) seemed to work together more often than a part. They were truly one pack...just with two Alphas.

Hey, if a literal Alpha pack existed, then one small pack could handle a born wolf and a True Alpha sharing the top dog position.

No pun intended. That was more of a Stiles thing.

Sighing slightly, he raised an eyebrow. The dirty blonde shook her curls, as if nervous about receiving punishment for the words on the tip of her tongue.

"What's been happening? You've holed me up the past few days, Derek. I have no clue what's been going on."

"You've been holed up because you backpedalled with your control and it was a full moon."

Erica growled slightly. It was true that she struggled a lot more after her lover's demise, but she was getting better every day, as much as it pained her.

"Cut the bullshit."

Derek's eyes flashed red and on instinct, Erica shrank away, head downturned. He would be right to punish her.

But he didn't. Instead, he moved to rest his hands on her shoulders, and, albeit reluctantly, she turned to meet the eyes of her Alpha.

"A lot's been going on, Erica. And I wasn't sure whether you'd be ready to face something else. I explained what happened with Stiles, didn't I?"

"Eventually. As in, after Aiden died and Allison became a fucking vegetable."

"Erica. I promise I'll explain to you soon. In fact, I'm calling a pack meeting tonight." He said sombrely, moving to sit on the couch, expelling a long-awaited sigh of exhaustion. The young wolf moved, sitting on the floor by him, her hands folded over herself and knees tucked away.

"What's happened? You don't call a meeting unless some big bad is around..." She questioned.

"Are you sure you're ready, Erica? I understand if you're not; you lost somebody you cared for." He murmured, and the look in his eyes said he understood perfectly what that felt like.

Because he truly did.

There was a beat, where Erica considered his words.

"I can't...I can't stay here, or in that abandoned train cart or some place else. All...isolated. Boyle he- he wouldn't have wanted that. I'm ready. I trust you."

"And that's all I ask."


"Dear God on Earth Lydia, it's not that big a deal!" Stiles groaned, rubbing his temples.

"Not that big a deal?" Lydia near-shrieked, her eyes wide and threatening. Her gaze then narrowed, as if analysing how much of an idiot Stiles truly was.

"Free, expensive, designer couture is always a big deal Stilinski!"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Stiles munched on a fry. The midday sun beat down on their backs from where they sat outside, their food (a burger and curly fries a la cafeteria for him) spread out among various parts of the table. Kira snapped up a slice of pizza, happily pleased by the news, even as Malia's nose wrinkled.

"Why do we have to wear a fancy dress anyway?" She asked, a grimace on her face at the thought. "I didn't know Beacon Hills even did fancy dances."

"It's not a fancy dance. It's a Welcoming Ball. It's traditional where Hermione comes from; so it's only natural that she wants one here." Lydia replied. She was excited about the event, and even more so when Stiles had told her about how Hermione had (in his words), "hooked them up" with only the best.

Scott, ever the mediator, jumped in, switching the topic.

"How is she doing, by the way? With the bodies and stuff." He asked, a frown tugging lopsidedly on his face, eyes furrowed slightly. The sun, though it had been pleasant before, suddenly felt dry and suffocating. Stiles took a tight swallow of his drink, inhaling the slightly peppery taste.

"She's doing better than I am, actually. I know it's odd, but...It's like she's-"

"-Seen them before?" Scott pushed, a confused and concerned look on his face. There was a beat before Stiles nodded. He hated the idea that Hermione had ever seen a dead body; let alone could possibly have created a dead body. But the look on her face...

"Yeah, almost. I don't know. Like she'd seen a body before. I was trying not to throw up when I saw it, and heck, even Dad and Derek looked a bit spooked, but Hermione just...stood there. As if she were taking notes of a history book or something."

Malia's head tilted to the side in thought, before she leant forward.

"Do you think she could've-"

"No," Stiles responded shortly, meeting Malia's gaze with an intensity she'd never seen. A shiver crawled down Malia's back, and she moved away from him, even as Stiles' gaze switched towards Scott.

