This time of day had always been my favourite.

It was early evening and the sun was low in the sky, illuminating the red and gold leaves around me in a soft glow. Birds chirped to each other lazily from somewhere within the tall trees and I could hear gentle rustlings in the undergrowth. Even though it was late January, California seemed to have it's own rules regarding the weather and I felt completely comfortable in my thin faux leather jacket.

For the first time in a week, I almost felt at home.

Funny that I would get this fuzzy feeling standing in the middle of the woods but I wasn't going to unpack it. I was in one of my rare, good moods as I traipsed through the brush and I wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible. They felt so few and far between these days.

I brushed past one of the gnarled trees and let my fingers trail softly along a low hanging branch. Somewhere, from deep inside the trunk, came a distinct humming. It was hard to explain, but I felt it travel from the base of the tree, along the branch and into my fingertips. It was something I had reluctantly begun to recognise as magic.

Just like that, my good mood was ruined and I fought the urge to turn around and go home. I could just climb into bed and pretend that I had never been here. Never felt the hum deep in my bones. With a sigh, I pressed on instead. As little as I wanted to find the source of the magic, I wanted to go back to my new house even less. Plus, I reasoned to myself, it could be old. Residual magic left over from years ago. It could be a total dead-end.

The leaves crunched under my boots as I made my way through an especially dense thicket of trees, and I couldn't help but marvel at the California winter. Despite my rapidly souring mood, the wood remained just as picturesque as before, bathed in gold light. It was so alien to me, to be surrounded by a colour palette this rich, so early in the year and it made me miss my real home a little less.

I emerged into a large clearing and found myself staring at the ruins of what I imagined had once been a sizeable house. The humming began to gather steam- what had started as a soft fluttering in the trunk of a tree now felt like a low rumble in the pit of my stomach.

"Fuck." I muttered, angrily stuffing my hands into my coat pockets. There was certainly no denying it now.

The sun had started to sink behind the house and I stood for another few minutes, allowing the shadow of the crumbling remains to encase me. A chill crept up the back of my neck and made the blonde hairs on my forearms stand on end.

When the light had faded enough that I could no longer put off turning back, I finally took my hands out of my pockets and lightly touched one to a tree beside me. I told myself that it was to double-check- to really be sure of my discovery before I upended my new life. But that was a lie. I brushed the rough bark gently with my thumb and felt the humming rush over me like a wave, drenching me head to toe in magical energy.

There was a lot of power here. I couldn't tell how much but I knew for sure that it was too much for one person.

I let my hand drop and looked over my shoulder at the old house one last time. In the low light it looked like something out of an old ghost movie. I shuddered at the thought and walked away, far too acquainted with the notions of ghosts to stay any longer.


I opened the front door as quietly as possible, and slipped inside, desperate not to make any noise. I set my housekeys down gently on the side and already had a foot on the first carpeted step before I was caught out.

"Winona is that you?" Gran called, presumably from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's me Gran! I'm just going to head up to my-"

"Come here." she called sharply.

I swore under my breath and reluctantly redirected to the kitchen. It was at the back of the house and it completely lacked any kind of character that I had grown accustomed to from houses. My old home was littered with houses from centuries past, every old, cobbled street absolutely coated in history. I hated this. So of course, Gran decided that it would be the most used room in the house and insisted on holding court from the little breakfast table in the corner.

I stepped into the kitchen and squinted under the fluorescent lighting. Gran was at the stove, cooking dinner. Even though she was almost seventy, she was a fierce woman when she wanted to be. All five feet of her. There was something about old fashioned English nans that could put the fear of God in you without ever even needing to meet your eye.

I wasn't sure how she heard me over the frying pan but she turned as I entered the kitchen, hand on hip, wooden spoon clutched menacingly in the other.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice level. Gran had one of those impeccable English accents, the kind where she wouldn't be out of place at tea with the Queen. Every sharply pronounced word stung, no matter what the intent.

"Nowhere," I mumbled, focussing on my shoes. Mine on the other hand, was a little less polished. Our voices were a testament to the way we had been raised- Gran with societal expectations and me with too much freedom. Freedom that I missed, horribly.