"There is no way Hermione hurt anyone." He said, in a voice that brokered absolutely no argument whatsoever, whether from the True Alpha or any of the Pack.

"Okay, Stiles. I believe you." He responded, the atmosphere thick with the sudden tension.

"Stiles, we all know that you would be the first person to tell us if you thought something was up, no matter who it was. You say it wasn't Hermione? Then it wasn't Hermione." Lydia reassured, moving to rest her hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head stiffly towards her, taking in her earnest eyes, and nodded. Stiles' body sagged as if the air had left him.

"Did Derek find anything? I can't make a crime board whilst Hermione's at the house, she's a genius and I don't want her stumbling into danger." Stiles asked Scott suddenly.

"No, he didn't. But he wants to call a pack meeting tonight, about eight. You able to get away from the house?" Scott questioned, taking a final bite out of his sandwich.

"Yeah, Hermione's gone up to her house today. She said she's gonna be late 'cause she has some errands to run or something."

"Well, that's settled then!" Lydia exclaimed happily and firmly, clapping her hands. "Finish school, you guys go to Lacrosse practice, I'll book us all appointments from those boutiques, and then we go to Derek's."


A place, 100 miles north of civilisation, Somewhere. Sometime, MDT.

The crunch of the snow under rigid leather boots echoed around the alleyways, carried by the frigid wind that was infused with the crisp tartness of the snowflakes that was usually absent at this time of year. The thick furs that weighted down on Hermione's shoulders dragged heavily, her face pink with cold as she puffed the air out of her mouth, cheeks and nose dusted with a rosy hue and her freckles stark against the pinked flesh of her full cheeks. Her wand cast a consistent Lumos as her only guiding light.

"I know my contacts said I could trust you, but this whole silent brooding is only validating my inherent mistrust in strangers." Hermione quipped, channelling the snark she'd grown to create after repeated exposure to Harry and Stiles throughout the years.

Her contact, Kylar, turned to her, the furs of his own weighty jacket tickling his nose as he glared at her, dark grey eyes heavy. His eyebrows were pulled back, choking on a snarl.

"Do you have any comprehension of the word silence?" He spat, his voice hushed and carrying an air of weighty gravity, his slight accent- Slavic in nature, though Hermione couldn't quite place it- rumbled through in a thick brogue.

Hermione huffed.

"I'm not the Brightest Witch of my age for nothing, you know. I have full comprehension of the word silence. Silence is a noun, and means 'complete absence of sound.' And this would be considered ironic, as-"

Hermione's tirade was cut short by Kylar clamping a thick, heavy hand over her mouth; before Hermione could kick out, Kylar pressed his hooked nose against hers.

"Silence."

There was a beat, in which Hermione just glared. If she had any more impudence, she would have licked his hand; but she really didn't want to know where his hands have been, lately. Sighing inwardly, Hermione nodded. The wind whistled around her ears and she let out a long, exaggerated breath. Kylar nodded at her before, finally, removing his hand. He turned on his heel, to continue stalking forward into the night and she followed him hastily, feet dragging small tracks. A dark shadow loomed ahead, still a while away through the snow.

After what seemed like an age, Kylar stopped in place, turning and gesturing roughly to a door against what appeared to be a behemoth boulder. It was oh-so-lovingly framed with rubbish bags, creating a pungent and acrid smell that caused Hermione's stomach to lurch.

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione watched attentively as Kylar took his wand and pressed it against the door. Three times, then two times, then five times.

Waiting seemed to drag on far too long before Hermione was able to hear shuffling coming from behind the door.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a rattle; Hermione refrained from jumping, but her eyes did widen minutely. A short, wiry-looking man swung open the doors, even shorter than her own minuscule stature. His eyebrows were thick, bushy and pepper-grey, and his nose was sharp and twitchy. Hermione mentally compared him to a mouse or rat in appearance, and immediately, she tensed.

She was not fond of rats.

He shook slightly as he stood, and a high pitched voice finally wheezed from thin and chapped lips as he removed a wand from his pocket, turning it on Kylar.

"Password." He wheedled. Kylar rolled his eyes slightly but responded in the same gruff baritone.

"Morrigan." The man-Mouse, Hermione started mentally naming him; jumped up, clapping his hands.

"It's great to see you, Kylar!" He greeted, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he inspected the stock still Kylar before her. Hermione herself took stock of the differences between them, her mind already analysing and cataloguing anything and everything.

Where Kylar was still and strong; Mouse was twitchy and small, ever-moving.

They finally turned towards Hermione.

"Is this her?" Mouse asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, a twinkle in his eyes that Hermione was not a stranger to. It made her uncomfortable.

Like a lamb coming to the slaughterhouse.

"Would I be here if she wasn't?" Kylar replied gruffly, the words punched through the air and getting carried away on the wind. Hermione huffed. She didn't like being looked at as a slab of meat; at the very least they could direct their words to her, for goodness' sake.

"Excuse me, but "her" is right here and has a name."

"Trust me, we know, Hermione Jane Granger." Mouse grinned, before shifting aside to let them in. Kylar was about to step forward, but Hermione moved first.

She was not a lamb for the slaughterhouse, and it would do both Kylar and Mouse to truly understand Hermione's true nature, should they wish to survive.

Hermione had never been a lamb.

She was a lion.


Beacon Hills County Police Station, 6 PM PST

Sheriff Stilinski sighed in exasperation, his elbows on the desk and hands at the back of his neck as his forehead touched the solid wood in tired irritation.

He was working on the case of the body pile, and just received the coroner's notes.

All injuries? Made post-mortem.

Even the decapitation.

No poison, no brute force...like they just up and died.

There was nothing connecting the victims, either. All different colour and creeds. There was not a single variable that was alike for any of them; not except for the method of murder. (And some even wondered whether it was murder or just a lot of coincidental accidents. Stilinski shot that idea down straight away.)

There was a rapping at the door.

"Dad?" Stiles asked, moving into the room. Noah looked up.

"Hey, kid." he said, leaning back in his chair.

"How's the case going?" Stiles asked.

"Like a lot of our cases have gone," Noah snarked, "Down the gutter." Stiles dropped a bag onto the desk and Noah took it, sniffing it. To his disappointment, it wasn't fast food like he hoped, rather-

"What the hell even is this?"

"Jeez, Dad. A thank you is all I need." Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. "Anyway. It's a chicken, broccoli, and beetroot salad with couscous and avocado pesto. You do not need to be ingesting cholesterol into your system every late night." He defended, and Noah, resignedly, nodded thanks to his son.

He'll get a deputy to grab him something later.

"Do you have any ideas, son?" The Sheriff asked seriously. He trusted Stiles' keen observational skills. Sadly, Stiles shook his head.

"Not yet, no. Derek's holding a pack meeting tonight, and, he's even invited Deaton. I'm probably not going to be home until later."

"That's okay Son. Just stay safe. Have you told Hermione?" Noah asked, moving some of his files behind him. Stiles sighed, flopping into the chair in front of his father's desk, and let out a long drawn sigh.

"She's running errands, she messaged me earlier, she's going to be back tomorrow, she thinks. Apparently people 'just cannot do their jobs correctly.'" Stiles responded. Noah just gave his son a pointed look until he blushed, ducking his head.

"Not what I meant."

"Oh, yeah. No, not happened yet."

"Well, why not?"

"Oh, because I can just go 'Oh, hey Hermione, how are you doing, you look great today also my friends are all supernatural and I was once possessed and murdered people.' Yeah, that'll go down great."

Noah rolled his eyes.

"Stop being dramatic, Stiles. If anyone was going to be accepting of the supernatural, it'll be Hermione. She cares so much about you, kid. She won't mind."