"Look at me when I speak to you," she ordered and my head snapped up. It wasn't that I was afraid of her, I had just learnt that it was simply so much easier to agree.

"Sorry Gran," I said. "I was just walking around the neighbourhood."

She looked at me disapprovingly. "You shouldn't be out in the dark Winona. A young girl like you… you have no idea what's out there," she chastised.

No Gran, you had no idea what was out there.

Instead, I looked meek and hoped that would be enough to ward off the lecture I could feel her building up to. I didn't have time for one of her long talks about fresh starts, I had urgent research to be getting to.

Gran held my gaze for a second and her fingers reached up to ever so gently, brush the delicate gold cross around her neck. It was a move I had come to expect from Gran, she seemed to need to call on God's strength a lot when it came to dealing with me.

"Do you need any help with dinner?" I offered, hoping that she would decline. Instead, she picked up a vegetable peeler and held it out without a word. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I took it from her and got to work peeling the potatoes.

Dinner was a quiet affair, helped largely by the fact that I inhaled my food with an impressive speed. Henry the hoover would certainly have been out of a job if he'd been invited. I had learned quickly after moving in with Gran that it was far better to just eat as opposed to pushing the food around my plate, like I had done at the beginning. The lecture on my table manners was so much easier to sit through than the one about how I didn't appreciate all she did for me.

With dinner done and a half-arsed promise to do the washing up flung over my shoulder, I hurried upstairs. Pulling my boots off as I ran, I narrowly avoided a head on collision with a wall and then threw myself down in front of my computer.

The rest of my room was a bombsite, full of half unpacked boxes and clothes strewn everywhere. My desk however, was pristine. Setting up my computer had been my first (and only) port of call this week and I was glad for my thinking as I turned it on.

The first thing I did was bring up a map of Beacon Hills, the little town in California that I now called home. After a week in America, I still hadn't quite managed to wrap my head around the bizarre geography. Beacon Hills was definitely a small town but there were long stretches of road and woodland all around it, making it seem endless. It certainly wasn't anything like the tiny English seaside town I had grown up in- a place where you could get anywhere you needed to be on foot within half an hour. I didn't even have a driver's license.

That was a problem for another day. I zoomed in on the map and raked my eyes over the patches of woodland until I recognised where I had been earlier. The house I had stumbled upon looked old, but not old enough that it's ruin wouldn't be recorded in the local news. A house that big had to have attracted some attention- especially if it had been inhabited. I was hoping if I googled the area, it would bring me something I could work with.

And it did.

EIGHT TRAGICALLY KILLED IN HALE HOUSE FIRE: ARSON OR ACCIDENT?

I winced. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting but it certainly wasn't that. Steeling myself, I pressed on, scanning the article for survivor's names. The magical energy had been too strong to be ten years old- someone was still there.

I plucked out a Derek and Peter Hale and plugged their names into the search engine. All I could find was a five-year-old article, following up on the tragedy. It listed Peter as currently residing in a long-term care facility due to his extensive injuries following the fire. I felt safe counting him out of my search and turned my attention to Derek.

The article noted that the remains of the house were still in the Hale name and that was all I needed to know. The magical imprint was so fresh because Derek had never left. Whether he lived in the ruins or not, I wasn't sure. All I did know what that Derek Hale was still in Beacon Hills.

I leant back in my desk chair and weighed up my options, folding my arms over my chest.

I had two. I could pretend that I had never stumbled across the Hale house, never felt Derek's presence. I could feign complete and utter innocence on the subject. I mulled this over for a moment and realised that as much as I liked it, I couldn't outrun Derek. If someone discovered that I knew who he was and had done nothing, it could have pretty dire consequences for me.

My second option was far more unpleasant and yet, I already knew that it was the one I was going to take. There had never been a real choice, I just liked to pretend that I still had some semblance of free will, in the privacy of my own mind.

And what was behind door number two? Seeking Derek out to introduce myself. And to let him know that I was completely aware that he was a werewolf. Correction- that he was one of potentially multiple werewolves currently residing in Beacon Hills.

I sighed.

I was going to need so much wolfsbane.


The next morning came around with the kind of startling speed which always seemed to precede a dreaded task. It was as if the universe knew that I wasn't looking forward to today and had decided to punish me for daring not to be grateful.

I rolled out of bed with my alarm and surveyed my current wardrobe situation, which was essentially just a floor littered in clothes. It was my first day of school and as a 16-year-old, I knew the true gravity of a first day. Today would decide how I spent the rest of my high school experience, whether it was on the side-lines with the nobodies, or in the action with the desirables.

I chastised myself. That was old Winona thinking. The Winona who cared what people thought and worried about her social standing. The new Winona was going to wear whatever she wanted and fuck anyone who dared to comment.

With a sense of renewed vigour, I began to comb through my options. I had no idea what kids in California wore to school. There was too much choice. I had been used to an ugly school uniform for the entirety of my academic career and was frankly feeling a little overwhelmed. I was off to a stellar start.

Channelling my favourite Californian, Buffy Summers, I managed to scrape together something which showed off my style without reducing me to a Sweet Valley High character. England was currently experiencing a grunge revival and I mirrored that in my outfit- a little back dress with a flannel shirt thrown over the top and my beloved docs. I did my usual cat eye liner look and ran a brush through my hair.

It was surreal, looking at myself in the mirror. I felt so far removed from the girl who had once upon a time, loved first days and new beginnings. I tucked my short blonde hair behind my ear and wondered if I would feel more like myself if I hadn't cut off all my hair when I first got here. It had been a desperate bid to reclaim control, I knew that. I had taken it from waist length to just above my shoulders in a few snips of the kitchen scissors and then bleached the entire thing platinum blonde. I hadn't really had an aim in mind, I just needed to do something that was just for me. It almost killed Gran of course but no amount of prayers was going to stick hair back on my head, so there wasn't much she could do. I was however, still banned from touching the scissors.

I grabbed my school bag and slung it over my shoulder. It was light for a school bag, containing all the first day essentials. Notebook, pen, water bottle filled with heavily diluted wolfsbane. Everything a girl needed for going back to school.

I left the safety of my bedroom and strode into the kitchen, surprised to find it empty. Gran had left a note, letting me know that she was getting acquainted with our neighbours at the local church. I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction as I crumpled the note in my hand- so much for wishing me luck on my first day.

I took full advantage of the empty house and raided the biscuit tin. I bypassed Gran's fancy 'on the counter' biscuit jar and went straight for the old Quality Street tin that she kept in the cupboard. This was where she kept the good stuff. I loaded up on custard creams, filling a Tupperware container with them and then stowed it away in my bag as lunch.

All too soon I was staring up at a brick building, surrounded by a swarm of students. I was really starting to feel like an extra in a Sweet Valley High book. Buffy Summers had made this look so easy. I shook off the nerves which were threatening to choke me and steeled myself. No one knew me here. As long as I stayed under the radar, no one would ever know me here.

With a hardened resolve, I strode confidently up the steps and through the doors. Thankfully, the interior was pretty clearly labelled and I found my way to reception without too much trouble. I had arrived early, specifically to fit in a quick orientation before my actual lessons started. I was absolutely not going to do the awkward, 'walk in part way through the class, linger at the front whilst the teacher introduced me and then have to find a seat with thirty sets of eyes on me' ritual. I was going to start as I meant to go on and slip in unnoticed, find a seat at the back and draw as little attention as possible until I graduated in two years. With any luck, no one would even know that I had been here at all.

The school secretary was surprised to find me at her desk so early but indulged me in a quick tour, whilst I signed my transfer papers. I tried to commit the routes she took to memory, so that I could avoid any awkward encounters over the next few days whilst I got my bearings. All too soon she was dropping me off at my first class of the day and leaving me woefully unmanned outside of the English room. I had noticed on my journey around the school, that the building reeked of magic. It felt old, more like the lingering affect of something supernatural. I hoped to God that it was because Derek had felt the need to visit his old high school once or twice and not that I was looking at a pack of school kids.