"Sure. I just, I don't know. It's dangerous. I don't want Hermione getting involved."

"If she doesn't find out, then she could be in danger without knowing it. And if she gets put in danger, what do you think will be worse? Her knowing beforehand, or her feeling betrayed because you knew and didn't tell her?"

Stiles nodded slowly, looking away from his dad. He knew he was right...he just didn't want Hermione to get hurt.

Or to hate him for everything he's done.

"I'm going to ask about it in the meeting tonight. I don't want to say something without everybody's O-K."


Derek's Loft, 9 PM PST

Stiles was the last one to arrive. He pulled Roscoe out of the street and parked, taking a quick glance at the warm yellow spilling from the window of Derek's apartment. He had to (albeit reluctantly) admit that Derek had scored a pretty sweet home.

"Hey there, Sourworlf." Stiles snarked as he slipped inside, bobbing his head. Derek just shot him a glare, but in all honesty? He was starting to get used to that look.

Nothing was more blood chilling to Stiles than the man (fox) made of bandages (wearing his face.)

"Nice of you to finally show up," Derek responded, and Stiles raised his eyebrow. He was about to retort back, but Scot cut in (like always) and turned the topic of conversation around.

"Deaton, Derek, did either of you find out anything about those bodies?" Stiles' attention turned towards the Emissary-cum-vet and raised an eyebrow at the stoic man.

"It looks," he began, "like some sort of ritualistic sacrificing. The placing of the bodies, the stringing up of the heads. But if it is, it's not any ritual I've ever heard about."

"Is there any sort of scarification rituals that require one element? Like the body piles or heads?" Lydia asked, crossing her arms round her. "Maybe on factor is just the result of another, more important one." Deaton considered her words.

"Possibly. However, my knowledge of ritual sacrificing is limited. These texts are usually either lost to the times, or forbidden. I've been translating all my books to find something, but if it's there, I haven't come across it yet."

"How did they die, anyway?" Kira asked. Malia, from her spot across the room (and Stiles was painfully reminded of how they'd had that night and then he'd just ignored her,) snorted.

"They had their heads cut off, how do you think?" She responded. Kira blushed and looked down, but Stiles knew otherwise.

"Actually," he began, and felt rather unnerved when everybody's heads turned to face towards him, "I looked at my dad's case file. The coroner's report said there was nothing in their bodies. No toxins, or anything whatsoever. And yet, all their injuries, even the beheadings, were don post-mortem. My dad said it's like they just 'up and died.'"

"Did either of you notice anything when you were there? Odd smells, or substances?" Deaton asked, his eyes flickering to Derek also.

"No, but the air felt...thick. Sad. I figured it was just because there were dead bodies." Stiles admitted with a shrug. Derek, with his arms crossed in front of him like they usually were (Broody McBroodface much?), and took a moment.

"Derek?" Sighing, Derek looked around the room, his gaze lingered on Stiles, but he refused to meet Stiles' eyes.

"Hermione," He began, but was immediately cut off.

"No."

Stiles spat the word out as he began to glare heatedly at the werewolf, eyes blazing angrily. "I've said it to the others, and I'll say it to you. Hermione is not the one doing this."

"I never said she was, but you'd know that if you'd just let me finish my sentence." Derek retorted, and Scot moved to place a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Stiles, like we said, nobody believes Hermione's the killer. What were you saying, Derek?"

"I was saying. I think the sadness feeling...it was Hermione. When we found the bodies she was shocked, but she wasn't scared or freaked. Hell, she was calmer than I was and she was analysing everything. She was kind of...resigned; like she'd seen it before. She felt, well, heartbroken. I felt a wave of it come over me suddenly." He started. He then turned to Stiles.

"When she turned up on your doorstep, I could sense the power. My wolf sensed it." Stiles' eyes widened.

"No, she doesn't have power, she's human, just like me." He insisted, though his gaze turned to Scott and the others. They shifted uncomfortably.