Without getting too in my head about it, I walked into the classroom purposefully, with my head held high. I nodded to the teacher and then beelined for a desk at the back of the room. I did however, take my time getting there, staring pointedly ahead, and daring anyone to make eye contact with me. I figured that my best plan of attack to be left alone for the next two years was to make myself seem so utterly unapproachable, that no one would try.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a few turned heads and hushed whispers but that didn't bother me. I sat down at my desk and crossed my legs under the table, aiming for nonchalance. Now that I was staring back, the rest of my classmates either lost their nerve or just lost interest in me all together and I was able to survey the class, largely unbothered.

Students continued to file in and I carefully appraised each one in turn, on my guard for my second werewolf. I hoped like hell that I wasn't going to find them at my new school but I couldn't discount it. The students made up an awfully big part of Beacon Hills' population.

One guy in particular caught my eye- tall, with broad shoulders and a buzz cut. He had high cheekbones and expressive eyes. I instantly scolded myself for noticing something as Mills & Boon as his 'expressive eyes'. He hadn't attracted my attention because he was magical, but because he was cute. Again, that was old Winona. New Winona had a far different agenda- one which absolutely did not include boys.

Still, I couldn't help but enjoy that he chose a desk in my eyeline. New Winona might have sworn off men but I could still appreciate them.

I felt the hum start up before I even saw him. I was still looking at buzzcut boy, allowing my gaze to linger on his cheekbones when I felt the rumble deep in my stomach. I looked up abruptly and made direct eye contact with the cause of my discomfort. He was also tall, with messy dark hair and equally broad shoulders. His eyes only held mine for the briefest of seconds before moving to the boy I had been staring at, but it was enough for him to peak my interest.

It was hard to really pinpoint what was setting off my magic detectors in a school so coated in trace amounts of it but I had a niggling suspicion that this boy would have some answers.

I purposely refrained from looking at him as he sat down at the desk next to me but he absolutely had my entire focus. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him tap buzzcut boy on the shoulder.

"Still not talking to me?" he asked quietly. The boy in front stared resolutely ahead and I heard my neighbour sigh.

"Can you at least tell me if your dad's okay?" he said, sounding a little frustrated this time. "I mean, it's just a bruise right- some soft tissue damage? Nothing that big...?" he finished meekly. It looked like he was fighting a losing battle as buzzcut boy remained unflinchingly stoic.

I wondered if maybe it was a lovers quarrel. The werewolf question aside- what on earth had this boy done to his mate's dad?

"You know I feel really bad about it, right?" I could have sworn I saw the boy in front clench his jaw but he remained silent. Whatever was going on, I was quite invested at this point. I knew eavesdropping was wrong and if my Gran had caught me she would have boxed my ears. But I didn't care, I really wanted to know what had happened to buzzcut's dad. This felt like really good drama.

My neighbour sighed again and it sounded like he was giving up. "Okay," he said softly. "What if I told you that I'm trying to figure this whole thing out, and… that I went to Derek for help?"

I dropped my pen in surprise at the mention of Derek's name and prayed that they hadn't noticed. I was sure that Derek was very popular name and I could have been way off base- but what were the odds?

Buzzcut boy appeared shocked by this too and finally shifted in his seat.

"If I was talking to you, I'd say that you're an idiot for trusting him," he said, every word sounding like it was forced out from between gritted teeth.

My neighbour nodded, absorbing his words and my suspicion deepened.

"But obviously, I'm not talking to you," buzzcut boy added hastily and it took everything I had to turn my snort into a throating clearing. He was obviously not great at holding grudges.

Before my neighbour could reply, the bell rang to signal the start of class. I bent down to grab my notebook out of my bag, keeping an ear cocked just in case. Who knew I'd have the great fortune to run into a clue so early into my hunt? Today was off to a better start than I could have hoped for.

I kept my eyes trained ahead on the teacher but buzzcut boy couldn't help but draw my attention. He seemed to be waging a war within himself and it appeared that he was losing. With an irritated sigh, he turned around abruptly in his seat and faced the boy next to me.

"What did he say?" he asked, sounding defeated. I was grateful for his lack of willpower; I was also incredibly interested to know what Derek had said.