"Listen, Stiles...I think Derek is right. I don't think Hermione is dangerous, but I don't think she's all...human."

"He's right." Malia nodded, her head jerking towards the young Alpha. "My coyote felt calm, but like it needed to do whatever Hermione said." Stiles huffed angrily.

"I'm telling you, Hermione is just another human." He refused to believe that she could be stirred up in anything even remotely supernatural.

"Okay then," Lydia stated, a determined look on her face and her arms akimbo. "If she's human, maybe there is something supernatural attached to her. Maybe she's in danger. If that's the case, what are we going to do?" She asked. Stiles knew that Lydia was taking the Pack's side on this one, but he didn't have the fire in him at the moment to really fight it.

"I don't know. Well, I was considering, with everybody's permission, if I-"

"Tell her." Said Derek shortly, nodding. "It's the smart decision to make."

"Oh please, he's just saying that 'cause she's hot."

Everybody's head swiveled towards the front door. Erica and Isaac both stood there, Isaac leaning against the door frame and Erica holding one hand to her hip as she smirked. Derek glared and Stiles spluttered, the thought of Derek and Hermione creating an odd, disgusted feeling in his stomach.

"Erica." Derek huffed, and the blonde rolled her eyes. She looked better than Stiles had seen her in a while. Mainly because he hadn't seen her.

"How was the hospital?" Scot asked, an odd lump in his throat.

To everybody's surprise, Isaac's face lit up in a smile they'd never seen on the habitual scarf-wearing grump.

"Allison...she woke up. Only for a little bit, but the doctor's say that's completely natural. She's okay, but when she can stay awake for more than a few second they're going to run some tests, making sure everything working as it should. But she's okay." He breathed, and the atmosphere changed momentarily. The relief they all felt was palpable, but it didn't distract them too much from the topic at hand.

"I agree with Derek." Deaton said suddenly. "Tell...Hermione...anything and everything. If she is in danger, we need to know she's aware of that." He stated simply, though the look in his eyes did not disguise that Deaton was holding information back. But Stiles; who's body sagged with relief at the thought that he hadn't caused his friend's death, and fear that she'd hate him for nearly killing her, could not bear to push the issue further.

Well, then.

Hermione would be told everything.

The silence that reigned after the decision had been named felt cloying to Stiles, whom was so unused to not even the smallest buzz of noise.

Briiiiing. Briiiiiiing. Briiiiing.

The sound of a sudden call made everybody jump, and Stiles fumbled in his pocket to grab his mobile, answering an unkown number.

"Hello?" He asked.

"S-Stiles?" The unmistakable voice of the woman of the meeting cause Stiles to step back, a physical blow punctuating the air as a sickly feeling of unease washed over the young man.

"Hermione? What's up? This isn't your mobile."

"L-Lost it," she started, her voice hoarse and weak and shaking, and Stiles felt his own shoulders begin to shake with concern.

"I'm in a tel-telephone booth...ugh...Stiles...where's the nearest h-hospital?"

"What's happened? Hermione? Hermione, where are you?" He started pacing around, the phone clutched so tight in his hands as he put the phone onto speaker (mainly for Lydia's benefit.)

"A...a street. Ma-Maplewood Aven-ven-Avenue." Hermione took a sudden, rattling breath, and she sounded dead.

"I'm on my way, okay Hermione? I'll be there soon, it's not too far from here. I'm coming, okay?" Stiles spluttered, his heart pounding.

"O-okay...I'm about to run out of ch-"


Welp. I'm sorry this has been so long, I struggled so much with this chapter. As you can tell, it's written a bit differently. I really ahven't enjoyed the style I've been writing in, it's been terrible, but idk...I have a variety of writing styles, so I tried switching it up a bit. IDK if it went well, plase let me know what you think. God, this one was a slog. And hey, yeah, Hermione is a lion, not a lamb. But she's not invincible, okay? I'm not making her some Mary-Sue. She thinks she can do it all, but she can't always, and she's gonna be learning that the hard way.