I felt my neighbour visibly deflate as the tension left his body. He had seemed genuinely upset at the thought of fighting with his friend and the notion that he was starting to thaw, seemed to ease him. I wondered briefly what it would be like to have a friendship like that. Someone so in tune with your emotions that they carried them on their shoulders, like it was their responsibility to make you happy.

Before I could delve too deeply into that depressing notion, my skin broke out in goosebumps as I heard my name called. I looked up from my notebook to see a teen's worst nightmare- thirty pairs of eyes looking at me. I fought the urge to panic and instead forced myself to look calmly to the teacher.

"Sorry?" I said.

The man smiled warmly at me. "Oh, don't apologise dear- I was just introducing you to the class." I debated on whether to mention that I hadn't been apologising, I was simply asking him to repeat himself but I left it.

"Everyone, this is Winona Fraser, our new student. I trust you'll all give her a big Beacon Hills welcome," he announced and the male population broke out in sniggers.

I grimaced but it didn't faze me too much- at least the worst was over with minimal dear diary emotional baggage.

"Winona dear, why don't you tell us all something about yourself? Everyone loves an ice-breaker," pressed the teacher, and I felt my cheeks redden and my eyes widen.

I was going to kill him. I would wait until the end of the day, slash his car tires, and then batter him to death with my doc martens.

The eyes of my fellow students became uncomfortably intense, like I was a lizard under one of those lamps in a terrarium and I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear just for something to do with my hands.

Be cool, I echoed to myself. You're not here to make friends, so just get it over with.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. "Hi, I'm Winona Fraser and I've just transferred in from England." The teacher beamed and the class broke out in excited whispers. I was starting to understand just how it felt to be on the other side of the glass at the zoo.

"Excellent!" The teacher exclaimed. "Where in England, if you don't mind us asking?" Again, thirty pairs of eyes travelled back to me but this time I was ready. The brief relief had given me a chance to perfect the mask of bored indifference that I now slipped over my face.

"London," I answered vaguely. I wasn't from London but there was no use trying to get into English geography now. London was the easiest answer.

"How exciting," the teacher continued and internally I begged him to stop there. Had I not suffered enough?

"Why did you move?" someone piped up and I craned my neck to find the nosy bastard. To my annoyance, the class seemed to be waiting expectantly for an answer.

"My old school burned down," I replied casually, my lips curling upwards slightly when everyone in my immediate vicinity reeled back in surprise. Even the maybe werewolf and his friend/boyfriend next to me, shifted in their seats.

The teacher spluttered on his coffee and furiously tried to clear his throat. "Oh that's…" he stuttered. "How terrible."

"Yes," I agreed. "Especially as they never caught the person who did it." The teacher touched his fingers to his mouth in horror and the class collectively gasped. Good, I thought. Let them chew on that for a while.

The rest of the lesson passed quickly with our English teacher keen to get onto the syllabus after my outburst. I found myself enjoying the worried looks from other students, feeling secure in my new unapproachable identity.

As the bell rang for second period, I gathered up my things as fast as possible and followed the two boys who had captured my attention, eager for them to continue their conversation. As we left the classroom, I stuck close behind them.

Buzzcut boy spoke first and he sounded uncertain. "He wants you to tap into your animal side and get angry? he asked, scepticism coating every word.

The other boy nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright, well correct me if I'm wrong," buzzcut boy said. "But every time you do that, you try to kill someone, and that someone's usually me!"

I almost tripped over my feet in a bid to keep pace with them and absorb all of the information they were just casually sharing in the middle of a crowded hallway. It was seeming more plausible by the minute that I was looking right at my second werewolf but I had to be sure. I couldn't risk exposing an innocent. Especially these two potentially innocent idiots.

"I know," my desk neighbour replied morosely. "That's what he means when he says he doesn't know if he can teach me. I have to be able to control it."

I swerved around a group of doe-eyed first years.

"Well, how's he gonna teach you to do that?" Buzzcut boy asked.

"I don't know," the other one replied. "I don't think he does either."

Buzzcut boy rolled his entire head round on his shoulders in what looked like sheer anguish at the situation. I was inclined to agree with him.

"Okay. When are you seeing him again?" he asked.

"Just told me not to talk about it," his friend continued. "Just act normal and get through the day."

"When?" The pair stopped walking so abruptly, I almost steamrolled straight into them. I diverted at the last minute and hovered by a set of lockers, trying to look as natural as possible.

"He's picking me up at the animal clinic after work."

"After work," buzzcut repeated. "Alright, well, that gives me until the end of the school day then."

"To do what?"

"To teach you myself," buzzcut answered. He looked at his friend grimly for a second and then kept walking.

"Can I help you?" someone whispered uncomfortably close to my ear. I jumped back in response and looked up at my space invader. He was even taller than the previous two (was this a Californian thing? Everyone was built like Gawain the bloody Green Knight?) and incredibly broad underneath his expensive looking jumper. His hair was cropped short but meticulously styled and he wore what looked like a permanently tattooed smirk on his face. I hated him immediately. But there was something simmering just beneath his surface- something dark. It felt like more than just teenage angst, it felt magical.

I was beginning to hate this town.

"Sorry," I muttered, stepping out of the way of his locker, and scanning the hallway for buzzcut and pal.

"Are you lost?" he asked softly and my insides squirmed. "You're new right? I'm Jackson, Jackson Whittemore." He stuck a large hand out for me to shake as he continued to fix me with a smug smile, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he looked like he was one strong breeze away from collapse. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at his audacity.

I wasn't immediately sure on how to approach the situation. I wanted nothing to do with this incredibly off-putting, Ken doll wannabe but it felt too early to make enemies. I settled on carefully looking him up and down and then purposefully meeting his eyes.

"I'm good, thanks." I said with a smile and left, his hand still in the air. I knew exactly what type of boy he was- the type which would definitely get me into trouble.

I pressed on, refusing to look back or contemplate the bridge I had just burned. With minimal help, I found my way to the chem lab and to my pleasant surprise, discovered yet another class that I shared with my top two werewolf liabilities.

People were still filtering in and I lingered near the front, unsure of the politics when it came to lab partners and seating charts. The chemistry teacher, a lanky and unsettlingly pale man, extended a finger and made a 'come here' movement. I disagreed with being summoned like a dog but hoisted my bag up higher on my shoulder and approached his desk, nonetheless.

"Name?" he asked, barely looking at me.

"Fraser," I replied. "Winona Fraser- I'm new."

"Right- Stilinski!" he shouted, making me jump back slightly in surprise. Buzzcut jerked his head up and fixed the teacher with a wary look- like he was sure he was in trouble for something but he didn't know what.

"Yes sir?" he said, his eyes moving from the teacher to me as he answered.

"You're next to Greenberg now. What was your name?"

It took me a second to realise that the question was directed at me. "Fraser," I replied, reluctantly breaking eye contact with Stilinski to look at the teacher again.

"Whatever- you're with McCall."

"But sir," Stilinski protested and the teacher silenced him with a withering look. I looked past him and zeroed in on a photo on his desk. It looked like the Chemistry teacher; stood against a light blue car- one I was sure I had seen in the staff car park this morning. In fact, if I craned my neck ever so slightly, I could even see it from the lab window.

"Move," he ordered. McCall shrugged as Stilinski turned to him for back up but eventually, he gathered up his things and moved across the room.

I walked over to the now vacant spot and settled on a lab stool, trying my hardest not to look McCall in the eye. The humming which seemed to accompany me bloody everywhere in this school was starting to reach bass drum through an amp, levels of intense and it was all I could do to just stay sitting down.

Although this felt like the closest thing to confirmation that I was going to get, I had to follow the rules and test him. I eyed the water bottle on his side of the desk and knew that that was going to be my chance to find out once and for all whether McCall was my second werewolf.

A/N: Hello. This feels so trippy, it's the first time I've posted anything fanfiction wise, in about eight years. Basically, you have TikTok to blame for this and my recent rewatch of Teen Wolf. Be prepared for Winona to ruin canon, this town is mine now. Peace and love gang.